Sarah Maizes Take On Detachment Parenting

Have you ever met a mom who needs a drink?  That takes every little decision she makes about parenting so seriously that she sucks the oxygen out of a room–or online community–by her mere presence?  I ran across a large number of these types today on the Today Moms website.  These poor souls seem to have missed the OBVIOUS satire in Sarah Maizes’ tongue-and-cheek post about “Detachment Parenting”.  The comments against attachment parenting, in defense of attachment parenting, against detachment parenting, in defense of detachment parenting, left me shaking my head. Who in their right mind would think the author is truly trying to advocate a parenting style in this post? Maizes’ post was not only hysterical, but was also meant to illustrate the ridiculousness of mamas judging other mamas parenting styles.  Good God, women, lighten up…have a drink…do something that may reconnect you (or connect you for the very first time) with your sense of humor.

Check out the post and comments here! 

      Sometimes I feel like an old bat.  I hear forty is supposed to be the new thirty, but seriously…there have been many times over the past nine months that I have felt downright ancient.  For instance, my hearing is atrocious, especially in a crowd.  Last week we were at a dinner-thing and during the cocktail hour I was straining to hear various conversations.  When the band started to play, I completely gave up and just started nodding and smiling.  Nevermind the fact that I had no idea what people were talking about.  They might as well have been speaking Mandarin.  I probably looked like an ass.  Adding fuel to my “old bat” fire, is the fact that I can’t quite relate to the television shows that I hear younger moms raving about.  I tried to watch “Don’t Trust the B* in Apt. 23” last night.  Clearly, I’m not that show’s target audience.  I find story lines about casual sex and making porn tapes with friends offensive—not funny.  Making me feel even older is my fleeting short term memory.  Just this morning I was giving Reagan a bath and I glanced up to look at Isabella, but couldn’t find her. I’d only put her down five minutes before, but had no idea where.  It’s as if I can see the brain cells exiting my head.  And then came the humdinger of reminders of my advanced maternal age.  Nothing…NOTHING has made me feel like more a relic than the situation detailed below.

     To set the scene, MK goes to a soccer class twice a week.  It’s low key—no games, uniforms or crazy parents thinking their child is the next Mia Hamm (well…maybe there are, but I’ve learned to stay away from that crowd).  I drag the twins along, which is a bit of an ordeal, requiring a double stroller that I swear weighs a hundred pounds, a bag of toys, bottles, diapers, and all the other baby crap that I need to survive sixty minutes of being out of the house.  Once I get everyone situated, I tend to sit and mind my own business, hoping and praying we make it through without a meltdown.  Imagine my surprise the other day when I hear a young dad say…”Mrs. Savage?”.  I turn and realize, much to my horror, that this young—and very handsome dad—is one of my former eighth grade students.  Turns out his daughter was on the field with MK.  We have kids the same age.  How the hell did that happen? 

     He must have knocked someone up in high school—was my first thought.  Turns out he didn’t.  He went to school, got married, and started his family.  He has two kids and one on the way. 

Him        Wow, I haven’t seen you since you were my teacher.  Weren’t you pregnant that year?

Me         Yes

Him        How old is he now?

Me         Eighteen

Him        And these are your babies too?  Wow.  You have your hands full, Mrs. Savage.

Me         Yes.  Yes I do.  And *for the love of God* call me Carolyn.

     He tried to lessen the blow by remarking that I must’ve been REALLY young when I taught him.  I wasn’t but it was a nice gesture on his part.

     After we finished catching up, and I hobbled back to my car, I thought about how many more times this was bound to happen.  Toledo is a small town, and interestingly, people who were raised here tend to stay here.  I’d already had a former student scrub-in to assist my ob/gyn on a surgery of mine a few years ago—which is a story in and of itself…stay tuned for that one—so it is likely that I’m going to be parenting my girls alongside some of my former students. 

      I do think there are advantages to being an older mom.  Sean and I have a lot of marriage under our belts.  Our relationship is pretty solid.  Our careers are established which has alleviated much of the stress we experienced when we were younger and scraping to get by.  Then there are the life experiences we’ve had, which have given us great perspective.  We don’t “sweat the small stuff”.  Hell, we hardly sweat the big stuff.  Most importantly, “we’ve been there done that” with our older boys and it appears they are turning out pretty decently.  Hopefully we can repeat with the girls. 

    That being said, there are those moments when the benefits of wisdom garnered from being an older parent are trumped by the much, much younger parents we encounter.  How to deal with that?  I have no idea.  But I’m going to start with some Strivectin for my wrinkles, some highlights to cover my gray, and some wine to help me cling to my sense of humor.  I figure if I laugh my way through it, it won’t be all that bad!

