Silicon Valley Moms Blog

Still tied? I finally decided to vote for Obama.

(This was originally posted on Tuesday, February 5th - Super Tuesday)

I didn't decide who to vote for until last night.

Oh, it was on my mind, but like many Democrats, I'm just hoping that the Democrats win, and that we can kick out the dirty thieving, lying, give-our-country-to-big-business sleazy opportunists that have been in control for the past 8 years and oh, excuse me ... was I going off on a rant?

Seriously, I haven't had much to do with politics in the past few years because if I did, I'd have to go on antidepressants.

I'm female.  I'm actually kind of middle-aged now (over 45) although I hear that we count age in something like dog-years here in California so I should still feel young.  But I have been in the silicon valley since 1980, have watched women in business for the last 27 years, and I am familiar with their strides and their struggles.

A Small Silicon Valley Moment

I met her at the park. Her two kids - a boy and a girl - were playing in the park and immediately started talking with and playing with my son.  Although I had started out on a remote bench, I moved over to hers once it was established that the kids loved one another and were having a hilatious time.  And we chatted.

She looked really nice.  Dynamic, fun, intense. She was working on a nonprofit project that is near and dear to my heart.  Or something like that.  I really cannot go into details here. 

...I mean, I REALLY cannot go into details.  Understand that it wasn't a park. I made that up.  If I really want to tell the truth (to the blogosphere), I have to say that "I met this woman, see?" and leave it there.

So why am I telling you this? 

First-Generation Good Parents

Sometimes friends tell you the darndest things.  And the stuff that really matters usually comes months, or perhaps years into a friendship, in the stolen parental talk-moments at the park, on the phone, when the kids are in the other room and you're sitting with a cup of tea, or over dinner with adults.

My childhood had its difficult parts.  Suffice it to say that when I started watching the reality show about Ozzie Osborne, next to my upbringing the family seemed a little Ozzie and Harriet to me. I mean they loved one another, Dad worked (kind of), mom had pets and stayed at home (um, kind of), and they talked.  It was sweet.  (Note that, in retrospect, this observation seems a bit ... off.  My husband thought that I was insane, but it's all a matter of perspective.  (It helps to be an inveterate Pollyanna.)

In conversations with my friends, I have heard of terrible things that parents have done to children:

The God Problem

I have a God problem.  It's like an oily, bitter taste in my mouth -- a fundamentalist hangover, if you will, and I got it from the Bush Administration.  I thought about it because in a nice little talk about Thanksgiving, my consciousness, at the mention of "giving thanks" gave a huge shudder and skittered away -- just like a group of Republicans at a discussion of controlling, say, automatic weapons.

This saddens me.  Although many terrible things have been done in the name of God (and some really good movies too), I know many "people of God."  One of my best friends is a Catholic Priest, for heaven's sake!  And I number several other ministers in my groups of friends.  All are caring, devoted people, and for all, the word of God is a good word, a kind word. A way for people to show that they care for one another in the world, and a conduit by which people can live out their shared values, including charity, caring, and making space for others who are less fortunate.

So what's the problem? 

Kate's Yearly Pillsbury Warning Letter for Peanut Allergics

The baking has started.  We invited a friend over on Saturday to play and I tossed out the casual "we're baking cookies, if you want to."  The kid jumped at it.  It's easy to forget how much little boys like to make cookies.  Correction: how much KIDS like to make cookies.  What fun!

Last year, in the middle of baking cookies, I got tired of using my Yuppie Martha Stewart sugar cookie dough, so I bought some at Safeway. And was shocked to see that some of the Pillsbury cookie dough contains peanuts. Let me repeat: Some of the store-bought sugar cookie dough contains peanuts.  It's not made on machinery that also touches peanuts. It contains genuine peanut flour.  Why?  who one earth knows.

If your child has a peanut allergy, this is a REMINDER. In case you have let down your guard, and in case you let simple logic direct you (e.g. “it’s a sugar cookie. Those contain butter or shortening/sugar/eggs  

Burn her! She has a NANNY!

Right now fur is flying because Pamela wrote a post about firing her nanny.  I'm not sure how it reads if you don't know Pamela at all, but as someone who does know her, the post was about personal growth, about learning to take the reins more in parenting, about weighing the benefits and disadvantages of a breakup, and deciding that you would really miss someone, but that you realized that it was time for you to stand alone.  In short, the post was about life.

