Michelle Obama's disservice

You're dammed if you do. You're dammed if you don't. Especially if you're Michelle Obama.

If Michelle Obama had said that she was going to get a high-powered job in Washington, she'd be getting a bunch of slack from the at-home mom consortium about how she was neglecting her children through a difficult transition from Chicago to the White House. But because she said that she was going to be the "mother in chief," she is getting slack because she is sending the message "that high-level paid work and motherhood don't mix, or that women need to be the ones to step down to care for family," according to Maggie Jackson's November 30 column in the Boston Globe.

Puleese.

Can't people just do what they want to do? If she wants to be home to help her young girls through the transition, then she should be able to make that choice in peace. If she wants to eventually go back to work, then she should also be able to make decision in peace. Jackson wrote that, "Obama's controversial message deserves some dissecting, for it's one that our daughters and sons are hearing, too." Yes, I know that she's a public figure and every choice she makes as a woman or parent or wife will be dissected and analyzed until the original goal and her original intention is no longer recognizable. But, I suspect -- and maybe I'm going out on a limb here -- that she is just trying to make the right choice for herself and her marriage and her kids. Period. I doubt there is any hidden message or agenda. I doubt she is speaking for all women or all parents or all wives or all mothers. Jackson wrote: "To hear her try to distance herself now from that role (as a highly successful working mother) does a disservice to our children - and to our country."

Does it really have to mean that much to so many people? Can't it just be about a woman and her family? Does her choice really have to be the reflection of where women are in the world or the workforce or whether they are trapped under a glass ceiling or whether they are oppressed by their husbands or whether they are ambitious enough or if they are sending the right message to our sons and daughters?

And is she really doing a disservice? I'm sure her kids don't see it as a disservice. I'm sure her husband does not see it as a disservice. I'm sure he's grateful that she is willing to sacrifice her own career for a little while to be with their kids. He is going to be pretty darn busy in his new job and I'm sure he's grateful that his children will have some normalcy in their newly-chaotic and very public lives. Does her choice have to be a bad thing? Is is wrong for our sons and daughters see an educated women want to be with her kids for a period of time? If so, then many of the women I know are also sending the wrong message to their own sons and daughters and to their communities. I'm surrounded by highly educated women with all kinds of degrees who are at home with their kids. I'm also surrounded by women who work hard and have their kids in daycare.

It seems to me that this article is just trying to ignite the war (once again) between working parents and non-working parents. Her husband was just elected to be President of the God-Damned United States of America for Christ's sake. It seems to me that Jackson is just trying pick open a scab to get the bleeding to start again. Why are we trying to say that one choice is better than another choice? This old war between working parents and non-working parents is nothing but a reason to argue. One is not better than the other. I think we should focus on more important things, like the fact that our county is going to be a better place simply because Barack and Michelle Obama are in the White House, regardless of whether Michelle is in a playroom with her girls or in a conference room with her colleagues.

Sour grapes, perhaps?

I think I'm going about this book-writing thing all wrong. I should have just latched onto a comment made by the First-Lady-to-be and decided to write a book. Why do soul-searching and a gut-wrenching examination of my personal experience with a critically-ill son who has spent months in the hospital when all I really needed was a catch phrase to latch onto. I needed the domain-name gods to align and be in the right place at the right time.

What am I referring to? Why Michelle Obama's self-proclamation of "Mom in Chief." I love that she used that expression. I'll chalk that coincidence up to great minds thinking alike. But if only I had been smart enough to also register www.mominchief.com in addition to www.motherinchief.com back in January 2005 when this site took life. Well, now there is another Mom in Chief, in addition to Michelle Obama and me. There is blogger with that domain name and a book deal to match. Her book is set to come out in February 2009. Her blog miraculous sprung to life the day after Michelle first used those words in August 2008. I'm sure this other MIC is a perfectly fine writer with a perfectly nice book, and fantastic connections (apparently) in the publishing industry. Do I sound bitter?

