Entries from September 2008 ↓

When was the last time you gave something to someone? I am not talking about a present for a child’s birthday. Or offered a diet coke out of your frig to a friend stopping in. I’m talking about really REALLY giving, to a cause, to a family member, or how about a friend in need?

Times are tough for our country right now. Granted, comparably to those in many countries, we are still living the high life. But, in the grand scheme of our own economy, things have not been very good. And many of us, many of us living on one income, in homes with dwindeling equity, scraping it together to buy more expensive groceries and gas - times aren’t easy.

I have a friend of mine who has been really struggling. I will keep her details private but I am worried about her. Even with three young children, her family has already cut the fringe stuff: cell phones, cable, internet, their second car - and they still can hardly keep their nose above water. If they even are, its hard to know.

And here’s the thing about my friend. Her freezer can be bare, literally just ice cubes, some frozen broccoli and a frozen pizza – and she will share that pizza with my family, gladly. If she has anything, she wants to give, to share, to have friends over, to gather all the kids and pass out Popsicles.

Well, I stopped in to her home the other day. When I arrived she looked at me and said, “Caroline. You won’t believe it.” And she led me into her kitchen. She has a friend whom she sees fairly often and she had been by that day. Her kitchen had changed.

This friend had made a trip to Sam’s club and had delivered to my friend: pounds of beef and chicken, blocks of cheese, bags of frozen foods, giant cans of formula, boxes of diapers and wipes, jars of pretzels and snacks, boxes of cookies, big boxes of pasta, jars of sauce… on and on it went. And then, she even filled the tank of my friend’s SUV.

I was speechless. I stood there staring at her freezer, absolutely amazed. I looked back at her and we both KNEW how much that meant. How far this would take her. What relief this honestly was.

And her friend told her to never even consider paying her back. Her friend said that if she is one day in a position to do the same for someone else, she should. Pay it forward and leave it at that.

As a mom struggling in my own way to make sure we have our groceries, gas in our cars, school uniforms bought, I could not appreciate the beauty and selfless nature of this gesture. It was extraordinarily inspiring. It was something that should be shared.

So, when was the last time you gave something to someone? If you are ever in a place to give, have you? Can you? What could you do that might affect your community? Your loved ones? Your church? Your child’s school?

For whatever small amount you can afford to give, that is an enormous amount to someone else. Take a look around, take a look at what you have and figure out a way. You may never entirely realize the difference you might make but the need is always there. Be inspired and simply find a way.

Folks, here’s the truth. I really need to get better at this blogging thing. And I absolutely don’t mean that in a “Wah, I suck, I’m needy, I need attention, someone tell me I’m a good blogger before my whining makes you jump off your roof” kind of way.

I don’t mean it like that. Ew.

But I have to be honest here. Blogging is -fer real - something I just need to get better at. Sure, sure, I confidently spout off here about all sorts of horse pucky, sounding like I really know what I am talking about. But… actually… blogging has me a wee bit flummoxed. (Oooh now *that’s* a fun word.) And I am going to “out” myself about this right here, right now.

First of all, I take forever to post. Huge groan. I so annoy myself over this. Usually the first draft of my post writes itself, for the most part. Which is why I love to blog, because it just comes rushing out - typing diarrhea – and *yay* you all get to read it.

So writing really isn’t the problem.

It’s my self imposed over-editing which is to blame. GAH.

Its the obsessing, the going back and forth over one word, it’s the “let me just see how this reads ONE more time” thing. While I may have whipped out the initial post in 10 minutes, the editing can sometimes take hours.

This will not do.

I am a mother. I have kids to shuttle around. I have fights to break up. Homework to help with. And really reeeally fun trips to the grocery store with two miserable, grocery hating children. I even have a husband who kinda likes to talk to me at night. I was almost late to kindergarten pick-up once because I could not finally just press publish and rip myself away. Tinker, tinker, tinker.

Enough already! Grow some ovaries and publish the flipping post already, SHEESH!!!!

So, yup, I need to get faster about my posting.

And if I post faster, maybe I could think to post more often! Because my next issue is that I just don’t post enough. I really could and should write more. But when I DO write, I think too much, go on for too long, edit forever (see above) and – gasp – completely exhaust and highly annoy myself.

And when I think too much, go on and on and wind up with posts that are far too long, what does that tell me?

