None of us do. I can’t think about it. Literally. This is going to be the world’s shortest post because I can’t stand the topic.

But, here we are literally pummeled with news of Michael Jackson’s death and the news that he left his kids to his mother, with Diana Ross as the backup. And I got reminded that we (not the world, but my wife and I) still haven’t dealt with this issue at all.

I don’t want to leave my kids ‘to’ anyone. They aren’t antique dishes. I can’t think of anyone that could do it right like we could. It kills me. Every time we try to talk about it, I end up in tears. And I’m not a crier.

Thinking about Madonna helps, and Rosie O’Donnell - because they’re okay (says someone who has NO earthly idea, but they seem to be doing well).

I always thought it would be my mom - and it still probably is, but she’s here with us for the summer and she’s 66 and she’s vocalized her overwhelment more than once. It’s their energy and the whining and the nakedness and the peeing outside (um, lady, you’re the one that bought them that cute little french book about a little boy that pees in the grass) and the food allergies and the laundry and the…

I can think of some friends who fit the bill - but they have busloads of their own kids. My brothers? Nah. My in-laws? No thanks.

I hate this. Just thought I’d say that out loud.

So? I just won’t die - until they’re old enough not to need their mother anymore - which is about 35 as far as I can tell. I’ll be 68. Seems reasonable. Okay universe???

If anyone wants to leaves me a comment saying that I have to just choose and be responsible, please don’t. I know. I really, really do. I just don’t wanna leave my kids, like I said before, period. They’re cute, they smell good and they say things like, “Please bring me a book and close the door, I need to poop in my own privacy.”

And I love them more than the world.

Update: The first friend that read this reamed me out so hard on Skype that I thought my computer would burst. We’re picking a guardian, the lawyer is drawing up the papers. As this ‘friend’ said - ‘just hold your nose and pick someone.’ Well, if you put it that way…

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I’m an inadequate mother. There, I said it. And I have to say that I feel a sense of relief saying it out loud or at least out in the open on a very public blog. I’ve felt this deep, burning inadequacy often in the last three years since my daughter was born, but I feel it more and more as I fail to properly navigate the twisted paths through parenthood.

Tonight, my husband is out of town, and my daughter refused to go to sleep. I decided to make things fun for her and to let her snuggle in “mommy and daddy’s bed” for a while, maybe even sleep there with me. I even let her watch a little movie in bed after her regular bedtime to make it extra special. I thought that would be a cool mommy thing to do.

The whole thing backfired on me. When I said it was time to go to sleep, instead of a compliant child, I had a toddler meltdown on my hands. What was I thinking? Of course she’d be overtired if I let her stay up past her bedtime. Why hadn’t I anticipated the errors of my ways? And why did I think my idea of cool mommy was even remotely suitable for a three year old? But what the hell do I know?

I don’t know, and there’s the rub. I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing, a devastating realization for an overachiever who has been good at just about everything I’ve put my mind to do. But not motherhood. I throw my heart, soul and brainpower into being a good mom, but it always seems to backfire on me.

For some reason, I’m not getting the memos on what to do when she refuses to go potty, refuses to eat her dinner, refuses to go to bed. Intellectually, I know she is testing the waters, testing her power as a little individual. I don’t know how much is too much discipline or how little is too little. I don’t want to crush her feisty little spirit, but I can see how this could happen all too easily.

Tonight, after carrying her kicking and screaming into her bedroom when she utterly refused to go to sleep in my bed, I listened to her screeching and howling. Then she came out of her bedroom and back into mine.

“Go…to…bed,” I said in measured tones.

“I don’t want to go to bed,” she sobbed.

“Go…to…bed…now…or I’ll carry you back in your room and shut the door.”

“I don’t want to go to bed in my bed. I don’t want to go to bed in your bed. I want to go to bed in the living room. On the sofa,” she told me.

