One Champion Bad Mother

Mother’s Day, Schmother’s Day. I have dreamed of being a mom all my life. I used to stuff a variety of things under my shirt—pillows, soccer balls, wadded up clothes--pretending I was pregnant. Dolls didn’t interest me, which should have set off alarm bells. IRL I was very good at being pregnant, but I’m mediocre at best with babies and small children. Thank goodness that stage only lasts a few years.

My very first Mother’s Day was in 1997 and I was giddy with excitement! Albert and I joined my parents and his parents for a fancy brunch buffet at what is now the Santa Barbara Beachfront Hilton Resort. Back then it was called Fess Parker’s Red Lion Inn. Despite the corny name, we enjoyed a spectacular spread, and I felt very special. Being six months pregnant, I also ate approximately five hundred dollars worth of chocolate covered strawberries.

But after that golden year, I have recognized Mother’s Day for the RIP-OFF “holiday” that it is! Whose idea was this?? You see, the following year, Alex was a 9-month old baby. I did not know this at the time, but I was ALSO one month pregnant with Chris. Since going out to eat is super stressful with a wiggly infant, I thought it would be a great idea to host a brunch at our house. ROOKIE PARENT MISTAKE. You see, I grew up watching my mom host large, elaborate parties for all to enjoy. I thought this was a thing that moms do. It didn’t take long for me to discover that not all moms are cut from the same cloth.

My VERY BEST Mother’s Day present was around 2008 when Albert took us all to the Edgefield McMenamin’s for Mother’s Day brunch. After we ate, he took the kids to see a movie and to play Frisbee golf while I…..BY MYSELF…..got a massage and had a glass of wine while reading through their Ghost Journal. Yes, this is really a thing! That place is totally haunted, and guests and staff wrote about their experiences in a Ghost Journal you can check out at the front desk. There were stories about levitating condiments, mysterious self-opening doors, sheets being pulled off beds in the middle of the night, spontaneous whiffs of lavender perfume. I LOVE that kind of spooky! Know what kind of spooky I DON’T love? Murder Hornets.

As my kids got older, we all felt social and commercial pressure. “What do you want for Mother’s Day?” Moms want to be appreciated, but it seems phony to get so much attention on one single day that is determined by…..who chooses the day?? Because some Mother’s Days, I am Grummmmm-PEE and not in any kinda mood to celebrate my family! I want my family to think about me sometimes, but not necessarily on a day dictated by society. I want my kids to remember that I love them so, so much. I also want my kids not to fight with me or Albert or each other. Is that too much to ask? OK, yes, I know that it definitely is. So how about we call the whole thing off?

A little bit of these mixed feelings come from guilt. In the words of Freddie Mercury, “and bad mistakes. I’ve made a few.” We all do our best with what we know, so I don’t beat myself up over decisions of the past. However, I do think about how I’d do things differently if I had a chance to start over.

I would definitely CTFD a whole lot more. One day, I screamed at my children so much that my throat hurt. Not my proudest parenting season. I might not have insisted that my kids start preschool at three years old, leaving them crying every morning. I definitely wouldn’t have insisted that they finish homework in kindergarten and first grade. Know how much it matters that Alex finished coloring that GIANT banana? Zero. But the fricking HOUR of time it took will never be recovered. And what damage developed over the years from the frustration and resentment that was generated? I could have done better.

I might have allowed more time for just hanging out and scheduled fewer activities. I definitely wouldn’t have fed them so many fruit snacks and juice and hot dogs. They might have been legit Avengers by now if not for all the garbage I allowed them to eat.

I would have taken more time to feel grateful for my healthy, beautiful, perfect children and wasted less energy picking on their faults. I wish I had known how to communicate more authentically back then; it would have spared our family a lot of misunderstandings and resentment. I would have imagined all their noisiness and unpredictable, weird behaviors as unique gifts that they will develop and bring into their futures. I might not have been so scared if I knew how wonderful they would turn out.

COVID19 has presented some rare opportunities. My gym is closed, so I’m not seeing friends and being exer-tained in fitness classes with dynamic music and encouraging instructors. Instead, I spend hours walking in the quiet with all my thoughts.

In the sunshine of this past Mother’s Day, I considered many of the mistakes I’d made, and I cried just a little. Because look how great my kids are turning out! How Albert and I learned to work together over the years. How our kids have shaped and challenged us to be better humans. Now they’re grown up. They are living on their own and finding their successes.

Except NOT. Thanks, COVID19.

Maybe this is the chance I’ve been waiting for to make better and different choices. When they’re noisy and all in my space, I will appreciate that they want to be near me rather than shooing them away. When they ask me to bring them a drink, I will find joy in serving my family rather than asking, “What’s the matter? Is your legs broke?” Same when they ask where is the (item that is TWO INCHES FROM THEIR FACE). When they express their cringey opinions, I will embrace the opportunity to know more about their ideas and keep my boring, old lady life lessons to myself.

I can hardly wait to see what they will do with their lives. Knowing that they are going to be more than fine is allowing me to release a lot of parenting guilt and fears. "But it’s been no bed of roses. No pleasure cruise. I consider it a challenge before the whole human race, and I ain’t gonna lose."

I hope your Mother’s Day didn’t suck. Thanks for reading!

Slip Sliding Away

"Quick warning, before the story starts, that this story acknowledges the existence of sex. OK, here we go." --Ira Glass

Ira Glass is the host of one of my very favorite podcasts, “This American Life.” He embodies acceptance and curiosity, which allows him to open my world to different life perspectives I would likely never encounter IRL.

