Lesson Five

   “You are the company you Keep”

It took a little thought (which is a little harder these days) to figure out what I was going to expound on. The obvious comes to mind, don't hang out with jerks if you don;t want to become one. Everyone has a butt-hole, you don;t need to be one.

So I thought, parenting is 10% talk and 90% example. What example am I ? I don't have tons of friends. I can count on one hand the people I would label “good friend”. And that's enough. At least I have some. They're all very strong women in their own ways and usually don't take crap from anyone. This is a good thing, as you can clearly see how your view yourself and what you deserve through those close to you. It's a pretty accurate mirror.

I have tons of acquaintances, Facebook friend count be damned. I've had a very public job for over 10 years and while I know several people, I've learned to be pretty choosy about who gets into the inner sanctum of my private life. Sometimes I still have learn that the hard way.

And, unfortunately, so does the Monkey Child. At 3 years old, she's very much her own person. She has her own little friends at daycare. They're pretty mellow and happy kids. So's Monkey... busy, but happy. The catty little girl factor will be facing her in the not too distant future for school. Will she surround herself with those little snots in pigtails who can make like miserable? Or will she be cowering in the corner alone? Or, best case, find an friend strong enough to brush it off together?

My hopes for Monkey is that she grows up fearless, yet not a bully. That she has some sense when she comes into adulthood of how to treat people with respect but not be a doormat. That these people she choses to be close to allow her to grow from a neat little kid into a kick-ass good old gal

Lesson Four

"Ah, children. They make the highs higher and the desperate need for a nap or a stiff drink more frequent.” Mama-Nietzscheism #2

After yet another delightful day of just me and the spawn there's nothing better than a big'ole goblet of red wine and anything “R” rated to watch after I tuck her in for the night. I'll watch anything adult-orientated except porn until I know she's deep asleep. This is not because I find porn bad , but rather the soundtracks are always too loud, and headphones don't allow you to hear the pitter-patter of curious little monkey feet.

I'm not ready for that “What's porn, Mama?” conversation yet.

However we may have to have some simplified chat about what makes little boys different that little girls soon. All brought on by that slutty plastic wench that just moved in. You know who. Barbie.

Now I was a Barbie girl in the late 70's, when Barbie had that deep fake and bake tan, bigger boobs, and had a molded suggestion of camel toe and a butt crack, and long peroxide queen hair down to said crack. I loved it until I realized how plastic she was and started to loath my own body like every other well-adjusted American girl.

Now I'm not saying Barbie caused the years of screwed up body image and bouts of unhealthy eating habits, I can blame that on my mom. It's easier and convient. However, Barbie is not a confidence builder, I don't care if she does come with a doctor's coat now, with matching white spike heels.

The Spawn was on the potty, clutching her birthday Barbie (Thanks Grandma!) and looking so intently under the doll's dress she almost fell off. Then when she came back to the land of the living she spread her little legs and asked a lot of questions no one had any ready answers for.

What do you say? It's just a doll? Fortunately the particular Barbie clone had the impression of underwear molded into it, so we were safe then, but not for long.

The truth is Barbie is real, and like a cheap hooker, she's been everywhere. Too many grown women are visible trying to live the Barbie life, all accessorized complete with plastic people to have plastic relationships with.

This rant is far from original, I am aware of this. But my approach as to how I'm going to deal with BarbiePlalooza may have to be. You can't ban her, that just makes her more enticing. You can try to substitute her with something a little more human looking, like some Barbie alternatives I've seen and more than likely invest in at twice to three times the cost off some well meaning website.

Or you can make her play time more exciting by playing with the kid and talking to her while you both play. Some well placed and honest questions and answers about her body and my own may shore her up against whatever crazy ideas that she gets from Barbie about what a grown woman really looks like.

Lesson Three

He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to stand and walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying.

Friedrich Nietzsche

This is going to be a hard one for out little monkey learn. And I don't know if the one will ever apply...

Especially since she essentially skipped crawling and just started walking as a little warm up to the full tilt sprint she favors. Sometimes I have visions of a toddler Jackie Joyner-Kearse in the start position, fast feet and full diaper....go go go...aww man! Blowout! Get the pit crew....

Same goes for talking. She was still talking in what we called “moon language” until a month ago, barely comprehensible even to us, if she even bothered to talk. She just get up and go open the fridge and got she wanted, opened doors and turned on light switches, herded the cats, what ever she felt inspired to do. She could follow fairly complicated instructions as well. I had other visions of her making Mama a mean martini...

“Thanks honey, love all olives!”

However CPS might have other ideas about that...

Why bother asking those lumbering and slow mama or papa types if you can just “ Do It By self” has been her logo.

Like a flipped light switch it's all systems go and she's talking in in full sentences and having conversations. All of a sudden it's a little person, not a pet with a need for a college fund.

Some people may gasp at the pet analogy, but there's too many similarities until the tot's almost two years old not to go there. Four legged? Sure. Needs to be fed, watered, taken for walks? OK. Need clean up it's poop? Check. Does cute tricks for company? You bet.

But now she's a real little person and skipping steps is status quo for her and many other kids out there. There are some steps I'd love to revisit, such as the the potty training attempt, but it's not my path and only the kid may know where she's going. She might be inputting computer code in diapers at some point, but she's the only one like her and all kids have different navigation programs. Some kids do just fly, but it's our job to help them land...

