Let’s not spend too much time contemplating the reasons why I haven’t written in three weeks.  On second thought, let’s not spend ANY time.  Let’s just write.

A recent article from a student newspaper came to my attention yesterday and I was alternately fascinated and appalled, though mostly appalled.  The subject matter of the piece – the true story of the author’s “first time”, i.e. losing her virginity – is so wildly inappropriate for a 7^th-12^th grade institution which prides itself on ‘preparing young women for leadership and contribution’, that I can honestly use the word ‘unbelievable’ in describing my reaction.  Apparently, the administration at the school has been asked to take down the post for all the right reasons, and yet they haven’t.

I’m not providing a link to the article because if you really want to read it, use your Google powers and find it in under 45 seconds.  Also, this all-girls school is highly regarded and deservedly so, which is why parents are willing to pay tuition that falls somewhere between the price of a loaf of bread and a small private jet.  I have friends whose daughters attend and they merit my pseudo discretion.  But briefly, the author of the piece, herself a student at the school, recounts attending a wedding with her grandparents (her parents were previously engaged), drinking several glasses of wine at the reception, flirting with a college boy with whom she makes out in the parking lot, afterward goes to his apartment, drinks beer, and has sex for the first time, while simultaneously lying to her parents about sleeping over a friend’s house.  Her take-away?  “So that’s what all the fuss is about…Go figure.”

Two things come to mind immediately.  1) The grandparents should never be put in charge of the girl again.  2) Why the hell did the school think it was a good idea – on any level – to allow this article to be posted and available for anyone to read?  Everything on a school’s website is representative of the school.  Everything.  As a private institution for minor children, there is no First Amendment issue at stake.  Holy moly!

Some might argue that teenage girls are going to have sex regardless, so let’s get it out in the open, to which I would respond: bullshit.  According to studies from the CDC and Child Trend Databanks, the percentage of teenagers having sex is around 35%, meaning that a full 65% are NOT.  Some might argue that I’m being prudish, to which I would respond: perhaps, but that’s not really the issue.  I’m not a parent at the school and so, for me, there really is nothing at stake.  I simply have strong feelings about the piece (beautifully summarized in the articulate third comment after the article, written by ‘Private’) and I thought you might too.  We were then going to segue into a discussion about contraception and abortion, and then I got tired and decided to switch gears, sort of, because I like to accentuate the positive/eliminate the negative AND the sexual-activity-of-teenagers is a spectrum.  On the other side of this girl’s poorly written “first time”/ cherry-popped article is a wonderful piece by a teenager from just across town in Pasadena.  Natalie Lindeman’s “Celebrating the Upside of an Emotional Plunge” from last week’s New York Times reaffirms my belief that teenagers are mostly awesome (I mean it), and it made me forget about the time I lost MY virginity.  It was decidedly after high school.

Coming up this week: possible talk about the sequester (but probably not), photo albums and how they suck the life out of you, a recipe for salted caramel shortbread cookies, gun control, and so much more!

Of course I’m going to jump into the latest story about Romney.  And while I don’t believe for one second that I’ll convince a Republican to vote for President Obama based on my reaction to the situation, I occasionally use my blog to simply give voice to the outrage so many of us feel – not necessarily about Mitt – but about politics in general.

First, let’s start out with my guy.  Obama was guilty of terrible insensitivity in 2008 when he said, about small town citizens in Pennsylvania and small towns in general, that because of their struggles, they were bitter and so it was not surprising that they would cling to guns, religion, and antipathy toward those who weren’t like them.  It was one of his worst comments, because he generalized that small town denizens are all the same.  And, like Romney, he said it at a fundraising event.