Except... Pamela has a nanny.  So (let me get this right), she has GOT to be an entitled be-yatch, who probably steps all over the other mommies in her designer shoes while trying to dash out of her chauffeur-driven car and get some designer cream for the baby.  Or something like that.  Do I have it right?  In short:  Stay at home mom with a nanny = terrible, nasty person who must be badmouthed and shunned by other women.

Boy does our culture suck. 

 

New Gift for your Mother: A Genome Kit!

I am a WASP.  (White Anglo Saxon Protestant.)  At times I have argued in favor of being called a WASA (sub "agnostic" for the Protestant), but the lineage remains the same:  I am descended from hordes of light-skinned, sun-challenged people, many of whom probably have depressive tendencies, lack a predisposition to "let loose" in public, and like to lounge around the sidelines socially, cracking jokes and quaffing alcoholic beverages.  The wildest bunch is the Norwegian relatives, although if you've ever been privy to any of the Lutheran joke websites, you'll just roll your eyes at that one.

I tell you this because, while I am tempted to generalize and say that MANY mothers in their fifties like to work on the family tree and genealogy-type stuff, my husband has admonished me clearly about this.  "In my (Jewish) family," he said, we don't HAVE a family tree.  They were all killed.

Stops me cold, every time.

But a part of me still has a sneaking theory that family-tree research is a type of late-life nesting activity in older women.  Perhaps from the hind brain?  Something uncontrollable, like small animals digging nests

Sticker incompetence

Just the other day on my "core" mother's list (which is virtual, incidentally, and I love it like that), I asked for advice.  My son is starting to argue with me.  He's not done it up until now (I'm lucky, actually), but with his newfound "first grade-front-tooth-lost-reading-boy" power levels, I think that he feels just about equal to mommy, and I'm now getting a flurry of static when I talk with him.

A lot of the stuff he just didn't understant at first.  Like "Oh Yeah" is not a response for mommy.  But I've nicely let him know this (several times), and we're working through it.

Last night, however, the talking back got to me.

Rather than start a new family tradition (e.g. mommy opens a bottle of chianti, pours a glass, and THEN starts helping with homework), I pulled myself back and started to plan.

My Dream Holiday Event: The Dance-Along Nutcracker

The recent (and oddly anonymous) posting on the Nutcracker made me think of our own Nutcracker experiences.  When my son was 1 year old, I drove up to San Francisco and took him to his first Nutcracker performance: a matinee in San Francisco.  We used the standing room only seats, and stayed for a good 1/2 hour.  I was proud of him.  The Nutcracker, after all, was a huge part of my life when I was a little girl, and I was happy to be able to share it with my son.

Time passed, and my son didn't quite develop the same fixation on tutus, tulle, and toe slippers that I had enjoyed as a small child.  Yes, he loved wands.  He did want to be a witch for a while, and I remember defending his choice to a garrulous old sexist outside of Bloomingdales one day when he tried to tell my kid that he couldn't be a witch because he was a boy (hmmph).

Then I heard about an event called "Dance-Along Nutcracker."   Here's a description from past years:

Start your holiday season out right - impeach Cheney!

Hello there, everyone!  Beautiful days we're having, aren't they?  The leaves falling off of the trees, the sound of children's laughter carrying in the wind.  We're starting to get our holiday ornament boxes out of the garage, and I was thrilled to death to get a forwarded email from a friend today, telling me about a new movement.

Have you heard?  There's a story out saying that Nancy Pelosi, in response to a question, said that she would put Cheney's impeachment on the table IF she gets 10,000 hand-written letters.

Hot stuff!  I am going to use my "kitten and doggy" paper and will send my note out today.

Of course one of the readers on Digg said that the rumor isn't even remotely true.  He said that he called Pelosi's office and they denied it.  Darn.

Here's something interesting, though.  Pelosi's website doesn't even mention it.  Daily Kos says it's true, and cites the Freep report. The Freep report contains a letter from Cindy Sheehan, asking that the letters be sent to HER so that she can count them!  Curioser and curioser...