Am I… am I… not… editing enough?!??

OH NO! Not more editing, for the love of all that’s good in the blogosphere. NO. MORE. EDITING.

Can we talk about my blog layout itself? I am so clueless (“how clueless are you?” …you yell from your PC). I am so clueless, that I actually don’t really understand such things as “Adsense” or “self-hosting”. I mean, what the hell is a trackback? I don’t know how to Digg anyone. I am signed up for technorati but what does it exactly mean?

Seriously. The bloggy techie stuff? (Shrug my shoulders.) Whatever. I got NO idea.

I write, I stick a picture or video in now and then, maybe I can copy or paste some fancy html code I found somewhere. But that’s about all I got.

All potential for slick blogging with cool branding seems lost. Or at least far far out of my reach.

I’m hopeless. Far from cool. Not very legit as a blogger I think.

But ah-ha. Here lies the crux of the problem. (Crux. What does that even MEAN and how the hell do you spell it? …Hopefully my editing will take care of that. Snort.)

Fast, good, frequent posting seems all about confidence.

I mean, to just write your mind and then - all cool and relaxed - press publish without one thought… well, you need to feel really solid about yourself as a blogger. And that, my friends, takes time. And practice. And the careful careful art of remaining true to who you are when you post. Bloggers must be: what you read is what you get.

My theory (oh, soooo scientific aren’t we) is that if we bloggers are true to ourselves, feel confident that our posts are, in fact, of value, and know we have amazing blogger buddies out there who have our backs – we should find that confidence to press publish. Just like that. Just like this…

Today is September 11th. I’ve got posts I’m working on and thoughts that need to be written down but there is no way I can let today pass without a post acknowledging this anniversary.

So what do I think this morning?

I am thinking about the families this tragedy touched and my heart goes out to them. I am thinking about how this anniversary gives most Americans a sorrowful pit in their stomachs, even 7 years later. I am thinking that I hope every tribute is appropriate and respectful. I am thinking I really don’t want to see those planes too often today.

Where was I that morning?

I was working in downtown Boston. Ironically, I had planned to fly out that morning for a conference in Texas. My plans had changed and was instead flying out September 12. I had a busy day ahead of me to prepare for my trip. And then it happened. And the city began to evacuate. My husband decided to come get me so I could avoid public transportation. I made frantic calls to my mother who worked a block from the White House. I sat in my office where I had a perfect view of the Prudential building; I watched it, considering how much it looked like the twin towers. I cried. I was scared. I was overwhelmed with the knowledge that thousands of people were probably dying right at that moment. One office mate told me I was over-reacting. And then some bolted out the door to scoop up their families and get themselves far far from the city. Some were furious, stomping around, yelling for war. Some focused on deadlines and pretended nothing was really happening. Everyone was in shock and reactions were varied. I finally heard from my mother, she was home, she had seen the smoke from the pentagon. My husband arrived and we peeled out of the city. We arrived home to a message from my father in west Africa, crying. Had I flown out today after all? Where was I? While we tried contacting him, we watched and waited.

Where am I today?

I am settled in Florida suburbia, far from the city, far from my office in Boston. T. just left with his father for kindergarten. I am watching C. play with his Mickey Mouse toy. I am living here, raising two sons while we are at war, while we wonder what comes next, while I worry we have made some horrible mistakes in reaction to the attack 7 years ago.

Do I feel safer from terrorists 7 years later?

Nope.

Am I proud to be an American?

Yep. I have amazing rights and privileges, I am grateful for them everyday.

Have I been proud of our contry recently?

I have been very proud to see so many people vote and call for change during this election. However, I am mortified by the war we are in.

What do I hope for on this anniversary?

Respect. People died. Every American is mourning their loss today. Politics has to be kept out of this anniversary. If I feel sorrow for our loss today, I should not be slotted as a Bush or McCain supporter. If I am voting for Obama, don’t assume I can’t REALLY care about this tragedy or our country. No more fear mongering. No more waving “out of control” planes over our buildings for votes. No more name dropping “9/11″ whenever there is an election. It’s disgraceful and not my kind of patriotism. No one should assume a republican president would care more for our country or protect us better. Actually, don’t assume ANY American could protect this country without legitimately caring about the global community we are apart of. Respect. It has to happen on this anniversary for our country to truly heal. And it must happen across our borders to abate any possibility of further threats.

