“Ma, when I grow up I will be a chef at Ikea, a ninja, a super hero, a baby sitter and a pirate. And I will miss you when I’m a pirate. I will miss you so much.”

“I will miss you too.”

“But you could come with me on the pirate ship. You know that part on a pirate ship where there’s the underneath with the door… you could go in there.”

“Actually I don’t think I can, because you know I get so sea sick.”

“Oh yeah, I don’t want you to throw up… well, I will miss you so so much.”

“I will miss you too.”


“Actually, I don’t want to be a pirate on a ship. I will be a pirate on a plane or a jet.”

012 This photo was taken after I threw up for 2 hours on a whale watch.

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Spense was taking a bath and said, “Ma, I have to tell you something. So today at school Matthew said that someday I would be a man and you would be an old woman and then you will die. Is this true?”

My heart began to pound and my stomach dropped. I’d been dreading this moment.

He looked at me with horrible fear.

I couldn’t lie – though I wanted to. And I longed for the cushy belief in Heaven. I get it now. I get why people are religious. Here was a defining moment for my child. I could give him religion right now with one word – Heaven.

But that’s not what I believe and so I did this….

“Yes. But we don’t need to think about this or worry about it for a very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very long time. Would you like a cookie?”

I did OK, right?

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This is a re post from a few years ago…

In 2008 I worked for the No on prop 8 campaign.

The day of the election, I was assigned to a polling place in Malibu-  it was a country club or something. I was paired with a young, petite, guy named Jose. He was in college at UCLA – we were both Bruins!

In California, you are allowed to campaign at the polls but you need to be 100 feet away from the entrance of the polling place, so you are not practicing illegal electioneering. Not many people know this, but our No on Prop 8 organizers did.

Jose and I spoke with the (very old) volunteers before we began and they offered us cookies and lemonade. “I don’t know why more organizations aren’t out here for their causes,” one of the volunteers said.

I was nervous. I didn’t want conflict. I was hoping to just remind people what the bill meant; many people got confused on this one… did No on 8 mean no on equal rights or no on the people against equal rights?  

We were in Malibu! This was going to be pretty easy – lots of laid back wealthy Hollywood types and beachy hipsters.


No on 8 is No on Hate!” I’d call to the voters. It was a simple way to remember.

What unfolded in the next few hours was soul crushing.

We got a few thumbs ups, but a lot of  fist shaking and yelling. “You aren’t supposed to be here!”  “What you are doing is illegal” were the most common rants.

“Actually, it is legal,” we would explain, to those who stuck around to yell at us. “As long as we are 100 feet away from the polling place.” Most of the people didn’t believe us, as we found out later when the volunteers told us how many complaints and requests to call the police they’d gotten.

No on 8 is No on Hate!” I called to a beautiful, fit, tan heterosexual couple, holding hands.

“Yes!” the fake boobed woman smiled and clapped, cheerleader style.

Her male body builder partner stopped and turned around and power walked to pocket-sized Jose and me. “I don’t hate anyone!” muscle man raged at us. “Just because I don’t believe gays should get married doesn’t mean I hate them.”

OH JESUS! I wanted to scream back: Yes it does! If you don’t want people to have the same rights you have, it is hate. But I couldn’t speak. I was paralyzed.

“We are just trying to remind you that a no vote on 8 is a vote for equality,” Jose said simply and calmly.

I was shaking.

The bronze god ranted some more non hate about not caring if gays want to be together but marriage is between a man and a woman, while his (I’m sure very well treated) girlfriend, pulled him away.

An old man walked by. I wasn’t going to say the hate word again. “No on 8 is a vote for equality,” I sang happily.

The old man turned, pointer finger raised. “Are you telling me I should vote for a man to marry a man? Garbage!” He was all worked up. “Married people are supposed to make babies. That’s why marriage exists. Can two men make babies? No!” He was screaming.

My blood boiled and I wanted to sob. I looked at Jose. He was calm and friendly. “OK, Sir,” Jose said. “I understand that’s how you feel. Have a nice day.”

“And some of these gay men are having babies together! Two women too. There are two men in my neighborhood who are raising a child together; it’s unnatural. It’s disgusting and ruining our country!” He was turning red. “Are you one of those gay men?” he asked Jose.

“Yes,” Jose said. “I am gay.”

“How about you, huh?” he shot that ancient, accusing pointer in my direction.

