Somebody's Hero

This woman? She is my new hero. Her name is Linda Tirado. Up until a couple of days ago, she was a hard working mother of two small children who worked two jobs and averaged 4 hours of sleep a night. Then she wrote an essay that was published on the Huffington Post and her life changed...almost immediately. She is a complete stranger to me, yet I am thrilled for her new found celebrity. 

Ms. Tirado's essay focused on poverty and how it affects women. Her objective was to shine a light on the bad decisions made by the lower class and, in a sense, explain to those in the middle and upper classes the thought process behind those decisions. 

This Is Why Poor People's Bad Decisions Make Perfect Sense exposes what women in the lower class must deal with every day just to put food on the table for their families and pay the necessary bills to get them by one more month. Ms. Tirado writes:

"We have learned not to try too hard to be middle-class. It never works out well and always makes you feel worse for having tried and failed yet again. " 

"There's a certain pull to live what bits of life you can while there's money in your pocket, because no matter how responsible you are you will be broke in three days anyway. When you never have enough money it ceases to have meaning. I imagine having a lot of it is the same thing."

 Her words struck me to my core. It was if she reached deep into my psyche and discovered my thoughts, fears and feelings of the last 8 years. Someone finally understood what I was going through with paying bills and buying groceries and gas for the car. She KNEW I wear disguises when I use the CoinStar machine just so I can get a little after-dinner surprise for everyone instead of just the bland pasta dish and bread. 
Ms. Tirado's essay was fraught with references from her life that were mirror images of my own: the struggle to get bills paid, going into a tailspin when an unexpected expense arose, worrying about what her family was going to eat. 

I haven't always been poor. My parents were solidly middle class - my father was a life-long railroad employee and my mother worked for a sporting goods manufacturer. I grew up without a clue of how my parents provided for me; they just did. I got what I wanted for Christmas and birthdays and we did pretty well, I guess. I went to college on their dime - no students loans, scholarships or grants for me. I did a fair job of managing life after college, up until my mom died. I admittedly fell apart on every level and became very financially irresponsible in the following couple of years. I established a solid financial footing during the 9 years I worked at a private school. I shared a house with my best friend at the time, so I only had minimal basic bills. I could afford almost all of what I wanted and was able to acquire larger ticket items with my recently rebuilt credit. Life was good; I had money in the bank, I had good medical insurance and I felt quite stable. Then the proverbial boom was lowered. 

I lost my job, along with 15 others, in a layoff due to an operations budget shortfall at the school. I was offered a generous severance package, but the blow to my emotional and mental state was damn near impossible to overcome. I was severely depressed and ended up making some REALLY bad decisions, acting more on alcohol induced impulse than on logic. Within about 6 months, I was broke and about to be evicted. I moved in with a guy that I thought would be the answer to all my problems. Suffice it to say that he most definitely was not. During a particularly dark period, I wandered around in a fog, participating in more rash behavior. Remarkably, I ended up pregnant and unmarried. 

In that moment - and every moment since then - I was poverty stricken. It's been so difficult to accept my station in life. But once I learned how to shed my pride, I found no shame in becoming a couponer and bargain shopper! It's especially challenging to have physicians, educators, and other high earners as good friends, but because I love them, I've learned to live with their salaries and I am extremely grateful when they share their good fortune with me in the form of dinner, shows, toys for the Pie. 

The world looks down on the poor. Society judges the lower class without knowing the circumstances under which they became so. Yes, it's embarrassing. It's humiliating, is what it is. But it's the life we have and we try to make the best of it. Linda Tirado summed it up this way: 

"I am not asking for sympathy. I am just trying to explain, on a human level, how it is that people make what look from the outside like awful decisions. This is what our lives are like, and here are our defense mechanisms, and here is why we think differently. It's certainly self-defeating, but it's safer. That's all. I hope it helps make sense of it."

To read the entire essay by Ms. Tirado, click here 

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Mixed Messages

Suddenly, everyone is talking about princesses. A few days ago, a media outlet ran a story about a private girls school in Kentucky that has launched a new development campaign. The school poses that modern girls are not vapid, helpless princesses, but strong, capable and independent young women. Here is one of the several print ads they offer:

I find this very intriguing since Disney just released their new spots on television:

So, which is it? Do we encourage our daughters to be princesses or not? The so-called experts on child development and psychology have conflicting opinions and are sending mixed messages to parents of little girls. There are valid points to each side of the argument, but I'm trying to determine which point weighs more heavily with me. 