I suppose I wouldn't be filled with disdain for her if I was having a smoother transition from writer to author. I just don't understand how you go from concept to published book in six months flat. If I did, my book would have hit the market 18 months ago. In the meantime, I'm still working, still researching agents, still feeling optimistic, although ever-so-slightly annoyed. I am still confident, however, that my project will eventually reach the people who need it. At least I wasn't planning on calling my book Mother in Chief. At least my book isn't about balancing a career with parenthood. Then I'd probably be really, really annoyed.

Shock and awe

Revelations come on the way earthquakes hit—there is no warning. And only afterward can we look back and be amazed at the magnitude of what has happened.

Sure Kindergartener has been sick frequently, but he isn’t in the hospital. Preschooler has adjusted to his new school and is no longer at risk for being kicked out for bad behavior. I’m deciding which graduate programs to apply to. While I haven’t landed an agent or a publishing contract, I’m confident that I will accomplish those things. It is just a matter of determination and time. I’m working on a project with a non-profit to improve California’s healthcare system. I’ve been traveling and enjoying my own company and the company of friends I don’t see frequently. I’m planning a trip to break in my new passport.

And despite all that stuff I’m doing for me, I’m still a parent. I’m still a caretaker. And it just dawned on me ... I think I found it—balance. Balance. I feel whole again. I feel like I’ve woken up from a deep and lonely sleep. I’ve put myself on the priority list again because I count. I matter. I have dug my way out of the rubble.

All I needed, apparently, was to do more things for me. And in order to do that, I needed to let go. I needed to come to the conclusion that my kids are going to be just fine, even if they aren't with me all of the time. Hired help may not have the same motivation as grandparents, but they can still love my kids, teach them things, and be a positive influence on their development. Since family isn’t down the street or around the corner, that is all I have.

This thing called balance is delicate and elusive—it’s taken me almost six years to find it—so I intend to treat it with the respect it deserves, in an attempt to not fall off kilter again.

Rejection made easy

I find humor in the self-addressed stamped envelopes that I include with all of my query letters to literary agents sent via the post office. Along with my titillating one-page query outlining my book, my qualifications, and all the other goodies I spent more than a year writing, I include this pre-stamped envelope. This envelope is included with my query for the sole purpose of rejecting my query. It just all seems very negative.

I suppose I have the option of not including the SASE. From my point of view, it would elevate the positive nature of my query because it wouldn't be weighed down by that rejection envelope. But, if I did that, then those literary agencies not interested in my book proposal wouldn't even make the effort to properly reject me (but then I would have had nothing to dance on either). I realize that most of these agencies get hundreds or thousands of query letters like mine -- well not exactly like mine -- every single month. And I should feel grateful that they take the effort to dignify my query with a somewhat dignified form letter. I guess I'd rather have that form letter than the total silence I've also gotten from some agencies. Those agencies that chose NOT to reply also received a SASE. And what did they do with my SASE? Did they steam off the stamp and use if for something else? Or did they just toss it -- stamp and all -- into the recycle bin? It all seems very wasteful. That is why I love the agencies that use phrases on their submission guidelines that go something like this: "We accept queries by regular mail and through email, but prefer email (saves trees!)."

And email submission are very gratifying. I press send and it's instantly waiting to be read. Not to mention, accepting email queries lets me know that their agency is firmly rooted somewhere in the 21st Century. The post office isn't completely antiquated just yet. Although with online bill pay, and email with Auntie, and videoconferencing with Grammy, and iTunes, I don't really need the post office all that much. Oh, except for delivering my packages from eBay and Amazon.com. That I could not do without.

A whole new elevation

It's all about attitude. If you feel confident, you look confident. If you look confident, you feel confident. If you're dressed for the job you want, you're more likely to get it. Or so the saying goes.