I trembled. I hate conflict, but mostly I wanted to strangle him. I tried to absorb some of Jose’s poised detachment… but I couldn’t. “It’s none of your business and it doesn’t matter what I am!” I shouted from my gut, forgetting to breathe. “I’m a human being. We both are.”

“Blech, horrible. Ruining the world!” The old man spewed and then walked to the polls, shoving his Jaguar keys in his pocket. How can anyone deny that this was hate? Even if bodybuilder man thought it was fine for homosexuals to be together, he was on this old man’s hateful team. There’s no well, I sort of agree here. You are in or you’re out.

I looked at Jose. He shrugged, “Oh well, guess we didn’t get his vote.”

I was stunned by Jose’s grace. I was awed by his lack of hurt feelings. He was so young and he was so strong. I tried to absorb his might, but I couldn’t. I was crushed. I was sad. I felt hopeless.

Today, as a mom solo, I know there are a lot of people who look down on the way I’ve chosen to live my life. A child needs to be raised by their mother and father, many say. Lest we forget when Mitt Romney made the connection between single moms and gun violence. And the long list of supportive comments below this video show he’s not the only one who feels this way.


Another issue.

It’s single moms’ fault.

OK, we’ve got that solved.

Jose’s strength inspired me. I know what’s right and I am happy. I’m living my life with grace and not hurting others by my choices.

Thinking of you, Jose, wherever you are. 032

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Now that I’m a parent, I’m much more cautious about things. All things. Everything. I try avoid anything slightly dangerous. I’m the mama bear who must protect her cub and keep myself safe and healthy so I am there for him.

I remember when S was a baby, I texted my sister each morning so that she knew I’d woken up. Being a single mom I feared that if something happened to me in my sleep, S would be stuck in his crib. I was haunted by that thought each night.

When he was in his big boy bed, I taught him how to use my cell – putting emojis and photos by the people he was to call in case mama couldn’t help him.

…It was the beginning of summer vacation and Spense and I were on the way to swim at his friend’s new house in the Hollywood Hills. I put the address in my Iphone maps and started up the hill. Here’s where I admit that I’ve lived in Los Angeles my whole life and still get lost more than most people I know – even with a GPS telling me where to turn. And so, when I lost my phone reception part of the way up the hill, I knew I was in trouble. I started winding around the hills hoping I’d recognize a street or better yet, run into the street. I’d passed this street many times before – why couldn’t I picture it?

We were hot and sweaty. The air conditioning didn’t cool us down quite enough. I came back down the hill and pulled over till I got reception and consulted my phone map again. I made a mental note of the directions; they seemed to say that I’d just run into my destination if I continued up the hill.

“Sorry, love. Let’t try this again,” I told Spense, who was ready to swim.

“Okay,” he answered, with a sigh that might someday be thought of as passive aggressive – but not now. My son is very patient and understanding for a 4 year old. It’s quite remarkable. He wanted to be there already. Understandable.

OK, I’d try this again. I headed up the hill and soon heard the familiar “re routing” voice telling me I’d lost service again. It was fine. I knew what I was doing. I headed up up up the mountain and before I knew it, I’d come to the top. Crap! Had I missed the street again? My options were to turn around and go back the way I’d come up, continue down the other side of the hill or turn left. With a little why not shrug, I turned left. I drove down the narrow, one lane dirt road and instantly had to stop as a white car in front of me was backing up to let a mail truck pass.  The white car backed into a small shoulder and I had to pull into someone’s driveway. The mail truck passed and the white car went ahead. I pulled out of the little driveway and continued forward. I was hoping that the road would widen a bit but it seemed to be getting narrower. And suddenly, I was driving along a one car road on a cliff’s edge. And there were no guard rails. NO GUARD RAILS!

I didn't actually take this photo - because I was way too freaked out... but this  is pretty much where I was.

I didn’t actually take this photo – because I was way too freaked out… but this is around where I was, though the drop off where I was was steeper.

Something horrible happens to my body when I’m driving dangerously close to a fatal drop; my stomach lurches so hard it sends shooting pains to my hands and feet. Don’t look left. Don’t look left I commanded myself, but all I wanted to do was look left.

Many years ago, I was seeing a guy who loved to tell me how dangerous he was. His example was: “If you were walking in a forest and you saw a sign that says don’t go beyond this point because there are bears, what would you do?”

“I’d leave that area,” I’d say. “I wouldn’t go beyond the point.”

“Well, see, I’d just have to go there. And I don’t even like bears. It’s like when I’m driving on a windy road in the mountains, I always want to drive off the cliff,” he bragged.