Now, let’s refer to what Mitt said a few months ago and that is just now being released by Mother Jones: “…47% of the people who will vote for the president…believe they are victims, who believe that government has a responsibility to care for them, who believe they are entitled to health care, to food, to housing…and so my job is not to worry about those people.  I’ll never convince them they should take personal responsibility and care for their lives…”

The difference between the two?  It’s HUGE.  President Obama was telling those who paid to hear him speak that he believed there was an unfortunate situation (which he worded unfortunately) and wondered how he and his campaign could convince those who were down and out that their predicament could get better with him as president.  In other words, he was trying to say he understood their anger, their bitterness.  He was not blowing them off as useless non-voters for the Democratic ticket, even if “they” perhaps were.  Mitt stated, correctly, that nearly 47% of Americans don’t pay income taxes but then went on, incorrectly, to essentially categorize those 47 percenters as shiftless losers.  They are: the elderly, the working poor, struggling families who qualify for tax credits, students, and yes, shiftless losers.  More than half of them pay payroll taxes, which include state, local, and Social Security deductions so they are paying for some of the entitlements they use, like roads and limited access to health care.  Oh, and just because they’re poor, doesn’t make them lazy.  Many of them have more than one minimum wage job so they can feed their families.  But of course, Mitt, of course, it’s not your job to worry about them as potential voters because, according to you, they’re all Democrats.  I have a few thoughts about this assumption, not the least of which is that it’s wrong.

Not all of the poor and elderly vote left or left of center.  From a purely anecdotal and visual standpoint, consider a bunch of folks who attended the Republican Convention two weeks ago.  Mitt, did you see how many old people were in the audience?  More than a few.  Also, you needn’t worry about many of those within your forty-seven percent because your fellow Republicans have raised the hysteria about voter fraud – a shocking and election-changing 86 cases have been found in the past five years – to such an exceptional level that many of those shiftless losers in states with new voter ID laws will not be able to vote, for you or anyone else.  (Read all about this insanity here.)  But, what I’d ask Mitt if he were sitting here with me in my office is: “If you really think it’s not your job to worry about ‘those people’ now because they won’t vote for you, does that mean you won’t worry about them if you become president?”

I am appalled at this man’s disconnect with those who struggle.  He lacks the empathy necessary to imagine WHY so many struggle.  Assuming they are all victims is thoughtless and ignorant.  So yes, Mitt, you’re correct.  They will not vote for you because you’re not worthy of their support.

Oh, and take a look at his response to this whole ordeal.  His handlers need to tell him to stop smiling, since he clearly doesn’t have enough awareness to tell himself.

The thing about summer is…

..sunscreen. It’s sticky if you use the cream. The spray is great but costs a lot and doesn’t last more than a few days if you’re out in the sun regularly. If I don’t put it on, I’ll for sure get skin cancer. If I don’t put it on my kids, they’ll turn red, their skin will age prematurely, and they’ll include the oversight in their little notebooks titled, “My Bad Mother”. Also, when you go to the beach, sand sticks to you much worse if you’re wearing sun lotion. But what am I supposed to do? Stay inside? Go crazy? Move to Oregon?

…schedules. There aren’t any. If we had money for fancy camps, the girls still wouldn’t go – not now, not at their ages – because they’re burned out from the school year. When they were younger, I threw them into weeklong activities – theatre and sports camps — because they had no say in the matter. Now, they’re fine with Camp Mom and watching “Make It or Break It” on their devices. Problem is, I’m not fine with it. I need to write. I need to read. I need a schedule. But as much as I’ve tried to be okay with shutting them out for an hour or two and letting them drool in front of the television, it just doesn’t sit right with me. It has less to do with “television is bad” and everything to do with “Mom isn’t doing her job” and the idea that during summer, children should be outside. It’s neurotic and self-defeating, which always feels good. Miss T walks around wondering when I’ll look up from my laptop to answer her very important question, “What are we doing today?”

…swim suits. On women, even girls, they’re 90% awful. If none of us ever had to sit down in them, they’d only be 75% awful but standing for too long generally makes us retain water in our legs, so it’s a vicious circle. We went to the beach yesterday and, like last week, were treated to a parade of fat. Honestly, I don’t sit there judging the bodies. What I’m curious about are the two-piece numbers almost every woman chooses. They walk around in them, swim in them, sit in them, all the while ignoring the exposed butt cheeks, the spare tires, the thunder thighs. If they’re comfortable with their fat nakedness, I’m jealous, but I don’t believe all of them are. And if they’re wearing bikinis because they think that’s what the men like, I’m angry and confused. Angry because I don’t like the idea of being submissively and sartorially uncomfortable to please the guys, and confused because I can’t imagine the guys like what I saw yesterday and everywhere women are gathered near water. Besides, if you’re going in the ocean – actually swimming in your swimsuit – and want to catch a wave, there isn’t a chance in hell that suit is going to stay where you want it to. (Did I mention my skin is milky white? When God created the Irish, He didn’t consider swim suits.)

