Barking Mad

Prelude - Mommyblogging; Exploitation or Art?

For the past several months I have been fervently working on a piece about "Mommy-Bloggers", (are we all tired of that title?  Or are you still OK with it?), and the assertions that we exploit our children via either sharing personal stories about raising our children, (this can include day-to-day antics, habits, milestones, and just about any other thing you can think of that your kids do.), and posting photographs of them on our blogs, MySpace, Facebook, Flickr, Twitter, and just about any other social media outlet you can think of.

Over the past few months I've had the privilege of interviewing several people around the country from organizations including the FBI, the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, and Internet Crimes Again Children, to various psychologists and psychiatrists who deal with sexual offenders.  I'm grateful for the time and information I was granted by these individuals and will be forever appreciative for the service they perform in their various lines of work, all in the name of protecting our most precious assets...our children. 

On a lighter note, I'm also deeply appreciative for the extensive patience extended to me on behalf of those I've spoken with and interviewed because, in the interest of full disclosure, investigative journalism was not my major in college and is definitely not my forte.  I was a Broadcast Journalism major.  My experience is that of an on-air disc jockey and I occasionally submitted pieces where I interviewed the likes of Marilyn Manson, Rob Zombie, and others like Modest Mouse...not exactly the kind of material that intellectually challenged me or required me to dig deep into a subject of great personal relevance.   My personal writing comes from a place of love, humour, and sometimes pain.  So to move into an area where the topic can not only be potentially controversial as it relates to mommy-bloggers, but often times disturbing in regards to the things I learned about pedophiles, child pornography and the exploitation of our youth; I worry that I might not be adequately qualified, or possess the skills to write about something so important.  However, I am a writer; more than that though, I am a mother and I hope I can do this topic the justice it deserves.

This piece would not be complete without the input of the people, the parents, the writers and bloggers who comprise the community of the blogosphere.  So now I'm reaching out to you.  I want to know your own opinions on this topic.  I want to know what your limits are; the things you will and will not write or post about, What are your own concerns about images posted of our children and whether you think it constitutes a risk, and whether you think, down the line, our children may read our words about raising them - those shared experiences we can all relate to and commiserate with, and will it cause them any undue stress, pain, or as some allege, years spent in a therapists office trying to come to terms with mommy writing about potty-training difficulties?  I used potty training as only one example but in all honesty, there are myriad things we all write about that some in the blogosphere claim exploits our children either for profit or popularity.

Over the next two weeks I hope to gain enough feedback from you to fully round-out this piece and publish it, barring any further disruption of the Maine power grid or TypePad digesting my drafts!  Feel free to leave me your thoughts and opinions in the comment section of this post, or you can email me at iambarkingmad (at) gmail (dot) com.   I really look forward to your own contribution to this, and your thoughts on something that is important to us all.

Colour - Do You See It?

No, I'm not talking about being colour-blind. 

I'm talking about race.

Yep, this "white girl" is going there.  Except, there's a caveat.  I'll explain that interesting little piece of info at the end of my warble.

I'll warn you ahead of time, my forte, when it comes to writing, is not the kind of thing I am going to write about.  I typically keep it light and fluffy, aside from the occasional posts about my late son, my battle with depression, or the occasional diatribe regarding issues I am deeply passionate about. 

Over the weekend I read a series of posts which made me think.  I'm talking, deep and profound thoughts.  The kind of thoughts that caused me to open a bottle of my favourite chardonnay, inhale deeply and wonder if I'm doing my children a huge disservice by not emphasizing colour more, throughout their upbringing.

I'm going to admit right up front, when I first started to read all of these posts, deep inside I yelled; "But I don't see colour!  I DON'T!"  People are people; black, white, yellow, tan, gold...whatever colour you are, you bleed the same blood and bottom line, you are a human and that's how I see you. That's what I thought anyhow. I thought that was the important thing, to just see the people I share this earth with as humans. 

Then I received a proverbial slap in the face which began with this post by Miss Britt.   From there, I went here, and read and read and read.  I read each and every comment on Mocha Momma's post.  What started as a slap in the face became a kick to the gut.  I eventually backtracked to another post that Miss Britt mentioned by Susan Mernit, that talked specifically about Blissdom and the lack of diversity at the recent Blissdom '09 conference.  Now, I didn't go to Blissdom '09 and I only have the post-event blather by those who did attend, to go by.   Further to that, I don't know Alli Worthington, (Mrs. Fussypants), don't read her blog and don't subscribe to Blissfully Domestic either.  Not that I don't want to, I simply don't have the time to devote to another online magazine and in case you hadn't noticed, my blogroll is pretty full and I have serious problems just keeping up with the writers/bloggers on it.  Yeah, I kinda suck at the whole "balance" thing.

