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More Glories of the Times
In our occasional series on the NYTimes' coverage of motherhood:
Ten days ago the Times marvelled that mothers who travel for business can ENJOY themselves, citing such examples as a full night's sleep on clean sheets, a pedicure in the hotel spa, and catching up with an old friend in another city over dinner. Shouldn't they be spending every moment missing their kids? Will no-one think of the children?? Oh, wait, they do have to leave incredibly detailed notes so their husbands and babysitters don't feed the kids kibble washed down with drano and cross-dress them. (http://select.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=F10817FC385B0C728CDDA80994DE404482, now gone behind the Select wall but if you're dying to read it I can get you a copy).
Yesterday the Times noted that mothers sometimes get together with other mothers, with their children present, and DRINK A GLASS OF WINE. The dangers of this activity are speculated upon (drunk driving, who's watching the children, closet alcoholism). For fuck's sake, people. Now, if they were drinking beer and watching football, that would be okay, right? (http://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/09/fashion/09drink.html?_r=1&ref=fashion&oref=slogin)
Yes, my job as mother is to avoid all potential pleasure, because it might possibly hurt my children.
Ten days ago the Times marvelled that mothers who travel for business can ENJOY themselves, citing such examples as a full night's sleep on clean sheets, a pedicure in the hotel spa, and catching up with an old friend in another city over dinner. Shouldn't they be spending every moment missing their kids? Will no-one think of the children?? Oh, wait, they do have to leave incredibly detailed notes so their husbands and babysitters don't feed the kids kibble washed down with drano and cross-dress them. (http://select.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=F10817FC385B0C728CDDA80994DE404482, now gone behind the Select wall but if you're dying to read it I can get you a copy).
Yesterday the Times noted that mothers sometimes get together with other mothers, with their children present, and DRINK A GLASS OF WINE. The dangers of this activity are speculated upon (drunk driving, who's watching the children, closet alcoholism). For fuck's sake, people. Now, if they were drinking beer and watching football, that would be okay, right? (http://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/09/fashion/09drink.html?_r=1&ref=fashion&oref=slogin)
Yes, my job as mother is to avoid all potential pleasure, because it might possibly hurt my children.
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Yup. It's called bonding with the young'uns.
Given the number of children she had to deal with, and the fact the my father was always traveling, I'm amazed my mother wasn't knocking down tumblers of rum on a daily basis.
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Michael and I have a glass or two of wine with dinner, a few nights per week. OMG, WON'T SOMEONE THINK OF OUR CHILD!?!?!
...Or do you think that's okay, given that I am in the sobering presence of Michael's penis the whole time? Clearly, it's only female drinking that's a problem.
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AKA "what Susan loves most about writers' conferences"
Yesterday the Times noted that mothers sometimes get together with other mothers, with their children present, and DRINK A GLASS OF WINE.
Oh, the humanity! These children just might think that...alcohol in moderation is no big deal, and that drinking is not something to make a big sneaky drunken production out of!
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My grandparents moved to the U.S. when my mom was five, a few years after WWII. Sometime during their first month here, they got thrown out of a restaurant because my grandfather gave my mom a sip of his beer. And yet somehow she avoided spending her life face-down in the gutter. Then when she grew up, she and her neighborhood friends used to take all us kids out for Chinese, and they'd drink fruity tropical drinks and give us the paper umbrellas. And somehow, we survived.
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You know, I had an occasional alcoholic drink from time to time while I was pregnant, with the full knowledge & approval of my midwife. I loathe the fact that I'm supposed to feel guilty about that too.
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My parents would even sometimes -- shock -- have a drink with dinner. And nobody called child protective services or anything!