Learning About Momming by QUITTING LAW SCHOOL - My Messy Beautiful

I know what you're thinking. But no. Not, as the kids say, #firstworldproblems.

Well maybe the law school part. But not the quitting part. The quitting part was about a problem that any human anywhere could understand. It was about freedom.

Now I'm sure I only learned a fraction of what I was supposed to learn in exchange for my BA in Politics, but I got one thing down: ALL HUMANS WANT FREEDOM.

Needless to say, the world would probably be a sh*tshow if we all had complete freedom. Not all humans are strong in empathy and some are downright power hungry b*tches. Limited resources and all that.

But the world would also be a sh*tshow if we had no freedom. We need to feel we have a critical amount of control over our life decisions. We're happier that way. More peaceful. Less likely to rebel. That kind of thing.

And that's why the world is the way is the way the world is. A decent balance of being free and being controlled in some places, and a sh*tshow in places that lack balance.

There you go. Now you can have a BA in Politics too, if you don't already have one.

Not only does this freedomquest explain the world in sixty seconds or less, it also explains my life circa 2009. The year I quit law school. A messy year.

First things first. Me. I don't like doing things I don't want to do. And when I'm TOLD to do something I don't want to do? No. Like, I will put seven thousand times the amount of effort that the thing I was told to do would take into NOT doing that thing.

Sounds a lot like a stubborn toddler? I know.

But the big difference between stubborn toddlers and me is that I'm old enough to know that doing things for other people feels good. So even though I don't do well with orders, I don't really need them. I do things for people voluntarily. My robot builder people in high school, my debater people in college, my coworker people here in downtown Boston. I like to think that this means I'm not a total jack wagon of an adult. And that matters to me. Because I like people.

In fact, this was true of me even as a kid. I liked my parent people, so things were easy. They weren't schedule packers or demanding in any other form. So I liked making them happy. There was some brief friction in high school when I got my license and my dad turned into a car mileage nazi. But soon enough it was my best friend's turn with her family's decade-old Plymouth Acclaim. Sure, ownership had passed through her older sister's abusive hands and its recalled baby blue paint had rusted off of at least half the roof. But it got us to nowhere in particular and back more times than necessary, and its speakers were perfectly capable of keeping early career Britney Spears jams pumping.

That old car of course had no idea how significant a role it had in keeping the Willcox home at peace. And there peace stayed straight through graduation; I got good grades, picked a good major at a good college, and planned to go to law school. Voluntarily. College was no different. I got more good grades, I captained the debate team like all the coolest kids do, and I did well on the LSAT. I even did well in law school for two years.

But of course that doesn't mean sh*t. Because it turns out I had a problem with law school. And the short version of that problem is that it didn't feel right.

I could tell you the long version, but it would take awhile. It would involve things like how I came home from Orientation Day Number One to my best friend (you know, the one who used to drive the Acclaim) and told her, "I don't like any of these people." And as I told you, I LIKE PEOPLE. For real. I'll make friends with anyone. From the checker-inner at the tanning salon to my thesis advisor. I like all the people. You can't even stop me. But law school people. Different story. I warmed up to some of them eventually. But after months and months of feeling just lukewarm, it got depressing. Oh. And then the lawyers in the interviews. And at the summer job. Barf. Lawyer people. There was actually a lot more to it, but people was the biggest part. (And no offense, lawyers. There are a (very) few awesome humans who somehow handle their sh*t as lawyers. If you're a lawyer reading this, you're probably one of those lawyers.)

In any event, I endured, auto-pilot style, into my third and final year. That fall, I had been taking a class called the Nuremburg Trials with a professor who was generally as stoned as he was tenured. There was no homework (that he expected anyone to do anyway), and in class we watched movies and talked very generally about morality. Not so bad. Then one day he showed us actual footage of human bodies being dumped into a mass grave. And although I really feel my feelings when I feel them, a lot of times they don't come quickly or at all. I can't explain it. So anyway, I didn't expect feelings to come from the scene. But they did. I had a forty minute drive between campus and my parents' house, which was where I had been stupid enough to live during my third year in an effort to save money, which I ended up binge shopping away at some point to medicate my upcoming empty state of existence. Anyway. In those forty minutes, my feelings transformed from an ambiguous unsettled feeling into my entire head completely consumed by WHAT IS THE POINT OF LIFE, with correlating tears exploding out of my eyeballs, to the undoubted bewilderment of somewhere around fifty other drivers on I-84 on that rainy Friday morning. I was done.

And the way I dealt with not wanting to go to law school was I stopped going to law school.

So here's the deal. When you combine a desire to abandon your path to a prestigious career because "it doesn't feel right" and because you "don't like the people" with parents who have anxieties in the form of finance and stability and work ethic, what you get is a good old fashioned sh*tshow.

My parents passed on the opportunity to disown me when I finally told them I wanted to quit law school. They just made it clear that I should graduate "just in case" and start figuring out what I wanted to do with my life instead. Their support for this new mystery lifestyle of my choosing was conditioned upon securing my backup plan. My backup plan being the one plan I knew with complete certainty that I did not ever want to do.

