I figured out what’s wrong with the world and the solution. You’re welcome.

Ever Sophia, social awareness

You know what’s wrong with our world? We’ve raised our children to be assholes. 1,000 years ago, 2 generations ago, me, you, mine and yours.

I’m 6 and a half years into to motherhood. And everyday I see things with new eyes. Everyday my baby becomes more and more like the adult version of her self and today I was alarmed.

Alarmed for the second time in 7 days. Tonight a little boy and her were playing in the pool with a raft with a rope on it. The little boy got tangled in the rope that Ev was pulling and was drug under the water for a few seconds. He wasn’t hurt just panicked. It wasn’t malicious on Ever’s part simply an accident. But the fucked up thing was when he started flipping out she swam over to him untangled him from the rope slyly and swam away. We pulled the little boy out, he was fine just shook but Ev kept her distance.

When Julius asked Ever very nicely to go apologize to the boy and see if he was okay, she refused. In a bashful way more so than in a defiant way but none the less she refused to apologize.

Parenting confession. This wasn’t the first time that a demanded apology was denied. In fact the majority of the time that’s her m.o. To stop just short of actually looking guilty and then execute a finely orchestrated dance of avoidance and refusal to apologize. Because, we all know, an apology concedes guilt.  

Maybe if today was any other day I would have reprimanded lightly and turned a blind eye. But it was today.

The day that my boyfriend texted me that his day was shit. He came home. I was fueled with a laundry list of anecdotes and condolences. To no avail my normal I’m sorry that worked sucked speech doesn’t counter you read a litany of news reports today about your fellow Black Americans being murdered by a regime that was put in place to ‘protect and preserve’ white men. The same white men shrouded in the a mythological concoction of the divine conducting themselves under the collective delusion that one man deserves life and another does not. Topped of by the nagging notion that even if you flea this country there is no place where you would be safe, safe from judgement, safe from persecution, safe from ignorance and violence. 

How do you pick up the puddle of anger and disbelief that is the light of your life from that kind of day. (A day not unlike any day before or any day to come). Welp you brainstorm. You fire out suggestions. You offer hope and the ridiculous. Here’s what I came up with:

-You can go to Cleveland to the #blacklivesmatter conference. It may give birth to the next big organized results producing civil rights movement.
-You can channel your rage into your writing, the pen is mightier than the sword after all.
-You can help organize the people of color for the Bernie Sanders campaign. There’s real hope there.
-We can move to a hippy commune, start our goat farm and never consume media again.
-Finally— just because my boyfriend is a super sci-fi nerd and often gets angry at me when I tell him that given no set of hypothetical situations would I actually travel through space with him— you can start the first Black colony on Mars.

He wasn’t really feeling any of my options, except for dissembling all of our household appliances to make a time machine or at least preoccupy his mind for the rest of his life laboring towards the absurd. Ohh and going to a former nuclear bomb site to acquire enough radiation to get super powers and then exterminate all of the terrible people in the world.

At least I got a good laugh or two.

In the midst of that my daughter refused to apologize to a little boy for hurting him. Awwwwhhhhh hell no. 

Granted this giant ball of– evil is continuing to prevail and the Earth is literally in the midst of the worst case scenario for the continuity of sustainable human life– may have exacerbated my even keeled parenting demeanor. 

Fair or not. I’ll be damned if I raise another shit head that will keep perpetuating unaccountability and disregard for other HUMANS and CREATURES as their equal. We’ll be good God damed to quote my man.

So Ever got snatched out of the pool and we went promptly home. While getting a speech littered with words about 10 years over her head. But she understood the inflection. Mama is pissed.

Really stewing. Weighing all of these things that I know to be true about me, her, the universe. Then concluding that the time has come. You see I wrote this paper entitled The Reality of Tiger Mom a year ago and can’t seem to shake it from my mental reservoir of solid parenting advice. (You should probably read it, I think it’s pretty fucking interesting but I’m biased). Here’s the part that always sticks out in my mind, uncoincidentally Ever has arrived at the age of understanding and I’m 8 months late to the Tiger Mom game.

