Sunday night at the Oscars, Sandra Bullock said something in her speech that struck me. She thanked her mother for being a “trail blazer” who wouldn’t let her ride in cars with boys until she was 18, taught her that everyone is deserving of love, and allowed her to “have that [husband Jesse James] and this [the Oscar].” I found this touching because her mother obviously taught her to be a trail blazer herself - a strong, independent woman who knew she could accomplish whatever she wanted through hard work.

On the flip side, we’ve got The Bachelor on ABC. The women on this show are competing against each other to “win the heart” of one man. Recently, the show concluded another season with a new “winner” and what I found most disturbing about this season was how many of the women seemed to want to win the heart of The Bachelor (Jake Pavelka) so that they could be rescued. They never used those words, exactly, but words such as “fairy tale,” “princess” and “fantasy” (this word is used A LOT on this show) were staples of almost every conversation. Several of them had been married before and were still so young (23, 25!) and wanting to jump right back into a marriage (through the means of this show, no less). It seems to me that they’d be better off taking some time to figure out who they are without a man - what they want, what they’re capable of and who they can be on their own.

Don’t get me wrong - I am all for finding a wonderful partner and getting married. But when it’s seemingly the only goal a woman has, I think it’s unfortunate. (In college, we’d joke that these the women were going for their “MRS degree” - they’d talk more about being in college to meet a husband than for an actual degree that they could use in the future.) Anyone looking at marriage as the perfect answer to life’s challenges is going to be sorely disappointed.

I don’t have a daughter (although I do have a niece who is also my godchild) but if I did, I’d work extremely hard to make sure she understands that marriage is no fairy tale and that life is full of many other possibilities that she can make happen on her own in addition to marriage if she wants both. A happy marriage is a nice thing to have, of course - but it is most possible when you’ve explored who you are, experienced adventures and challenges on your own, and blazed some of your own trails. Why do we continue to encourage little girls to grow up with the fantasy that getting married is like being rescued by Prince Charming in Cinderella and instantly leads to “happily ever after”? Even if your husband is charming and generous, marriage is hard work! Listening to these women (and knowing some in my personal life with the same mentality) talk about it as though it’s the answer to every happiness is disheartening.

I propose we rewrite the fairy tale to be something more along the lines of: girl grows up, girl travels around world, girl discovers her passions, girl works hard at pursuing passion in her work every single day, girl is endlessly rewarded with feelings of self worth, confidence, making a living on her own, etc. One day while happily going about her purposeful life, girl happens to meet future spouse, and together they raise children and work hard at marriage, share responsibilities and hobbies and live a long, happy life together. But girl always knows she is strong, valuable and equal.

Let’s make sure our girls know that marriage is only one piece of many people’s happy lives - not the be all and end all to happiness. Let’s make sure they know that hard work leads to self confidence and worth, and that no one is going to rescue them, but rather that they can learn to love taking care of themselves. Let’s teach them that getting married is just the beginning of a hopefully long journey that is also full of hard work - but well worth it if you make the right choice and work together as equal partners. And, that it’s just one part of a happy and fulfilling life (and that it’s okay if it isn‘t a part of everyone’s life.) Let’s make “happily ever after” more focused on “with yourself.”

Teaching girls to focus on making their dreams come true through their own hard work is a fairy tale I’d like to see more girls reading. How about you?

After work today, I met my husband and daughter at the park and on first look I thought she’d left the house wearing only a shirt! When I asked where her pants were she assured me that she had shorts on under the shirt (which barely covered her bottom).

She knew I wasn’t pleased, though, and on the way home we talked about the need for wearing something on the bottom that’s longer than the top; but, she still had to get in a couple of comments about how her outfit was “stylish” and I wasn’t letting her be “stylish.”

Parent challenge of the day … how to tell a seven-year-old the difference between stylish, sexy and slutty?

