But damn, this place looks like a skanky hole (definition 2, please). Irritating teenagers. Shit. I’ve been telling them to pick up their own damn socks, wash their own damn clothes. It’s time to mow the laundry. Again. Well, at least they aren’t console humpers or out every night all lashed up, but I wish they’d trash the coke cans and paper plates left out by the fire pit. And go GREEN, dammit! (Okay, my kinda green, not their kinda green.)

Daily plate of crazy?

I chose that name for good reason. Try plates, plural. Plates full. Tectonic plates. Teenage tectonic plates. Crazy?  No question. It’s a survival strategy, a lifestyle, my truth. Menopausal mood swings. Testosterone explosions. Bills, pills, comings-and-goings, 24/7.

Just keep on track and keep on tracking: one goes here, the other goes there. Planes, trains, automobiles. Friends in tow. Fridge to fill. Deficits, and usually mine: sleep deficit, doing it deficit, dollar deficit. And they think I’m just being a shistie bastard, but I’m trying to manage the impossible. Bucks, more bucks, and all for necessities.

Recreation? Forget it. Go play somewhere. Get a damn job! Read something!

Bleary-eyed bitch mama (that’s me) just trying to love more, holler less, and hang on for the ride until the ride is done – hopefully with a couple of kids in college, and me not on the street, ending up like a homeless Alaskan in the process! Hell… I’m no skankwaffle. I ought to be able to do this, right? Raise my kids decently? But couldn’t the government help, just a little?

Which brings me to familial-political-sociological issues of the day, with my tongue only partially imbedded in my cheek. I was glancing over the New York Times “Room for Debate Blog” this morning, early.  Here are a few gems I found, including comments from readers:

On Mark Sanford and his Argentine paramour:

“The bigger issue is why political wives put up with their husband’s shenanigans…”

My translation: why does a bitch put up with her man’s skanky whores?

My response: for the same reason that ALL wives deal with all kinds of shit:

(a) illusion love* (b) history love** (c) pragmatic love, a.k.a. divorce is long, messy, expensive and often leaves you with lifelong complications, generally borne by the women.

Furthermore, what his wife tolerates (particularly with four young sons at home) really is not the point. I’m all for a little schmoop (life is short after all), but the issues are hypocrisy and responsibility. Those sit squarely on the Governor’s shoulders.

On the cost-benefits of getting a Master’s degree (What is a Master’s Degree Worth?):

“If you originally matriculated at a college you are vaguely uneasy about, taking an M.A. at a more elite institution allows you to kick down and kiss up, henceforth letting you tell people you “went to school” in New Haven.”

My response: I couldn’t agree more.

I also agree with the need to weigh long term debt and relative value of the education. You could find yourself still paying school loans as you approach 40. That keeps you tied to an income level that keeps you bound to a career that may no longer “fit.” It’s like being stuck in a marriage, in which case you probably need to get stuck.

This comment on the topic of the value of the Masters:

“Eek… I have an MFA from an Ivy and I work at a grocery store.”

My response: Good for you! You must still be young enough, strong enough, and supple enough to do so!  It will teach you to handle the public. Great for a future as a museum Docent. That said, you have my empathy.

I have an MBA from an Ivy, and don’t work at a grocery store! I do have to keep a fridge stocked for growing teens, on about $3/hour as a freelance writer. As a marketing writer or copywriter I earn more, but no one’s hiring at the moment, and less so, anyone over 40. Care to trade?

By the way, as a parent, I earn zero, bubkus, nada – though I have the pleasure of saucy discussion at the dinner table, six-digit debt, dark circles under my eyes, and while the pay sucks, I wouldn’t trade this gig for anything!

The sad reality – gone (apparently) are the days of higher (and higher) education for the purposes of love of learning, furthering scholarship, or research. Everything is about dollars and cents.

From “How do politicians survive sex scandals,” we are provided the sinner’s steps to redemption – and I admit, this one was my favorite. It goes (paraphrased) something like this (with my comments in parentheses):

1. Don’t break any BIG laws.
2. Be a nice guy (ie., if you aren’t charming, forget it. But then again, if you weren’t charming, how did you get yourself in this position, anyway? Ah yes – power & money. Anyone can be bangin’ if they have power & money.)
3. Remember it’s not the sex, it’s the lying. Say you’re sorry.
   
4. Say it was an accident. (Huh? I accidentally slept with this person, not my spouse, secretly and with planning, for how many months?)

And there’s more. Good stuff. Made me laugh.

On our national “safety net” we call Social Security, and planned spending for the purpose of reigning in disability fraud, this frightening proposal (paraphrased):

“In the 2010 budget unveiled last week… The White House plans to spend $4.3 billion over five years to fight fraud associated with disability claims — a problem, officials say, that stems from lack of oversight.”

The editorial goes on to ask: Why have federal disability costs skyrocketed? Is it because of fraud, an increase in the number of the truly disabled, or are there larger problems with the program?

