On parenting—in terms of raising a Teenager that is–what I’ve discovered is this: I can’t parent based on how I was raised. And the way I was raised? My parents did what they could with what was available to them. Me, right now, I have to adapt to what’s available to me right now. My parents owned their one-level three bedroom ranch with a sun room, a basement, a front and backyard; I rent my compact apartment. I had chores: I mowed the lawn, I had to deal with the garden and on occasion, I helped my mother with a yard sale. My Teenager has agency over her bedroom, she clears the table on the rare occasion I cook dinner, and when FreshDirect drops off groceries, if I’m not home, she’ll put things away. I drop our laundry off; I reckon this summer, when we have access to a washer/dryer, I will show her how to do laundry. When I left my home, I had to have cash in hand as ATM’s were not invented yet; when my Teenager leaves, I ask her if she has money and if she doesn’t, I advise her to take money out of my wallet. In this case, I always have cash in the wallet, like my Dad did, although the circumstances are ever so different. My Dad was a New York City Taxi Driver and he always had a wad of cash in his front pocket; I just have an ATM. I used to do the dishes, so that I could talk on the phone, which cost money per minute; we have a dishwasher now, there are never dirty dishes in the sink, and phone plans are as much of a succubus today as they were in the 70s. I have a super now to change my lightbulb and when I want to see life, I walk the streets of New York. I don’t drive, I Lyft. I don’t mind if she’s laying in her bed, watching Netflix and/or reviewing her social media feed. I did a version of that as a teen, locked in my room, radio blasting, hiding from my parents. I didn’t want to be around them, in the living room, watching TV. I remember, very clearly, how much I questioned everything. I loved my parents but they were not my anchors. And when I became a parent, I found my way as one, separate from theirs, in the way that was familiar to me. I didn’t settle into life in the burbs, I chose to be in the concrete jungle. I am not wistful about my life as a teen, or how I used to run with scissors or how I used to spend my time. My parents built their lives in Queens. They threw raucous New Years Eve parties and they fought a fuckton. It’s not how I live now and those practices don’t apply to the way life is for my daughter. There is no “in my day” in my home; “my day” is happening right now. I don’t see why I would impose what I knew then upon her now. Values, well that’s another matter, for another post, on another day.
Cecile Richards is everything.
As is Beyonce.
Women who get into politics can change the world.
What is a no-carb diet?
What exercise does for your well-being.
Yet another article about The Handmaids Tale.
Women in the marines kicking ass.
Suicide Girls still reign.
And now have a laugh with Ali Wong.