Every once in a while, the podcast will “acknowledge the existence of sex.” I really appreciate that Ira never bosses me around after that sentence. Like he never tells me to use discretion. He never warns that the content might not be appropriate for my children. He just presents the information and trusts me to decide what to do next with my life. I feel respected and free to call my own shots. Props, Ira my man.

While I never get squirmy about the TAL sex episodes, I DO get squirmy in conversations about sex. My parents rarely mentioned the topic and never gave us kids “The Talk.” Well, *I* never got “The Talk.” I don’t know whether my brother or sister ever got “The Talk,” because I never, ever, never, ever broach this topic with my brother or sister either. Sex is kind of hush-hush and sneaky. My whole family probably still thinks I never had sex yet. It’s fine. I’m kind of breaking into a cold sweat as I write this, since they might discover the truth. This on top of the stress of Pandemic Quarantine.

It was and continues to be uncomfortable talking to my kids about sex. When they were younger, I steeled my nerves by reminding myself that sex is an important part of life and nothing to be ashamed of. Sex, like so many other topics, needs more light and air. Embarrassment around this topic comes at the price of joy. Talk about a cockblock.

You may already know about my menopausal challenges. Around age 45, my libido started dipping. I brought this up to my nurse practitioner, who was also a specialist in women's health. She told me to "Use it or Lose It." I've heard this from a lot of sources, and I maintain that this is terrible advice akin to telling an obese person to "just eat less." Fuck that.

For my 50th birthday, I got Menopause. Like for real. No more fooling around with this perimenopause nonsense. My periods stopped and were replaced by hot flashes. My blood pressure shot up, my bones got creaky. And I dried all up in the worst way! My lips were constantly chapped. I woke up in the middle of the night because my throat got so dry it hurt. My eyes were so grainy that I couldn’t open them in the mornings. And my Lady Parts….

I was trying my best to “Use it or Lose It,” and this seemed like the last straw. Low libido is one thing, but now sex didn’t even feel good and that stressed me out. Albert was sweet and patient. We tried lube for the first time ever. Remember that hotel scene with Richard Gere’s buddy from “Officer and a Gentleman” where he asks his girl if it comes in any other flavor besides strawberry? That’s what I thought it was going to be like. Turns out it was very much more complicated.

Do you know how many options for personal lube there are in this world? Do a search on Amazon and you’ll discover that there are “over 7,000 results.” Paralyzingly overwhelming. Also make sure you specify “personal” lube, otherwise you will also get search results for car things. Trust me on this.

The first one we tried was sticky and not that great. Literally, it made noise like a gopher or small horse trying to escape from the La Brea Tar Pits. Plus it felt awful and gluey.

We tried another one that made my Lady Parts sting. Not sexy at all. Neither was it slippery but rather STICKY once again! Hey! Lube inventors! Do better!

So I thought I would try organic! Organic probably wouldn’t sting me, right? The lube from Whole Foods smelled like vanilla, which made me think of cookies. I love cookies, but this made me confused and distracted, and I was already trying SO HARD to focus! I couldn’t afford further distraction. Plus it was ALSO STICKY. Perhaps because it actually contained cookies? I don't know. I'm not much of a baker.

Three strikes. Maybe this is just how it ends. Frustration. Disappointment. Resignation. Defeat. It made me cry.

As a last resort, I looked to social media.

I’m a member of this Facebook group for middle-aged women founded by one of my favorite authors, Jen Mann. Jen is smart and real, funny and irreverent. Her writing brought me joy during some really tough times, and I will always be grateful to her for this. This Facebook group is over 15,000 women strong. Surely, some of these women have meaningful lube advice!

My friends, these ladies did not disappoint! From their recommendations plus some independent internet research, I chose four different lubes and bought them that same day. I’m a little mad because I can’t believe this took TWO FRICKING YEARS to resolve. That is why I’m venturing WAAAAAY out of my comfort zone to write about this. If this information helps even one person, my work will be done.

Uberlube is silicone based, super slippery, and NOT STICKY. It doesn’t have a smell and kind of absorbs into your skin without making a huge mess. It’s my very favorite and I don’t understand why anyone would ever use anything different.

I also ventured into a couple of CBD lubes. I think these kinds of lubes are not really for lubrication in the traditional sense, because you only use a little bit of it. However, I think they are pretty great.

Dani Pepper CBD lube has 500mg CBD per 15cc bottle. I used two pumps and it was almost too intense, which was not a terrible thing. “Highly” recommend.

Heli is a water-based lube by Pure Romance with 90mg CBD per 90cc bottle, so much more mellow than Dani Pepper. When my kids were in elementary school, a couple of moms invited me to Pure Romance parties. It is  wonderful that women can embrace and enjoy their sexuality in a Tupperware Party setting. Me? Not so much. 

Again, I don’t think this is a lube lube, but I have been using it daily instead of my regular coconut oil to keep my gears from seizing up down there. It is my understanding that sustained use of CBD has cumulative effects. I think it’s a great product.

We also tried Young Living’s Sensation massage oil which was not sticky or overly oily, but we had to use a lot of it. It didn’t sting me either, even though the essential oils give it a strong fragrance. The smell reminds me of sandalwood, which in turn reminds me of my grandma, so that was a little distracting. I’m mentioning this product because it did a pretty good job and maybe you like the way my grandma smells. I don’t judge.

That’s it! I’ll end this post now that I feel approximately as awkward as I did in fourth grade when the school nurse taught us how to string up a maxi pad on a sanitary belt. I know I am not the only person with this challenge, and I hope to alleviate frustration for some of you. I hope to inspire more discussion among us, Sisters, so if this helped you, I hope you tell a friend.

Thank you for reading!