So I tried for some amount of depressing days and decided eff that. And that decision began the sh*tshowiest part of the Great Sh*tshow of 2009. My dad was just a little more than furious that I was now "backing out of a deal" to graduate. Through his fury, he got hold of some puppet strings I didn't even realize were attached to me and wouldn't let go. In more enraged terms, he said that he wanted to kick me out, but he owned my car, so I would have no way to get anywhere else to stay. It's been eight years since I took Formal Logic, but I'm pretty sure the amount of sense this made was exactly zero sense.

Faced with this imaginary dilemma, he gave me one more chance to agree to graduate. Okay. I could have put my foot down, called my best friend to pick me up, and then cobbled together the rest of my life from her couch in the in-law apartment above her boyfriend's parents' garage, from whence comes the most delicious Italian cooking this side of the Connecticut River. It wouldn't have been bad in a whole bunch of ways. So if I could have done that without decapitating my relationship with my dad, I probably would have. Feelings of imprisonment aside, I have been given one million reasons to love my dad (and mom, who basically just sat and cried throughout the entirety of the sh*tshow, such is her way). So I didn't want to do that.

But remember the part where I said I don't like doing things I don't want to do? ESPECIALLY when I'm TOLD to? About that. I may or may not have continued dodging campus and then forged a completed transcript and got their seal of approval on a semi-permanent move from Massachusetts down to Texas.

I don't relive the sh*tshow often. Because when I do, I feel like slamming a mojito or eight likerightnow. Either because I need to get it out of my head FAST or in celebration of the fact that it's all over. But I think the truth is that I'd suffer through it all again seven thousand times. Because it taught me a heck of a lot about the most important place my life would ever bring me to. Motherhood.

So there I was living with my pregnant Army officer sister in Texas. My parents even subsidized my entire time there, which was really generous, but also felt a lot like more puppet strings. So I started looking for a job anywhere in the country that I knew people. Six or seven months later, I found a job back in Boston. A beautiful job. A job at a non-profit in the legal industry that I'd actually enjoy because PEOPLE. Not too much contact with the client people (who are lawyers) and totally cool coworkers. Coworkers who were among the few lawyers who had fled the practice of law. Turns out, I'd even end up liking a handful of our clients too. (A handful. That's out of about 600.)

This job. The proverbial icing on the proverbial cake is that I COULD NOT HAVE gotten this job if I HAD gotten a law degree. Just-in-case THAT.

And the proverbial whipped cream on the proverbial icing is that I found my husband living right above the first apartment I moved into for this job. And what goes on top of proverbial whipped cream? Proverbial chocolate syrup? Proverbial chocolate shavings? Both? Because he had a Tiki dog for my Monty dog, and now, a bunch of years later, we have the most amazing son you ever did see. So. Much. Beautiful.

So listen. I know God doesn't like lies. But damn. Sh*t really worked out for me. I don't know why. Maybe it was because I really didn't want to lie but was literally scared sh*tless and backed into a corner. You might not believe me, and justifiably so. But I'm me and I know that I really don't like lying. And I know I made it sound easy but I felt nothing but panic and fear for months and months before and after I did it. Because the lie was the messiest part of the sh*tshow. And as you probably realize, a sh*tshow is really messy. So yes. Part of me wishes I'd been braver. It wouldn't have been quite as messy for me for awhile there.

But being in that lying place taught me something I couldn't have learned anywhere else. Messy is a good teacher and learning is beautiful. And I learned the sh*t out of my messy lesson. I learned some seriously deep sh*t about parenting. About freedom and happiness and about lies and fear. Ideas that I ramble about all up in this blog. It was an enlightening sh*tshow. 

Of course I didn't realize that until I started reading about parenting and thinking about the sh*tshow in the context of parenting. So for years it just sat in my memory as a sh*tshow. 

Until learning. When beautiful grew out of messy. Because learning.

What I'm saying is that messes are for learning and big messes are for big learning. And learning is beautiful. So it turns out that messes are just as beautiful as they are messy. You just have to learn.

This essay and I are part of the Messy, Beautiful Warrior Project — To learn more and join us, CLICK HERE! And to learn about the New York Times Bestselling Memoir Carry On Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, just released in paperback, CLICK HERE.

The Real Reason Babies Are Born Helpless

Apparently the common knowledge that babies are born more helpless than other mammals because of the baby brain to mommy pelvis size ratio is not current science.

Science. Always pulling sh*t on us silly humans. 

And science's real reason for helpless baby humans has yet to reveal itself to us. But there's a hypothesis out there that it's related to humans being cultural, that the baby human can absorb more culture early on this way.

I disagree with that hypothesis. I think that the real reason babies come out babies and not toddlers is because SH*T, TODDLERS? It's about the parents. 

