I think Women’s Lib went wrong somewhere down the line.  Somewhere down the road, women decided that they’d like to be treated equally to men - with the rights to vote, hold down decent jobs and to choose their own path.  All good and decent ideals.  However along the way, and I don’t know who to blame, something went awry.  In order to receive these rights, women thought they had to become just like men.  We started opening our own doors, going dutch for the check on dates, opening our own pickle jars, etc.  We felt we had to give up all of the perks that came with being a female in order for men to take us seriously.  And it worked, in a way.  We can now run for President, earn our own living, and pay our own way.  Which is a smart place to be, if we ever end up alone.  But therein lies the rub.

We didn’t have to become men to be equal to men.  Fundamentally, we were already equal.  Different, of course.  But equal in the ways that matter.  We are just as smart, and just as capable as men, yes.  Are we weaker physically?  Sure, most of us.  But that’s what makes us attractive to you, like your strength makes you attractive to us.  It’s the differences that keep us interested in the other.  Would a man who is not a homosexual be attracted to a woman who is physically matched to him?  Why would he be?  What would be the point.

Do women deserve to have their cake (their equal rights) and eat it too (their feminine perks)?  I’ve always thought so.  And not because I’m a woman and doesn’t that work out nicely for me.  But because it’s the way the women closest to me have been handled.  My mother and her sisters are all prime examples of what I mean.  They all had jobs, children, families, and homes.  They were all intelligent, independent and yet definitively female.  Their respective husbands appreciated their ability and desire to work outside of the home, but no woman seemed to absolutely have to.  Their husbands all allowed their wives to be themselves, and none seemed to battle with their gender roles like you see nowadays.

The men I’m speaking of played their roles as fathers well.  They were stronger, they were the disciplinarians, they were the back-up.  Mom was in charge, but she had Dad on her side to lean on, and as an outsider looking in you always had the impression that parental discussions happened behind closed doors frequently and amicably.  This is what I expect marriage and parenthood to be.  Mom and Dad make the rules together, Mom deals with most of the daily issues and Dad gets involved when he needs to.  It’s not that Dad isn’t capable of the daily stuff, or that Mom isn’t capable of discipline.  It’s just simply that it’s less confusing when children know what to expect from whom.

So do I want to be treated like a woman, or like a human?  I think that’s the basic point of this discussion.  The answer is yes.  I am both.  I am equal to a man, and yet not the same as a man.  I like when you open my doors.  I like when you buy my dinner.  Not because I can’t, but because it’s just a nice way to be treated.  And I want my daughter to grow up thinking that she should be treated the same.  I have my jobs as a woman as well.  And I hope I do them and can continue to do them well enough to make and keep my man happy.

Because that is my most important job.  And in that way we men and women are exactly, uniquely, equal.

I came across something interesting today while I was pondering my current mother-employee-babysitter-housekeeper-friend-familymember-wife status today. I decided to Google the definition of a “working mother” and see what the wise internet gods had to tell me.

The first site that came up was Wiki.Answers.com (a sub-site of the famous Wikipedia and Wiktionary websites) which actually lists the question I posed to it: “What is the definition of a working mother?” and below it was their answer. Or technically their lack of answer. “This question has not been answered yet.”

Tell me about it. Not even with the great resources of the internet and the 21st century has anyone come up with the perfect answer to, “What is a working mother”.

I’ll tell you why. Because it’s an oxymoron. Mothers work. If you’re a mother, you work. If you never leave the house, you are working. If you are still in your pajamas at bedtime and haven’t had a shower in three days, you’ve been too busy working. You cook, you clean, you chase, you cuddle, you love, you teach, you scream, you cajole, you drive. You are on the clock from the moment your eyes crack open in the morning (and sometimes earlier!) until you pass out on the couch during Letterman. You never receive a dime for these 120 hour work weeks. There are no vacations, no breaks, no lunch hours and the benefit program is negligible.

And then your children start preschool. You are left with small increments of “free time” on your hands. And life costs money. Well if you’re smart and savvy, you’ll find yourself a little part-time job that will allow you to work only while your children are in preschool and will expand with you as your children grow and are out of the house more.

