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Time Magazine and Feeling Like a Total Boob
Now that the dust has settled on the world's most discussed photo of a woman nursing in the history of time — and Time — let me stop and assess my own feelings.
OK, here goes.
I don't care whether you nurse or for how long. I don't care …Read more.
Some Unusual but Excellent Mom Advice
Finally, I'm going to say some nice stuff about my mom. When a blogger friend was doing a round up of "best advice our moms ever gave us," I realized that my mom had some gems.
Now, I share them with you.
Maybe her bon mots were a bit …Read more.
Tanorexic Pales Next to Most Affectionate
The thing about the now infamous over-tanned mom accused of taking her toddler to a tanning salon is that she really hogs the bad-mom spotlight. I would call it "limelight," but in her case, it's more of an orange.
She got lots of ink this …Read more.
It's Not Pee Sea To Say This
The last place you want to find yourself is slumped down in the underpants section at Target clutching the last packet of Spider-Man big boy pants, head in hands, purse soaked in pee.
Among other things, you feel like the living embodiment of a …Read more.
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It's Beginning To Look a Lot Like I Don't Know What I'm DoingChristmas is in the air, and as a Jew, I love the day. However, as a new mom, I got a problem. It's big. And I'm feeling ho-ho-hopeless. Sorry. I asked Santa for a lame Christmas wordplay this year, and I got one. Now back to my being a Jew and living through a lifetime of Christmases very peacefully, blissfully I might even say. Until now. True story: One year when I was a teenager, I went to a movie on Christmas Day, and there was only one other person in the theater. It turned out to be my rabbi, sitting quietly in his cable-knit sweater eating popcorn. So you see, I never felt left out. I could appreciate the pageantry, the feeling that the world was stopping for a while, all the while somehow getting an even stronger sense of my own identity. Now, here's the complication that is dawning on me as the lights and trees go up and the carols turn on and I have a 2-year-old half-Jew with lots of questions: How am I supposed to handle the Santa thing? Please stop reading here if you are around any young children who might be able to understand some of the things I'm about to suggest about Santa. Seriously. This is the North Pole of spoiler alerts. My thoughts on this are for adults only. Now back to my regularly scheduled mom panic. My husband loved Santa, being a Catholic and all, but he has kind of turned his back on his own faith. Still, he enjoys the ritual of the holiday. Because he grew up with the whole Saint Nick thing, it's comfortable for him. For me, it just seems — while very sweet and adorable and wonderful — wholly strange. I know this is holy territory, and I don't mean to diminish Santa's glory, but as someone looking in from the outside, when my son asks about Santa, I say what I'm supposed to say, keeping it as brief as possible while scrounging around inside myself like a drunk woman looks for keys in her purse. All I can come up with is this: I will manipulate you with a lie so that you will be good.
This will seem so silly to those of you who grew up with Santa, but I really try not to lie to my child. It's that simple. On the other hand, there is no Cat in the Hat. Cats don't even talk. The characters on "Yo Gabba Gabba!" are just grownups in suits. There are no "three little bears" sitting on chairs like in "Goodnight Moon." There is nothing inherently wrong with making up fantastical characters, especially kindly ones. The part that gets me is the linking of the gift to the being "nice." And on that front, I must admit that I bribe my kid in lots of little ways because Dr. Karp said I could in "The Happiest Toddler on the Block." If you put on your pajamas now, I will give you a candy, I tell him, and he gets a chewable tangerine vitamin D gumdrop that passes for candy when you're 2. That's a flat-out bribe. If you get in your car seat in five seconds, I'll give you a juice box. That's a bribe. Sometimes I have to keep things moving, and toddlers dawdle. If I'm at peace with mild bribing and I'm at peace with fictional characters, why is it still hard to do the Santa thing? I never had a Christmas tree growing up, and I don't care if we have one now. That doesn't threaten my sense of identity. Maybe it comes down to this: I hate being a sucker. And I don't want to turn my kid into one when it seems so obvious what's going on. Still, generations of kids go along with the story no matter how many bad strap-on beards and pillow bellies they see, and they love it, they're obsessed with it, it brings them joy. It's an experience I've never had, so I'm not sure how to pass it along. Maybe this year for Hanukkah I'll ask Dad to handle Santa. Teresa Strasser is an Emmy-winning television writer, a two-time Los Angeles Press Club Columnist of the Year and a multimedia personality. She is the author of a new book, "Exploiting My Baby," the rights to which have been optioned by Sony Pictures. To find out more about Teresa Strasser and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com. COPYRIGHT 2011 CREATORS.COM
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