Yeah, who’s danced with Danger? Me! Well, I guess I just “dated” the guy who danced with danger. At the time, I thought he was nuts, but now I kind of get it. Not about the bears, but here I was driving on a scary road and there was some kind of pull. Not that I wanted to drive off, but that I inevitably would – almost like a camera lens zooming in and out would hurl me forward.

I had to get the fuck out of here.

There were houses to my right. HOUSES? People lived on this street? What kind of people -weird recluses who didn’t drive? People who didn’t ever go anywhere at night? Because you couldn’t drive here at night with the no guard rails.

I was sweating and my mouth was dry. I slowed down as I followed the curve that took me on… a narrower one car road with no guard rail.

No. I couldn’t do this. My hands began to tremble. There was not much road between me and a wide, very deep canyon.

Another curve lay ahead and I couldn’t see where it led. Should I continue on and hope it would lead me down the mountain? I decided to pull to the side and park for a minute. I was too shaky to drive on. I took a deep breath because I’d barely been breathing.

“Are we here?” a little voice asked. “My back is sweaty.”


My poor sweet boy. I’ve taken you someplace I don’t know if I can get you out of. I felt like the worst mother. I had flashes of us just living up here, in my car. Forever. I thought I had a bag of Pirate’s Booty in the trunk.

“Not yet,” I told him as I began to text Bob, who’s house we were going to. My hand shook as I typed: stuck on a cliff  can’t get out. For once, I was grateful for spell check. I tried calling Bob and got his voice mail. Had to leave a message that wouldn’t scare Spense. “Hey, it’s Evie, um, I took a wrong turn and I’m stuck somewhere…” I lost service.

Who would help me? If my service came back who would I call? My dad? My sister? What could they do? Nothing really. I’d just scare them. I thought of calling the police or a fire truck or a tow truck, but how would a tow truck even get down this road. That’s the thing – the people who live on this street cannot:

1. Call a tow truck

2. Have car trouble or break failure.

3. Order delivery.

4. Have friends over – I’d be furious if a friend invited me to this street.

5. Get a moving van or delivery van out here.

6. Drive home drunk… yes, we never should but you really can’t even have one drink if you live on a cliff!

7. Drive in the dark.

I should call Nancy.  Nancy had gotten me out of some very scary water activity situations in Mexico. Plus she used to drive a taxi. Seriously, was I going to make Nancy drive across town just to turn my car around? Maybe.

The white car from before had come back. It needed to get by me so I had to drive up a steep driveway hill so it could pass. But first I rolled down my window. “Hi,” I tried to sound calm. “Does the road get wider that way? If I keep going will I get out of here?”

She laughed. She was young (and foolish, perhaps) “No, it’s a dead end.”

Blood pounded in my ears.

“You could do a U turn up there, but if you don’t like it here, you probably shouldn’t go ahead. Just turn around here.”

“Easy for you to say,” I heard myself mutter, as I started the car to inch up the dirt driveway that lead to nothing.

She laughed again and drove by, “Good luck,” she called back.

I looked at my baby in the back seat and said, “We are going to get out of here, okay?” Though it really felt futile. I couldn’t see any way out. My mouth was so dry and I couldn’t lift my water bottle to drink because my hands were shaking so hard. Besides, I’d need this water for the two of us to live on.

“Okay,” he said.

IMG_3149 (1)

I then prayed to every fictitious god I could think of. I was going to do this. I would back up and do a 3 point turn and get us out of here. I mean the people who live here do this every day. I could do it. My hands were still shaking wildly.

I started backing up, hugging the driveways as much as I could, not caring about the hideous scraping sound that came from my car squeezing by a large rock. Could I just back up the whole way out of this road? That thought made me dizzy and my stomach lurch again. I stopped. All I had to do now was do a 3 point turn.

I put the car in drive and started to drive as if I was going to go over the edge. The wide, vast, deep canyon showed it’s full terrifying grandeur. No. There was no fucking way I could do this. I backed up again, and parked parallel to the house. That was it. I was stuck up here. I took a deep breath. Then I had one last idea. My adrenaline kicked into fight or flight mode and I did something I would not normally do.

I turned off the motor and got out of the car. I went to the back seat and got Spense out of his seat. “Are we here,” he asked again, so hopefully.

“Not yet, I’m so sorry.” I put him on my hip and held his sweaty back, using the walk to hug him close to me. I went to the first house with a car in the drive way. I prayed someone nice lived here. What kind of person would live up here? Someone fearless and someone with good eyesight… I knocked on the door.