See, it started out simply enough...someone questioning the apparent lack of diversity at a women's blogging conference. In all fairness, after reading the comments of some of the women who attended Blissdom '09 and other panelists, I don't think Alli Worthington intentionally excluded anyone.  I don't know if she's responded to any of the chatter, so I can't say for sure.   However, I also can't assume that she bent over backwards in an effort to include as much diversity as possible.  Frankly, for me, the issue with all this isn't the lack of diversity at Blissdom '09.  For me it all comes down to a deeper issue of not seeing something in someone else -ignoring it if you will - to the point of denying people of colour something that is as inherent to them as writing and biting my nails are to me.

Did that make sense?  

What I'm trying to say, and possibly failing miserably at, is that claiming innocence by screaming, "But I don't see colour!" as it relates to my relationships with women and men of colour, that I am ignoring something that is as integral to them as my eye colour is to me. 

Does this make me a racist though?  God, I really hope not.   Do I need to become better at seeing the colour around me (OK, granted, I live in the whitest state in the union...seriously!), and become more aware of the fact that these men and women and children that I've always just seen as other humans, are more than that?  I mean, I know they are more than that...but that part of what makes them the special people they are is the very fact they are people of distinct racial heritage.  

So, by ignoring that, am I colour-blind or just ignorant?  And what about my children...how do I teach them to recognize this and not be colour-blind?  How do you teach your children to not just ignore, but embrace the rich diversity of people around them?

Wanna hear something funny?  Well, to me it's funny for a few reasons.  My little sister, Amanda, has always maintained that I am the "whitest person" she knows.  She doesn't mean that to intonate that I am a racist or anything close to it.  She means it in the Martha Stewart/Betty Crocker kind of way.  When it comes down to it, I'm pretty damned bland.  When it comes to people, I don't discriminate (at least not consciously), but when it comes to food, my house, and stuff like that, yeah...she's got me there.  I'm pretty "white."   Of course Amanda is, and she won' kill me so dead they'll have to bury me twice for saying this, a black woman trapped in a white woman's body.   It's just how it is.  And I love my adorable new niece who is of mixed heritage (why did I feel like I had to say that?  Of course I love her, she is my niece!  But see what I mean about this?).  White people seem very bland and boring to her.  She has always surrounded herself with African Americans and embraced their culture and everything beautiful that entails.  There's nothing wrong with it at all.  If anything it kind of shows the rest of us up for our incredible lack of "soul."   Anyhow, I explained all that just so you could sort of understand where her comment stems from.

The ironic thing about all of this?  That caveat I mentioned earlier?  Take a good hard look at that picture of me in the upper right hand side bar.  You see a blonde, white woman, don't you?   Except...I'm not.  White that is. Sure, colour-wise I suppose I'm pretty "white.".  Actually I'm so pale I'm considered metabolically challenged by some.  But all that whiteness hides the fact that I'm half Cherokee Indian.  My sperm donor was (as in past tense...he's long dead) a Cherokee Indian.  I've never really thought about it much.  Never given any consideration to it...until I had a recent conversation with someone about it and he called me a "Prairie N*gger."   He said it casually like someone might have mentioned I have two lips and a nose.   I didn't even know what it was.  I had to Google it.  

Up until that moment, I'd really never given any thought to my own racial make-up or background, mostly because I was in-part, raised by old, white, Dutch women and my sperm donor was not around.  He bailed when I was three and that was that.  American Indians have always been something I read about in class or watched in cowboy and Indian movies on TV.  I am not ignorant to the fact that white men nearly decimated entire tribes of American Indians, killed their source of food and stole their land.  I guess you could say that up until recently, I "heard" these stories, these histories, but never really listened.  

Sure, I always knew that American Indian blood ran through my veins but I really never thought much about it...until that day when I was called a Prairie N*gger.  Now?  Well, now it's different.  Now I listen.   I think I'm starting to understand a bit better that despite all of us being human, we're so much more than that...than the colour of our skin.

Perhaps I have been colour-blind all this time. 