I’m selectively cheap.  What does that mean?  Well, I prefer to spend money on certain things like clothes, items for our home, and my kid’s activities and education.  I hate spending money on food.  Although I don’t clip coupons, I do a pretty good job at keeping our grocery bill down, which is challenging because I also like to entertain.  When I throw a party I like to serve dishes that are appetizing and pretty…which can be expensive.

For Sean’s 40^th birthday party, I decided I wanted to forego the mess of a birthday cake in favor of a cupcake bar.  When I learned that our local gourmet cupcake shop charges $25/dozen for cupcakes I was dumbfounded.  I remember standing in the bakery and thinking, “Screw that.  I can make them myself.”

That’s how I found the recipe for Black Bottom Big Butt Cupcakes.  Since that party, it has been a go-to treat in our house for a couple of reasons.  First, it has chocolate which is a dietary requirement for me.  I’ve never understood fruity desserts that people declare to be “refreshing”.  I don’t want to be “refreshed” at dessert.  I want to be rolling in chocolate. It makes me less bitchy (ask Sean).  Black Bottom- Big Butt cupcakes are also easy to make.  If you’re in a pinch, you can use a cake mix.  Lastly, these cupcakes are easy to transport since they aren’t frosted.  You can cover them with foil, or throw them in a Tupperware container and they’ll still look edible when you take them out.

I made them last week for Mother’s Day.  I said I was doing it for my kids but truthfully, I was doing it for myself.  And yes…they go straight to your butt.  Hence the name!

Black Bottom Big Butt Cupcakes

For Cake

Ingredients ( You can substitute a chocolate cake mix for this part of the recipe)

• 3 cups all purpose flour
• 2 cups white sugar
• 1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
• 1 tsp. salt
• 2 tsp. baking soda
• 2/3 cup vegetable oil
• 2 cups water
• 2 tbs. vinegar
• 2 tsp vanilla

For Filling

• 1 (8oz) pkg. cream cheese
• 1 egg
• 1/2 cup white sugar
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 1 cup mini chocolate chips (or regular…the mini’s work best)

Powered Sugar for sprinkling. 

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C).  Line 24 muffin cups with paper liners.
2. In a large bowl, mix together flour, 2 cups sugar, 1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder, 1 tsp salt, and baking soda.  Stir in oil, water, vinegar and vanilla until blended.
3. Pour mixture into prepared muffin cups, filling each 2/3 full.
4. To make the filling:  In a medium bowl, beat together the cream cheese, egg, 1/2 cup sugar, and 1/4 tsp salt until light and fluffy.  Stir in chocolate chips.  Drop a heaping tsp of the filling mixture into the center of each cupcake.  (I always have to use my finger and push the mixture down until it’s almost fully covered with cake batter.)
5. Bake in preheated oven for 25 minutes.  Allow to cool.
   

   This is the batter prior to baking. Filling is gently pushed into cake batter w/finger. (Clean finger, Please)Finished product. I sprinkle powdered sugar on top for presentation!

Last night I tripped over a friend on my Twitter page.  (Yes…I Tweet..well, more like Twit.  I don’t quite get the Twitter thing yet, but I’m trying.)  Anyways, Mary Ann Zoellner was the very first” big time” tv producer we met after the story about my pregnancy with Logan went public.  She works for the Today Show, and  in September 2009 she arrived at our home with a smile on her face and some much needed comical levity.  I liked her instantly!

Turns out she’s an author.  Actually a coauthor of an upcoming book entitled, “Sh*tty Mom: The Parenting Guide for The Rest of Us”.  The topic of the book resonated with me as I had a few sh*tty mom moments over the weekend (Uh…MK ate popcorn and oatmeal cookies for dinner on Friday night.  Apparently I was too distracted at Drew’s track meet to remember to feed my third child who took matters into her own hands.)

Anyways, I wanted to pass along the link to the hilarious Sh*tty Moms book trailer.  Prepare to laugh.  Watch it here!

Dear Infertile Friend,

I wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you this Mother’s Day. Of course, I think of you every day, but on this day, which I know is particularly difficult for you, I want you to know that you’re in my heart.  I imagine,  at times, it may seem that I’m oblivious to your struggles.   As if somehow I’ve forgotten what it was like to stand in your shoes.  I assure you, I haven’t.  In fact, I’ll never, ever forget what it was like to walk the very lonely and scary path of infertility.  I acutely remember when Mother’s Day was a reminder of everything I wasn’t, instead of a celebration of everything I ever wanted to be.

In honor of Mother’s Day I want to give you a gift.  A gift I hope you’ll treasure.   It’s not a magic bullet.  I don’t have one of those.  Instead, it’s a promise—actually a few promises.  Promises that I hope will sustain you through your journey. 

I promise not to give you unsolicited advice about conceiving.  I know you are relaxing.  That stress isn’t the problem and a vacation isn’t the answer.  I’m also very aware that how it finally worked for me (or my cousin or my neighbor or my grandma’s friend’s great-niece) probably isn’t the cure for you.  I’ll never assume I have the answer to your prayers…I promise.

