when we postulated about the time we were gangstas, then figured out what to do with richard sherman and robin thicke.

Maria: I don’t know if you guys are into football, but did you see the guy on the Seahawks team last week who went all crazy on the post-game interview?

Katie:  Sorry. Nope. Seahawks=birds near the ocean? Or somesuch nonsense?

Maria:  It’s Seattle’s football team. They played the 49ers for some big game. (Not the Superbowl, but one of the lead-up games?) I only know this because we got our annual 3-month cable subscription for KU basketball season and Chris sneaks in other sports.

 Katie:  I really hope we have diehard football fans reading our blog. Instant street cred.

Maria: Well, I happened to see this interview after the game. A reporter asked a football player about his thoughts on the last play, when he stopped the other guy from getting a touchdown. And he went all crazy on her, started yelling at the camera with wild eyes.

Katie:  That sounds like an appropriate response.

Maria:  Whatever. I thought it was kind of funny and way more interesting than the usual mid- or post-game interviews. Besides, those guys have to become total machines when they play football and we expect them to have a thoughtful, calm analysis of whatever brutality just happened?

Katie:  OK, I googled it. After I finished googling Ryan Gosling reading “Hey Girl” memes, which is also quite funny.

Maria:  Oh, yeah. I’ve seen that. It is funny.

So through Twitter I found out that people were all upset about this football player. (Can we find out his name?) (And by “we,” I mean, “you”?)  That he didn’t conduct himself more appropriately. Parents thought he wasn’t a very good role model for their kids.

Katie:  We always get in such an uproar, especially on the Internet.

Oh, and it’s Richard Sherman.

 Maria:  Yeah, I’ve been wondering if everyone is really as crazy as they sound on the Internet.

 Katie:  So you’re saying that football players are bound to not say anything worthwhile and that we shouldn’t give them microphones but instead just let them pound the crap out of each other for our enjoyment?

 Maria:  That is absolutely not what I’m saying.

 Katie:  Oh. OK, well, I was going to agree, but I guess now you’re changing your story.

 Maria:  I have a huge amount of respect for athletes, actually.

But that respect (and my expectations of them) end at their athletic ability. I read a blogger who said perhaps parents who expect professional football players to be role models for their kids need to work on their parenting skills. I guess I tend to agree.

Katie:  Oh, absolutely. I hate those silly questions, anyway. Even a very learned, philosophical person with loads of public speaking experience will have trouble responding to the request, “So take me through that last play.” It’s like when they ask celebrities at the Oscars how it feels to be nominated. Umm… good?

I also agree that expecting a professional athlete, or celebrity, or musician to be a role model is pretty ludicrous.  Or…Ludacris? Ha. See what I did there?

It begs the question, though, about how to “make” your kids choose a certain role model. That seems like something a little bit out of parents’ control. Evie is only two and she has decided that Minnie Mouse is the pinnacle of cool. I do not support this decision. I keep showing her pictures of Mother Teresa and Michelle Obama, but she doesn’t really seem to care.

Maria:  That Minnie Mouse business is inevitable. You can hold off exposure to the world for a while, but eventually kids will gravitate towards something you don’t want them to.

Growing up in small-town, white-bread Kansas, I was in high school when the whole ‘gangsta’ stuff was at it’s pinnacle. My friends called me Mer-Dawg. Friday was my favorite movie and I drove around singing “Regulators” and quoting Dr. Dre. 

Katie:  I preferred Bone Thugs ‘n Harmony.

Maria:  I wonder, though, where does an entertainer’s responsibility begin and end? Like, I heard another parent upset about The Beibs getting arrested for a DUI.  Or, take Robin Thicke. I’ve lightened up a bit about “Blurred Lines,” but it’s still not my fave. Am I expecting him to be a role model for me or something?

Katie:  Oh, I have NOT lightened up about that. I don’t know if the term “role model” is right in that situation, acutally. It’s not like I’m looking at Robin Thicke to show me how to behave. But he is a culture-shaper, so I think intellectual push-back is sort of important.

Maria:  A culture-shaper or a culture-reflector? And how is it different than your kid looking to a football player to teach him decorum? 

Katie:  I think he’s a shaper and a reflector because of his fame. I think you go into the music business (pop music, especially) partly for the fame, so you can’t want the fame without at least respecting that you have a certain measure of responsibility. But I’m not Robin Thicke’s mother, so I have very little control over that.

(Oh, thank you God, that I’m not Robin Thicke’s mother, by the way.)

Maria:  I decided to give Robin Thicke a break when I found myself rapping I’m mutha-fucking P.I.M.P., conscience-free.

50 Cent’s my favorite to work out to.

Katie:  We are all a little bit hypocritical, aren’t we?

Maria:  I shouldn’t speak for anyone else, but I can say, yes, I am a hypocrite.

Katie:  Oh, that’s very good of you. But I’m pretty sure every last one of us is at least some kind of hypocrite.

 Maria:  I’ve just been thinking maybe I’ll stay out of all the opinions on pop culture. But, deciding not to have an opinion is still having an opinion.