The timing was interesting as earlier in the day I’d read a post on GamePolitics.com about a report out of the UK by Dr. Linda Papadpoulos (”glamorous psychologist forever popping up on daytime television“) in which they said she noted: “High street stores sell video games where the player can beat up prostitutes with bats and steal from them in order to facilitate game progression,” leading to the following “clear” message to girls that this type of media portrays, as interpreted by the doctor, “… young girls should do whatever it takes to be desired. For boys the message is just as clear: be hyper-masculine and relate to girls as objects.”

Games were actually only a portion of the media examined. Dr. Papadopoulos talks about the impacts of the Internet in this video.

One of the key recommendations in the report included ensuring that music videos featuring sexual posing or sexually suggestive lyrics are broadcast only after the “watershed” (which means 9:00 p.m until 5:30 a.m.).

Here in the U.S., I know sexual content can be found on our television at earlier hours than that. “Two and a Half Men” on at 8:00 p.m. in my time zone, for example, has plotlines that frequently revolve around the character Charlie’s womanizing sex life.

We do our best to avoid these shows (thank goodness my girl and I both like Food Network), but it’s impossible for me to shield her from sexual themes and images all the time.

So, how do you discuss what is appropriately stylish for a nearly tween girl to wear?

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who wanted to work on a Navy submarine when she grew up.

“I’m sorry,” said her mother. “But that’s a man’s job. Women aren’t allowed to work on submarines. Maybe you could be an astronaut, or a firefighter, or a scientist instead?”

But that was yesterday. Today, the U.S. Navy announced that it is ready to lift the ban on women in submarines and that the modifications necessary for the subs to accommodate both sexes are a factor, but “not insurmountable.”

Kudos to the U.S. Navy. As a mother of daughters, I celebrate every time a hurdle is kicked down that might block their way in the future. Now, when we tell our daughters that they can be anything they want to be, we’re one step closer to actually meaning it. As long as they don’t say “Priest.”

Me (coming upon this sign Scotch-taped to the back door): “What’s this?”

12-year-old daughter: “I lost my phone somewhere. So I made signs and put them all over the house.”

Me: “Oh. Makes sense…. I guess.”

12-year-old daughter: “I know! The only problem is that people can’t call me if they find my phone, right?”

One of the disadvantages of living in our hyper-networked world is that many of our mistakes are captured and magnified. And when something disastrous (or nearly so) happens to a child, there tends to be a knee-jerk reaction on the part of some to condemn the parents, even before knowing the facts.

Bad parents!

It’s likely that those who are eager to cast the first stone have not, in fact, ever brought up children. Because as every parent can attest - every good and caring and attentive parent - near-disaster seems to hide around the corner at least once a day, and kids have an uncanny ability to seek it. Or, if they’re too young to seek it, we can manage to find it ourselves through a moment’s distraction or inattention.

When you first gaze at your newborn in the crib, and your heart bursts with love and wonder, you make a vow that you will do anything to protect and care for that little one. And you mean it. But growing up is a messy process, and no parent or child gets it right 24/7/365 for the next couple of decades. A loving and dedicated parent can end up looking really bad once in while.

I once nearly drifted out to sea on a slowly-deflating float, not because of bad parenting, but just because - you know, it happened. I shudder to think of the close calls my brothers and I had growing up, and it pains me to remember the trips to the ER with my boys. And I guarantee that’s the case with every parent that decides to roll the dice and have children in a world filled with risk. Stuff happens. Even to families with parents who are trying their level best to get it right.

Yes, there are bad parents. There are sickos who endanger their children carelessly or deliberately. But, I would dare to say that they are a tiny minority. Most of us live with this layer of secret terror in our souls that we’re going to screw up somehow, and that even our best efforts can’t shield our kids from every arrow flying around out there. It’s the good parents who care, and who learn from their mistakes and press on.

Amazingly, somehow, most of these little creatures actually make it through. And when trouble hits, parents need a supportive shoulder, not a scolding index finger.