You know how it recently became trendy to call your toddler a jerk hole? I'm going to get controversial and reveal my far from professional opinion on this. Obviously this is applying adult standards of behavior to creatures that are not adults. So it's wrong in a basic way. But unless our toddlers are reading HuffPo, and as long as we don't call them turd buckets to their faces, maybe it's okay to call a spade a spade. Or in this case, to call an egocentric vortex of impressionability an egocentric vortex of impressionability.

And I mean exactly that. Those wee mutinists have underdeveloped brains and can and WILL be influenced by their surroundings. There's no way around it. We have to teach those creatures empathy, and their brains will get stronger.

I'm a realist. I accept that my monkey is going to do as I do, not as I say. I mean, apart from the cliche about monkeys, there's been precisely one sh*tload of science that proves this in the form of studies bearing the result that kids learn by example. So I deal with that.

True life, it sucks in at least several ways. On the other hand, it is the world's best motivator for self-improvement ever. But that's also what kind of sucks because that self-improvement sh*t? Ain't easy.

Have you ever tried to calm yourself down when you are SO EFFING P*SSED OFF? It doesn't just suck. It suuuucks. As obvious as it sounds that all humans want nothing more than to be happy always, it is straight up false. What I'd consider sane humans do want to be happy, true. But wanting nothing more than that? No. 

I think if going from angry to happy required a finger snap, most people would be all aboard the happy train. But for some psychological reason that I know jack about, the transition requires significantly more work. And that is one beast of a deterrent. 

During pregnancy and postpartumcy, my husband and I got into a handful of ridiculously exasperating arguments because hormones. Whether it's because I like him so much or because he's the king of irrelevant tangents, I loathe arguing with him. There is nothing I would rather not do. Burpees on broken glass? With GLEE.

But unless you're married to the jackwagoniest jackwagon around, there's a surefire way to end an argument. JUST STOP F*CKING ARGUING. Oh but good luck with that. It's chemicals, right? Chemicals in our brains that make it hard to stop arguing. F*cking chemicals. 

But. One thing I've learned is that those f*cking chemicals CAN be overthrown. This is the self-improvement sh*t that I mentioned before, which if you'll recall, "ain't easy".

I'm not particularly knowledgeable in Buddhism or mindfulness of any sort, so you're way better off Googling techniques than using my methods which involved things like fleeing mid-argument to take a shower where I would chant in my head I CAN STOP ARGUING I CAN STOP ARGUING I CAN STOP ARGUING over all the other loud thoughts about how right I was and how wrong my husband was until the water turned cold at which point I would throw my body onto the bed where exhaustion would hold me captive against my desire to go resume the argument until sleep would finally quiet the crazy.

Okay. So then I get a baby who is not nearly as aware as a toddler and also cries because maybe I put him down for 38 seconds when he specifically wanted to be held for those 38 seconds.

This is a damn crash course in self-improvement. It starts off with an innocent baby who might irritate me, but only for eight seconds until I feel so guilty for feeling eight seconds of irritation that I do nothing but hug and kiss and apologize to my innocent baby for the rest of the week. 

It escalates quickly from there. When my one year old is WAILING because I have the f*cking audacity to change his wetter than hell diaper, I feel a lot more than eight seconds of irritation before I feel guilty. Understandable, but also not ideal, and totally CHANGEABLE.

It's NOT EASY. But he's on the brink of toddlerdom whether I like it or not. He does in fact toddle, and he's understanding more and more words every day. So by the time he REALLY understands me in a few months, and starts to ACT HOW I ACT, I need to have my sh*t together.

I have precisely one trick at this point. I mean, I'll work on other tricks once I nail this one, but slow down please. 

I started rereading How to Talk So Kids Will Listen & Listen So Kids Will Talk. The first chapterish is about how effective it is to validate your kids' feelings and NOT to console them away from their feelings. (Like really, if you were mid-fight with your husband who can't manage to so much as splash water around the sink to rinse his toothpaste down and also left his belt on the floor again (the buckle of which when stepped on hurts worse than the smallest of legos), and your mom appears and is all like, "Oh honey, don't be frustrated, it's not a big deal." Do you (a) Joyfully exclaim YOU'RE RIGHT THANKS MOM!, or (b) Kick her in the shin?)

So. When Finley's doing his signature back-arch-stiff-body maneuver to escape my loving arms at bedtime, all the while screaming in my ear with the occasional elbow to the boob, you can probably imagine what my initial urge to do is. But now. I've taken to saying, "You're so mad! You don't want to go to sleep! You want to stay up and play! I understand! Tell me more about how you feel honey!"

I'M NOT KIDDING YOU, THAT RIDICULOUS SH*T WORKS. The words are like tiny wizards, shoving empathy straight down your throat and into your soul. And magic of all magic, when the kid keeps screaming, well now he's OBEYING me, because I told him to tell me all about it. And for this, I am happier. Even if he doesn't fall sleep faster, I'm f*cking happier. BUT THEN HE DOES FALL ASLEEP FASTER. I SH*T YOU NOT. HE DOES. 

Empathy. Patience. Wizardry.

