Monday motherhood: the Pope, the Big Gulp, and spring has sprung

Some thoughts on current events that have nothing to do with motherhood:

The Pope: we’ll see.  He’s a Jesuit, which, according to my late father who attended Fordham, is the only order of priests worth belonging to.  Francis cares deeply about the poor and pays hotels bills on time and in person – great.  But it’s safe to say he won’t inspire radical changes within the doctrine of the Catholic Church, the changes essential for continued survival if it’s to recover from scandal and then remain relevant.  Until priests can marry and women can be ordained, I’ll continue to support my husband’s Anglican ways.  I realize permanent change happens slowly but it requires leaning into the direction of that change as a baby step.  Pope Francis exhibits no such leaning tendencies.  Too bad.  It feels like a missed opportunity – though I don’t think the conclave ever even saw an opportunity in front of them, or were aware of its necessity.  Therein lies the problem.

It came as no surprise to hear a judge struck down New York City Mayor Bloomberg’s big soda initiative.  As Justice Milton A. Tingling of Manhattan said, it was “arbitrary and capricious”.  You could be denied a big soda at a restaurant but walk down the street to the corner grocery and get all the Coke you wanted.  But that isn’t the point Sarah Palin, you childish idiot.  (Which perhaps makes me sound like a childish idiot for calling her names, but still…)  Bloomberg didn’t put the soda ban in place to demonstrate his power and illuminate big government.  He tried to draw attention to the fact that millions of New Yorkers (and Americans in general) are overweight, out of shape, and dying while costing the country billions in medical care.  Shame on him.  Let’s make sure that Big Food continues to support our need to kill ourselves, one Big Grab bag of Doritos and Big Gulp at a time.

Motherhood – it’s complicated but of this, I am sure: you pay now or you pay later.  Over the course of a weekend, any weekend (but specifically this last), my children hate me for brief periods of time.  I’ve asked them to pick up dog poop, clean their closets, hand over their cellphones at mealtime.  Occasionally, I don’t let them do the thing they want until they’ve done the thing they abhor.  They think I’m mean and sometimes, I am.  But I’m not doing them any favors by handling everything for them or conversely, letting them make a decision that isn’t theirs yet to make.  In other words, I’m still the boss (as is the husband, occasionally), which is how they’ll learn to be the boss of themselves one day.

Spring has sprung in Los Angeles and with it, the smells of night-blooming jasmine, orange blossoms, and my childhood.  No other time of year takes me back quite as much – to being nine- and ten-years-old, hiking around the hills of Encino and getting ready for the Miss Softball America season.  Life was uncomplicated, I was happy, and my parents were alive.  I miss my mom.  Just sayin’.

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Comments

  1. Janet says

    Oh boy JoAnn, your last sentence sums up exactly what I feel, especially in the spring, as Easter approaches. You are not alone!!!
    And, as always, you inspire me to be a better mom!
    Sincerely yours, Janet

  2. Janet says

    Oh boy JoAnn, your last sentence sums up exactly what I feel, especially in the spring, as Easter approaches. You are not alone!!!
    And, as always, you inspire me to be a better mom!
    Sincerely yours, Janet

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