Does Time Magazine Really Care How YOU Parent?

Dear Time Magazine,

Congratulations.  You're probably going to sell more issues this week than you have all year due to the "controversial" photo you chose to put on your cover asking us all if we are "Mom Enough."

Mom Enough?  Really?  Do we need to stand in front of millions of magazine viewers nursing a 3-year-old to be MOM ENOUGH?

I don't think so.

And no, I have nothing against Attachment Parenting - heck, I breastfed my own children for a total of 3 years (there are 3 of them, I nursed each for approximately one year - NOT THAT IT MATTERS OR MAKES ME LESS OF A MOTHER) and my 8-year-old daughter can often be found in my bed or glued to my side.  What I do have a problem with is your decision to stir the Mommy War pot with this ridiculous media stunt.

Online, you can already see hate and criticism spilling out via keyboards and smart phones from the minds of people who are completely outraged by the photo followed by those who vehemently support this mother's choice.  Was that your goal?

You knew darn well that this photo would evoke strong feelings from everyone who saw it.  You knew that a statement like "Are You Mom Enough" would make mothers crazy.  You knew and you did it anyway, to sell magazines.  The article, which is about Dr. Sears "Attachment" method and not about the mom nursing her kid on the cover, is completely lost because of the frenzy created by the photo.

This mom says, "Shame on you."

You know that mothers have strong opinions and voices.  Mothers are louder and prouder than ever before despite the enormous challenges facing us today.  We need to be free to parent any which way we choose, as long as it's not hurting anyone.  We need to be supported in our parenting choices and we need to be encouraged to embrace our differences instead of being propelled to make war against mothers who don't do it the way we do.  


What we do not need is your magazine poking fun at a parenting choice just to sell a few copies.  We don't need your magazine poking a stick in the hornets nest that has been come to be known as The Mommy Wars. You don't care about how we parent, you care about your bottom line.  You chose a photo that you knew would create buzz and while yes, I did take Marketing 101 in college and earn a fairly decent grade, I still believe that you should always place your moral obligation to society above your desire to increase your profit.

It seems to me that you care nothing about American mothers and even less about the real-life people who agreed to do this shoot. How do you think this 3-year-old boy is going to feel about this cover when he's 21?  My guess is he won't be thrilled (and maybe I will be wrong about that which would be super), but hopefully his mother will have provided him with enough confidence and back bone to stand up to the crap that will most likely be flung his way at some point in his life due to his mom's decision to blast their private parenting moment on the cover of a national magazine.

Because that's what this really is, private.

Mothering, breastfeeding in particular, isn't something intended for mass consumption, to be gobbled up by those who oppose it or those who prefer it done only one way.  Breastfeeding isn't a political tool or a crutch upon which to boost magazine sales.  Mothering is an intensely personal life experience and while it's an experience that is very universal, it's also done in all kinds of ways, in all kinds of cultures and in all kinds of families.  And the last thing we need to be doing is drawing lines in the sand telling mothers how they should parent.

So yes, Time Magazine, shame on you.

Hoping you Publish Something Better Next Time,
Carrie

Married Texting

No, this isn't a post about some hot, heavy and lurid texting that takes place between a husband and wife.  You'll have to check out the Fifty Shades of Grey books if you are looking for that.

Instead I bring you the REAL texts of a married couple.

Because I'm all about keeping it real.

HIM:  You want a sub?


HER:  No thanks, unless it's covered in a cupcake.


HIM:  You want BOTH?


HER:  No thanks, I had lunch.

The question is, will he or won't he come home with a cupcake?

Stay tuned...

The Break that Wasn't

Having just deleted a lengthy post about how we don't have time to go anywhere or do anything fun over Spring Break because we have jobs and baseball and jobs (yes I know I said jobs twice), I decided to let it go.

Yes, our schedules are hectic this week.

Yes, it sucks trying to work from home with 3 busy kids (aren't they supposed to get easier as they get older?). In fact, it sucks to a level of suck that I don't think I've ever experienced.

Yes, I've had to break up more wrestling matches, headlocks and general rough-housing sessions than any human should ever have to and I'm not happy about it. Add in a dash of crazy mother-in-law, sullen teenaged boy who thinks the world owes him a leer jet, a cat that keeps missing the litter box and the fact that there seems to be no end to the mountain of laundry that is collecting and you pretty much have my week.