All I was doing was going out to run a couple of errands, but as I was getting ready to leave the house, I skipped over the comfortable and sensible shoes and slipped into some sassy heels. And as soon as my foot was inside the shoe, it was as if their powers equaled those contained in Spiderman's seductive black suit.

I was a new woman, not just a mom heading out to get stuff done. I felt fabulous and it showed. As I walked through the parking lot at one of the stores, a man walking near me noticed the click of my heels on the pavement and said, "You can't sneak past anyone in those. It's the sound of confidence."

I couldn't have agreed more.

The opposite of mysterious

I'm not as mysterious as I think I am.

Another rewarding Thursday night out with friends was coming to an end as I started chatting with one of the regular bartenders. Only instead of mixing drinks that night, he was on the other side of the bar enjoying a drink of his own. We've exchanged pleasantries over the past couple of months and he remembered my name that night. "Hello Suzanne. Did you have a good time tonight?" I said yes. He asked if I also go out on Fridays and Saturdays. I said no. "So you are married, then?" It was more a statement than a question. Without hesitation, his follow-up question: "And how many kids do you have?" I said two. Then he asked if I had to work in the morning. I said yes, as soon as my kids get up. "So you're a housewife." I cringed at the use of that word.

I'd like to think I'm so much more. But I'm not. I like to come up with fancy ways to explain what it is that I do: chief operating office of my household; executive chef; activities and social coordinator; art director; personal shopper. Oh yes, and aspiring author.

But really, I'm a housewife. I told him that he really isn't allowed to say that. No one wants to be called a housewife. He just smiled his Irish smile and said that his mom is a housewife too. Then, just as the lights were coming on and the bar was emptying out, he invited me to an after party at his house. I declined and slinked away with my housewifery label burned across my forehead. I couldn't believe he had me all figured out in five seconds flat.

I'm not as mysterious as I think I am.

You want a piece of me?

I found them today. They have been neatly stacked just three feet from my keyboard for months. They were on top of my book proposal and it was time for them to go. I scattered them on the floor, put on some of my favorite dancing shoes, and jumped on them while music played loudly until I felt that their negativity was completely gone. The hold they had over me has been replaced with the joy that I get from dancing around my office. So there!

Why was I saving all of those initial rejection letters from literary agents? What was I saving them for exactly? To make myself feel rejected? Was I going to frame them? Where they supposed to motivate me to work harder? Because they certainly haven't motivated me at all. They sucked the wind out of my enthusiasm for writing. They drained my drive. They fizzled my fire. Just because those 20 people didn't want my book project does not mean that I'm not going to succeed. It just means that those particular agents were not for me.

Being rejected is just part of the game. Those letters weren't the first rejection in my life (that started in junior high school), and they won't be the last. They were just part of the process. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Not sure what I'll do with them once I pick them up. I might file them away so that when my book is published and I'm hugely successful, I can go back and read them and laugh about how crappy they made me feel. But I'm already feeling better now they have been stepped on. I've taken back my enthusiasm. I've taken back my drive. Sometimes it's hard to remember that I am in control of my destiny. Not some agent. Not some rejection letter. Not a stack of dirty laundry. Not a sink full of dishes. Whether or not I success is up to me. No one else can do that for me. And I'm not ready to give up.

It's good to be wanted

I have not done anything concrete that can be added to my resume since I was working as the official mom blogger for Oprah two-and-a-half years ago. I'm not saying that I haven't been working. To the contrary. But parenting two kids and writing a 24,000-word, 56-page book proposal isn't something resume-worthy--at least to my knowledge.

So since I have no actual job and nothing of note to keep that resume-thingy fresh, I've decided to start volunteering for the Taproot Foundation. A couple of weeks ago, I went to an orientation to find out more about how Taproot works and how I can contribute. During the two-hour meeting, I definitely felt a little out of place. Most of the people in that room were consultants and project managers and accountants and web designers. Then there was me--the writer. Just when I felt like slinking out of the room with my typing skills tucked between my legs, the orientation leader said something that made me want to show off my calloused finger tips. He said that for every two people in that meeting, there were two other people who wanted to be a part of Taproot. They were turned down because they didn't have the right skills. So they actually wanted me to be there. It wasn't just a one-sided desire on my part to be a do-gooder.