My response: Are you kidding me? $4.3 BILLION to weed out disability fraud? Weed, indeed!

As for “lack of oversight,” might I use that excuse for my inability to pay bills? 

An alternative plan:

My simplistic, immediate and admittedly emotional response is SHAVE THAT $4.3 BILLION FIGURE by 10%, fight “fraud” with the (theoretical) efficiency exercised by the private sector as it continues to reduce workforce and do “more with less.”

Use the proposed “reappropriated” $430 million to distribute in real ways to families who are losing homes, can’t pay for doctors, can’t send their kids to college, can’t take care of elderly parents, can’t afford prescriptions, can’t retire (assuming they have jobs),  and have long since fallen through the cracks in our nationwide statistics.

HELL – give the 10% to Oprah to distribute. She’ll figure it out.

Think about that sum:

$430 million could be used for a college education, in good schools, for more than 8,000 kids. 

$430 million could help families that have already lost homes, or are rapidly approaching that state of affairs. Instead of sending kids to school (forget the BA’s and the MAs for now), we could give  $100,000 to 4300 families over five years time.

Just fight that fraud with 10% less! And I mean really do more with less. That’s what the rest of us have been told – and done – in our jobs (that we’ve lost), and in our daily (crazy) lives. We work harder and for longer for less; we see our children less; we live a “quality” life, less…

The challenge

Unfortunately, $100,000 per family over 5 years is $20,000/year. That doesn’t go very far when you’re out of work and raising kids. It doesn’t go very far when you have work – one job, two jobs, extra jobs – and you’re raising kids.

And it’s a drop in the bucket towards the number of families in trouble. Could we ask you to reduce your disability-buster initiative budget by 20%?

I know I could use the bucks. For a $20,000 check, I’d beam. For $40,000 I’d show you my O-face! With my budget requiring nearly $9,000/year in medical insurance premiums (and then there’s life insurance, car insurance, and the non-existing disability, vision, or dental insurance)… well, we’d like to eat, too. And pay utilities. Oh yes, the mortgage. The car payment. Well, you see what I mean.

Netting things out

I’m a responsible citizen. I may be someone’s mama, but I’m not too bafugly for a middle-aged rag. I can still be seen in public; I’ll do my part. Keep trying, keep looking, keep cool. I’m down. Somebody’s got to find me useful, right? Hey – last year and the year before I managed about 70 hours/week plus odd jobs scribing. It took two jobs and didn’t quite pay all the bills, but it slowed the bleed.

Of course, both positions were as a contractor (therefore no benefits, and no unemployment when let go). Still, I know how to work. Hard.

Besides,

1. I don’t break any BIG laws.
2. I’m a nice guy.
3. I’m sorry for any sex and any lying (I’m lying).
4. And anything untoward I might have done in my life – it was all an accident…

So. I fully intend to stay the course. Keep parenting. Keep looking for work, six ways from Sunday. Yep, I know it – eventually I’ll find a job (or two) and manage to keep going. A  job, which Urban Dictionary defines in many ways. I like this definition:

Job: (definition 3)

———————————————————————————-

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*Illusion Love: Love experienced with a spouse or partner as you imagine him or her to be, refashioned in your mind so you can stay in the relationship, convinced that all is well. Also known as “marriage.”

**History Love: Not rocking the boat; respect for shared decades and joined families. Also known as “marriage.”    

As the single mother of teenage sons, what message do I send if my love life is a revolving door? What if there are no examples of casual dating, sexual contact, or falling in love?

If you’re a single parent – what kind of model are you for your children, and what kind of model do you want to be when it comes to relationships?

I’ve never been a revolving door – by choice, as well as by circumstance. And “Revolving Door” is an interesting term for it, one which the Urban Dictionary defines as

“A very loose woman who goes through an obscene number of sexual partners.”

Observation: Apparently stereotypes persist. As a woman, if I choose to have an abundance of sexual playmates, I’m still considered “loose.” Very 1950s. And not only do I have a revolving door, I AM the revolving door!

The Urban Dictionary is an enlightening (and entertaining) source, which goes on to offer a conversational snippet to reinforce the concept of the loose, “revolving door” female:

Neil: “How was the supermarket last night?”

Bob: “Well I took a number at the counter and there were like 5 people in front of me, so I had to wait a half hour or so. But it was worth the wait since I had a ‘buy one get one free’ coupon.”

Neil: “I hate those deli lines.”

Bob: “What deli? I’m talking about your sister. She was lining ‘em up in the store bathroom last night as usual. Chucking my junk in that was like throwing a hotdog down a hallway.”

Neil: “Damn that skank is such a revolving door.”

Bob: “Word to your mother.”

Synonyms: slut ho ho bag skank whore

While I find this explanation both illuminating and appalling, it begs the question – what is an “obscene” number of sexual partners? And the definition makes one thing abundantly clear: in American society, a woman who expresses her sexuality openly and with a variety of partners is still considered slutty (note the synonyms); a man in the same situation is lauded – and envied – for his sexual prowess.