” ……As the author’s hypothesis predicted Chinese immigrant mothers in this study highly endorsed the authorative caregiving style (Cheah et al., 2009, p.316). They were also found to support independence in their young children more so than their American counterparts. A major cultural difference of note is the Chinese concept of the age of understanding begins at six years old. Cheah et al. explains that before this time that the mothers are, “…lenient, warm, and affectionate towards infants and very young children” (Cheah et al., 2009, p.316). After the age of six children are held to a new standard and stricter discipline is imposed. This concept is the product of Confucian belief (Cheah et al., 2009, p.312.) At the age of understanding and beyond highly authorative mothers balance their goal-oriented demands with early self-regulation (Cheah et al., 2009, p.317). Importantly, Chinese mothers emphasize an awareness of the child’s impact on others through reasoning and induction (Cheah et al., 2009, p.317).

The children’s outcomes at the time of the study correlated to the widely held authorative parenting style outcomes. The Mainland Chinese parents that used this style did so in part by encouraging early self-regulation and emphasizing the child’s autonomy (Cheah et al., 2009, p. 318).

‘These children’s abilities to regulate behavior and attention was related to lower levels of children’s difficulties including emotional symptoms,conduct problems, hyperactivity, and peer problems, as rated by their preschool or day care teacher’ (Cheah et al., 2009, p.318)………”

I give Amy Chau a pretty serious analysis the good and the bad for the record. But at the end of the day being the doting, lackadaisical parent that I am in my heart of hearts is doing my daughter a great disservice. And yes it may have taken me seeing her stone cold reaction to potentially drowning a peer to make me realize that.

We came home. She went in her room after being grounded from electronics (my former stand by for punishment that is actually effective). Still the mash up of how is it possible that there is so much hate and ignorance exists in this world and how to actually effect change did back flips in my mind. 

In the room for round two (yes I know this isn’t parenting book protocol but to my credit Ever is alarmingly intelligent and pretty accustom to my rants) of my verbose speech on how you aren’t going to be a jerk. It went on and on. The take away,
“You will be kind, you will be nice to your friends and strangers. You will show remorse. You will be considerate. You will be empathetic and sympathetic. Peppered with that is the expectation and do you understands. The finally if you are not I will gladly punish you until those reactions become instinctual in you.”

End scene. Almost.

J and I silently went over the facts that the base line issue is the extreme privilege that my child experiences. “She is soo spoiled” seems like a slight misdemeanor charge given all of the terrible issues that can potentially intersect the parenting experience. But oh contraire. She is so spoiled removes her from reality. Yes, there is innocence in being young and naive and I don’t want to entirely spoil that. However, when I busted out the Save the Children commercials tonight the first thing out of Ever’s mouth was, ” Why don’t they have cars? They need cars? And how come those babies are just bones, ohhh that’s what happens when you don’t eat”. Seriously she has no clue. I’m not trying to bring down the white American land of obesity and hate crime hammer on my 6 year old but I sure in the fuck am putting the breaks on the, “Ever is the center of the universe campaign”. Gigs up kid. 


Between the State of the Union speech that I gave and the queue of youtube videos about homeless shelters in Michigan, slums of India and cleft palates in Uganda I made Ever fill a grocery bag with toys that she had to give away.

IT WAS THE MOST DEVASTATING THING THAT HAD EVER HAPPENED TO HER. She was violently sobbing. Had snot careening down her face. She meagerly filled the bag with dress up items that she had out grown and books that were less than thrilling. Nope go fill it up more. Pick two stuffed animals. She did an all right job. It was torture for her to give up one small bag of the mountain of useless objects that she plays with. What an allegory for the state of things on our planet in 2015. 

Our night ended with a few more gentle talks about what will go right next time. With a splash of any time that I see you being mean to your friends you will fill up another bag of toys. Tears ohhhh the tears. Tears at the thought of all of the toys that she will lose for being bad. Well Ev you don’t have to lose any more toys if you’re nice plus you could always decide to share.

At the end of the day (literally) I can now honestly say that I don’t believe that children are born innocent and blank canvases. They are born human. There is a primal human desire in everyone of us to sustain our status quo. At the most basic level that’s nutrition and safety but when you are born into swaddling blankets and a world bending over backwards for you the stakes are a little higher. I talk about in that paper about how American parenting philosophy changed drastically after WWII. It is ever changing and settling into a whole new disturbing land of entitlement. What are we gonna do about it? Write it out? Build a time machine? Make your kid give away a bag of toys? It’s my best idea yet.

