fear and loathing on facebook

Maybe it's just the circles I run in, but I'm seeing a lot of opposition to the new sex education curriculum proposed in Ontario.

Like, a lot.  

Like, I miss the good old days of global warming and vaccine conspiracies plugging up my Facebook wall.

The problem with these protestations is not that people have differing opinions but that these opinions are not often their own.  This will not be a post on the intricacies of the curriculum itself but rather directed to those who don't take the time to read the curriculum itself in order to familiarize themselves with the intricacies.

There's a word for stealing other people's ideas in lieu of using original, creative arguments: plagiarism.

And is that what we want to pass on to our kids as an ideal way of living?  Do we want them to grow into adulthood thinking that a broken-telephone-system of hearsay and rumour and fear-mongering and assumptions and clouded understanding is the best way to make an opinion? 

Isn't the opposite of education, ignorance?

I become weary of the SIGN THIS PETITION and MEET ME AT THE PROTEST and WRITE YOUR MPP NOW invitations because when there really is a valid issue to sign a petition for, or protest, or write our MPP about, I feel as if our voice will be tuned out.  

There are too many legitimately appalling issues that we should be taking steps to reform.  Rational, engaging, tolerant and fair education curriculum isn't one of them.

If you're still hot under the collar, try these ideas:

1. Believe in yourself.  You are an intelligent person, and extremely qualified in the area of childrearing if you are, indeed, rearing a child.  So give those eyeballs a rub, connect them to that beautiful brain and read the curriculum.  Yes, it's lengthy.  But, let's face it, if you're hot under the collar you're most likely focusing on the sexy bits (frankly, you should read it for its incredible overall approach to fostering mental, physical and emotional health rather than just "command+F" phrases like "anal sex").  But, whatever.  Just read it.
2. If you would like a balanced view on the subject, instead of bouncing your ideas off of people who share the same ideas, take a teacher out for a coffee.  Actually, take a teacher out for a coffee anyway.  They work damn hard.  And, contrary to some opinions, are not hell-bent on perverting your child.  If you can't commit to coffee, at least give them a hug.
3. If you still want something to post on your Facebook wall, after all that self-education and coffee and hugging, try this brilliant article.
4. While you're on a curriculum high, try thinking of other areas than sex ed where your child could benefit from additional education at home.  Are the history lessons Western-centric?  Are the literature selections male-centric?  Are the mathematic exercises devoid of real-life financial applications?
5. Feel free to write a member of the government, and try making it nice.  Encourage your city counsellor, your MP, and your MPP for all the hard work they put into making your life a little better.  It doesn't matter if you voted for them or believe in their politics.  For extra bonus points, send a quick email to Premier Kathleen Wynne thanking her for doing a job that you would never want to do.

But, if you can't do all six, just read the curriculum.  And use Facebook to post pictures of your adorable, creative, educated family.

“Fear is the path to the dark side.  Fear leads to anger.  Anger leads to hate.  Hate leads to suffering." - Yoda 

mama monday: left vs. right

Having very little to do with Mama Monday and everything to do with what I feel like writing about today (spontaneous and unpredictable like a right-brainer!).  I found this quiz on my brother's Tumblr's account and since I love quizzes, and quizzes about me no less (a narcissistic right-brainer! groundbreaking!), I figured I'd find out what type of brain I have.

In high school, I loved biology as much as I hated chemistry.  I suppose 49% of a left-brain wasn't enough to keep me interested in the math required to study the latter.  Genetics fascinated me most: learning about dominant and recessive genes, how a red and a white flower will produce a pink flower, and how genes from previous generations work their way down the line. 

I have my father's blue eyes, I have my mother's snubbed nose, and I suppose the nearly balanced left- and right-brain (since Seth's was 48% left, 52% right and I have to assume Simeon, my other brother, would have similar results) is a mixture of them as well.

One would assume that the left-side came from my father, a carpenter, who has spent the last 30 years measuring twice and cutting once.  Likewise, my mother, who attended OCAD back when it didn't have a "D" - art only! - may have easily donated the right-brain portion.  As their daughter, however, I know that my storytelling skills come from dad and I keep lists upon lists just like mom. 

Whatever the DNA cocktail I consist of, I'm happy for it.  I love even more that I can pick out interests and propensities from stories of grandparents and great-grandparents, some of whom I have never met. 

And here I am, my genetic makeup tracing back for generations, married to Andrew, with his own trail of genetic signatures.  I daydream (daydreaming! how right-brained!) about what our kids will be like.  I wonder which dominant and recessive features will emerge, like a developing Polaroid.  Until modern science makes it possible for us to creepily design our offspring (Andrew's perfect teeth! my 20/20 vision! his musical skills! my freckles! his sensible attitude! my imagination!), I'm happy to let genetics work its magic. 

mama monday: tick-tock, biological clock

I was out with a lovely young lady for lunch today who asked me when my biological clock began to chime.  She, concerned that she wasn't as "baby crazy" as her peers, wondered if it was normal not to want to pop out infants in multiples during her early 20s.

I assured her it was.

Last week, I joked that my friends were once convinced that my biological clock was digital.  It make no sound, it sounded no alarm.  For years, while girlfriends dated, engagified, married, pregnacized, and baked cookies, I dated, wrote, worked, traveled, and ate out.  I didn't really "climb the corporate ladder" as much as I dramatically cascaded along bookshelves on a wheeled one, like Belle in Disney's Beauty & The Beast belting out a musical number.  I wasn't opposed to children, I just didn't have time for them.  They weren't a priority, and neither was domesticating.

