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?

I’m addicted to my work: I’m addicted to writing. I’m addicted to email, the internet, Twitter (& Perez Hilton). I’ve been accused of having an affair with my Blackberry and with my social media friends. (The accusation actually didn’t come from my beloved wife, Patti, but she nodded her head in agreement and gave me that one-eyebrow-up knowing look in response.)

And, said wife implored me to keep my work at work. Instead of waking up and checking my BB before kissing anyone good morning and jumping onto my MacBook and carrying my laptop home ‘after work’ and setting it on the kitchen counter so that I could keep working into the night because I ‘just have to’ finish one more thing - she asked me simply to be at home.

I listened, and I’ve done a pretty good job of changing my behavior. I do check the Berry, but only when I’m expecting something really important, when no one’s paying attention to me anyway or when I’m in the bathroom - where I believe I can do whatever I damn well please. And I don’t turn on my computer at home during family time.

So, imagine my surprise when, over the last few weeks, Patti has been on her laptop non-stop. When I come in during the day to get water, snacks or lunch. While we’re making dinner. While we’re eating dinner!

My response? Well, I reverted back to preschool, of course. “Why do you get to be on your computer non-stop when I’m not allowed to be?” I demanded. (okay, I whined.)

Here’s the part where I get schooled.

Her immediate response was, well, to be really pissed. And, then, the next day. She sat me down and gave me a list of all the things she’s working on. Want to see it?

And that’s just the first side…the back is just as filled. And Photo Booth on my Mac is not smart enough to take a picture that isn’t a mirror image, so it’s ass backwards, sort of like me - but you get the point.

Apparently, while I have 8+ hours to come out here to my little writer’s haven, she has to get 50 million things done at home (including starting her own business, scheduling the Common House we share with 15 other families, serving on the board of our kids’ preschool, taking a shower and on and on and on) with two toddlers running around (they only go to school 1 day a week). So, I can’t come home and keep working, but she can and must work whenever and wherever she possibly can.

I get it. I done been schooled.

Image courtesty of Gareth Lofthouse

This picture pretty well sums it up.

A Mom is (generally) the child’s first and primary teacher, the one who tirelessly guides and instructs in all manner of knowledge and behavior.

It’s a role that is immensely rewarding (usually), frustatingly thankless (often), and absolutely crucial.

I’ve had the privilege and joy of being married to such a woman for 28 years (well, OK, 28 years tomorrow), and she has invested heavily in the upbringing of our five boys. She goes about this Mommy gig day after day, year after year, steadily shaping young lives. Has it been easy, without disappointment or heartbreak? Hardly. But what worthy endeavor is?

Plus, she’s had to put up with me. That’s Amore.

There is simply no way to calculate the value of a great mother, and no way to adequately pay tribute to a woman like Sandy. She doesn’t blog, doesn’t Twitter, doesn’t want an iPhone. But in our home network, she’s the prime connector. I wouldn’t want anyone else to be the mother of my children.

And, after 28 years, I still cannot imagine a better best friend.

My hubby and I probably don’t go on as many dates as we should. We both work a lot, and when we’re not working we prefer to hang out as a four-some with the girls. But for about two weeks, last Friday had been dubbed as a date night. We picked the restaurant, we lined up Nana to watch the girls and we put it on the calendar in ink. 

Then the blizzard blew in and dropped about a foot of wet, heavy snow on us. We decided to venture out, but the roads were terrible. The smart people stayed home, but we could not be stopped.

On the way to Nana’s, big-sister piped up from the back seat that her tummy hurt, then barfed all over herself, the car seat, and me. Hubby whipped the car into the nearest parking lot: Kentucky Fried Chicken. I ushered her through the blizzard and into the bathroom to clean her up and assess the damage while hubby cleaned the stinky, vomit-soaked car seat with diaper wipes. 

We told ourselves that she had probably just eaten something that disagreed with her and slid across the parking lot to Target for a quick change of clothes for the two of us and a package of disinfectant wipes. 

We wore our new, clean clothes out of the store and pressed on, dropping the girls of with an agreeable Nana, and continuing on only to discover that our restaurant was gone! At some point in the last three years, they tore it down and no one bothered to tell us. The nerve.

By now it was quite clear that we should have stayed home. The universe was conspiring against us, but we weren’t about to turn back now. We opted for the closest bar, which happened to serve up a tasty burrito, and had ourselves a meal with some adult beverages and adult conversation.

