The recent headline I saw this morning about Beverly Hills moms outing themselves as pot smokers and edible Chefs was really interesting to me.

Read here: http://scallywagandvagabond.com/2013/06/have-you-met-the-marijuana-moms-of-beverly-hills-getting-high-makes-for-better-parenting/

This story made me happy. I don't know why, maybe I should have felt outrage and anger and go all judgy on these doobie lovin' moms, but the only thing that really bothered my about this story was her choice of a yellow top. Blondes should not wear banana yellow. And it clashed with her bong. 

I read this story and a number of things crossed my mind; First and foremost, that it's just a matter of time when we see the newest Bravo show previews for "Bored Beverly Hills Housewives meets Weeds", and I would probably watch... Not with commercials of course, I would DVR it and watch only when nothing else is on.

Secondly, I thought look. Who CARES? Are they raising a new generation of kids who will also love them some Mary Jane or will they ground break with a new strain of Indica and call it, Purple Nurple or something like that. Where is the harm? Unless they are your neighbors or trying to sell to your kids or back over your kids toys when all stony to the boney, right?

I'm not taking this seriously. I know. I can't though. We are a nation of pill poppers and mommy "juice" and herbs and things that can help us manage and get through the day. Parenting is hard, and on top of that, you have all the other regular, daily stresses of life; bills, relationships, jobs, etc. Why SHOULDN'T we do what we can to take the edge off? To disconnect just enough that it's manageable? I know that when I'm stressed about things, my general mood is low and my patience and tolerance for my kids is a lot shorter than normal, why wouldn't I take something that could ease all that and wouldn't it make me a better parent?? 

What is the REAL difference from taking an anti-depressant so you don't feel awful all day or a Vicodin if your back hurts chronically. Chronic, daily pain is horrific. Yes. I agree with taking what you need to take in order to make your life better. Is that that what these particular women are doing though? Are they in chronic pain? Or do they just like to not feel real life? Because let's be honest, not everyone thinks that reality is all that awesome. More Here...

This is not a topic that I personally know so much about as I do not speak from personal experience: reproductive coercion. Reproductive coercion, according to NYmag.com's article Reproductive Coercion: When Men Sabotage Birth Control collectively defines what exactly reproductive coercion is, as per a survey that was conducted on the issue:

Surveying 641 women who received routine ob-gyn care at Providence’s Women and Infants Hospital, Clark [researcher] found that 16 percent had received unwelcome pressure to get pregnant. Their boyfriends and partners made it hard for them to use birth control — poking holes in condoms or hiding their pills — or threatened to leave or harm them if they didn’t get pregnant. More Here...

When my son was in Kindergarten, he grew curious about me. I think around 5 is when kids start to realize that their parents are people and that they were kids too once. I'm no expert, but my daughter started to make inquiries around that time too. They would ask me what my room looked like and if played with Legos and if I fought with my sister. You would see in their faces, trying to imagine me as a little kid doing the things I shared with them; jumping rope for hours, bugging my older sister, making mud pies, getting in trouble. Then my son asked me, where my dad was. I told him simply, that my dad died when I was 9. 

I've always dreaded and looked forward to this conversation with him. I wanted to tell him of his Grandpa that he will never know and I only knew for a short while. I wanted to tell him that my dad was a jokester and a brilliant writer and Ad man. How he made bad jokes and snorted when in a good laugh and was adored by everyone and anyone that crossed paths with him during his life. I wanted to tell him that he shared his middle name with my dad and his penchant for sarcasm. 

But, I also knew that by me telling him my dad died when I was young, would put in his young mind the knowledge that, something like that could happen. That losing a parent was possible. And I didn't want him to know that yet. I feel that a part of my childhood was stolen, not for the loss of my father, but for the fear after, that I could also lose my mother. 

I spoke of my dad's death in a matter-of-fact kind of way. I built it up that he ate a lot of red meat, drank his share of booze, smoked cigarettes and didn't exercise. And then I casually reminded him, that's why we have well-checks and eat fruit and I go to the gym. And even though, he never straight out asked, could that happen to you, I knew it was in there somewhere, and I wanted to answer the question before he could ask it. More Here...

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A few times a year we take the 8 hour road trip to see my family. Every road trip, I begin with such great intentions; I'm organized, the car is methodically packed, well oiled and filled up with gas. The kids are in comfortable clothes, have used the potty, have their pillows, games systems and DVD choices. I almost hate myself with HOW prepared I actually am for them, attempting to ensure that they don't have a single moment of boredom. When as a kid I remember taking a road trip and we switched off who had to sit on the bump in the backseat and whose turn it was to have the walkman. Staring out the window was the extent of our entertainment, and I didn't know to complain and being bored was just something you deal with. 

But times are different. And in all honesty, all of these things they are equipped with are not really for them, but for me... So that I can relax and enjoy the road and listen to my own music. And the first 3 hours always go pretty well, then we stop for lunch and potty break, re-position their area for round 2... or 3... and we are good for an hour'ish... and then it begins... the restlessness kicks in, the organized state of the floor area is becoming wrecked from use, their pillows are scrunched and are just in the way now and the dvd player needs to be charged, but the charger has fallen to the bottom of the bag which is now at the bottom of ALL the bags on the floor of the car, just out of reach enough that all of our finger tips can't grab it and it doesn't matter anyway because I've forgotten whose turn it is to choose a movie and they swear it's both their turn and just as I'm about to pull this car over and add a good 30 more minutes to this trip as I re-organize, mediate and begin again, only for something else to come up and some bickering to begin... But NOT this time kiddos... More Here...