How am I going to honor this day?

I am going to be grateful for what I have: my children, my family, my health, my home, my rights. While I remember those lost, I can’t forget our place in this world. Hundreds of countries have lost their citizens to hate, terror, genocide and war – the few thousand we have lost pales in comparison to the tens or hundreds of thousands lost in other countries. Their dead deserve as much respect and honor as our dead.

May every soul lost rest in peace.

“Sit down in my thinking chair and think. Think. Thiiink.” – Blues Clues

Do you ever have one of those moments? Those moments that make you stop and think hard, and you keep thinking about that moment long long after it has past? I have had three of those moments this weekend. I thought I would share.

Moment #1

At Target, I ran into a couple moms I know. I know them through my children. We are not particularly close but it’s always good to see these moms, say hello, chat a bit. And so that’s what we were doing. We had not seen each other much over the summer, our kids were in school, starting playgroups, bladdy bladdy blah… there was lots to catch up on.

I am not sure what we were talking about but suddenly, one mother lowered her voice to a whisper and said something like “that’s what a black person would do.” Before I could even think at all, I said “Well, gotta get going, I’ll see you ladies later!” And turned and left. Just like that. It was a gut thing. I just reacted. I didn’t like what I heard, I was offended, and I bolted.

I will admit right here, that has not always been my reaction either. In the past, I have ignored statements like this but carried on the conversation like nothing happened. Or changed the subject. Or tried to find an out for my friend - surely they didn’t mean it the way it sounded - and have allowed them to use the famous disclaimer “not that I am racist or anything”. I have never been proud of myself in retrospect - where I try to smooth over and actually normalize the moment. I may as well have said it myself.

This time I couldn’t ignore it. But I didn’t say anything either. I didn’t say ” I found that remark offensive.” I just bolted. I guess the message may have come across that I didn’t like what she said. Or it could have come across that I just had to go. I dunno. I am not sure how I feel about my reaction and I can’t stop thinking back about it.

Moment #2

We went to Busch Gardens this weekend. We have “fun passes” and go fairly often. Theme parks are to Florida what the Smithsonian is to Washington D.C. We take for granted what people travel for miles with families to see and do.

Anyway, my 5 yo son T. and I were in line for the Flume. You know which ride this is - the log ride – with the big drop at the end where we get all wet. T. is dying to be old enough for roller coasters and this was his first time on a ride with a big drop. So we were really excited – giggling and chatting, we were all wound up about it.

As we were only a few people away from jumping onto our own log, I heard a violent thump from behind me. I turned and saw a woman, slumped back in her husbands arms, eyes rolled up in her head, and an enormous gash – maybe 6 inches across – on her forehead. She had fainted and hit her head on the stairs. Blood was everywhere. We yelled for help, the Busch Gardens attendants were unsure - radioing managers, grabbing paper towels, running, whispering, clueless. I saw the hands of the girl with the paper towels, she was shaking.

Since we were ahead of the woman who fainted, they ushered us onto the flume and off we went. My heart in my stomach: for T. who had never done this before and for this woman, and all the blood, and the moment she was in.

After an exhilarating splashdown, squeals of delight and “let’s do it agains” from T., we pulled back around to get off our ride. I then heard the announcement that the Flume would be closed due to “technical difficulties”. I stepped off and carefully helped T. off too.

And thats when I saw the two boys. They were maybe four and seven. They were huddled together on the stairs, quite a few feet away from the woman lying on the ground. Obviously, they were her sons. They were crying quietly, the older boy had his arms around the younger boy; now and then he would pat his cheek or rock him gently. Like Hansel and Gretel, holding onto to one another, in utter shock, their world had just turned upside down.

I looked to see who was helping them. No one. Their father was too consumed with helping his wife and talking to the paramedics arriving on the scene.

And we were being pushed along and asked to exit on the right.

But those boys. There was a large fence separating where T. and I were and those boys. If only I could have stopped and stayed with those boys. If only I could have offered them some comfort. They were alone, they were too young to know it was going to be ok, they were utterly distraught, they had seen their mommy fall, they saw so much blood. All I can think now is how they will remember that horrible moment for the rest of their lives. Their mother was fine, all would be well, children have seen worse, but my heart broke for those boys in that moment.