The living room? Was that okay to do? Was I giving in too easily, I wondered, as I followed her to the living room and tucked her blanket around her as she curled up on the sofa. She wanted to go to sleep in the living room. I returned to my bedroom exhausted, overwhelmed, feeling like I didn’t know what just happened or why. Certain that I just committed Mommy Sin #1285 and creating some new problem by not making her sleep in her own bed tonight.

Then I had to laugh through my own tears tonight as I read Steve Woodruff’s post about Father’s Day, and how men can feel inadequate about being fathers. Who are the parents who don’t feel inadequate most of the time? Or what I really want to know is who are the ones who do, and what denial pill or happy sauce are they slugging down? I want some.

Am I the only one who feels at any moment I might get fired from this mommy gig?

I’m a Dad of five (boys). I’ve had 20 Father’s Days now, with the standard cards and Boston cream pies (my favorite) and low-key ackowledgements that generally accompany Father’s Day. Hey, it’s not Christmas or Passover or…well, Valentine’s Day. It’s “just” Father’s Day.

So, how can you make your man feel special - not only on Father’s Day, but throughout the year?

Tell him something he’s doing right.

If I’m like most men - and I suspect I am - we feel pretty often that we’re the biggest frauds that ever walked the planet. These kids are supposed to look up to ME, and model themselves after ME? Sure, you know you’re a jerk when you’re in college, but you REALLY come to understand what a bozo you are when you have kids. It’s downright intimidating.

Maybe your guy doesn’t articulate it quite so plainly, but most of us are haunted by a deep sense of inadequacy for This Daddy Gig. And as the kids get older, guess what - the perplexity increases, not diminishes.

I guarantee that the father of your children has plenty of flaws, and certainly you could list them off in double-time if you were so inclined. But, don’t. Make his day by telling him something you appreciate - something he does really well. Let him know about a character trait that he has that you fervently hope your children will share. Understand that underneath whatever layers of bravado he chooses to wear, there’s a fellow in there who really wants to hear, “Attaboy!” Because bringing up kids in these treacherous times is really hard, quite frankly.

Then do it again the next day. Lord knows we need it.

This is part of a series of posts looking at virtual worlds targeted toward kids.

If your kids watch the same TV channels mine does, then you’ve probably seen the commercials for a new virtual world called Free Realms. My girl certainly saw them and wanted to go check it out, so our series of kid-focused virtual world reviews continues.

Free Realms
Free Realms bills itself as “a fun, whimsical virtual world filled with dynamic gameplay and compelling content for everyone, especially families.” It’s really more of a pure MMOG than any of the other worlds we’ve toured as part of this series. As soon as my girl set up her account (all by herself, except for my need to give her an e-mail to attach to the account) and entered the world, she was met by a character asking her to embark on her first quest. This prevents the “what do I do now” issue that plagues some virtual worlds, but also aligns more firmly with games such as the non-kid-focused World of Warcraft (WoW).

With more than a million people signing up for it in the first week and that number doubled already, it’s on target to be just as popular as WoW, too. In addition to quests, kids can work at a variety of jobs from pet trainer to ninja to miner and others mentioned below. Like most other kid virtual worlds, you can enter and play for free; but, for $4.99/month you can upgrade to get more things like additional job options, and you’ll also pay to purchase items.

The Good
Free Realms automatically limits kids under 13 to “quick chat” - my preferred choice for my youngster because it restricts them to a preprogramed set of words and phrases to communicate. That way you don’t have to worry about them giving out any personal information (but, don’t let that get you off the hook for still having that discussion about what you don’t share online).
Free Realms’ parent controls area also mentions that they intend to implement a feature which will permit you to customize a calendar to set times of day and/or days of the week that your kid will have access to the account online, as well as days and times during which they may play.

The Bad
I’m willing to bet that most of us teach our kids that fighting is wrong, so it’s a little unsettling to see that quests in Free Realms can involve combat and one of the jobs kids can get is called a Brawler. Brawlers are described as being “up for fight anytime with anyone” and they “use hammers, clubs, and powerful kicks to defeat enemies.”
We didn’t run into any Brawlers in our first few visits to Free Realms, but then again, we didn’t run into anyone other than the in-world characters who play parts in the quests. This may or may not be a bad thing, but struck me as odd considering there are supposed to be more than 2 million people in-world now.