It was great, but by the time we got back for the girls it was getting late and they were tired. In no time flat, I was back in the car listening to two crying daughters and a song about Little Jack Horner.

The date part of the night was great, but we’re still getting used to the fact that bad weather, sick kids and a changing restaurant scene are all part of our new “normal” as parents. Don’t get me wrong, I love it. But it’s sure not as easy as the old, DINK normal, is it?

The good news? I’m marrying an incredible Fella on Saturday. The not-so-good news? I can’t decide on my name.

When I got married to my late husband in 1995, I was 20 years old, and wanted to keep my name. I became Sherry Carr-(c-a-r-r)-then-a-space-and-a-capital-”D”-(D-e-e-r)-like-the-animal. No, not Carter, not Cartier, not Carr-Deer, just Sherry Carr Deer. And I’ve been explaining it ever since.

The positive thing about my name is that once someone gets it, they never really forget it. This has been very helpful professionally. The negative thing is that it’s a pain in the rear to have to explain my name every time I call someone or meet someone new; I never know where someone has alphabatized my name; it’s always spelled wrong; and I have about six different variations of my last name on accounts and legal papers in my life. I guess I’m just tired of the two last names with no hyphen thing. Maybe it would have been different if they had been names with a couple more syllables. Regardless, it is what it is.

But now it could change. I could be Sherry Smith. I probably will be, I think it will be nice to have a simple name I don’t have to spell. I’ll just have to make sure Sherry Smith makes as big an impression as Sherry Carr Deer.

Have you changed your name recently? Did you get married after your professional life had been established? Tell me your experiences with a new name.

You can connect with Sherry Carr Deer (Sherry Smith?) on Twitter at prCarrD.

Sherry Carr Deer is a Mommy to Nicholas who just turned 3, fiance to William, the widow of Mark, and a PR professional at a non-profit hospital. You can read more of her posts here.

I am having a great time planning our wedding. William is such a great fiance, shares his opinions, but has for the most part let me go with my feelings. Nicholas was recently ring barer in his cousin’s wedding, so every time we talk about our wedding with him, he asks if he’ll get to wear a tuxedo.

In the course of the planning, I’ve been thinking a lot about my name…and Nicholas’ name…and William’s name. Specifically whether or not to change mine when we get married.

When Mark and I married, it was important to me to keep my name (Carr) and add his (Deer). All my introductions with new people sound like this, “No, that’s two last names with no hyphen. Right. Carr with 2 “r’s” and Deer like the animal. No, no “e” on the end of Deer. Like the animal. D-E-E-R.” Despite warnings from married female professors at the time, I didn’t just keep my name. But, it’s a name that once people get it, don’t usually forget it. I think it’s something about the imagery of a car hitting a deer.

Well, my fella’s last name isn’t quite so distinctive, and it will make me one of many with the same name. And if I take his name and drop mine altogether, I won’t have a common name with Nicholas at all. But if I don’t take his name in some form, I won’t have a common name with potential children I have with William.

For those of you who have remarried (or have siblings because of blended families), how big a deal is it to have a household full of different last names? Is it strange? Hard to navigate? Would it be difficult for Nicholas to be the only one in our family with his name?

I do have to admit that it would be nice to never have to spell my last name and to always know where my last name should fall in the alphabitized list at a doctor’s office. My introductions to new people would sound like this, “That’s Sherry with two r’s. Last name Smith.” Simple. Elegant.

What do you think? How does “Sherry Smith” sound? Do any of you have a different professional name from your personal name?

Sherry Carr Deer-Smith?

Kelli is mom to Braxton, age 2, and partner to Mike. She is an instructor at the University of Oregon and a public relations consultant with her own firm. Thanks to growing up in a large family, she’s learned to manage chaos and still have fun. You can read her posts here.

My Sunday morning paper should have come with a box of Kleenex. I thought I’d share this moving story with This Mommy Gig readers.

[excerpt]

By Randi Bjornstad

The time-honored marriage promise, “till death do us part” has no meaning for Karl Martin.

The 78-year-old widower spends much of every day at Mount Vernon Cemetery, sitting at the grave of his wife, Betty Martin, who died Jan. 15 of kidney cancer. He reads to her and talks to her, occasionally getting up to wander a while among tombstones that date back to some of Springfield’s earliest residents before returning to her side.

Read the rest here.