Phoning It In! *FINAL UPDATE AT END OF POST*

Huge storm hit our area of Maine Sunday night.  We've been without power for more than 36 hours at this point and according to Central Maine Power, it could be days before we see another light bulb blink on without God himself saying, "Let there be light!"  

Being that its in the low teens, temperature wise, I'm phoning this one in from the hotel.  I'm exhausted.  The Little Imp is so keyed up it's not even funny and the hubby is dead on his feet. 

The most pathetic thing about all of this is the fact that we have a brand new generator, but for some reason it won't stay on.  And to add insult to injury...the snowblower which isn't even a year old, ate a pair of sweats a couple of weeks ago (thanks so much Zack B., I'll be sending you the bill for this one) and won't work.  You don't even wanna know what sort of pain in the ass getting out of our driveway has been like.

I don't know folks, it seems like technology and our little family are at odds with each other lately.

If it takes me longer than normal to clear comments, it's because we're still digging out, and probably still without electricity.  As much as I love having a nice heated place to stay in for the night, and am enjoying being able to turn on a light without having forgotten that the power is off and then swearing at myself, I'm not exactly sure I trust Griffy and Gracie to behave themselves when we're away.  Thankfully we're only about 5 minutes from the house.

So, until things return to a more normal state of being (whatever the hell that is), here's a photo of the Little Imp sledding that I took yesterday.  More to come soon!

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ETA: 5:02AM 2/24/09 - Both the hubby and I woke up with stiff necks. He got up at 4:30 so he could get a shower and then he has to go home and walk the best from the east (Casey) and make sure Goliath and Godzilla (Griffy and Gracie) haven't decimated the house.  My stiff neck is accompanied by two hugely swollen glands and a temp of 101F.  Lovely.   The Little Imp didn't go to sleep until 1AM.  She started out the night in her daddy's bed and 15 minutes later as I was trying to drift off amidst the whuzzzzzz whuzzzzzz whump of the room wall heater, I hear, "Mommy....mommyyyyyy, there's a bad sound coming from daddy's face and I can't go to sleep!"  The hubby snores.  Oh God does he snore! 

To ice the cake, I asked the hubby to see if there was a vending machine anywhere around and to get me a Coke pretty please.  He comes back with a nasty Diet Pepsi.   Having to choke down two Tylenol when it feels like your throat is coated with molten hot lava is bad enough...but having to do so with Diet Pepsi truly adds insult to injury. 

I'm really hoping I get a text message from the hubby, once he gets back to the asylum, letting me know the power is back on.  We happen to be staying at the same hotel all the CMP crews that came down from the northern reaches of Maine to help get our power restored, are staying at.  I feel like running from room to room yelling; "Get up!  Get up now and get my bloody power back on!"  But I won't.  I won't because the only jammies I brought with me are my pink and yellow duckie PJ's and I'd look like a damn fool, plus my throat hurts too much. 

Back to bed for a couple of hours. 

ETA 9:13AM - Up and showered.  OMG, hot water, how I've missed you.  Ya know, I truly believe that there isn't much a hot shower can't cure.  My stiff neck?  Gone!  My sore throat?  Not so much gone, but for some reason, now that I smell better and had a little more sleep without the kick-monster having a go at me, it doesn't quite seem like such a volcano.  Speaking of the Little Imp, she does not want to get up.  Can't say I blame her.  We still haven't got power yet back at the house.  *sigh*

ETA 5:00PM - God said, "Let there be light!" and I'll be damned, there was!  He must have given the CMP boys a kick in the ass.   Actually, we sort of had a bit of premature electrical excitement earlier when I came home from the hotel and noticed there was much dancing and rejoicing in the streets.  It appeared that the power came back on.   Just as I was pulling into the driveway and about to make a mad dash inside to turn on the heat and flick the  lights on and off (it's just something I do after we've been without power for a while), I rush to the gas stove downstairs and as I am reaching for the temperature dial, Whuuuuummmp!  The power goes out again.   All that dancing and rejoicing turned into wailing and gnashing of teeth, mine in particular! 

So, the Little Imp and I did what any other freezing cold mother and child would do.  We climbed in bed and took a three hour nap.  It was the Little Imp who woke me up as she stood and jumped on our bed, shouting, "Mommy mommyyyyyym wake up!  The power is on the power is on!  We gots ELECTRICITYYYYYYYY!"   I lay back on the pillow for a little while and enjoyed watching her do her own little version of rejoicing and dancing until she tumbled over and her elbow landed, hard, on my nose! 

I've always said I wanted I wanted a nose job. 

A.