Moment #3

I was in Wal-Mart this morning. (OK, ok, I know. I hear your booing. I’ve already said my piece on that place before. With our meager, pathetic, shoe-string budget, it is what it is.) I can’t believe it’s September already, and naturally, my mind is starting to gear up for the holidays. So we were wandering the aisles in the toy section. C. was starting to feel impatient for lunch and I knew my time was running out.

Suddenly C. said “Oooooh, Mama. Baby. Toe TOOT!” (Translation: Oh, mommy, that baby is so cute!) He saw a doll haphazardly left behind on the wrong shelf. C. adores babies. He can hardly keep his hands off any of my friend’s babies. They light up his world, I mean it.

Well, a lightbulb went off in my head. How can it be this child does not have a doll when he loves babies this much?

So off I wheeled in search of a cheap, small baby doll for C. Where could they be?

Oh. Right. The “pink” section.

I have two boys. I don’t get to the pink section often. And I gather all dolls are in the pink section, the girl section. So, into the pink I wheeled. And bingo. There, between the hideous Hannah Montana dress up crap and the Bratz dolls (What the HELL are they about! Ah!), there was a small section of dolls. He played with a few. We picked one out. It has a little hat and a pacifier as accessories. And as excited as he was, he shocked me by being so gentle with that doll. Carefully cradling it, jibber jabbering little comments to the doll, giving it the pacifier, hugging it, patting its head. He played with it all the way to the register, had the doll sitting next to him in his car seat home, on the floor next to him during lunch and, currently, the doll is tucked in T.’s bed across the room from C. as he takes his nap.

So I am glad we found that doll. It’s perfect. 

But I couldn’t help but mutter how crazy it is that the only dolls to be found were in the PINK section.

WHAT. BOYS can’t EVER have a doll?

WHAT. BOYS aren’t ever NURTURING?

WHAT shouldn’t I be encouraging my boy to nurture small babies, to be a good parent some day, for crying out loud!?

Cleary, dolls are for girls. Found only in the PINK section. UGH. GAG.

I should probably mention one thing, however. You know, that the baby we got? He’s dressed in blue. I assume he is a boy doll. And who picked that color out? I did. What was my point? Did I think that having him play with a boy doll, assuming he is a boy because he is in  blue, makes boys playing with dolls THAT much more ok? Like “It’s ok, its a DUDE doll.” The blue doll assures that C.’s masculinity is still intact?

Eh.

So whats that say about me?

Clearly, this Monday, I am lost in my own thoughts. And once again, obviously thinking way too hard about stuff going on around me. But I am guessing these kinds of moments will happen again. And what better home for them but here.

I hope you have a wonderful and less “over thought” start to your week.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h-5dn8IscXc] 

Voila! I present to you the first video ever taken by *moi* and my new HD Canon video camera! And who is the subject of my first video? None other than the most famous mom blogger ever, Dooce. And where was this video taken? Where else but BlogHer 08. Granted I am hardly a professional movie maker, its kind of jerky (but *whine* my arm was getting so tired). Still. The picture, the subject, the whole thing. Pretty fly, no?

(Does anyone ever use the word “fly” anymore? Or did that go the way of the Running Man, MC Hammer pants and “Criss Cross will make you jump, jump”… It did? Whatever, cut me a break. I’m a 35 year old mom, “getting out” is drinking a bottle of wine with mom friends in my driveway with the monitor on.)

But back to the camera. Before I left to BlogHer, I was offered this laptop and video camera to review by a cool little PR company called Buzz Corp. They are good people – I’d say they are even pretty “fly” folks (No? Time to let that one go?) – who seem very focused on the mom blogger perspective and what products make us tick. (And I will also say they are not paying me a lick to say anything about them. Shoot, there wasn’t even any pressure to post about any of this.)

Well. I can certainly tell you, my HP Pavilion laptop makes me more than tick. It makes me purr. It makes me sing. It makes this little ol mommy blogger positively resonate at every possible frequency. I love this thing. I live on this thing. All I need is some sort of security “add-on” against myself, where upon at a certain time limit it will snap shut and shoo me away from it.