And there’s the rub. You remember that you like working. You’ve been a stay-at-home mom for 5 years or so and your children are finally in school for 10 hours a week. You like the adult conversation. You like shuffling papers instead of wiping bottoms for a living. You might even be good at it. You’ve made yourself useful at work. You gain more responsibility and you thrive on it. You want to take on more and more and really make yourself feel like a part of society again. But you’ve only got those 10 hours a week to do it in. And that’s not nearly enough.

Temptation sets in. You find yourself thinking about leaving your children in school some more. So that you can work more. So that they can have those “better lives” we all dream of for our children. But there’s that old stay-at-home mother’s voice in the back of your head that’s reminding you, “Didn’t you say you wanted to be home for your children?” “Are you rushing your children into independence to further your own wants and desires?” When does that stay-at-home mother’s license expire again?

Because in every mother’s life there was that moment of decision. That moment right before child number one was born where we sat down with our budget in hand and our husbands at our sides. What’s going to happen when the baby comes? Will I stay home or will I put this child in daycare? Either answer can be correct, but in general we all choose one over the other. Heart wrenching decision or not, we choose what we believe is best for our family in the end. And then we believe the hard choices are over. But we are wrong.

Now your job titles are multiplying. You are first and foremost responsible to these little people you’re brought into the world, then to their daddy, and then to your outside employment. It sounds easy when you put it all down in order like that. But if your life is anything like mine, these lines blur and skew and cross so completely that you can no longer remember if you’re putting the kids in school so that you can work, or working so that your kids can go to school. Do you add more hours to your job to pay for those piano lessons, or do you keep Suzy home another year?

“Working mother” or not, in the end our main goal is clear. Clean, happy, well-adjusted children grow into loving, intelligent, useful adults.

Keeping ourselves sane in the meantime is secondary. But the trick is remembering that it’s not last.

I’m not sure that these blogs tell you what time they are written, but I’ll give you a little clue.  It is 4 hours past my bedtime and I’m not even the teensiest bit ready for bed.   I wish I had someone else to blame tonight, but in this case the finger points clearly in my direction.  I inadvertently drank some caffeine at 10pm this evening, and we all know what that means.

I am awake.  And when I’m lying in bed and I’m wide awake like this I tend to think too much.   Much too much.  I begin to think of all the things I regret in my life.  Small things, big things, long term, short term.  And then I start to beat myself up over the insignificant minutia of the past day or the past week.  Silly things like a stupid remark I made today at the book store or crazy things like not cleaning the coffee pot yet.

My personal expectations are probably too high.  I do realize this.  But isn’t that what drives most of us to success?  Isn’t this the type of angst that propels successful people to bigger and better lives, pursuits, dreams?

Perhaps not.  Perhaps I’ve got this whole thing wrong.  Perhaps the truly “successful” people of this world are those that sleep well at night.   Those that don’t worry about every drawer left open or every sentence left hanging.  Perhaps to let go of your faults and wake up to a new day without regret is all the success we truly need.

But how to begin.  How to turn over a new leaf at this late stage of the game.  Some would say I should turn over my worries to God.  Tell Him my problems and trust Him to figure out what’s worth all the trouble and what’s not.

I’ve been reading a book that was given to me titled Too Busy Not to Pray.  And I’ll be honest, the beginning didn’t draw me in.  But the next time I picked it up I skipped to the middle and opened to a page at random.  The author was talking about the motives behind prayer.  He said, it’s important to look at what we’re asking of God before we ask it.  Is what you’re asking for appropriate?  Is it the right time?  Is it not self-serving?

Sometimes yes and sometimes no.  I find myself most commonly asking God for blanket reassurances of safety.  I just want my family and I to be happy and healthy and safe.  But every now and again I will catch my inner consciousness asking for ridiculous or what you’d call “low ticket items” as well.

And He just doesn’t have the time for that.  I know it and He knows it.  But I know He has forgiven me for my weaknesses, and will ignore my trifles at His will.

Because most assuredly, He sleeps well at night.

Zoo tomorrow..

Zoo tomorrow..

Go ahead, sing along. You can’t help it. If you’re a mom you’ve heard Raffi. I’ve listened to Raffi’s music so much over the last 6 years that I can’t even hear the word “zoo” without singing this song either out loud or internally for at least the following 30 seconds.

But I’m digressing, already. My friend, our children and I recently went to the World Wildlife Zoo with some buy one-get one free tickets. If you’ve been out there, you know it’s quite a drive. It easily took an hour from the East Valley, but with four kids in the car and a friend for mommy to talk to, the time really just flew by.