I'm all about letting kids be kids and giving the old EFF YOU MOTHERFUDGER to any adults who forgot that they too were once kids and are utterly convinced that their parents literally beat human goodness into them under only the most loving authoritarian regime and yet they can't even tolerate the sight of a child running and yelling in public. In PUBLIC. CoughEMPATHYthroatclearPATIENCE. You know what I mean? 

Anyway. I TOTALLY get why it's all trendy to admit that your kids p*ss you off. And I think that's a REALLY REALLY GOOD AND TOTALLY NECESSARY place to start. But I think what we should START is self-improvement so we can model good humanness for them. Not a penal system that will be as frustrating for you as it is for them and at best will result in robots anyway. And hey, robots are great if all you want is obedience. But if you want to raise good humans, you have to act like a good human. It's not easy, but it gets easier, and it's rewarding, and it works.

Bossy Parents and Schools: The Real Reasons We Re-Elected a Congress We Hate

That happened, as you probably know. Congress had 10% approval rating and a 91% re-election rate. The f*ck?

Most seem to boil the issue down to partisanship and voter ignorance, which seems more or less as obvious as my love for burritos.

There's pretty much no denying that we Americans "don't understand" the "enormously complex and vastly distant government". So the parties use ordinary marketing methods because that sh*t works. YOU HAVE A NICE SMILE. YOUR SLOGAN IS TRUTH. Catch phrases, oversimplification, blar blar blar.

All true. I see the sh*t that people who I wouldn't otherwise suspect of being total jack wagons share on Facebook. The memes. TEA PARTY because CONSERVATIVE. How convincing. Sign me up. (Not YOU, though. The memes you share are deep. Really.)

Yes. I see how easily manipulated voters are. Er'ry day.

And when people talk about how to avoid this, they talk about the structure of government, the electoral process, sh*t like that. Word. Back in school, we spent entire courses trying to solve that problem as we earned our BAs in Politics. Mercifully, the New Hampshire Institute of Politics served baller hot chocolate. Because damn. If you think the government in reality is enormously complex, try government IN THEORY. Holy hell. Get cozy, kids. You're gonna be here awhile.

Put it this way. Even the guys who designed this government, arguably the best to date (insofar as it's the longest lived and living democracy), they were just guessing. They disagreed with each other every step of the way. They even screwed up the first time.

They argued about theory, which we still do today. But. Today, NONE OF IT MATTERS. Or, it matters hugely, but also partially doesn't matter in a very all-consuming way.

Stay with me. What I'm saying is that there's one super fundamental issue that NO ONE (or not nearly enough ones) are talking about.

Let's get this out of the way. The government is only as distant as we allow it to be. As any casual stalker will tell you, it takes two to create distance. We could totally stalk the government if we wanted to. (DEAR NSA, DON'T WORRY, NOT IN A SCARY WAY.) In this way: sign up for emails to find out what those f*ckers are doing, or find out here or here or here, or Google that sh*t and find about seventy thousand other places to find out. IT COULDN'T BE EASIER.

Sure. That sh*t still gets confusing. Because GUN OWNERSHIP PROVISIONS IN HEALTHCARE BILLS. But still. Just stop voting for anyone who adds a horsesh*t rider onto an important bill. Just as easy as not voting for anyone whose votes we don't agree with. This isn't really hard.

IN THEORY.

So here's my point, which is also a lot of other people's points: WHY DON'T WE? Why don't we put even the smallest amount of effort toward getting what we want from those f*ckers with the lifetime pensions?

MY ANSWER: From day one, we are taught not to question the powers that rule over us. And this is downright buffoonery in a democracy.

And this is hardly a government conspiracy. It's PARENTS. Parents emphasize obedience. The casualties are self-advocacy, negotiation, persistence. Things that make a good citizen of democracy.

But who can blame them? Because everyone out there in society values kids who are one thing: OBEDIENT. Guys. I get it. Obedient kids don't get in your way. They don't give you a headache. COOL.

But obedience is like a dark, sketchy alley that would save you so much walking but also might be where you meet a murderer and then die. Obedience is a DANGEROUS SHORTCUT.

It is a SHORTCUT. It's a shortcut to CONSIDERATE. I know why we take this shortcut. Because we can't simply command CONSIDERATE, and we don't see immediate results when we try to teach it. Oh, and teaching it requires MODELING. And yes. Modeling means WE have to BE CONSIDERATE to other people. EVEN WHEN WE DON'T WANT TO BE. Aw sh*t.

But what a world that would be.

Nonetheless, if that's your approach to parenting, you'll piss people off. Because we've been indoctrinated with this obedience-centric horsesh*t for a long time. Generally, people think kids who aren't on the receiving end of OBEY ME are destined for hoodlumdom.

But, if you're a strong and patient parent, you can do it. You can spearhead the peaceful revolution that will one day make government accountable again. So simple. F*ck obedience, focus on empathy.

There's a less simple component, though. Because maybe it also REALLY IS a government conspiracy. Because they are the ones passing absurd sh*t like Common Core Standards, the result of which is schools turning kids into automatons rather than willful individuals.