I promise not to complain about my kids in front of you.  We all know that raising children is challenging.  I’m also aware you’d give your left arm to be knee deep in messy diapers and snotty noses.  There’ll be no child-related venting to you…I promise.

I promise to include you in our family related activities and understand when you decline.  I know you love my family.  I also understand being around little ones can be hard for you right now.  I’ll be sad that you’re not there, so I’ll continue to pray fervently for your miracle…I promise.

Most importantly, I promise to be here when you need me.  I’ll listen empathetically and squeeze your hand for encouragement.  Lean on me when you need to—my shoulders will hold you up and my love for you will catch your tears.  I’ll walk through this with you, admiring your bravery every step of the way…I promise. 

Please accept this Mother’s Day gift.  It’s a reminder that even though at times I may say or do the wrong thing, I know, in the depth of my soul, that you would make a terrific mother.  I can’t wait for the day when we can celebrate this occasion differently.  Until then, please remember you are not alone, my friend.  Whatever—whenever—just say the word.  I WILL be your biggest cheerleader…I promise.

I’ve know them.  You know them.  These are people who suck the oxygen from the room the minute they enter it.  I used to tiptoe around people like this.  I don’t anymore.  Instead, I try not to take their bait, ignore their rants, and look for the silver lining that I know God placed in their souls.  They all have them.  Imagine how much happier they’d be if they could see their own silver lining?

I fly by the seat of my pants, everyday…all day.  From the time my feet hit the floor in the morning, to the time I drift off to sleep, I’m on the move, mentally checking off a to-do list that never, ever ends.  In fact, I’m fairly certain that for every chore I complete, two get added.  Mama-land can be overwhelming.

I admit I bring a lot of my frantic busy-ness on myself.  It happens because I have this rather well intentioned but somewhat demented picture of how things are supposed to be.  Healthy meals should be on my table inspired by the great chefs whose cookbooks are somewhere in my kitchen—collecting dust.  My house should be well kept, the way all the picture perfect rooms look in my monthly issue of the Pottery Barn catalog.  My older boys should be prepared for school with clean clothes, combed hair, and completed homework—because that way they’ll know I love them and others will know I’m a good mom.  My little girls should be consistently embroiled in a developmentally appropriate activity that will nourish their rapidly developing minds—better than an episode of Dora the Explorer.  And, last but not least, my husband should think I’m wonder woman because I’ve completed all the aforementioned tasks without a single bitchy moment—while looking like I’m ten years younger. 

What I’ve learned over the past nineteen years of marriage and eighteen years of child rearing is how I think things “should be” and how things actually are, are two very different things.  In fact, what I’m starting to realize is that how things actually are, might really be the way they “should be”. 

So, I’m proud to announce that this website is taking off in a different direction.  It’s time for me to move on from writing about my very unique journey to motherhood and instead, start focusing on the challenges of being an imperfect, somewhat crazed, mama.

It’s my hope that your visits to Mama On The Fly will inspire some food for thought, leave you smiling, and cause you to feel better about your own adventures in Mama-land.

I made brussel sprouts one day, recently.  I must have screwed them up because no one liked them.  (I’m looking for a good brussel sprout recipe.  If you have one, send it along and I’ll post it with your permission!)  As the boys were trying to choke down the sprouts the following conversation occurred at our dinner table…

Ryan – Mom, just serve celery.  I like celery.

Me – (Confused) I’ve never served you celery in your life. 

Ryan-  (More confused than me) Uh-huh.  We have it at least three times a week.

Me – That must be at your other mom’s house.  I can’t tell you the last time I even bought celery.

Ryan – (Annoyed)  We just had it last night.  You know, those green stalky things. 

Me – Ah…You mean asparagus. 

Ryan – Celery…Asparagus…whatever.  I like it better then these.  These taste like dirt.

He’s a particularly blunt food critic.

Nevertheless, Asparagus is one of our favorite vegetables.  I’ve prepared it a number of ways, even purchasing an asparagus pot, which is now collecting dust in my cupboard. I’ve determined I prefer to broil it.  It’s quick and quite tasty.  My kids never complain about having to eat their vegetables when this is on their plate.  I guess my asparagus doesn’t taste like dirt.

Broiled Asparagus

Ingredients

• One bunch of asparagus (we prefer skinny asparagus spears)
• Olive oil
• Sea Salt
• Half a fresh lemon

Directions

1.  Wash asparagus spears, breaking the bottom (yucky tuberous part of stem) off and discarding.
2. Lay asparagus on cookie sheet and drizzle with olive oil and toss to coat.
3. Sprinkle sea salt on spears.
4. Broil for six minutes (Thicker spears take longer) or until the spears “green up” and pucker a bit.
5. Remove from oven and squeeze fresh lemon over asparagus and toss to coat. 
6. Serve warm.