And then you arrive and you’re not quite sure if you’ve just come to a zoo or a farm, because the area looks remarkably like Schnepf Farms with jungle animals. But once you pay the entrance fee, slightly higher than the Phoenix Zoo, you begin to look around and really get an idea of the size and value of the place.

The animals are so much more up front and personal at the World Wildlife Zoo. For $.50 a pop your children can feed the giraffes pellets from a tree house look-out and they don’t even have to get licked if they don’t want to. At scheduled times of the day, for no cost at all, you and your kids can head into a bird aviary and feed the birds apples out of the palms of your hands. I have gorgeous pictures of my son and daughter covered in beautiful birds with these great smiles on their faces.

On top of this, there is a sky tram, a boat ride down the canal and a choo-choo train that will take you through, around and literally over the animal exhibits.

It’s a once in a lifetime experience that I have not found anywhere else. We were there for over 3 hours and did not even have the energy to check out the giant playground and the petting zoo - where I hear there are deer and goats just waiting to be loved.

As always, the food inside is overpriced - but a bucket of popcorn lasted us long enough to get us to McDonald’s just down the road afterward. Almost everyone napped on the ride home, and our children were stockpiled with stories to tell that weekend.

I hope we can go back soon. But even if we never do, we’ll never forget our day at the zoo.

I’m sure I’m not the only mom this month who has a new Webkinz or two in their family. Each of my children received one for Christmas, and they’ve quickly become very best friends with these cute, but very greedy critters.

If you haven’t heard of them, I’m sure your kids have. Webkinz are beanie baby type stuffed animals that come with a website and a code number attached to their paw. This lures your child online where upon entering the magic code Webkinz will know it’s birthday, what species of animal you’ve got and allows you choose it’s name and gender. Then it gives you a studio apartment and 2000 Webkinz dollars to get you started.

So of course you head right to the Webkinz store and buy your new “baby” some fancy new digs and a “Webkinz Casual” wardrobe that would make any tween jealous. You soon run out of money however, as a couch and some new duds cost just as much as they would in real life without the option of shopping at Target.

And then you find out the thing is hungry. Well, we haven’t got any money left to buy our Panda some Bamboo Cannelloni like he likes, so you have to visit the arcade and play four hours worth of games to make six bucks to buy it an apple. But that doesn’t satiate this bear. Oh, no. You must spend at least 60 Webkinz bucks on food to fill up your baby, but you’re only winning four bucks per game and you’ve already been up until 1am trying to get this panda’s happiness meter above 90. And the more you play, the more worn out your bear gets and the more hungry. It’s a vicious cycle of keeping your ‘kinz happy, feeding him constantly and checking your ‘kinzmail for messages from all your fuzzy online friends.

It’s a bit too much like myspace for stuffed animals, coupled by the constant care and needs of a toddler.

Perhaps I’m just not ready to be a grandmother yet.

My family has recently started a new tradition that began as an accident and ended up permanently on our calendar.

A few months ago by coincidence my husband took our kids to Home Depot on the first Saturday of the month. Walking through the door he was asked if the kids were there for the Kid’s Workshop. No, he said, what was that? They were then sent to the back corner of the store to an area set up just high enough for children. The kids were given their very own Home Depot aprons, pieces of a pirate ship and instructions, a certificate of completion for their pirate ships, and colorful pins to keepsake their day. The project was fun, everything was free, and the kids begged to go back the next Saturday. Well, it turns out that each Home Depot puts on this free workshop every first Saturday of the month from 9 to noon. So far now they have been back to make the pirate ship, a memory tray and a castle bank.

Afterwards, because we usually get done right before noon, we head on over to Hot Bob’s for lunch. They are fairly new, but the proprietor welcomes you in the door like you are old friends. And by the time you leave he knows all of your names and remembers you when you come back. My kids come for the mac n’ cheese, but my husband loves the chili dogs. Giant hot dogs with EVERYthing on them. Side orders of tater tots, coleslaw, potato salad, beans… The ambience is cool, and I’m waiting impatiently for my Hot Bob’s t-shirt. I think I’m first on the waiting list. For directions and information, visit eatlikebob.com. Tell him the EVTrib Mom sent you, and maybe we’ll both get some free cornbread. wink wink

Now we’re off to paint our castles. Emma wants hers pink, but Nick wants his with flames. Why am I not surprised?