Right now it’s easier too, because my kids are still at an age where I almost completely control the input. I’ve just been thinking, as they get older, my challenge is teaching them how to think about the things they see and hear.

How, as opposed to What.

Katie:  Yes! I was just writing something like that, but I’m glad you wrote yours because yours sounds better.

Maria:  Joseph Gordon-Levitt was on Ellen the other day and said when he was growing up, his mom would point out the Laker Girls on TV and how their job is to be sexy while the athletes’ job was to be strong or fast. It reminded me that, if the TV’s on and the kids are around, they are listening not just to it, but also to the way Chris and I respond to it.

Katie:  I saw that interview. I cheered audibly for his mother.

Maria: So, no pressure, but I can’t even zone out to the TV 3 months out of the year. Little eyes. Little ears. It makes the rest of the non-cable months less stressful, I guess.

Katie:  I do think that’s the trick, though: to teach them how to interpret what they’re seeing and make strong choices despite what the culture-shapers and culture-reflectors do or say.

Maria:  With some grace for the times the choices aren’t so strong? (Just picturing myself driving around in high school,  sippin’ on gin and juice.)

Katie:  Absolutely. At least I hope so, because I’m zoning out just like you are. And I say stupid things like how football players don’t deserve microphones (that was a joke, Very Strong Football Players).  How in the world would we get on without some grace, for the love?

Maria:  Does Miley Cyrus also get grace?

Katie:  No.

Just kidding. Yes.

Maria:  I’m really feeling sick of the fabricated scandals. It’s like, we don’t want to do the difficult work in real life, so we tune into the TV and then the Internet to talk about what an outrage it all is.

I would take a break from all of it, except I have this blog. On the Internet. Where I’m talking about things that happen on TV…

Katie:  Me too. But it is an outrage. Such a blasted outrage.

have milk, will travel: a contributor’s note

I have yet to meet a woman who says, “Oh, yes, my experience breastfeeding was everything I hoped it would be and more.” Or, for that matter, a woman who says, “I am neutral on the topic.”

Relatively speaking, the time a mother spends nursing her child is short. But, relatively speaking, the time a mother spends nursing her child is intense.

In fact, my experience breastfeeding twins was the catalyst for my career as a writer. What started as a personal essay about the difficulties, disappointment, and disillusionment in breastfeeding, morphed into an entire manuscript about motherhood. The collection became my thesis, the essays began to get published, I decided I needed a blog, and now I’m onto my first novel.

So, I’m quite pleased to announce that this little essay, “The Price of a Boob’s Job,” is the concluding chapter in Rachel Epp Buller’s anthology, “Have Milk, Will Travel.”

The topic of breastfeeding seems to bring out a fight in many women, with strong opinions and emotional responses. Ms. Epp Buller decidedly gives us a break from the intensity with stories, essays, and poems on the lighter side. The book is funny. Because, anyone who’s sat eating dinner, naked from the waist up, in front of her father-in-law, or accidently sprayed milk all over the bathroom mirror, or realizes too late that she forgot to secure the tubing on her pump, knows that breastfeeding can be very funny.

I participated in the publication release events in the LA area last weekend and got a chance to meet Rachel and several other contributors for the first time since I submitted my essay three years ago. With events in Westlake Village, an affluent bedroom community outside of LA, and Hollywood, which is, well….Hollywood, I was struck by the completely different types of people attending the events. Female. Male. Black. White. Monolo Blahniks. Hot-Pink-Uggs. But we were all there, mostly cracking up, sometimes breathing deeply, sharing in the madness of a great equalizer: the lactating breast.

If you, or someone you know, is in the thick of it…grab a dark beer (just one! it’s good for let-down, dontchaknow?!?), sit down in a comfy chair, and get the book here.

don’t ask me if i’m still writing.

My mom joked recently that she was going to have the phrase above printed on a shirt. (Her poignant, accessible book of poetry that explores topics from aging to war to grief can be found here.) (Have you noticed “poignant” is my new favorite word?)

Most writers (and artists and musicians and actors) who have begun or completed a major project hear this type of question often. How disappointing it is the times you have to look down at your twiddling thumbs and mutter “not really.” (Never “no.” And ALWAYS followed by an unsolicited excuse: My material was stolen. I had a baby. I was struck by West Nile Virus  My material was stolen, I had a baby, and was struck with West Nile Virus ALL AT THE SAME TIME.)

But, really? I’m always writing. The words flow from my gut to my heart to my brain to my twitching fingers and back to my brain again, if I can’t get them out. I’m always re-sorting experiences, organizing discussions, making sense of how sad the grocer looks, a secret the waiter must be keeping, the way the light is flooding the room.

How does it take shape? If I’m working on my novel, the words find their way in. If I’m behind on the blog, a new post sparks from the void. If I’m thinking like an essayist, lo and behold: I have another essay. When I answered the question for The Next Big Thing, “How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?” I laughed to myself and thought, my whole fucking life. When I’m asked what authors influence my work, I will say, anyone I’ve ever read. When asked what book is my favorite, I will say, the last one I finished.

I’m never not writing. So, according to poet Charles Bukowski, and others like him, I’ve found my calling. He says, on being a writer:

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don’t do it.