“But mom, this is a stranger’s house.”

We’ve been talking a lot about strangers lately. “Yes, but I really need help right now and I’m hoping this stranger is nice.”

I try never to depend on the kindness of strangers – but I had no choice.

Small dogs started barking and I heard a man’s voice inside talking to them.

“Hi! I’m so sorry to bother you…” I shouted though the closed door.

There was silence.

“I’m so sorry,” I yelled again. “I just need some help.”

The man opened the door. He held two small dogs in his arms and wore a collared shirt that said Tofu House. He looked confused by my presence.

I thought about the old days when it was a thing for someone to ask to use your phone and then come in and rob you or whatever. Surely I wouldn’t look dangerous.

“Hi, I’m so so sorry, but I got lost up here and I’m having trouble turning around and I’m (I mouthed the word shaking)” and I demonstrated my shaking hand while holding Spense with the other. I’m not sure Mr. Tofu house knew what I was trying to say, so I just said….

“Could you turn my car around for me? I’m so sorry to ask… I just can’t do it.” I showed him my shaking hand again.

He smiled a little and nodded, “Oh sure. Yeah, I was just getting ready to leave anyway.”

This was it! I was saved! I wasn’t going to live here forever!

He put the dogs down and closed the door.”People are often freaked out the first time they come here.”

Ha. The first time. I handed him my keys and watched him climb into my old, dirty car. He expertly executed the 3 point turn, coming within inches of the perilous drop, but arriving safely pointed out of this hellish street.

“Thank you! Thank you!” I said running over to him. The thought of getting back in the car and driving back along this road made me weak. A panic waved over me again; a little mini PTSD. I couldn’t do it. He leaned out the window as if he knew I was going to ask…. “Could you drive it further down? I’m so so sorry. I just can’t.” If I hadn’t had Spense with me, I would have been sobbing.

“Sure, sure,” he nodded. “Do you want to get in? I will drive you out.”

“Yes, thank you!” I said opening the back door. I was about to put Spense in his seat as a wave of paralyzing fear washed over me. I couldn’t get back in. I couldn’t drive on this road again. “I can’t,” I said backing up. “I will walk and meet you there. I’m sorry, I just can’t. I’ll pay you! I’m sorry!”

“No,no, it’s OK.” So the man drove my car to safety as I jogged behind, a quarter of a mile or so, carrying my son. It was hot and I was panting, but the lightness of getting out of danger gave me fast feet. Then the nice Mr. Tofu House man had to walk all the way back to his house. I should have offered him a ride back.

We did end up finding Spense’s friends house and he swam all day.

So, if you are in Los Angeles, please do go to Tofu House, I feel I owe them some advertising or something!

Here are some more photos of insane places that make my insides contract. I just don’t get how these places exist and who would go on them and who even paved these roads or took these photosroads7 roads9 roads10 roads11:


roads2 roads3 roads4 roads5

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When I picked Spense up from preschool I saw a huge rip in his pants. I immediately  asked, “What happened to your pants?” I expected maybe he fell or maybe he’d pulled at the little hole that was already there.


His answer surprised me, “Matthew ripped them,” he told me.

“By accident or on purpose?” I asked.

“On purpose,” my son answered, wide eyed and filled with vigor. I’m still not 100% clear that he understands the difference, but in this case I believed him and became furious at the devil child known as Matthew.

“What happened?” I asked, suppressing my rage.

“Well…” he started, gesturing widely. My son has inherited my love of telling a story, “so I was sitting on the rug on a shape after movement and Matthew came over and just ripped my pants.”

“Did you tell him to stop?” I demanded.

“Yes, I said stop Matthew, but he didn’t stop. He laughed and said no.”

My poor baby. My poor bullied baby. “Where were the teachers?” I asked.

“They were in the kitchen,” Spense said.

I conjured an image of my child being terrorized while all the teachers stood in the kitchen chatting and sipping coffee. This was not the preschool I knew and loved. They were never all out of the room. What the hell!!??

The rest of the day I made Spense repeat the story many times, trying to check it for changes and additions. If a story changes too much, it might not be accurate – but this story stuck.  I concluded that Matthew had ripped my child’s pants… violated him and I needed this crime to be punished. How was I supposed to ever put nice clothes on my child again knowing the Ripper was loose in pre school?

I couldn’t sleep. I was angry. I was helpless. It’s times like these that make me want to keep him home, never leave his side or move to a farm and have a crazy Little House on The Prairie life.

