Tiger Mom, Mormon Mom, Indian Chief,

French Mom, 

Working Mom, 

Georgia O'Keefe**

Dark Flower - Georgia O'Keefe

I'm bored and annoyed, again. And I've got a few more hates.

I'm loathe to even post about it here, knowing that I'm just contributing more muck to the overall muckiness of it, but a few people have asked, so I'll say a few words and then I'll desist.

I'm bored and annoyed by the latest mommy war -- you know, the one about Hillary Rosen taking a swipe at Ann Romney by saying she's never worked a day in her life and then Romney snapping back that she raised five children and that's work enough or something to that effect. And now all the blowhards have jumped in and everyone is freaking out on both sides, people are outraged and insulted, the Catholic Church is throwing a conniption that Rosen is a lesbian mother (horrors!) and therefore in no position to speak for mothers, and poor Ann Romney who has triumphed over breast cancer and struggles with multiple sclerosis, not to mention a complete Ken-doll of a husband is caught in her very first political crossfire. No one's even paying attention to the apparent fact that Secret Service agents have been frolicking with prostitutes in Columbia which has, apparently, affected the serious economic talks The President is supposed to be having, and once again the news that consumes Americans is -- well -- just plain dumb.

I've had short and terse tirades about most of the other mommy wars -- the Tiger Mother thing and then the French Mother thing, and I've always found the whole Working Mother versus Non-working Mother thing an enormous yawn. I get even more bored when the whiners step in and say something to the effect of why can't we all just get along? and expect that just because we share the same sex chromosome we're somehow irrevocably bonded as women and shouldn't argue but support one another, recognize what we have in common, etc. etc. ad nauseum. Don't get me wrong, Reader. I'm grateful to the legion of women who have paved the way to my equality, to my ability to speak my mind, vote, choose whether or not I will bear children and have a shot at doing a job that used to be denied to my sex. I guess the main reason why it all bores me to tears is because I'm a mother in an extra-special sub-category of mothers -- the extreme mothers -- and because I'm also a mother to some typical kids, I can justifiably say that the problems of the aforementioned (the Tigers, the French, the working, the non-working, the lesbians, the Mormons) are ridiculous in comparison. And for all you psycho-babblers out there, I'm perfectly aware that I could perhaps be projecting, except that I'm not.

I hate the word mommy except when it's used by very young children, and I hate even more the words mommy war.


I think it's all manufactured outrage, and I wish everyone would just shut up and move on (including myself).

**Just a little ditty that I sang to myself while I tapped out this post. O'Keefe was the only word I could think of to rhyme with chief, and then I remembered that she never had any children but painted a lot of vagina flowers, so it all seemed to fit. Humor me.

I just don't get it

I opened the newspaper last night -- the local section of the Los Angeles Times -- and read this headline:

Man who assaulted 3 disabled women gets 8 years

I'd heard about this horrific case more than a month ago and wondered then why it hadn't gotten very much attention. The convicted man confessed to sexually assaulting three "mentally handicapped" women at an El Monte, California day care center where he worked. He confessed to raping three women who were severely developmentally disabled, one of whom wore diapers. The eight-year sentence was "the product of a controversial plea bargain." The mother of the defendant said that she had gone to authorities the same day her daughter reported the assault to her, but the rapist was not arrested for almost a year -- a period during which he assaulted others. As part of his sentence, the rapist will have to register as a sex offender upon his release.

What the hell? 

I generally don't talk about such things on this blog -- there are many great blogs that I would call "activist" blogs -- those that admirably expound and explain and argue about the nuances of disability and disability rights. There's also the whole emotional aspect of things like this -- those of us who hand our disabled and non-verbal daughters and sons over to aides and teachers and therapists, etc. every day at school do so with what I imagine is about the biggest leap of faith a parent can muster. If we didn't take this leap and let our imaginations run wild, I think we'd keep our children locked up in a room at home. However, most of us have been stymied at least once, if not continually, by callous school officials who condescend to our fears and make lame assertions of how they know best. Here, in Los Angeles, at our local school, I've spent weeks arguing with Sophie's school about a new policy that would rotate the aides riding the bus with Sophie -- a "budget cut" that basically takes away the aide who I know and who knows her and replaces her with virtual strangers. When I objected, the school official basically laughed off my concerns, told me that the person would be "trained" by a school nurse (the same school nurse who works there for three days a week and who I had to educate about seizures when we enrolled) and that I would have "to trust the system." I have many friends and acquaintances that face equal frustration when they attempt to advocate for their children in many different venues, including inclusion and even basic medical care.

You know that expression "helicopter mom" and the whole parenting debate that circles it? Just like the tiger mom controversy, I tend to dismiss these cultural debates as a luxury for the elite, those who parent disabled kids or not.  I might contort my face into a mask of pleasant accessibility when even my friends bring it up, but my eyes are rolling crazily in my thoughts. But in reading about a man who gets only eight years in jail for assaulting three disabled young women, I'm going out on a limb and saying that those of us in the trenches have to damn well know how to fly a helicopter, too.

I confess to being bored to tears (and an update)

by the Chinese Tiger mother debate. I'm not even going to link to it because it's just too much trouble.

I run with a real streak (the proper word for group) of tigers. Their names are: Claire, Erika, Michelle, Heather, Ken, Andrea, Melissa, Karen, Carrie, Jody, Tanya, Christina, Jeneva, Sara, Sarah, Lilith, Sally, Jen, Emma, Louise, Alicia, Eric, Vicki, Mary, Ellen, Jess, and countless others. If you don't see your name here, it's because you prefer to be anonymous, but I know who you are and I love running with you.

UPDATE: The streak that I run with, here, are those of us who struggle daily with the particular needs of our children who have or have had disabilities. I am bonded with all those who are mothers -- and fathers -- but national discussions, like that of the Chinese Tiger Mother thing, seem especially irrelevant in relation to parents struggling with their children who are disabled, sick, dying or dead.