On my 25th birthday (to the day), I felt the urge to go home, home to Toronto, like a migrating bird.  I wanted to nest close to my family.  When I met up with Andrew I experienced the unnerving sensation of being with the person the I was going to be with for the rest of my life, which added to the drive to settle down.  But once we were two years married and looking to start a family did I begin to suffer the phenomenon of Everyone-Is-Pregnant-Itis*.  Pregnant bellies bulge everywhere I go.  They bump me on public transit, they delay the elevators, they waddle throughout the supermarkets, they post ultrasound pictures on Facebook. 

I am convinced that the "settling down" chip, implanted in us from birth, implements whenever and however it is made to - each according to its host.  Some people make effervescent younger parents, either on purpose or by surprise, and some become refined older parents, again, not always according to script. 

When it does, all of a sudden, things like this will make you all quivery inside:

*  Similar to Everyone-Is-Getting-Married-Itis, which generally strikes those looking to find a special someone.

mama monday: change the world

I've made a shortlist of the worst things (that I can think of) to wait for:

1. Waiting for a method of public transportation, outside, when the weather resembles Voldemort's return to power.
2. Waiting for your turn at a government subsidized office when turns depend on complex letter/number system, like Bingo, and the letter/number system does not progress alphabetically nor chronologically.
3. Waiting in line at an amusement park for a ride that your peer group chose by democratic vote, wherein you were of the minority group, in the blistering sun, having eaten very little.

Waiting to get pregnant (to be pregnant? to turn pregnant?  to pregnacize?) is definitely up there and follows a strict mathematical increase of vexation whereby the axes are represented by "amount of time you are not pregnant" and "amount of time you've been thinking about being pregnant, including contemplations about, dreams about, poetry about, and blog postings about".

Unlike other experiences in waiting, however, I find that this one is difficult to explain.  In fact, other than disappointment, the waiting period is generally pleasant: life is good, I have a fantabulous husband who loves me to bits and makes me laugh, friends surround and support me, an amazing extended family, a great house, and many aspirations for the future.  Compared to examples 1, 2, and 3 above, the actual waiting process involved with parenthood is benign.  A baby would only be the addition to an already agreeable existence.

Simplistic, maybe, but also true.  So why not focus on what we have instead of what we're missing?

When Baby Gaz makes his/her debut and makes us parents in the process, will he/she want to hear that we were excitedly planning for his/her arrival while making the most out of every opportunity?  Or will he/she have an image of Mom and Dad weeping and complaining their way through the months before he/she was born?  I don't want whining to be a family trait.

Jon, new dad, wrote this in his blog just before the birth of his son, Noah:

...many of the characteristics, habits, mannerisms, modes of speech, and even culture that my son will learn are already in me.  The lifestyle of fatherhood began long, long ago (not too long ago, I’m only 25 here!) and continues to grow and deepen as I do. What I’m getting at is the effect my life has on my son’s life even before he is born.

I want to live life now in a way that positively affects my family to come.  If I want them to live in a world with less hatred, I'm going to start loving people more.  If I want them to live in a world of possibilities, I'm going to stop limiting myself.  If I want them to live in a world of hope, I'm going to cultivate it so they'll have a harvest of it when they're born.

I want to make my children proud.

---

“Be the change you want to see in the world.”

(Mahatma Ghandi)

"Once you bring life into this world, you must protect it. We must protect it by changing the world." (Elie Weisel)

I'm starting with the man in the mirror

I'm asking him to change his ways

And no message could have been any clearer

If you wanna make the world a better place

Take a look at yourself and then make that change

(Michael Jackson, Man In The Mirror)

welcome to mama mondays...

Blogging is a fickle thing.  It's not quite a journal and it's not quite a Twitter feed.  It's both personal and public.  I worry that it's being read and then I worry that it's not being read.  I like my privacy and I like my honesty.

I started this blog in 2005 (happy 5th year anniversary, me!) to update people about my year spent teaching English in Korea.  From there, it chronicled my travels in the UK, moving house six times, becoming a girlfriend, becoming a wife, and becoming a pastor.  It has served me well.

What better way to keep the blog honest and current than dive into the topic of parenting?  Anticlimactically, this August marks a year of "trying" (translation: a fabulous year of sex-having!) and this isn't the highly anticipated here's a picture of our positive pee test! post.  Nope, not yet.

Still, there are lots of thoughts on parenting that I've been mulling over, and I keep accumulating more, so I'd like to post some of them here.  To begin, some on pre-conception:

• Prenatal pills have made my hair grow an inch a month. 
• There are acronyms for everything to do with fertility on the internet.  "TTC", for example, once meant only public transportation in the city of Toronto.  Evidentally also means "trying to conceive" by lots of cybermoms.
• Said cybermoms, or cybermoms-to-be, are an opinionated bunch.  You can find advice online that contradicts every other piece of advice you find online.
• When I was single and naïve, I told a friend who was trying to conceive: "It's easy.  Just have sex, like, ALL THE TIME."  Graciously, she shook her head and said nothing.  As many of you are doing now.

Welcome to the journey and feel free to post your anecdotes (really...I love stories).  We'd love to hear from those of you who are thinking of trying, those of you trying, those of you who have tried, and those of you who are now parents either by birth, adoption, or fostering.

Cybermoms welcome!