The Lessons Learned
I only heard the “rated E for everyone” part of the commercials, but when you really look, you’ll see it is “everyone 10+” and I would reccomend following that age recommendation from the Entertainment Software Rating Board. Even more specifically the rating warns of “crude humor” and “fantasy violence.” We haven’t encountered the humor yet, but as noted above, the violence is definitely there.

Related articles by Zemanta

• Free Realms Still Growing Insanely Quickly [E3 2009] (kotaku.com)
• Sony’s Free Realms game signs up a million users in 17 days (venturebeat.com)
• The free price is working out nice for Sony’s Free Realms as registrants top 2 million (venturebeat.com)
• Video Game Review | Free Realms: Pick a Role, Any Role, Then Live Nine Lives (nytimes.com)

This post was originally published on Writing Roads, but then I got to thinking…what about my daughter? She’s three. Do I want her to grow up in a world where Angelina Jolie is touted as an acceptable feminist icon? Hell no. Do I want my son, also 3, thinking this is the epitome of being a worthwhile woman and what he should desire? Hell no - again. So, I’m posting it here as well…

Dear Naomi Wolf,

I’m really a fan of your work. So I’m quite confused by the article you wrote about Angelina Jolie in Harper’s Bazaar where you declared her the new feminist icon.

One of your reasons? Because she had escaped the Madonna/Whore debacle. Interesting? Did she really? Was she ever a shoe-in for the Madonna? There isn’t enough ‘orphan’ in China to cover those tattoos. Sorry. (I have three tattoos myself, I love tattoos, but the Madonna - last time I checked - had none.)

Escape the image of the Whore? Um. Last time I checked she had an affair with a married man and then told everyone about it in a magazine. You wrote, ’she managed the almost unheard-of task of turning the home-wrecker label into a wholesome, family-friendly triumph.’ …………….. Sorry for the pause. I was busy. Throwing up.

Is this a joke? Who decided that she triumphed and who the hell called it wholesome? I think what she did was horrid and unforgivable. I’ve never caught her face on the front of the tabloids and thought anything but, ‘Ew.’ She did something wrong. She hurt at least one person, badly. And because the media decided to spin it one particular way, she triumphed? Naomi, you say it yourself: Maddox was photographed playing squeaky clean football with Brad Pitt, the father figure, and by Annie Liebovitz loving his mother. This was not a triumph - but a well-played, well-moneyed PR stunt.

I don’t care how much good she does in the world, you can’t really erase that, can you??? Maybe you can note her change or congratulate her for doing good things - but call a spade a spade. I beg you.

Then, you claim that because Santa Angelina (as Perez likes to call her) got her pilot’s license, she’s chosen “the classic metaphor for choosing your own direction.” Oh? What about a race car driver like Danica Patrick? What about Secretary of State like Hilary Clinton (I mean, she travels all over the world!)? What about an artist? What about a writer? I can think of dozens of professions that involve choosing your own direction. Boldly, even.

You also declare that ’she took for her own pleasure the male seen as the most desired of the tribe, Brad Pitt.’ Not to me. I’m a George Clooney kind of a girl. And there’s something so barbaric in your word choice…but I get that you meant to do that. You want us to see her as the cavewoman clubbing the man and dragging him back to her cave. You succeeded, I just don’t find that alluring, praise-worthy or as a desirable behavior.

Maybe this is my favorite part of your article:

“Yes, she is conventionally beautiful: Bosomy and wasp-waisted, with that curtain of hair and those crazy pillowy lips, she is an obvious male sex fantasy.”