On the one hand, we have called our daughters "princess" since time immemorial. A daughter is such a sweet little creature that we take pains to shelter her from harm or negativity. We swaddle them in pink the instant they leave the womb and painstakingly buy them dolls, play kitchen equipment and tiny vacuums in order to prepare them for their roles as homemakers. We shower them with whatever they want at the sight of the first tear, pouty lip or batted lash. And why not? They are our precious baby girls - our princesses!  

Disney would have us believe that being a princess is the ultimate goal for every little girl. I question this singular path of thought. Every Disney princess I have seen (and that's a lot!) presents in appearance as perfect. They are all stunningly beautiful with long flowing locks, huge eyes, lovely and radiant skin, and many of them have the singing voice of an angel. They are immediately adored by all those they meet and usually have gentlemen falling over themselves to make the her their bride. That ideal is unattainable. Is that what we should be training our girls for? To become a wife...and then what? We never hear about what happens "happily ever after." 

Click here to see a very interesting take on modern women and how they are princess-ified. 

Admittedly, some Disney princesses do possess characteristics and values that I would like my daughter to emulate: kindness (Snow White), compassion (Ariel), intelligence (Belle), humility (Cinderella), strength (Mulan), courage (Merida), determination (Tiana), and adventurousness (Jasmine). But I look at it as more my responsibility to model those values every day at home, rather than cross my fingers and hope she picks it up by watching the movies. The Pie often inquires, "Is this real?" when we watch a movie together. I explain that they are made up stories, but they teach us a lesson about life. I try to let her figure out that lesson, instead of brow beating her with it. 

What I want my daughter to grow up knowing is that she - as herself - is good enough. She is perfect in my eyes and she makes me proud to be her mother. I need her to understand that she doesn't need a tiara to be special. She already is.  

The Other Woman

In recent weeks, some people have told me that I am "too nice." I'm not entirely certain what that is supposed to imply, but I found myself reflecting on it. Before I became a mother, I had an edge. I was tough ...didn't take crap from anybody. Now, upon careful examination, I can see soft spots. Little chinks in my armor show up more often than I would like. I don't care about how I look, as long as I'm clean. I've become another woman. 

There was a time when I would never dare to leave my house without my hair and make-up done and dressed presentably. I regularly had my hair colored and styled, visited tanning salons and had manicures every 3 weeks. Nowadays, I make regular trips to Wal-Mart not only without make-up, but with my hair pulled back and many times without a bra! My hair turns grayer every day and is desperate need of a cut... and my nails? I'm lucky to get to cut and file them myself, rather than chew them off! Pedicures? A very rare treat! 

Before I was a mommy, I was a tough chick. My exterior was hard, crusty and nearly impenetrable. I spoke harshly and sarcastically to people and didn't care if I offended anyone. I was honest and straightforward. No sugar coating for me. Now, 6 years after birthing the most awesome child on the planet, I am more aware of tact and diplomacy. I choose my words carefully and make a concerted effort to remain positive in difficult situations. I am more friendly to strangers and find polite conversation less annoying than I used to. 

Once upon a time, my agenda was all that mattered. I worked 10 or 12 hour days, stopped for a drink on the way home. Stayed out all night and slept all day on weekends. Mornings consisted of sleeping until the last possible minute, repeatedly slapping the snooze button. (Oh, wait...I still do that last thing!) I had no one else to answer to, no one to feed but myself, no one to take care of but myself. I didn't ingratiate myself with the neighbors. I wasn't a part of a community. If I didn't want to do something, I didn't; and harbored no guilt whatsoever about saying "no." In present day, I sleep very little. I am always the first one up to make sure homework is in the book bag, clothes are ready to be worn, breakfast is made and lunch is packed. I have a strict schedule of dropping at school, nap times, picking up from school, extracurricular activities, preparing meals, getting baths and stories read, slathering lotions and potions on old,

neuropathic feet and then cleaning up before I can finally fall into bed. On many occasions, I am responsible for not only my kid and father, but the children of other people, as well. Neighbors rely on me to plan their garage sales, teach them to use a new piece of technology, babysit and otherwise counsel. And I do it all! I don't want to let anyone down. I care now about being a part of something bigger than me. I help because I once needed help and was afraid to ask. When I received what I needed, gratitude became my way of life. 

Admittedly, there are times when I wish I could morph back into that hard edged, stone cold bitch that I was when I wasn't a parent. But for the most part, I like being the other woman.