And the HD Canon video camera is small, easy to use and takes the clearest picture I’ve seen. I only recently started playing with it for real (other than just taking video) once I got the fire-wire I needed. Granted, after scratching my head for the last month or so, I admit I didn’t realize I needed one until my tech savvy brother walked me through video camera 101. I learned – ahem, after reading the manual, blush – that the firewire does not come with the camera. I gather that is standard, but was only just an additional $6.00 online at Office max. So anyway, the fire-wire arrived, I plugged it all in and it hummed to life.

Over the past few days, I have been playing around with Windows Movie Maker. WHOA. Cool. Fer real. And this afternoon, I popped out this one cut from BlogHer of Heather speaking. She’s funny. The whole thing was great. I just now wish I had that camera roped to my head and caught absolutely everything I experienced - every speaker, every panel, every conversation - on film. I am now trying to grasp the concept that I can capture what I see, and not just simply write about it. Huh. Oh the possibilities.

Anyway, many many thanks to Buzz Corp. Please enjoy Dooce at BlogHer. I just wish I had more to share of the panel. But you can be sure there will be many more videos to come in the future.

(Oh and quick sidebar: If and when I ever review products here, I promise you, I will only review things I actually find to be quality products I truly support. Please consider my opinion legitimately my opinion. Crazy to have to qualify that but you get me, right? Thanks folks.)

For more information about the HP products I review, please visit my HP Update page.

In the spirit of Stand Up to Cancer today (click above and learn more), I am posting the story of cancer in my family. It is probably no different than the stories of cancer in your families. It seems Cancer affects all of us in some way. Daily, we live with screenings, lumps, scares, treatments, survivals, and deaths. My story can be lined up next to my neighbor’s whose sister in law is undergoing serious treatment for breast cancer, my playgroup friend whose husband recently made it through testicular cancer, and my childhood friend who recently and very suddenly lost his mother to breast cancer. My story is just another story; unfortunately cancer is among all of us.

Growing up, my family traveled and lived abroad – at times for as long as 5 years. My father worked for the State Department and, before we could leave to any country, we were expected to endure a litinay of health tests before we were cleared. Once cleared, the government allowed us 2 years of travel before having to come back to the U.S. for another health screening.

In 1992, my family went through the paces of our screening. I have explained before that my family has a long history of breast cancer. My mother knew her chances of finding a lump after menopause would be high. And due to her health history, my mother had her annual mammogram. This time a very small mass was found. These doctors, however, cleared her for travel. They were convinced this lump was nothing to be concerned with.

My mother knew better.

She had another mammogram and sought out a second opinion. Indeed, the lump was something to be concerned with. Not only was the lump cancerous but it was starting to metastasize - there was a threat this cancer would spread shortly. My mother had a lumpectomy and her lymph glands in her arm were removed. She experienced radiation and more than 6 months of horrible chemotherapy. She lost her hair, her body struggled, it was a very difficult time. She beat it, however, and has been in remission now for 15 years. 

But let me be very clear about one point. If she had not been pro-active about her health, had accepted her health clearance, and then lived abroad for another two years with her lump ignored, she may not be with us today. We all must be our own health advocates. Ask questions, get second opinions. This is your body not your doctor’s.

While fairly minor, I have also had my own cancer scare. At 28, precancerous cells were found on my cervix. A quarter sized portion of my cervix was removed. Needless to say, as soon as I was healthy, my husband and I started a family. If those cells were to return, I didn’t want to have to lose anymore “quarter sized” portions of my cervix before my babies were born. And you can be sure that I never postpone my annual PAP smear – and so far so good.

Now that I’ve shared these personal stories of mine, I am guessing you are thinking about your own experiences. Like I said, my story is one of millions, and we are at least grateful for our healthy outcomes.

Tonight, take the time to watch Stand up to Cancer. It’s Friday night for crying out loud. Nothing else is on anyway. Think about what you can do to Stand up to cancer.

What, you don’t think that there is anything we can do?

Watch this amazing story about a cancer survivor who did stand up to cancer. My mother stood up to cancer, she survived. Even if we aren’t fighting with cancer personally, by having annual PAP screenings, doing breast or testicular exams, and following up with our own health care on a regular basis, we are all standing up to cancer.

Wishing you health and peace today.

So its been quite a week for our good ol’ boy McCain. On the heels of the DNC and in the midst of a hurricane, he announced his VP choice.