Hello? Naomi? Are you even in there??? You, yes YOU, the one that wrote The Beauty Myth. On what planet is Angelina Jolie ‘conventionally beautiful’??? Her boobs are huge. She looks anorexic - whether she is or isn’t, her bones poke out and there is no meat on her. She’s 34 years old, has carried three children in her womb and her stomach is non-existent and those boobs stand up without stretch marks so far as we can see. Her lips are, as you say, pillows - meaning overstuffed (and I’m sure they’re natural, they do seem to exist in her childhood photos). BUT MOST WOMEN DON’T LOOK LIKE THAT.

If I remember correctly, you wanted to liberate us from thinking we needed to idolize that male, sexualized, impossible to attain ideal! Just because some women, or the majority according to your poll, think she’s hot doesn’t make it okay. Why do you think they find her attractive? Doesn’t this beauty myth play a role. Wasn’t your theory that women are pressured into taking on this idealized concept of the female body? By men?

I read your book a long time ago, when it came out in 1991. And it meant so much to me. So much - as a woman who was struggling with an eating disorder, who had just found herself plopped in an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog masquerading as a private, New England college, who went on to struggle and survive, who was proudly among the first small group of women to graduate with a Women’s Studies major.

So, my feminst icon? Well, she used to look a little bit like Gloria Steinem, Alice Walker, Billie Jean King, Sylvia Boorstein and my fourth grade teacher, Holly Tetlow, all rolled into one. But the more I read your article, the more I realized that my icon is so much more. She’s new women I meet doing amazing things, female authors that are writing their hearts out, mothers that survive the loss of a child, girls finding their voices, she’s my friends, she’s my family. And she’s me - on my good days and on my bad ones.

We are more universal. We’re a grab bag, really. As diverse as our needs and wants on any given day. But, bottomline, my icon is real. She’s here.

Live and let live. I don’t know Angelina Jolie and I don’t pretend to just becuase I can read about her life in People magazine. But, I do know my icons, idols, role models and fantasies…and they look, act and exist nothing like Angelina Jolie.

What’s your parenting style?

T-Mobile says I’m a hard-ass. Well, actually they called me “Sgt. Strict.” But same diff. In either case, it surprised me, because while I’m not exactly a pushover, I’m sure not a drill sergeant, either.

For example: Your teenage son is dating a girl he met on summer vacation, who lives four hours away. You…

…think, “A girlfriend he never actually has to go out with? Perfect!”

…quickly up his cell phone minutes.

…have him figure out how much it will cost him in gas to visit her twice a month.

…keep him busy with extracurricular activities. He can see her over winter break.

Or:

…tell him if they pick a movie theater halfway between their two houses, you’ll drive him there.

What would you do? Discover your parenting style in this fun (and yes, a little silly!) quiz from T-Mobile:

Take the Mom to Mom Quiz here.

I thought we had the labels pretty well defined, Daddy Mark is the daddy in Heaven and Daddy is the daddy here. My son, Nicholas had just turned 2 when William (a.k.a Daddy) and I started dating and we’ve been married a couple of months now. Nicholas will turn 4 tomorrow, and suddenly the ease of knowing the difference between the two daddys is sliding a bit.

We’ve had confusion about Daddy Mark in the past year. We have photos up in N’s room of Daddy Mark holding N,

Daddy Mark & Nicholas

and there are two particular photos that N is fascinated with. They are both of Mark holding N just after delivery (see right), and N loves for me to tell him about his birth. For a while, N would get confused between his birth story and the story of Mark’s time in the hospital when he died. N thought that the picture of Mark and him was when “Daddy Mark was so sick in the hospital that the doctors couldn’t make his body better.” I spent quite a bit of time explaining the difference in why we were in the hospital for N’s birth and why Mark was in the hospital when he was sick. Nicholas seems to get it for the most part, but is still confused about it sometimes.

William and I began referring to him as “Daddy” after we got engaged. Nicholas didn’t seem to have any trouble with the transition (I’m sure it helped that he wasn’t quite 3 yet), and William has been Daddy ever since. In the past three or four months though, Nicholas has referred to William as “Pretend” Daddy a few times. When asked what he meant, Nicholas said, “Daddy is Pretend Daddy and God is the Real Daddy.” And who can argue with that. We had a brief discussion about how God created us all and so he is parent to all of us but that doesn’t make Daddy pretend Daddy or Mommy pretend Mommy. I should have known that wouldn’t be the end of it.