Being a good writer is a skill. Not everyone can do it, even if anyone who wants a platform can have one on the Internet. Sometimes it's just hard to remember that even though I'm not currently getting paid for my skills, they still exist. And they are worthy. Someday soon I hope to figure out how to merge one with the other.

Profound Love Found: Do you like me?

The following note is from a box of love notes recently found in my mother's attic from junior and senior high school. Sadly, they are not dated. I'll be posting them here from time to time as I stroll down memory lane. I will include all typos and grammatical errors.

Suzanne,

Hi How's life? Fine here. Do you still like Joe? Did you tell him that you don't like him? Do you like me? Will you go out with me? I like you. Do you like anyone else? If you still like Joe you can go out with him again. I used to like Kelly but she likes Angelo L.

Gotta Go

Your (Boy)friend,
Angelo

p.s. w/b/s
p.s.s tell me all answers in Spanish

Which is true?
Suzanne -n- Joe
TLF Suzanne -n- Angelo

Score
Love: 1
Heartbreak: 1

The tears finally came

The first week of kindergarten came to an end and my tears finally flowed. And it wasn't in any way I could have anticipated. It has nothing to do with R growing up. It has nothing to do with letting my first born out of my sight. It has nothing to do with an inability to let go.

We were enjoying the summer concert series in our local park. The weather was perfect. The park was packed, and the area in front of the stage was filled with kids dancing around, jumping, and riding their bikes. Two girls came up to R while we swayed to the music. His face lit up as soon as he recognized them from school. He was making friends and was so proud to tell me that they were in his class.

The blonde girl with curls leaned over and touched R's shoulder and said playfully, "chase me Riley." With that command, she and the other schoolmate ran off as fast as two healthy five year olds run. R smiled a goofy smile and started out after them. Only his body wouldn't cooperate. He trotted awkwardly. He wanted desperately to run after them. To chase them. To catch them and continue the game. His face was full of frustration and there was nothing I could do to help him make his body move faster. To be more agile. To be more energetic. To be more normal. To be healthy.

That is when the tears came. They stung my cheeks. They stung my heart.

I desperately wanted to scoop him up and tell him everything was going to be okay. But all I could do was watch him struggle and curse the rotten heart he was born with. I ached in a helpless way I haven't felt since he was in the hospital and consumed with pain after one of his surgeries. Only at the park, there was no fentenol or morphine to remedy the situation. After a minute of trying to catch them, he stopped with exhaustion and sat down on the pavement. That is when I went to him. With exasperation in his voice, he said: "I just can't go anymore."

His words reminded me of how I have felt many times during this journey. There have been many times when I felt I couldn't go anymore. But somehow, I just kept going. I kept finding a way to get out of bed. I kept finding a way to drive myself to and from the hospital. And I continue to find ways to get past all the what-ifs and I try to not think too much about what is to come. I just keep going. As we sat on the ground, I hugged him. And then I said that when he was ready, he could get up and try again--if he wanted to.

On second thought, maybe my tears at the park were about R growing up and my inability to let go. I'm so afraid of the struggles he will face. The physical challenges. The teasing. His frustrations. I can't help but worry about how the world will treat him. But while I'm affected by all the experiences he will have as a result of his health problems, this is his journey. And being different and slower and more tired is a reality for him. I cannot protect him. I cannot shelter him. Nor can I filter the feelings that go along with all of that.

School starts a new phase for him academically and physically. It is certainly something I had anticipated. But it was only all in theory, sort of the way you imagine what it will be like having a newborn. But until you're in it, you don't really know. And like having a newborn, it's going to be harder than I imagined.