Little Lightbulbs

Anyone who knows me knows I am an anomaly. I'm a feminist housewife entrepreneur. I can see that you are perplexed. Let me further confuse you by adding another wrinkle: I'm a conservative (read: committed Christian)   feminist housewife entrepreneur. How about them apples? When I heard that Moms' Night Out was a delightful comedy depicting stay-at-home moms in their messy real-life truth, I was eager to see it. And I was not disappointed. So, I rushed home to do what I usually do after seeing a movie I love: I Googled it. That's right. I wanted to see what the rest of the world was saying about this fantastic movie. Surely they were as ecstatic as I was. Not necessarily. While those who could identify with the film (read: any mother on the planet without a nanny and a cook), most "critics" slammed the film. Here are a few of the comments I took particular offense to: “depressingly regressive and borderline dangerous,” adding that it “peddles archaic ...

Well, I guess it all started about ten years ago, when the doctor told me I was going to be the Mommy to a bouncing baby boy. Excited, I dove in, scouring stores for adorable little boy clothes, hats, accessories. That's when it hit me. As I viewed the pitiful ten-foot-by-ten-foot assortment of boy clothes at Target, I compared it to the miles of girls' clothes just an aisle over. That's when the rage began; that's when I was first introduced to the injustice of it all, the fact that the world is at war with boys. And it's just become worse as the years have progressed. Now, the proud mother of two boys, I can see this same attitude penetrating all parts of my boys' lives, and I'm fed up. From school, to clothes, to online smut, the world is attacking the spiritual, emotional and physical attributes that real men should have. Instead, they hope to turn every boy into pseudo-women, feminine in their makeup so as to be easier to manipulate, or targeting t...

Sometimes I find myself waxing nostalgic about my father, more for the dad I know he could have been instead of the shadow he turned out to be. I remember, for instance, that he would sometimes strum his guitar singing "Can't Help Falling In Love" to me as the evening sun was fading. I also recall very fond memories of lazy summer days camping with my whole family, Dad and me on the boat, skipping rocks, sitting on the dock. But the warmth of those memories is punctured by the reality that my father was a father when it suited him, virtually abandoning me in my pre-teen years when I desperately needed him most. My father was a womanizer, alcoholic, recreational drug user and emotional and physical abuser. He had a lightning-fast temper that sparked at the smallest provocation, often exploding into rages that left deep wounds. But even as I write this, I don't feel anger; I feel a deep sadness. Because for all my father's failings, parts of him were lovable an...

During one of my rare TV-watching moments, I found myself landing on my favorite station ever: PBS. I was instantly drawn into a Frontline episode called Generation Like. The focus of this eye-opening documentary was the tween generation growing up addicted to instant popularity based on "likes" either through Instagram, facebook or other forms of social media. One mom was commenting on how it was she who took the pictures for her daughter, making sure to include as many "full body shots" as possible so she could increase her likes. In essence, she was pimping out her daughter (who usually was a little over exposed in these photos for my taste), so she could be more popular online. She was feeding the beast. I could go into a lot of Freudian/Jung theories on why I think this was so important to the mom, but I digress. What wrenched my heart was the look on this poor young girl's face when she finished filming one of her videos, imploring people to like her...

I love Christmas. Truly. I love everything about it. The decorated homes, the lit trees, the look in a child's eyes when they see Santa Claus, Christmas Eve services at church. It's absolutely my favorite time of year. So, it astounds me to see all that joy diminished by the stress of the holidays. It's no secret that Christmastime and summer are when crime sprees peak. The stress of Christmas shopping, the duties of holiday parties and over scheduling of events can bring many people to a breaking point. Just yesterday, I was squeezing in some grocery shopping before picking kids up from school. After swinging into my parking spot, I noticed a yelling match going on between two "gentlemen" in the next aisle over. One man, in his truck, had apparently admonished the other guy who had parked in a spot designated for parents with children. The man who had parked in the spot began yelling obscenities at the man in the truck, dropping f-bombs for all the world...

About five days ago, I was hit with an infection that ripped my legs, and my voice, right out from under me. My throat was on fire, and eating or drinking, much less talking, felt like I was trying to consume broken glass. So, here I was, an extrovert with no outlet. Because, when you lose your voice, it's very hard to be the life of the party. I watched the world spin on without my involvement, heard my children playing, unable to join in on the laughter or the fun. Truthfully, it bummed me out. I began feeling a loneliness folding in on me, a dark night without stars. When I finally got over my neurotic fear of being left out of life, realizing this was not a permanent condition, I sat back and started to notice a few things. 1) If you speak less often, people are more apt to pay attention when you finally do. Understanding what an effort it was for me to talk, my family sat up and paid attention when I did feel the necessity to do so. This is not the usual response, I ...

Watching my facebook feeds, you would think the sky was falling as of late. With everything from gay marriage to abortion to racial slurs being front page news, my Christian friends are nearly in tears. They fear for their country, their faith and the moral state of the world their children are growing up in. And I understand that fear, but I don't necessarily agree. Instead, I think this is an exciting time to be a Christian. Let me explain ... Everyone seems so angry, so discontent. Wasn't this exactly the same environment into which our beloved Savior was born? The world where he came to live out his 30 years was fraught with turmoil of every kind, including homosexuality, racial unrest, dissent among nations, wars, famine, waste. Yet, this is when He was working miracles ... both figuratively and literally. Why, then, should we run for the hills? My dear Christian friends are kind and generous to others. Yet, I find that as modern day Christians, we shrink from that wh...