…bugs. They’re everywhere, or maybe it’s because we’re spending more time in their outdoor neighborhoods, I don’t know. What I do know is that they’re annoying. Some of them sting you, or at the very least make you scream like a little girl, flap your arms around, then bob and weave like a middleweight. Eventually, the offending bee or wasp flies away wondering, I’m sure, what the fuss was all about. The ants go marching two by two, all ten thousand of them, so you spray and stomp and murder the poor little workers, then spend the rest of the day thinking you feel one of them crawling up your arm. Spiders – there are a lot of cute books written about them and even some good songs – but when it comes to the real thing, on the wall next to you when you’re sitting on the toilet/tuffet? Not so cute, not so good. And it’s summer, so here in Los Angeles anyway, where it’s not so hot you have to run the air conditioning all the time, we open the windows and the sliding doors. Sure, we have screens but we also have children who don’t close screen doors and so we have house flies. They’re disgusting and we hate them, especially when they land on our food. They have superhero eyes which means they’re difficult to catch, although when caught and crushed, a feeling of accomplishment akin to getting a stubborn popcorn kernel out of one’s tooth is achieved. If you live back east or in the south, bugs sound like airplanes and are often the size of cats. I don’t even want to think about it.

…the heat. I don’t mind sweating, I honestly don’t. But no amount of clothing feels good when it’s stuck to you. And occasionally these days for me, slouching towards fifty, the heat comes from within. Combined with ninety degree temperatures outside? Not ideal. I prefer rain and snow.

…it arrives every year, whether I’m ready or not. And I’m never ready but I’m always hopeful. Optimism is not my problem. Having kids around 24/7 is. They’re so hard to ignore and I don’t want to disregard their presence. I just want to be two people during the summer – the one who accomplishes many tasks and reads a lot of books while staring at the ocean somewhere, and the one who entertains her children — because the world is not what it was when I was young and could jump on my bike, head over to Sharon’s, and we could entertain ourselves playing ‘capture the flag’ with her brothers. I think that’s where so much of my discomfort lies. Our kids don’t get the summers we had, roaming the neighborhood and getting into scrapes we had to get out of ourselves. It’s hard to manufacture that freedom, though I suppose I could throw the girls out the front door, lock it, and tell them to come back around dinnertime. There’s an idea, and not a bad one.

“Girls! Put your shoes on! Who’s got the sunscreen?”

A ‘Monday motherhood’ post didn’t happen for two reasons: Dad is out of town and soccer can be complicated.  In other words, I’ve been a single parent for the last several days now and sometimes, in club sports, we meet a new kind of ‘crazy’.  I won’t bore you with the details because, well, they’re boring.  And single parents are everywhere, making things work.  Instead, let’s talk about yet another magazine cover, but not one that includes suckling.

President Obama is apparently gay.

Newsweek’s cover this week has him wearing a rainbow-hued halo with the caption “America’s First Gay President”.  Who knew?

But seriously, and you know I’m serious about this issue, I was thrilled when the president decided to share his belief last week that he supports marriage equality for homosexuals.  Those afflicted with the screaming meemies cried ‘political calculation!’ and who could disagree?  Obama is, after all, a politician where everything you say may or may not affect your job security.  But it’s not as if he’s lying.  He does, in fact, support gay marriage.  His interview with Robin Roberts on ABC News laid out his idea that this issue should be handled on a local and state level – I understand his point but respectfully disagree – yet he also shared one of the reasons why he finally ‘came out’ about this now:

“You know, Malia and Sasha, they’ve got friends whose parents are same-sex couples. And I– you know, there have been times where Michelle and I have been sittin’ around the dinner table. And we’ve been talkin’ and– about their friends and their parents. And Malia and Sasha would– it wouldn’t dawn on them that somehow their friends’ parents would be treated differently. It doesn’t make sense to them. And– and frankly– that’s the kind of thing that prompts– a change of perspective. You know, not wanting to somehow explain to your child why somebody should be treated– differently, when it comes to– the eyes of the law.”