I don't know if this kind of obedience momentum in public schools and in legislation can be stopped. And maybe the government will be unaccountable forever. But at the absolute very least, enlightened parents should keep at it.

IN DEFENSE OF MOMMY WARS. Kind of. But really, not. But kind of.

I know a lot of people act like they're perfect humans. And some people are really good actors. But that's what they are. Really good actors. Not perfect humans.

Others of us aren't faking sh*t. We're just doing the best we can. Sometimes it involves knowing that we COULD do better IN THEORY but admitting that we CANNOT do better IN REALITY. And sometimes it involves believing that we are ACTUALLY doing what's BEST but knowing that others will disagree.

And this is my favorite thing about the universe: If someone has the balls to judge us for any part of that, we are instantaneously and necessarily better than that person. Because the WORST thing a human can do is to judge another human. Jesus said so. Buddha said so. All the best ones said so.

I have this friend, Shauna. Shauna had her baby girl two months before I had my baby boy. Something about Shauna: She does EVERYTHING. Makes her own yogurt. Travels internationally for her job. Sends out Thank You Cards. WITH THOUGHTFUL MESSAGES IN THEM. ON TIME. All kinds of things I never do. If ever there were a human whose very existence could make someone feel inferior, it is Shauna.

Something else about Shauna: Not a judger. In fact, she says what she loves most about me is "how unapologetically RACHEL I am". What that means is that, among other worse things, last year our Christmas Cards turned out to be New Years Cards, and I've never sent a Thank You Card in my life. And it has nothing to do with trees, despite what I still might tell you if you confronted me on the matter.

Now. The whole Thank You Card failure had always been a source of shame for me. I felt exactly how the ever so wise Glennon Doyle Melton described it in her liberating Facebook post in which she admitted the very same failure. And it got me thinking.

What power OWNERSHIP carries.

I own just about every other failure of mine. Because I really believe I do the best I can, given my priorities. And I'm strangely confident that my priorities are in order. (Right there is where the Thank You Card shame happened, because showing gratitude is high on my list. And somehow the paper industry fooled me into believing that the only expressions of gratitude that count are written ones?)

For whatever reason, I'm lucky enough that deep down in my soul, I believe that MY BEST is ENOUGH. How long I research something. How I analyze the research. My eventual decision. All of it. If it's my best, it's enough.

But I know. Some mamas are thinner-skinned. And looking at your skin and telling it to grow thicker never seems to work. And this is why I see so many NICE mamas keeping information from other mamas, in case it might be offensive. In case it might be interpreted as a battle in this thing that's become known as MOMMY WARS.

But I think the worst thing we can collectively do is to tell a thin-skinned mama that she should be so ashamed of DOING SOMETHING 'WRONG' that discussing it is off limits. Acceptance and hiding do not mix. I find the movement to end discourse on all mama choices and decisions downright scary.

My co-worker once mentioned that she fed her six month old oatmeal.

About that. NOT A BIG DEAL. I have no allergies and a super immune system, and my mom did the same thing with me. BUT. I recently read how the amylase in grains can't be broken down until 12 months and too much of it can cause the gut to leak, resulting in digestion problems and/or allergies. POSSIBLE. It was enough for me to hold off on grains until now that Finley is a year old. But I didn't tell Heidi about it.

HEIDI ISN'T EVEN THIN-SKINNED. And she knows I'm not a jack hole so she knows I wouldn't judge her. I TOTALLY COULD HAVE TOLD HER. But I've been so inundated by this STOP MOMMY WARS propaganda that I had what can only be described as some kind of brain lapse, and couldn't think of a non-awkward way to tell her.

Now if Zoey develops a gluten intolerance, IT WILL BE MY FAULT.

And that's what I don't like about the War on Mommy Wars. Information spreading is, like, a civilian casualty. And that's why I would like it to stop.

And I don't think that the War on Mommy Wars is particularly effective anyway.

And here's why. Yelling at the haters not to hate will NEVER end the Mommy Wars. (IT'S JUST WHAT THEY DO, after all.) In fact, YELLING is like Hater Oxygen. But we suffocate them, and Mommy Wars, by not giving a sh*t. So very simple. We let the judgers judge as long as they want. We just stop giving a sh*t.

Who knows. Maybe they'll keep judging forever even if we stop giving a sh*t. But, you know what? WE WON'T GIVE A SH*T.

So. A quick How To on Not Giving A Sh*t: OWN YOUR DECISIONS. As mamas, we DO HARD THINGS all day, er'ry day. That, and being human, means WE DON'T HAVE TO DO ALL THE RIGHT THINGS.

But we still need information, for when we CAN and WANT TO do them.

I've seen a few mamas willing to provide information with the disclaimer that we all know what's best for our children. Well. That's certainly possible and definitely true sometimes. I actually thought about taking that route when I had the chance to tell Heidi about the oatmeal. But in my head it sounded at least seventy percent absurd.