But.

There are exactly 3 days left of this so-called Spring Break and I refuse to let them get the best of me.

Even though my husband is still at the fire station and will be there again in 48 hours, leaving me to not only deal with all of the boisterousness but also the Easter egg dying all by myself, I can do this.

Right?

Right?

Are you there Xanax? I think it might be time to get to know you, well.

Sometimes a girl just needs a little reassurance.

HVEN

I used to think of a Danish breakfast as being one made of pastry and sweet cream cheese. And before our trip last summer, you couldn't have convinced me otherwise.

But our first official morning in Denmark, en route to the Swedish island of Hven, proved to be educational...

We woke up in our little bunk beds at Brett's Aunt and Uncle's house in Copenhagen feeling well rested, excited and more than a little giddy at what the day would hold. It was the 8th anniversary of my father-in-laws passing and a special day for us all to spend together. July 14th, "Spike" day.

Sos and Finn, longtime family friends who also knew my father-in-law, met us in the morning. We'd seen photos of them for years and they of us. We already felt like kin and falling into an easy relationship was instant. Raincoats buttoned up, we walked the few blocks to the metro station near Jodi and Mogen's house and caught the train downtown.

It was hard not to stop and stare at everything. But we had a boat to catch, and we knew we'd be back along all of this...the history, the architecture, the people, the food - oh my! We'd see it all in due time.

Along with about 20 other brave souls, we boarded our vessel and quickly found ourselves jostling and bumping along the whitecaps on the way to the island. I have never loved Dramamine more in my entire life than I did that morning, watching Sos turn green as she tried to focus on the horizon.

And this is where I made my first faux pas in Europe, thank god I was among friends.

Do you see this? This was what was on our table for breakfast...take a good look - a basket of baked goods, cheese and some type of cured meat with a garnish of colorful peppers. Mmmm...

Brett's aunt, who is probably the nicest person on the face of the earth and I love dearly, advised me to "help myself," to the basket so what did I do? I reached for one of those delicious looking croissants.

I mean, isn't that what anyone would do? After all, they did have chocolate on them.

She and Sos giggled and said something about eating dessert first - I blushed. They assured me that it didn't matter. We poured our coffee and discussed everything from cultural differences to books as we watched the weather rain down on the water. That croissant was FILLED with chocolate and it wasn't long before I was kicking myself for being so impulsive, although it didn't stop me from enjoying the delicious meat and cheese (and a few of those pretty peppers) afterwards as I slugged down a 2nd cup of coffee, feeling it's warmth do the trick as it seeped through my veins.

I couldn't be happier.

And before I knew it we were there:

HVEN.

Kind of like "heaven" without the first "e" and "a" if you're into that sort of thing.

Brett and I restrained ourselves from being overwhelmed with the beauty of the place, but it was difficult. We climbed a hill, feeling very European at this point what with the tall grasses, adorable cottages, cobblestone and hidden gardens peeking at us every few feet, until we reached an endless plateau of gently rolling fields, flowers and clusters of small buildings.

This was where we picked up our bicycles.

And off we rode, in the rain, trying to keep our smiles closed as we peddled along so as not to end up with a salad of gnats in our teeth (always a concern while bicycling), through the fields in a place that felt very much like heaven.

Note to self: eat the meat and cheeses BEFORE the chocolate croissant when enjoying a Danish breakfast.

And They Said it Couldn't Be Done (Green Onions in the Windowsill)

If you've been to my house recently and I've pulled you into the kitchen to marvel at my indoor-gardening feat, I apologize, for you already know the wonder that exists in the little canning jar on my windowsill.

For those of you who haven't experienced this, here you go.

Yup. You really can grow green onions in your window sill, even if you have the least green thumb on the planet (like me)!

Really!

All I did was snip the tops of a bunch of green onions that I was using for a recipe down to the usual area where I would stop snipping and plunge the remaining roots into a cute little canning jar filled halfway with some pretty rocks collected from our travels (there are lots more where those came from) and voila! Within days, these puppies were at least 2 inches tall.

Now they are practically giants and I think I may need to string them together for fear that they may topple over into my lemon verbena kitchen soap.

I can't wait to use them in another recipe or a salad or heck, even just sprinkle them on top of some soup. And then do it all over again.

My little homegrown green onions.

You see...anything is possible.