I arrived at school the next day and saw Matthew’s mother – one of the sweetest, most adorable women ever… I felt sorry for her because I was about to destroy her image of her son. I was about to tell her about his true destructive and pathological character. But I would wait for the teacher. She’d be able to do it with grace, where as I would probably start threatening and cursing. It’s crazy how the protective side of me comes out. Sometimes, I don’t even know myself. I pray I don’t become one of those soccer parents who beats up other parents. Or the murderous Cheerleader mom. I walked into the class and showed the teacher the ripped pants. I explained what had happened the day before, even mentioning the part where Spense said all of the teachers were in the kitchen. “I don’t quite know how to handle this,” I told the teacher, picturing myself giving Matthew an evil stare. “Should I tell Matthew’s mom…”

“I know what to do,” the teacher said calmly. Her eyes scanned the room until she saw Matthew playing with blocks. She beckoned as she called,  “Matthew, can I talk to you for a moment?”

Matthew got up from his blocks and headed towards us. I stared at his phony smile and hoped he was squirming as he saw the pants in my hands. This child was the reason I was up all night and now deliriously exhausted. He thought he was going to get away with it. I just wanted to see his expression when he got caught.

Then the teacher called Spense over.

“Matthew,” the teacher began, “Spense says you ripped his pants yesterday. Can you tell me what happened?

Matthew shook his head, “No, I didn’t.”

That liar!

“He said it happened after movement,” the teacher explained.

Matthew shrugged, “I didn’t do it. I wasn’t even sitting near him.”  Big. Fat. LIAR!

“Thank you, Matthew,” she said, excusing Matthew.

Why?? Why was she letting him go? He was lying!

The teacher turned to my son and said, “Matthew says he didn’t rip your pants. Is there something else that could have happened to them?”

I expected S to protest, but instead he looked around the room and then pointed, “It was Ricky. Ricky ripped my pants.”

Oh my God!  No. Jesus. My child was the liar. So quickly did he story change! What was happening? My stomach sank.

“OK,” the teacher nodded, “Ricky, could you come her for a moment?” Ricky came over and she asked him if he had ripped Spenser’s pants. Ricky said no, of course.

I watched Spense’s face; his inexperienced lying was fascinating; there was no fear of being caught – only the belief in the moment. He believed in what he was saying.

“You know, Spense, everyone makes mistakes, even adults. And sometimes we all do things that we wish we hadn’t. Has that ever happened to you?”

Spense nodded.

“Would you like to tell mommy about it?” the Teacher asked.

My 4 year old looked down at my feet as I felt tears well up in my eyes. “Ma, I ripped my pants and I wished I hadn’t done it.”

“That’s OK,” I said, trying to hold it together. “But I wish you would have told me the truth.”

“The truth?” he questioned.

I forget how the simplest concepts are new and foreign to the youngsters. He doesn’t know what lies are yet. Not really. When he said Matthew did it, he probably thought he could rewrite his history. And how had the teacher known what was going on? Why was I so shocked?

“Why didn’t you tell me that you ripped your pants?” I asked.

“Because I thought you’d be angry,” he said.

It was time for the I will never be angry if you tell me the truth talk. That was the rule in my house, growing up. And it worked. It was important. And I’m sure I will have to say it many more times.

These were the cute pants before the ripping incident:


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After a play date with a group of pre-school friends where I realized that body curiosity had set in, I began to look for a good book for 4 year olds about private parts.

I found a great site that let’s you personalize your own books….  I know you can make photo books on many sites – but this site TWIG TALE – gives you text! REALLY GOOD text – great for learning, hurdles and life changes.

Here’s the one about private parts – having great text available was so helpful!! Check this book out!!

They have books for all occasions: allergies, doctors, sharing, family, potty, new bed, new sibling, school etc. And the text is written and edited by experts – including Dr. Harvey Karp. The books are really smart and thoughtful – especially made to reach young children.

And you can personalize it all to fit your family! Two moms, two dads, single mom, single dad, pets, no pets, extended family – you get the idea.  Back when I was pregnant, I had a bit of a hard time finding a baby book that didn’t ask about “Mom & Dad’s wedding.”

Just had to share

I can’t wait to get our book in the mail!!

And here’s an unrelated, cute photo

Hawaii 2014 071

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Everyday, for the last year, Spenser and I eat Organic, no Pesticide, Non GMO broccoli, spinach, parsley, cabbage, tomato, kale, carrot, beet, garlic, rice bran, oat bran, apple, peach, cranberry, acerola cherry, orange, papaya, prune, date, concord grape, blueberry,  bilberry, raspberry, pomegranate, elderberry, black berry and black currant.