Because when I read that thing about the grains, it became clear to me that up until that point, I didn't know what was best for Finley in terms of feeding him or not feeding him grains. Who knows. Maybe if I lived on a prairie in the good old days with only my female family members helping me figure out what the eff I was doing, back when grains weren't processed for us in convenient pouches and whatnot, maybe then I would have "known best". But in good old 2013, all signs were pointing to "Feed Finley Oatmeal". So, no. I didn't know best.

Actually, there was a lot of sh*t I didn't know as a first time mom. I figured some sh*t out. I probably definitely did some sh*t wrong. So, I'm sorry if all the other mamas like the you-always-know-what's-best-for-Johnny reassurance. But I hate it. It seems patronizing. SOMETIMES I know what's best for Johnny Finley. BUT SOMETIMES I DON'T AND WE SHOULDN'T HAVE TO SUGARCOAT THAT SH*T. Because sugarcoated sh*t is even worse than regular sh*t. I think.

And guess what. Sometimes I know what's best and I STILL DON'T DO IT. I DON'T CLOTH DIAPER. I had G Diapers all lined up and ready to go for the long haul, but the f*ckers leaked. I Googled and read their blog and tried this and tried that, but the f*ckers leaked. For months and months, the f*ckers leaked. Every size, every time, the f*ckers leaked. And in the Great Financial Adjustment of 2013, we never saved up a big enough chunk to invest in another expensive and potential leaky cloth diapering system. Likewise, in the Great Time Adjustment of 2013, we never had enough time to research which would be the next 'best' option.

BUT. If someone came along and fed me the red pill and told me exactly how offensive this is to the earth, I wouldn't spit it out, cry, and feel like a failure for what I've done. I would admit that I enjoyed living in the Matrix thus far, swallow the darn pill, give up some burrito nights and time on Pinterest, and actually get on the ball before Finley's potty trained.

And you're right. I'm not seeking out the red pill. I'm owning the hell out of that decision, too. And I'm not even defending why. Some mamas will understand. Others will judge. And I won't give a sh*t.

VACCINES: There Is No Answer.

If only we shared as much love on Facebook as we do divisive and oversimplified vaccination memes. IF ONLY.

AUTISM LINK. HERD IMMUNITY. Yes. I know. But see those people on the other side of the fence? They also want their kids alive and healthy. BUT WE'RE IN AN OVERPOPULATED WORLD WITH DISEASES THAT MUTATE AND THIS SH*T IS HARD TO MANAGE.

But it's also straightforward in a way. No amount of justified distrust of big pharma can make the following statements untrue. Vaccines are not guaranteed to work. But that doesn't mean they never work. Vaccines contain toxins. But that doesn't mean they will always cause harm.

The human body has a system to deal with toxins. But sometimes the detoxification system will fail to do its job. So sometimes vaccines will cause harm or death. Definitely not always.

The human body has a system to deal with diseases. But sometimes the immune system will fail to do its job. So sometimes diseases will cause harm or death. Definitely not always.

So let me quickly get real about what that means.

You truly do not know whether your child would be saved or harmed by a vaccine. You can guess. You can somewhat educatedly guess. But you do not know.

Because the data needed to get a precise risk analysis? It is extremely broad. And there are some big unkowns that can make all the difference to your individual situation.

First let's weigh the risk of disease. We have to know the likelihood of contraction in vaccinated persons relative to those unvaccinated. Then we have to know the likelihood of permanent damage or mortality when contracted. Those statistics exist. If you ask me, they're fuzzy as sh*t because they hinge on decades of data and how the eff do you account for population growth, sanitation conditions, other medical developments, and general health? Or even random sh*t like how antibacterial hand soap is affecting human immune systems and germ strength?

But still, we get statistically maybe-somewhat-accurate trends. But even so. Relying on probability to determine your risk is inherently inaccurate for an individual when one single occurrence can instantaneously turn the numbers the way that only contagious diseases can.

And the other side of the equation is an equal b*tch to compute. Vaccine injury and death rates exist. And here you have some more fuzzy as sh*t numbers because are they under-reported by doctors or over-reported since the timing of vaccines coincides with that of symptom onset for neurological problems that occur even without vaccines?

But maybe they give us some general idea. But then we get M. Night Shyamalaned again. Because can you read your genetic code? Me either. And toxin exposure from sources other than vaccines? Maybe you have a general sense of your child's, but how much BPA did those kids in the statistics chew on before they got vaccinated? And how much GMO food did they eat? No one's controlling for that. And if one does control for BPA or GMO or OPP (yeah you know... nevermind) exposure, what about all the toxins they don't even know about? The ones in non-BPA plastic that they haven't studied yet? The ones in perfume? All the ones in all the places that you'll only know about in twenty years? And are they ever even going to try to isolate the variable of those increasingly flashy HD strobe lights marketed as educational television? These other toxins matter. It's science.

What you end up with is two amorphous gray blobs on each side of the scale. But hey, it's great for you if you can convince yourself that it's a big black mass against a tiny white spec. Peace of mind. Enjoy it.

But it'd be better for our collective peace if we all just recognize that it's a crap shoot. On the count of three, let's all stop pretending our guesses are answers, and just respect each other's guesses.