But still. A mother of young children finds it difficult to create. I can’t put my finger on why. Several women have tried, if you’re interested: here, here, and here.

Maybe it has to do with the myth of “balance.” When I try for balance, and one part is given more weight, the rest will tumble off the scales. Sometimes, the writing wants to consume me. Sometimes I have to let it. Sometimes, my family wants to consume me. Sometimes I have to let them. The time my familial life is most harmonious is when I’ve quieted the flood of words, whispered to the writer in me, not now. The times I’m most productive as an artist, humming along on a manuscript, I’m irritated easily by my husband and children, we eat frozen pizza for days on end, and no one can find anything in the house.

Those who offer encouragement say, “but having a child is the ultimate creative act.”

No, I don’t feel this way. A force beyond anything I could control or understand produced the art that came from the depths of my body. It was not my own.

Motherhood and creativity have a complicated relationship: not unlike that of the oil and vinegar I pour on our greens in the evening. Together, but separate. Complimentary, but will also stand on their own. A work of art when swirled, but never truly integrated.

I’ll let you decide which is the light, which is the dark. It may depend on the day.

So, yes, I’m still writing. I will always be writing.

But, for now, the pages come like slow contractions before the rush of transition: with long breaks in between.

on the bike i ain’t nobody’s mama

Because we sometimes forget that we agree to disagree, my husband and I periodically have a conversation when he gets home from work that sounds like this:

me: I’m so glad you’re home. The kids are driving me crazy and we need to figure something out for dinner and I’ve been working on the house all day. I’m exhausted.

him: I’ve been working all day, too, you know.

me: I didn’t say you weren’t. But I need a break from doing the same kind of work. If I don’t get a break, I’m doing the same thing, 24 hours a day.

him: I know you work hard. But when do I get a break?

me: But if you get a break when do I get a break?

Then we say we don’t know how single parents do it.

This is not earth-shattering stuff. And it’s the stuff of a relatively privileged life. If you “stay at home,” you have similar conversations. If not, you’re tired of hearing about them from those of us who do. And before you get all excited over opinions of working moms vs. “stay-at-home” moms (always in quotations until I learn of a less ridiculous term for this lifestyle), understand: this is not that kind of piece. Yes, I know the debate is alive and well lately, but here’s a secret the flame-fanners ignore: I’ve done it both ways with young children and there are benefits and disadvantages to working outside the home and working with the home. Don’t talk yourself into thinking that if you could to just go back to work or just quit your job and stay home, your life would get better.

But after having this who gets a break? conversation with friends and, ahem, spouses-who-shall-go-unnamed, I’ve been thinking: It’s not so much that I need a break from the work (that is exhausting and unpaid and culturally under-appreciated…but that is a different piece); it’s about a break from identity.

Nothing I’ve done in life has flooded me with a tidal wave of identity like becoming a mother. It was only after having my third child that I finally knew I had what it took to “stay at home.” That’s right: going back to grad school and working full-time was easier for me than staying home with twins. I had lost my already-shaky sense of identity and I didn’t know how to be a mother until I understood who I was outside of being a mother.

Back when I was teaching and writing full-time, when I met someone new, I would tell them I have three children and I teach and write. Then, we would go on to have a conversation about interesting things. Now that I tell people I have three children and I “stay at home” the conversation stalls. She must not have much to talk about, is the unspoken message I get. This reaction is not just in my head. In social settings I’ve observed friends who work outside the home quickly make it clear that they have real jobs besides “just” being a mother. I could do it too; I can say I’m a writer. But unless I’m feeling especially insecure, I don’t. I want it to be clear that “staying at home” is something I value and take pride in and yet— surprise! —I still have other things to talk about.

Cycling is one of the few pre-children identity-holdovers that I’ve kept since becoming a mother. (Even writing is something I began professionally after I had kids.) And I’ve held onto cycling not just because it fills me with passion and the energy of living. I hold onto it because it gives me that break I need from being someone’s mother. When I go through the ritual of putting on my funny little lycra pants, my jersey, my helmet, and I head out to climb the foothills and speed down the road, I am a cyclist. I am anonymous and free and I could be anyone to the stranger driving by.

I need this and my children don’t know it yet, but they need this for me. I need a break from being their mother so I can be a better mother.

What is your passion? What fills you with the goodness of life? Is it professional? Getting that certificate, going back to school,  finishing that novel? Is it creative? Photography, fashion, design? Is it physical? Dance, yoga, swimming? Is it whimsical? Reading, watching your favorite show, sitting in a sunny corner with a mug of tea?

If you haven’t the means to engage your passion, I hope you can find a way. If you choose not to engage, think twice before judging people who do. It means the world has one less resentful, bitter, unfulfilled person, which can only make it a better place.

What is your passion? Don’t let anyone make you feel guilty that it isn’t why you got a degree or it doesn’t bring in money or somehow you haven’t “earned” it.

People will judge you. Let them. And don’t fall into the trap of telling yourself you’re doing it for the kids. There’s nothing wrong with doing it for yourself.

Sometimes you’ve got to be nobody’s mama.