Running Red Momma

My three-year-old excitedly showed me her hand-out from Sunday School. Usually it is a bird, bug or cute picture of Jesus. When she showed me her super-hero, lavender all-over covered action figure, I was startled with some amusement. What exactly are they teaching my daughter at church? We support burqas as long as they are feminine? We believe a woman can wear a sword as long as she covers her face? We would like to force women back a few centuries? I am not the type to make an impertinent phone call and say "my daughter....." But really what was the lesson?

Years ago, I used to love a local radio program called the Chunga Show. My husband and I listened to it as we drove to our early morning jobs. It made the dark 6 am drive bearable. We thought we would be friends with him if we were to meet him. Music was new, edgy or entertaining. As time went on, the show morphed until I found myself not enjoying his personality. He became a strange parody of himself. The conversation was self-indulgent with plenty of name dropping. The music became predictable. Commercially driven. Eventually, I thought it would be better if he left the show. He was fired yesterday. At first, to my embarrassment, I found myself grinning. "Now, we will have some change!". However, the result was automated music. Tunes are picked by lists and corporations. Naturally the model will base itself on what is commercially safe. There will be no local flavor on politics or news. Instead, the dial, already lacking in diversity, grew more uniform. At first, gl

I just got a new haircut. I looked awesome. It was blown-out and gorgeous. I then washed it. It had more grey than I ever remember. It didn't seem perky, curly or divine. It was frizzy and sad--just one more thing to poke me in the butt and scream "You are 40, HA!". Not only is the baby weight lingering. I have that soft middle, lady-with-a-brood-but-not-pregnant-look. I would like to say that this does not get to me. I would like to think of the women who have had greater struggles. Yet, I just felt crumpled inside. During this pathetic melancholy, I was cleaning and found some old photo albums. Guess what? I had frizzy, not so curly not so awesome hair. In addition, I had that great bag look of the 80s. Who knew what kind of body lurked in there? I guess I realized the outcome is the same as it was over fifteen years ago. So what if inside my head, I see myself like I am the mermaid Ariel? (bright red curly hair with a charming personality!) Most of my pictu

My daughter didn't want to put away her clothes. I told her I would do it for her if she paid me five bucks. She immediately got her birthday money and the deal was sealed. The thoughts/questions go through my head: Oops, that wasn't what I expected. I have those oops moments more than I would like to admit. Am I cheap labor? Does my daughter not get the value of money? Did she learn anything?!!! What a bum. Come on girl, what are you going to be like when you are a teenager? Oh well.... that money will go towards my more expensive hair products that make me feel guilty.