Because get ready. Sh*t's about to get cray.

First. Any brain scientist will tell you that what people may label an "instinct" is actually the result of your brain's unconscious observations and synthesis of said observations.

Second. If you haven't watched the documentary I Am, go do it. It explains the very very real reality that information is transferred in ways other than through our senses and conscious mind. This isn't trippy, this is modern physics. Okay. Maybe it's both. But, for reals, molecules are connected in ways we LITERALLY DO NOT UNDERSTAND (and when I say we, I mean physicists too, because I have so much in common with them). As such, information is passed via electromagnetic fields. And in case you didn't know, the heart's electromagnetic field is FIVE THOUSAND times the size of the brain.

So all I'm gonna say is this. What if all of us moms were making the right decisions for our kids and we didn't even know it? What if, collectively, we were unconsciously avoiding every avoidable instance of neurological damage and death? And here's the big one: What if we all just assume that to be true?

KIDS DON'T NEED LIMITS. You heard me.

Okay, they need DON'T PLAY WITH KNIVES limits. I'm not talking about safety limits. I'm not an idiot.

That said, my money's on close to 90% of people still thinking that I AM an idiot. NO WAY THIS LADY HAS A DEGREE IN CHILD PSYCHOLOGY.

You're right. I don't. But I have something way better: MEMORY.

Having my memory is better than having a degree for the following reason. Child psychology is like literally every other ology. There is never one answer and there are always two schools of thought. I wish I realized that sooner.

Back before I had a kid, I used to watch Supernanny every Friday night with my then-pregnant sister. This tradition had me convinced that I should not follow in my sister's pregnant footsteps because TIMEOUT? Like ENFORCE it? And MAKE a reward chart? With my HANDS? Remember to USE it? CONSISTENTLY? Not my thang.

Being single at the time, I wasn't too worried about what a terrible parent I'd make right then and there. But I did make mental notes in case I ever I met a nice guy with whom I wanted to make a baby.

I quickly forgot everything Supernanny taught me, time passed, I met my husband, and then we decided we could raise a human. At some point, I got a Supernanny flashback, and thought DAMN. I still don't know how not to raise a jerk. I better figure that sh*t out.

But then, I found a blog post that linked to an article, which led me to buy a book. And that book petted me on the head and told me it would be okay and that Supernanny was full of sh*t.

That book was Alfie Kohn's Unconditional Parenting. It said that there was an alternative to the rewards/punishment model, and it was good. And that was about all I needed to hear because I'd never be consistent enough for that sh*t anyway. But, talking to and engaging my kid? Well that sounded downright familiar.

As a kid, I never encountered timeout or saw a reward chart. And since I was a REALLY well-behaved kid, everything Alfie said made some hardcore sense to me.

BUT. Everywhere you look on the internets, it's like CONTROL YOUR HEATHENS. RULES. TIMEOUTS. LIMITS. CHILDREN WITHOUT LIMITS SCARE THEMSELVES.

Limits. Wait. I didn't really encounter too many of those either. I mean, my parents told me not to do dangerous things, but I was perfectly happy not to hurt myself or anyone else, so they didn't have to enforce those. So. Was I scared as a kid?

Nooo. (And be real. Do you ever remember feeling fear when you were in a particularly wild or persistent mood as a child? Or did you feel excited and determined? That's what I thought.)

The very few times my parents gave me limits, it was the LIMITS that felt SCARY.

So I thank God that I was born to my mom and dad, who were usually open for negotiation. But the rare times that they weren't, I felt panic. Like being trapped or invisible. Literally helpless. No power, no input.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CAN'T SIT BEHIND THE DRIVER'S SEAT? WHY IS IT EMILY'S SEAT? SHE GETS IT EVERY DAY. WHY DON'T I GET A TURN? I DON'T KNOW WHY I WANT TO SIT THERE BUT I DO. WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT'S NOT A REASON? THIS FIT I'M THROWING? THAT MEANS THIS IS IMPORTANT. WILL NOTHING MAKE YOU UNDERSTAND ME?

Now, as a mom who has had no choice but to leave her 11-month old at daycare even on the days that he frowns when we start to leave, I know we sometimes don't have the option to do what our children prefer. And that's okay. But that's also exactly why explanation and negotiation are GIFTS to parenting.

Fortunately for me, Finley forgets about us before we're even out the door. But as for me, I did not take so easily to preschool.

I DON'T WANT TO BE LEFT AT PRESCHOOL MOM. WHAT DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND? WHY AREN'T MY WORDS WORKING? DO I HAVE TO SCREAM AND RUN OUT THE DOOR TOWARD THE ROAD? DONE. WHY IS YOUR CAR SO FAST? HOW DID THIS TEACHER CATCH ME? IS THAT PHONE ON THE WALL A TOY OR IS IT REAL? CAN I CALL DAD? I NEED DAD'S WORK NUMBER.