Maybe even take stock of your own bag of toys and tricks. Maybe you have a little to give. If you can’t get past the devastation of sharing may you at least be kind. 


God Fearing Wo-man


First let’s all take a moment to honor the existence of pinterest. It teaches me all of the things.

A couple of times now this has happened where one divergent pin leads to a blog and then a website and then endless articles about how good Christian women become and remain just that. I embark on it as an anthropological experiment more so than anything else. “Wow, this exists. People think like this. It really makes them happy or something.”

Yet, in the midst of my bewilderment I am always a little fascinated and slightly enticed. Like, well you have a good point. My life without eternal salvation and the comfort of putting it all in someone else’s hands does really suck. Man, you’ve got to be onto something.
Well minus the whole organized religion bit and you know the big man in the clouds. But to each their own.

Tonight I had to resist marching up my stairs and turning myself over to the sweet Mormon girls. Take me with you. Teach me how to knit and can things (for the record I’m an experienced canner and I didn’t learn it in sunday school). Show me your ways. Give me the book. Highlight all of the passages. I shall read them, memorize them and recite them every time that I want to murder someone. Especially because those someones are always the people that I love the most. Plus you’d probably insist that I ripped out my inter uterine device and start abstaining from sex. Word on the street is that’s how you really lock a man down. And the extra perk is I’d only have normal crazy girl hormones to navigate. (Quick aside: yay birth control!)

In all reality. I read what the nice Christian ladies write. Because they know the (some of the) ways. They’ve got the whole nuclear-family, super-hero, potluck going mom bit down to an art. How they do this you ask?

The snarky response:

-62 ways to show respect to your husband. (Just pretend like nothing bad ever happens and apologize profusely… preferably buy him gifts but what ever you do DO NOT ruin the budget.)

-5 passages from Leviticus that keeps you from putting the baby in the microwave.

-3 conversation starters to convince your husband to beg for forgiveness for premaritally taking your virginity and making you hate yourself for decades because of which.

-Why God and the Bible want you to be a super hott sex kitten for you Bible thumping man.

The sad part is that I’m just paraphrasing REAL life articles that I read this fine eavening. Don’t shoot the messenger people.

The less-snarky response:

-They do this really crazy thing called budgeting their money. It’s like you actually figure out how much money that you make. And then you figure out all of the things that you need to spend money on.  And then you do math and such. In the end of it you have money to save, buy houses with and at least 7% for tithe. HUM. Well I’ll be damned.

-They stay at home. Their good Christian men also read their Bible verses that said get your ass up off the sofa and bring home the bacon. Thus they donned their pearls and kitten heals and started vacuuming and making Jello molds. To be completely honest. I’m fucking jealous. Please make me your house wife. It’ll sparkle I promise.

-They know all of the couponing ways. And they freeze everything. I am only half the man that they will ever be.

-They didn’t “waste” 50,000 dollars on their college education that ultimately gets them a nice cushy job at Kohl’s check out lane 3 or you know anywhere else that only requires a GED.

-They had a lot of babies. And let’s face it they also fucked up the first one. Hell maybe even the first two. But after 3 you’ve got this in the bag. The babies just pop out of your vagina and the Duggard effect sets in. Shoot no, I’m not getting up to make you breakfast. Go find you sibling ‘buddy’ their big enough to see over the counter. Also, there’s some laundry to be folded. REALLY it’s just a little army of servants. Sure you’ve got to have a Jim Bob self-made millionaire to finance the whole bit but really you just need to put your feet up (you are on bed rest after all) and let the minions handle the rest.

Okay, now I’m going to try and say something nice. Try. I can’t make any promises:

-They actually invest time trying to be a good partner and have a fundamentally healthy relationship with their husbands.

-They think positive thoughts.

-They have a social support group.

-They have a higher calling. Something that they truly believe in and that something happens to always be watching. It’s like the perpetual threat of Santa Clause on small children during the month of December. THOU SHALL BE GOOD FOR I KNOW WHEN YOU ARE SLEEPING, I KNOW WHEN YOU’RE AWAKE! We don’t sing that song as creepily as possible in our house or anything. Never.

*formerly seen on love begets lovely