I urge everyone to share with every parent they know this excerpt from the interview and to place themselves at a similar dinner table.  I’ve watched my daughters grow up and I’ve seen how this ‘hate’ thing works.  It’s taught to children like so much else.  In other words, when the girls were two and three-years old, their reaction to someone who looked or behaved differently from them was one of curiosity, not disdain.  Not everyone who is against gay marriage is a hateful person; I know that.  Often, it’s a matter of exposure, of perception, of what I believe to be religious ignorance (I give you the infamous “Letter to Dr. Laura”).

Looking at this controversial issue through the eyes of a child, I dare you not to be moved.  This is from Andrew Sullivan’s article that accompanied the Newsweek cover:

“The core gay experience throughout history has been displacement, a sense of belonging and yet not belonging. Gays are born mostly into heterosexual families and discover as they grow up that, for some reason, they will never be able to have a marriage like their parents’ or their siblings’. They know this before they can tell anyone else, even their parents. This sense of subtle alienation—of loving your own family while feeling excluded from it—is something all gay children learn. They sense something inchoate, a separateness from their peers, a subtle estrangement from their families, the first sharp pangs of shame.”

I don’t know if I have a lesbian daughter.  They’re nine, ten, and twelve-years-old.  But thanks to Mr. Sullivan, I’m now aware that if Goldie, Bun Bun, or Miss T ended up wanting a relationship with a girl named Sue rather than a boy named Bill, the husband and I have a responsibility to ensure they know of their continued, loving place in our family.  It would be nice to know the community outside our front door would shoulder another part of that responsibility: to treat each other equally, in fairness, and give no right to one person that is denied to someone else.

Please share this.

(And I’ll share with you a similar post I came across from mommyhoodnextright.com: “Let’s Be Friends/Taught to Hate”)

Have you ever sat in an auditorium listening to someone lecture about something important and thought, “How weird would it be if I stood up and started singing Abba’s ‘The Winner Takes It All’ right now?”  No?  Not ever?  Would you choose a different tune or have you really never engaged in a spontaneous need at an inappropriate moment to express yourself in song?  Wow, okay.

I was running this morning through the neighborhood and suddenly felt the urge to stick my arms out like wings and traverse back and forth across the street while dipping and weaving.  You’ve been there, right?

It’s an average Tuesday in the Neil house and for whatever reason, while out putting in a few miles for the sake of my health, I started thinking about all the ways I suppress my need for physical outbursts of expression.  This personal necessity is the reason I love playing sports, singing at the top of my lungs, and dancing in front of my children.  And yet, the opportunity to participate in any or all three of these activities sometimes escapes me in the name of civil obedience or just plain normal adult behavior.  Also, my girls discourage my ‘weirdness’.  When I sing and dance in front of them, they think I’m crazy.  Fine, but where are all the accolades, the atta boys, for not inflicting my musical theatre impulses on others?  It’s not as if, at the end of the day, my husband says, “I love the way you sit quietly,” or my friends comment on the exquisite composure I displayed, hands folded in lap, listening to the head of school present his long-range development plan.

Okay, now you think I’m twisted.  Well, to that I say:

Gotta dance!

I’m serious.  On a cellular level, that which makes me happy is either the movement of my limbs in grand gestures – throwing a long ball does the trick – or belting out a melody.  I can’t always predict when the desire will burn within me, but a little gratitude for not acting out in public would be appreciated.  The next time you invite me to a dinner party and serve bouillabaisse, I’ll quell the urge to sing “Pulling Mussels from a Shell” if you promise to thank me in return.

Now, as Miranda Priestly would say (though I wish she’d sung it), “That’s all.”

(Thank you, Jesus.  “Glee” returns tonight.)