What, you didn’t hear? …Yeah right.

Palin has been dropped into the middle of the political scene, her entire life spilled out onto our national sidewalk, to be picked through, stepped on and assessed.

In my view? It needs some assessing. And you know that isn’t a partisan opinion either.

But I have to say, I have not been quick to paw through her stuff and sky-write my opinion. I am just too damn overwhelmed. There is too much to consider, too much to say but quite a bit to separate also: the real issues and then her personal issues. They are over-lapping, whether they should or not.

And yup, she’s a woman and I’m a feminist. And? Sure, I appreciate that the Republican party seems to want a woman VP. (I say “seems” assuming McCain really truly didn’t pick a woman to strictly gather left-over HRC votes. A crazy idea, right… right?) But that’s about as far as my feminist tendancies stay on board. After that, my feminist tendencies and I jump ship.

I guess I have been just kind of sitting here, with my mouth agape, trying to wrap my head around exactly what McCain was thinking.

While I am still not quite able to form complete sentences about the Republican veep choice, I am able to read about her. Like we all have been. And as I read, I started to gather together my favorite posts. A collection of sorts. And I thought I would share it. Check them out.

The Third Rail

Sarah Palin and Mommy Wars.

Why Sarah Palin is Good For Feminism.

I Want Sarah Palin in a Bad Way.

It’s Stuff Like This…

Palin in Comparison to Biden.

An Astonishingly Arrogant VP Selection.

No Way. No How. No Palin.

Palin Bashing.

Sarah Palin and Her Children.

As I am posting this, Palin is officially accepting the Republican nomination for VP right here -live- in my living room. While I post this, my brilliant blogger counterparts are probably doing a fabulous job of dissecting her speech and stringing it up so we are fully made aware of its innards. I’ll be reading. I am sure you’ll be reading. Do you have any favorite Palin posts? Share them below.

Meanwhile, back to the RNC. I mean… what the… I just can’t… how can she… why is this… how could they…

Yeah, I am still at a loss over here. So many thanks to all of you whose brains are working and making complete sense of this utter train wreck.

Can I ever let it go? Can I just relax and go to a movie without my feminist tendencies standing at alert, arms folded, shooting up warning flares at any mysoginist indiscretion? I only wanted to take my 5 year old son to see the new Star Wars movie for crying out loud. That’s all. What could possibly set me off there? Huh. Well. Practically porn fodder for zit-faced boys everywhere, the outfits on the female characters easily rival - if not actually trump - even the notorious Princess Leia “slave girl” outfit from Return of the Jedi (the same outfit that rocketed numerous 70s children through puberty - including my husband). George Lucas, I’m a big fan and all but… ewww, what are you thinking, you dirty old man?

My brother and I were raised on a very steady diet of Star Wars. At 5 years old, my father took me to see “A New Hope”. Since that first film, each of my family members proudly proclaim themselves Star Wars fans. As children, my brother and I used to sit and listen to the “Emprire Strikes Back” soundtrack for hours, which incorporated a storyline and direct cuts of dialogue from the film itself. I still have it memorized.

Han Solo: Well Princess, it looks like you managed to keep me here a while longer.
Princess Leia:I had nothing to do with it. General Rieekan thinks it’s dangerous for anyone to leave the system until they’ve activated the energy shield.
Han Solo: That’s a good story. I think you just can’t bear to let a gorgeous guy like me out of your sight.
Princess Leia: I don’t know where you get your delusions, laser brain.
(Chewbacca laughs)
Han Solo: Laugh it up, fuzzball.

Good stuff. And yes, after watching these movies on an endless loop for almost 30 years, the images, music, characters and dialogue are permanently burned into my brain. Call me a Star Wars nerd but no sci-fi movie moment gives me goose bumps quite like seeing the words “A long time ago in a galaxy far far away…”

So, my brother and I took T. to see “The Clone Wars”this weekend. Once in the dark theater, my sweet little boy climbed up and sat down, just barely able to keep the seat from flipping up on itself, craning to see over the monstrous bag of popcorn that he insisted keeping on his lap. I was proud to take him to a Star Wars movie (even if it was a weird cartoon sellout off-shoot of the original versions aimed entirely at merchandising for padowan learners like my son, but that’s another post entirely).