Three days later, negotiations began. Turned out there was a workable alternative to being forced out of my quiet home which I had peacefully enjoyed for the previous four years on a daily basis and thrown into the mutiny of 20 other kids with their power politics all up in my face first thing in the morning. I went relatively happily to a babysitter who had a daughter just younger than me, and that little girl happened to do whatever I told her to do. That was much more my speed. And the next year I went very happily off to kindergarten and never looked back. Crisis averted. Hear, hear: Negotiation.

I HOPE no one thinks that it's a smart idea NOT to offer kids an explanation when there really is no alternative. But, I DO know that some people think you shouldn't negotiate. I know. It's the experts who say that negotiation is the opposite of limits and limits make kids feel safe.

Yo experts, I'm really happy for you, I'll let you finish, but you're wrong. Because I remember what it was like firsthand. Feeling safe is the opposite of feeling helpless and powerless.

Alfie is far from the only expert who encourages parenting beyond rewards/punishments/limits. Now. Some experts (like this lady) talk about setting empathetic limits. Well. Semantics. Having empathetic limits means that you're taking as much input from your kid as you can, with health and safety in mind. That's negotiation. And I guess I just don't consider negotiation to be in the same realm as Supernanny-style limits.

So what I'm really saying is this: Please don't believe Supernanny-style experts just because it's easier for them to pimp their sh*t and because they yell louder than the pro-empathy experts. Yes, it's straightforward to tell you to demand obedience and depending on your kid's reaction, distribute either a timeout or gold star. But your kid is capable of more than obedience. He's capable of doing what's right not just because he'd otherwise have to sit on a stool for five minutes, but because it's RIGHT. Because you model what's RIGHT by modeling EMPATHY. That is, you took the time to get his input to reach a mutually agreeable solution. Because you showed him that his feelings matter. Because kids learn by example, not by demand.

If you're not convinced, that's cool. Maybe you're right. Maybe your kids can't handle their own power. Maybe they're more suited to be controlled by their superiors for their whole lives. Everyone's different. Genetics and all that. ;-)

To My Son: Do NOT Respect Your Elders. (Lest you become a Nazi.)

That's right. SUCK IT, curmudgeons.

Seriously. Have you interacted with adults lately? Because I have. And a great many of them do not exhibit any characteristics I think deserve respect.

I'm not just talking about the adults who are murderers, sexual deviants, politicians, and other ostensibly untrustworthy folks.

I'm talking about normal adults. Egocentric, environmentally abusive, and materialistic. Maybe not most of them. I sure hope not MOST of them. But a lot of them. A LOT. Probably most.

I commute with them, they're our clients at work, I see them in the grocery store.

I have absolutely no reason to respect them, except in the sense that they are fellow humans, which is certainly worth something. But, children are also humans.

And children happen to be innocent, curious, and genuine humans. THOSE are qualities I respect.

If I ask myself what possible reason there is to respect grumpy, jerk hole adults over sweet, energetic children, I can think of only one. Because adults are in control, and they say so.

Eff that. Hard. It is so transparently wrong and self-serving that it makes my heart pound and my Irish skin turn red.

Because I don't see much morality here on adult street. Now, I don't think our species is a lost cause or anything. I mean, I saw the Buzzfeed that will restore your faith in humanity. And this one, too.

But, if we need our faith restored, that's a pretty good indication that something shook our faith in the first place. Something like valuing money, power, and things WAY too much. And something like valuing the earth and fellow humans not NEARLY enough.

I'm not teaching my kid to respect adults with values like those.

Because that's how you get Nazis.

Sounds crazy? If only.

Hitler didn't inject his subordinates with genocide juice. He capitalized on an allegiance to obedience. And obedience is little more than respect for authority. And if we tell our kids to respect all adults BECAUSE ADULTS, that doesn't help them distinguish authority that should be obeyed from authority that should not.

And if they don't learn to make that distinction, they might end up like Adolf Eichmann, the Nazi in charge of expediting death, the average guy who had a normal family life and was declared sane by six psychologists at trial. Or like Rudolf Hoss, commandant of Auschwitz, who had a similar upbringing. They and a lot of Germans were students of obedience-centric indoctrination, at home, in school, at church.

Yes. Nazis were regular people who valued obedience more than anything else. And then sh*t got crazy. And so did they.

Scary, yes? Stanley Milgram thought so, too. And so he tried to prove that Americans were different from Germans. And he found that we weren't so much.

And before you lunatics accuse me of defending Nazis, I'm not. I'm not responsible for judging them or anyone else, but I'm a big fan of accountability. And that's precisely why this is so important to me.

I'm not saying that every obedient kid will fail to recognize evil and to slam on the brakes. But, I am saying that there is an inherent danger in emphasizing obedience. And, I am saying that obedience is a shortcut, easier and more concrete than cultivating morality in your child. And, I am saying that you should invest the time and trust in cultivating morality instead.

Look, no one saw Hitler coming. So, just in case.

Finley, I know you have a good heart. You will know right and wrong. That is enough.

You do not always need to be obedient. Just considerate. And loving. That is enough.

You do not need to give your elders more respect than any other life. Like a plant. That is enough.