Lesson Two

One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.

Friedrich Nietzsche

I wonder if all the hyper-structured, prodigy-seeking, high maintenance parents out there could ever think in depth about a quote like the one above.

I have visions of of a whole generation of kids who grow up afraid of free time. Who will stare blankly at another person because they didn't come with IKEA picture instructions. Who cannot cope with the fact they life didn't turn out the way they thought it should. Beliefs based on their parents promised them if they followed the steps laid out for them that every thing was gonna be peachy.

I freely admit I hover around my own little alien like the a Frank Zappa inspired mother ship, trying to come off cool but just end up all confused because I make make no sense sometimes. I'm also a huge worry wort, tormenting my husband with “what if” scenarios 10 years into the future.

“What if she grows up and and doesn't do well in a structured public school system?” I fret.

“So what” he quips “Nobody does. She'll figure it out what she needs on her own.”

Unless of course we beat out all inquisitiveness out of her by making all of her choices for her. Or pack her days so full of activities we think she aught to do to make it ahead that we forget what she is. A kid. An inquisitive and wild hairless primate who may have more resilience to face the winds of chaos than we can give credit for.

I do not advocate a total lack of boundaries or behavior expectations on behalf of the parents or child. Not at all, an overall consistent structure can prepare little ones for the ambiguity of the the big bad world out there. Security is a good step stool to bravery, not a substitution for it.

However the point is to prepare kids for the fact life does have chaos in it, and it's not all bad. I don't want suffocate all creative thought or wild hairs that she might have. What a boring life I'd condemn her to if I succeeded in doing that.

The trick is how do let a little wild part stay free in your kid without scaring off the rest of the herd? What mix of wild oats do I put in her feed bag?

That's a hard one.

Maybey a first step is to be aware of what mix in my own feedbag. I've had a nice helping of chaos trail mix and some of those dried nuts are pretty tasty. There been some nasty bits too, but I learned to chew around them so I avoid them later if I get a whiff.

The next is letting my kid be herself without hurting others or herself seriously. And that's a challenge that any parent has.

Lesson One

"And we should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once. And we should call every truth false which was not accompanied by at least one laugh. "

Friedrich Nietzsche 

One of the most important lessons I've learned so far is not take myself so seriously that I couldn't cackle at myself like a cartoon witch. Having a child has just reinforced that even more. How else can you dance around like a drunken shaved baboon in a Tijuana Bachelor's party in the the mere donkey-hair's chance of getting that crazy little giggle out your spawn of your loins?

How else can you get up and go to work after having a long night that made you feel like you were drug through a knothole by the hair on your backside? How else could you live with a backside hairy enough to do that in the first place? Hmm...anyway, you get the drift.

It's one of the many love-hate moments I have when I remember my late teens and early twenties. First it was philosophy, then it was Goth. Lots of parallels there, I'll quickly elaborate.

Philosophy... big ideas being re-examined by new generations of dead people

Being “goth”...people who dress like they are dead but try to use big words

Hey, before someone starts slinging some black eyeliner in retribution, keep mind of I've carried the goth club card for almost 15 years now, so I do know something about it. The caricatures are there for a reason, but it doesn't mean I can't poke fun at what I've experienced. Nor should I stop unless it becomes genuine hurtful and then I'm just being an a**hole that needs to quit it.

Even when things do get really grim a well placed laugh can do wonders and give you a minute to regather yourself before you trudge on in whatever battlefield you find yourself in. I've heard some rocking jokes from Hospice patients. Crass, disgusting, and unapologetic joke, yes. Funny as hell? You betcha. 

Prerequisite

“That which does not kill you or the kid makes you stronger”

First Mama Nietzsche ism.

So what the heck is does this mean? What's does Friedrich Nietzsche have to do with raising a kid that's not destined to audition for “Sociopath Starsearch”? A little background might be in order here...

When I tried to go to college the first time (college 1.0, or “what I did before I discovered that sex and parties actually were fun”) I had visions of becoming a philosophy teacher. I did the typical and tired discovery of thousands of year old schools of though by long dead privileged men and believed as I raised my overfed fist in the air and proclaimed that I too had something Original to contribute.

Years later I raise my still overfed hand in the air, only now it joins it's mirror twin and form a big “W” on my forehead, like a special needs crane in flight, enthusiastic yet overshot.

Whatever.

So what I do know is all the information that I've scavenged like a rat with a bad case of obsessive compulsive disorder is I needed to pitch 80% of that crap and just do what works for me and my family and screw the rest. Is the kid healthy? Ok. Is the kid happy? Good. Do I not feel like jumping out the window trying to avoid the unrealistic expectations of others? Fan-f@*king-tastic. I'm way ahead of the game.

So, what does this have to do with Friedrich Nietzsche? The main thing I took away from Nietzsche's writings was the desire to ask questions and think for myself, even if it was a little brutal to do so at times. This is a skill I'd like my own child to acquire before she leaves the relative downy softness of the nest her father and I have and will try to continue to provide.

There it is in a nut shell. I'll be jotting down little peanuts of wisdom you can either pick out of the teeth or flush down, whatever you feel fit to do. It's your life, go live it....