It kicked right off with violence. LOTS of it. Guns, shooting, explosions, clone troopers and battle droids being blasted into oblivion. I shifted in my seat. Get a grip. Boys dig this stuff. Save the anti-violence rhetoric for another time, right? Just chill out and think like a 5 year old. So I did, as best as I could, and laughed along with my son when one of the characters burped.

Enter Ahoska: the first female Jedi main character I have seen in a Star Wars film. Cool, right? She was young and feisty, ready to out-wit her male counterparts and take on the bad guys. Yup, cool… except for the revealing half shirt tightly outlining her enormous chest while exposing a perfectly flat brown belly. Blink. And this young Jedi (clearly the female role model of the film) is supposed to be – what - about 15? 16? What the hell is this about?

So the film goes on. More violence, more explosions, more “so-so” George Lucas dialogue. Oh, another female character enters the plot. And who is this? Ventress, the first female Sith (bad guy) character of all the films. Very cool. Again, I am trying to rally some appreciation for the fact Lucas is attempting to promote more strong female characters. But wait. Uh-oh, Ventress has let her cape fall to the ground. And there goes her skirt. She stands glaring, clutching a gleaming double-sided light saber in her fist. She is bald, with full lips painted in purple lipstick, her enormous chest heaving under her own backless half shirt, with a large gap exposing some crazy blue cleavage. Blink, blink. How is that thing even staying on her? Oh, that’s right, its a cartoon, it’s painted on. Literally. While she and Anakin duked it out, all I could see was frame after frame of cartoon T&A.

Meanwhile, Ahsoka is no longer fighting battles. She has been assigned to care for the baby Hut, a pathetic, stinky, burping kidnap victim. Anakin and Obi-wan, both FULLY clothed males mind you, are kicking battle droid ass while she is left to nag Anikin about getting the baby back because he has a fever. Oh come on! How can I not be annoyed at this point?

Ah, now enters Padme Amidala. I dig Padme. As Queen Amidala, she wore gorgeous outfits. She was powerful, she was a Senator, she held her own in battle, she could even fight while pregnant with twins. George Lucas did a pretty good job with her character. But wait. Oh no. Now she is in some white extraordinarily tight – also painted on – outfit. No cleavage but there are these pockets on her shirt that are arranged just so… to look a bit like the shapes of… nipples.

Did you hear that? That was the sound of my hand smacking my forehead. Or perhaps the sound of this generation’s 14 year old boys rocketing themselves in puberty… so to speak.

Seriously folks. I give up. At that point, my feminist tendancies were up in arms, launching a full blown riot in my conscience. While I dramatically grumbled and shifted in my seat, my brother glanced at me, giving me curious looks. What could possibly be up with his sister? And T. is oblivious. He’s just sitting there. Taking it all in. Just as my brother and I enjoyed the previous films, Star Wars images are being burned onto his enthusiastic Jedi-loving 5 year old brain. Terrific.

Ok, ok. Maybe I do need to lighten the hell up. It’s a movie, right? One could also argue that it’s been made for an older crowd, what with all of the violence and gratuitous T&A. That’s not meant for 5 year olds, that’s meant for 14 year olds. (Clearly.) Uh huh. And that’s why all those Star Wars toys on the market, newly encased in plastic and lined up on the shelves at Toys R Us, are labeled for ages 4 and up? Or that’s why the McDonald’s happy meals have Star Wars bobble heads in them? (Much to my son’s utter joy.)

But, honestly, the Star Wars nerd in me LOVES seeing all the star wars gear out now. I am thrilled that my son knows the inner workings of the dark side of the force. I am proud to hear that he wants to be Luke Skywalker for Halloween (even if Han Solo is sooo much cooler… and a total victim since he never got any back story in any of the prequels… again, that’s for another post).

I just get a serious case of the heebie jeebies when I watch a movie like this one with my son. I am literally witnessing physical standards for women’s bodies being imprinted onto his brain. By a cartoon. By Star Wars. By George Lucas.

So Guess what I’m going to be for Halloween? While I bypass my husbands desperate hopes that I wip together a little slave girl outfit, I’m getting out a white sheet, a black belt, some frosty lip gloss and the cinnamon buns for my hair. I’ll show my son what real Star Wars women are supposed to look like.

Heck yeah. May the force be with me.