We eat this every morning. It’s the healthiest thing I’ve ever done for myself – and makes me feel like a great mom.

And it looks like this:


And this:

FullSizeRender (1)

The funny thing is, since we’ve started taking these amazing whole food supplements, we actually eat healthier meals.

Seriously, it’s the BEST thing I’ve ever done for us!!


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Hi everyone out there!

I haven’t written for a long time because…. I’m just busy.

But I still think of you all.

Like today, I met a woman on line who helps women with their IVF needs, finding the right place over seas etc. and I knew I had to share her info with you all.

IVF Traveler:

For many, the high cost of fertility treatments makes it difficult—if not impossible—to achieve their dreams of expanding their family. Oftentimes, traveling abroad for IVF treatment makes the dream both affordable and accessible. And, it’s nice to get a beautiful IVF vacation as a bonus.

I just had to share.

Especially for those future Mom Solo’s out there!

Check it out and share!!!



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S was up every two hours last night – crying like a newborn baby. And why???? Well, I’m not quite sure.

“Are you sick?”

“NOOOO!” he’d wail.

“Is something upsetting you?”

“NOOO!” he’d cry.

And I’d rock him, sing to him, tell him a story and he’d just sob. Then he’d fall asleep and 2 hours later …..

At 4 in the morning I went into the bathroom to get a cool wet washcloth and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Expecting to see a ragged, depleted image, you could imagine my surprise when I instantly noticed…. My hair has NEVER looked better!

Like soap opera hair.

I mean, I could have been delirious with exhaustion, but I did take about 5 seconds to really look at myself, and indeed I believe, even after countless haircuts and some fancy blowdries, my hair has never been more perfectly styled; curls falling in the places their cut meant for them to go, sans friz, with bounce, weight and movement… why couldn’t I have run into that hot guy I dated in my 20’s (who is now even hotter) tonight, right now – instead of that day when my hair was just a single puff of brillo sponge? Why couldn’t I be having my photo taken for my holiday cards right now or be out to dinner or at the very least, at preschool pick up where a mom might say to me how do you have time to get your hair done? and I’d just laugh and shrug and say What? This?

His last night wake up was around 6am. Then awoke for the morning at 9:30.  He can’t explain why he was waking up all night; no nightmares or pains….

Maybe it was just all some psychic way for my hair to cry for help: Hey! We can get it together, OK? Look! At us! Care about us! Don’t write us off yet! Don’t throw in the towel!

Or… maybe I’m delirious.

I’d take a photo of my hair for you now… but of course…. now it looks like shit.

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“The man drives and the woman sits next to him,” said my three year old, who lives with his mother who drives him EVERYWHERE.

“What are you talking about,” I said. “I drive you and I am a woman!”

“No, the man drives and the woman sits next to him,” he insisted.

We talk about it further and I debunk all his arguments. :)

Another day he said: “Two boys can’t get married.”

I happily inform him, “Yes, they can. And two women can too.”

He argued with me a bit. I mention a child in his class who has two dads. “They are married.”

He then accepts my information, openly.

“It’s all about who each person loves and who they want to marry. Or you don’t have to marry anyone. Like Mommy.” I smile and shrug, playfully, to show him how great I feel not being married.

And then he tells me he loves Jasmine. A girl in his class he adores with a hearty, loyal 3 year old passion.

Another day we are playing and he says, “Now you have to be the princess.”

“But I’d like to be a knight,” I say.

“No, you can’t be a knight.”

“Why not?” I ask, with a sinking feeling.

“Because you are a girl and girls have to be princesses.”

OK. Hold the F**k on, people. How did my child, product of an unconventional family, get these old fashioned, conservative thoughts in his head? I’m supposed to be raising a modern boy. What has happened.

“What about the girl in Brave?” I said, “she has a sword and bow and arrow…”

He thought a bit and decided I was right. I could be a knight.

It’s my fault. It’s the media. It’s books, it’s stories, it’s movies – the stuff I’ve been letting him watch. The stuff I watched and the beliefs I had – until I was witness to the world changing and growing.

Time to switch it up!

I’ve been asking friends and searching the web for new books to reprogram my child. I’ve found many – click on these for the ones I’ve found:

Girl Power



Same sex Families and another and another

Do you have any more to add?

Please tell me all your great books and movies so that I may get back on track!!!!!

family book

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