What does this have to do with parenting and your approach to sexual activity?

Married or single, widowed or divorced, sexuality is a fundamental element of our human experience. It is of more importance to some than others, and comes in any number of variations. But how do we handle ourselves if we have no private time? No “time off” for good behavior? What if we live in a conservative environment, but we aren’t interested in remarrying?

What sexual presence – and behavior – do we offer to our children as an example?

Too Little Sex?

After my marriage ended, I didn’t date for several years. My sons were young – seven and eight years old. Their dad had moved and visited infrequently; we were on new, uncertain footing. We needed to “shore ourselves up” – and that took time. What I didn’t realize was that my older son was well aware of my isolation, and my loneliness. 

It was he, aged 11, who said “Mom, it’s time you start dating.” His father was about to remarry, and I’d yet to meet a man over a latte at Starbucks.

So I plunged back into the world of dating, and eventually, sex. Safely, discreetly, judiciously, and admittedly, with abandon. It had been too long, and I had some readjusting and learning to do. The menu had changed, and I wanted to taste the new cuisine.

Observation: I soon realized that years without a sexual partner had taken their toll. There were extra pounds, a less positive outlook in general, and less energy. When I reclaimed my sex life, I was happier. When I’m happier, my children are happier.

One-night Stands and Single Parenting

What was right for me – a slow path – is only that. My path, as I found my way bit by bit. Nonetheless, as a single parent, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with one-night stands or short-lived relationships, undertaken safely of course. If anything – they can improve your mood and bring a much less cranky parent to carpool line or the chaotic dinner hour.

However, I do think that discretion is essential.

How much discretion? And what if you really need to cut loose?

A great deal depends upon your children – their ages, their relationship with you, and their reactions. Discussion and observation can help guide you.

While our culture may hand the single father certain advantages, I personally favor keeping your sexual life  private – until you’re comfortable introducing someone to your sons and daughters.

Whether they comment or not, kids are always observing, sensing, and learning by example. 

The Dilemma of the Revolving Door

Among my divorced women friends, some have dated regularly, as family members helped with childcare. That flexibility provided “dating time” and privacy. Other friends had no such options, as was my case. One woman I knew, a stunning 30-something with two school aged children, dated a great deal. She had a glittering personality, a healthy sexual appetite, and men fell – hard, and often. She also had a habit of moving her lovers into the family home.

Her children had role models – good men, generally – but the names and faces changed two and three times a year, year after year. Their home was, indeed, a “revolving door.”  

REFLECTION: I applauded my friend’s ability to open up her heart, to celebrate her sexuality, and to display affection in front of her children. What concerned me was the message of impermanence. That “men don’t stay.”

Too much sex?

Children at any age don’t need “in-your-face” adult sexuality. Granted, in other cultures, nudity and sexuality are integrated fully into family life, media, discussions – and from an early age. And I’m all for that – but we live here, in the (publicly) sexually conservative USA.

Put yourself in your kids’ shoes. Imagine embarrassment or confusion they might experience, particularly during the stages when the puzzle pieces of sexuality and love are just beginning to form – pre-adolescence and the early teenage years.

Observation: Knowing your parents are sexual – seeing them hold hands, kiss, embrace – is different from seeing and hearing the antics that are exuberantly enjoyed behind closed doors. Or waking up to a parade of strangers over a bowl of cereal.

Let’s Be Realistic about Adult Sexuality

A healthy sex life over the course of years – and a number of sexual partners – seems inevitable if you allow yourself a full life. Whether you’re a parent or not, what is deemed “too much sex” or “too many partners” is a matter of personal and individual judgment, within a cultural context, and for some, a religious or moral one.

When I’ve been in love, it’s been my pleasure to introduce a man into the household. Gently, and observing the reaction of my sons. Allowing them the time they need to get comfortable.

If I was cautious about growing attached to someone who would be in my life for a few months or a year and then move on, I certainly didn’t want my children to grow too attached.

But I did want them to have the experience of seeing me happily holding hands, sharing an occasional kiss, the knowledge of affection and sexuality that floats in the air when adults care about each other. When they are committed enough to spend time together, both in and out of bed.

The Model I Wish to Show by Example

I am not a revolving door; nor is our home.

I am discreet in relationships, and only bring someone into our lives when there is a relationship – and one which is more than sexual.

I want my sons to see me happy.

I want them to understand that sexuality is natural and fun and an integral part of adult life.

And I certainly don’t want them feeling guilty about the years I’ve raised them, alone, and the sadness that I know they have observed from time to time.

My job as parent is the most important I’ve ever had.

As my sons ready to leave the nest, I “reclaim” more of my life and my sexuality. If I’m fortunate, I’ve been a reasonably good model for them. And I wish for my sons to find women who fully and responsibly own themselves – their dreams, their opinions, and their sexuality.

© D A Wolf

Big Little Wolf’s Daily Plate of Crazy