Now Nicholas is saying that when Daddy Mark gets better, Daddy won’t be his real daddy any more and that will make Nicholas sad. I think part of this stems from the conversations we’ve had where I told him I believe that Daddy Mark is healthy and happy in Heaven and his body isn’t sick any longer. But who knows, Nicholas could be making this up from whole cloth.

Daddy & N

I probably wouldn’t think too much about it, and just keep reinforcing that William is Daddy and that Daddy Mark is in Heaven, but I know it’s painful for William. I try to help him see that it’s not a preference or judgment on him as a father, that N is just confused; but, I can see how it would hurt. William is N’s Daddy, and nobody who sees them together would doubt it.

Any thoughts on where you think the origin of the confusion might be? Do you think there is a better phrase for Mark? Is it confusing for N to have two daddys? I would love to hear what you think!

*Photo of Daddy and N courtesy of Rebel With A Camera.

Dear Zen Mother,

Could you explain Karma to me?  I hear it thrown around a lot in conversation but I’m not sure I really understand it.

Mimi from Massachusetts

Dear Mimi,

Well, according to my Eastern Religion for Dummies handbook, Karma encompasses both cause and effect by looking at all your deeds from the past, present and future, including things you have done in previous lifetimes as someone or something else. In other words, Karma is the Sanskrit word for “you’re screwed.”

Before you dismiss this notion as a whole lot of hooey, here’s a recent experience I had with a psychic, or as he prefers, perpetual life coach.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked.

“You tell me.  You’re the psychic,” I said, elbowing him and snorting at my own humor.

“Yeah, like I haven’t heard that before.  OK, Mrs. Z, if you want proof of my clairvoyance, here goes.  You left the house with kids in tow at 7:55 a.m. except one of your boys was still in the bathroom washing the dog with his toothbrush. Later you went grocery shopping only to realize in Checkout Lane #7 you were still in your pajamas, flannel with flying pigs – cute. You returned home to work on your next column, due yesterday, but instead turned on the TV hoping you hadn’t missed “Judge Judy.” Would you like me to go on?”

Humbled and embarrassed, I said no.  “Umm, could you tell me about my past lives instead?”

I expected him to burn sage, light a candle, and fall into a deep meditation, or deal a series of Tarot cards in front of me, but he simply stared.  His eyes became critical and his mouth revealed a disapproving sneer.  I straightened up, lifted my chin and crossed my ankles, hoping this would help release my past life as Grace Kelly or Audrey Hepburn. I waited.

“You were an avocado,” he said, finally.

“Pardon?”

“A-vo-ca-do.” The word dripped from his mouth like venom.

“What is that…a joke?  You think you’re some kind of comedian?”

“It’s not a joke, but don’t worry, you reincarnated as a flea in 504 B.C.”

“Oh, you’re a riot.  I suppose next you’ll tell me that I was once a goat.”

“Well, yes, but it took you a while to earn that life.  Some of the decisions you made as a flea were questionable.”

“What about my sister?” thinking at least I could get my money’s worth by wallowing in one of her past lowly existences.

“She was Audrey Hepburn.  That’ll be $175.  No personal checks.  I know what’s in your bank account.”

I couldn’t speak. I’d just spent $175 to be insulted and demeaned.  I rushed out of the psychic’s office and across the street, reeling from the experience. 

“Wait!” I heard him yell.  “You forgot your purse.”

He stepped out from the entranceway, tripped and stumbled into a pedestrian who pushed him to the curb where a bike messenger bounced him into the street.  The psychic then jumped to his left to avoid an oncoming Prius…only to be run over by a produce truck coming from the other direction.

Hmmm, I thought to myself, I guess there is something to this karma business after all.  I walked over to where he lay, picked up my purse and went home to watch “Judge Judy.”