So, next time there is a news item about some kid getting hurt or barely avoiding disaster, avoid the temptation to cluck your tongue and shake your head and say, “Bad parents!” Most likely, they’re good parents who experienced what every other parent eventually experiences - reality. And when you screw up, give yourself some slack too. Those parents you look up to, who seem to have it all together? - they’re skating on the edge just like you, hoping and praying that their mishaps never become public fodder.

Do be careful about inflatable rafts and undertows, however…

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My daughter is three years old. I have no idea how to respond when we are in public and she starts asking about body parts. Maybe you have some advice for me. Here’s an example.

We’re in a diner in the middle of Alaska. We are standing by the counter waiting for our to go box. There are a number of people sitting at the counter and a few men in their 20s standing nearby.

“He’s a man,” announces my daughter, pointing to one of the men.

“Yes, honey, he is a man,” I reply.

“He’s a man because he has a penis,” she says loudly.

“Yes, honey, that’s true,” I respond.

“He has a penis because he’s a man,” she says again, louder and pointing.

“Uh huh,” I respond and try to act like nothing is out of the ordinary.

Because I don’t want her to be alarmed. I don’t want her to think she is doing something evil or dirty or wrong. I don’t want her to be hung up about parts of the body. But I don’t know what to say or do in those situations. Smile. Wince. Grin again. Roll eyes. Stay calm.

I don’t want her be ashamed of her own body. I’ve told her the correct names for everything, but when she kept referring to “my magina,” I decided to give her a cuter, easier-to-pronounce name for her parts. We call them “Girly Parts.” She likes that. And she likes to talk about them, too.

We’re in public again. She points between her legs.

“Are these my girly parts, mommy?”

“Yes, honey, those are.”

She turns and looks behind her.

“Is that my butt?”

“Yes, sweetie.”

“Are those your girly parts, mommy?” Point point point.

“Uh huh.”

“I saw your girly parts are furry,” she announces.

“Yours will be someday, too, baby” I say, and lead her gently but quickly to another aisle in Wal-Mart.

Am I doing something wrong here? Should I be shushing her? Scolding her? Swatting her? Ignoring her?

I’m afraid that if I make a big deal, she might start bringing up body parts on purpose to see is she can get a wild reaction from me. I don’t want to overreact. So I just keep an even tone, acknowledge her accurate statements, and hope that people don’t think I’m some kind of weird, bad mother.

I have spoken to her a few times about when and where it is okay to talk about our body. Home? Yes. Diner? No. Doctor’s office? Yes. Wal-Mart? Please no. When she brings these things up, it just seems like a spontaneous realization that there are penises and vaginas hidden behind every pair of pants, skirt or dress.

What is the proper way of handling this kind of thing? Is there one?

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.

Is it weird to honor the first time your daughter gets her period?

I’m not talking about holding a rave or hanging a pinata, but the event is a kind of passage for girls. And it seems like it might call for… I dunno, something. But what?

A friend of mine — the mother to three now-teenage daughters — took each of her daughters on a sunrise hike up a mountain. Another bought her girl a special charm for her bracelet. I’m not sure either or those things are quite my style, but I can appreciate the gesture.

When I got my period for the first time, I didn’t tell my mother for days. In truth, I had no idea what it was, and I was more perplexed than worried. When I finally mentioned it, she nodded knowingly. Later that day, a box of Maxi-Pads appeared in bathroom. When I opened the box, I was horrified: Each pad was about the size of a twin mattress: How was I supposed to accommodate that?

Later, my mother asked, “Did you find what I left you?” “Yes,” I replied. And that was the extent of the only conversation we ever had about it.

I have a different relationship with my own daughter. I’m sure that’s true of many of us here — and in the larger world, of today’s parents in general. Times have evolved since then, too. Which brings me back to my original question.

So what about it? What will you do, or what have you done? How does it compare with your own experience?

Photo credit: evelynishere