Just in Time for Valentines... What Women Want

My friends and I have been passing around the recent New York Times article, "What Do Women Want?" We’ve talked about it in the pick-up line and during pilates. We’ve whispered about it on playgrounds and in our driveways. We have been thoroughly intrigued and shocked by Daniel Bergner’s article detailing the scientific community’s forays into the enigma that is feminine sexual desire. Each of us has plowed through 12 pages of scientific data and anecdotal evidence in hopes of discovering what it is that will ultimately satisfy us. And we’re so flattered to know that science is even thinking about us, trying to figure us out and more important, how to get us off. But to tell you the truth, when we reach the end of page 12, and find out that scientists still don’t really know the secret to female desire, we can’t help but feel a little bit frustrated.

The article opens with a description of one of the more recent projects attempting to discover the key to female desire. Apparently Meredith Chivers, a leading sexologist, asked subjects (men and women) to watch video clips of all sorts of sexual (and non sexual situations) involving people and even involving apes (with other apes) and measured their physical and emotional sexual responses to the clips. What Chivers discovered is that men know when they are turned on - they can feel it, they can see it, they know it. Men are simultaneously emotionally and physically aroused. Women on the other hand aren’t, the thoughts in their head and the physical cues for arousal can be absolutely not in sync. If a woman’s head isn’t in the game, it doesn’t matter what her body is telling her.

According to Chivers (and consequently Berger) this idea is somehow a really big deal in the science of sex. It’s a discovery! I’m no sexologist, but I can tell you that the idea that women’s brains are key components in their pursuit of sexual satisfaction is no breakthrough. At least it’s now a scientifically established idea.

The problem is that’s all these scientists have. After years of research they can now confirm that women and men are turned on in different ways, but they still aren’t quite sure how it actually works for women. While I can’t speak for all women, I can offer a little insight into the subset of mommies (and maybe save us all from government-funded study on the sex lives of housewives). I am willing, for the sake of science of course, to offer up my own deepest desires for review. And we can skip the plethysmographs - a seriously ineptly named vaginal sensor (can’t you just imagine a lispy perve whispering that?) - altogether.

So this is it, a short summary of what gets women (or at least 21st century mothers) off. Before we begin though, here is the definitive list of what doesn’t do it for us. First, contrary to popular belief, we don’t want to be touched. We’ve been touched, pulled on and prodded, handled in every possible way you can imagine since the moment we found out we were even entering motherhood. It’s been hands-on ever since. And all this touching has completely destroyed any nostalgia for all the touching that may have gone on to get us there. No matter how you spin it, foreplay is touching. Second, we don’t crave emotional intimacy with our husbands and partners. We absolutely don’t want to hear their deep inner secrets and fantasies, they’re probably boring and will only make us feel worse about ourselves or mad at our significant others. Besides we spend all day with secrets and fantasies, we deal in the pretend and imaginary. And third, contrary to the myths perpetuated by Hollywood, we don’t want to take up with the pool boy or the landscaper a-la Desperate Housewives. We don’t want to share these post-baby breasts with anybody, let alone with a stranger in the garden shed.

Legend has it that for many men the ultimate sexual fantasy/sexual experience is centered on oral sex. Well you know what’s on par with oral sex for a woman, what makes me feel the same sweet ecstasy men enjoy? It’s when anyone, another mother, a grandparent, anyone tells me that they’ll take my kids for a couple of hours just so I can go to the grocery store without them. That’s right, that’s my fantasy.

Here are the dirty details: I’m in the grocery store, in the produce aisle and I’m pushing a regular cart - there isn’t one of those ridiculous car carts anywhere near me (which of course means that no one can give me a dirty look for pushing the monstrosity without actually having any kids in it ). Anyway, I’m in produce and looking at tomatoes and picking out the ones I actually want, there’s no toddler throwing tomatoes willy-nilly into a produce bag while I try to keep count of each tomato out loud. Gradually, slowly, almost seductively, this fantasy will take me all the way through the grocery store. And here’s the hottest part - it will all be uninterrupted, there will be no potty stops, no screaming fits about not being able to ride in the elevator. I won’t even notice the elevator. I’ll be able to sign my own name with the magic Jeopardy pen at the check out line. Sometimes in this fantasy (and this feels really dirty even just typing it) I imagine it so that some other woman is there, maybe in front of the deli counter, standing helplessly as her preschooler flails himself onto the floor because she will not him allow another sweaty cheese sample. And the whole time the only thing on my arm is my purse, I’m not carrying a child, or a giant bag with wipes, extra underwear, a sippy cup, a potty seat, mismatched socks, a book and a crumpled up babydoll. It’s just my purse. That’s what turns me on and takes me all the way. Talk dirty to me say "I’ll watch the kids, you go to the grocery store." Shit, my heart is racing already.

Maybe one day Chivers and the rest of the sexologists will solve the mystery of female sexual desire. Maybe they’ll map the g-spot and all the other hot spots of the female anatomy and somehow link them to perfect rationality and overwhelming passions that make the female mind. Maybe if they keep working at it, keep taking surveys and showing women (and men) animal porn and tracking their heart beat and swelling and blood flow, they’ll figure the whole thing out. And then what? We’ll still be at the grocery store knee deep in toddler and selecting tomatoes against the background of a temper tantrum.

Another Mini-Mystery

Why does it irk me that my daughter insists on pretending that her one baby doll (12-inch, bald head, mouth poised to hold a pacifier), is the mother of another baby doll (a smaller facsimile of the first)? I've tried to explain that babies can't have babies, but she's not buying it.

You’ve Been Tagged! - 25 Actual Reasons I Don’t Have Time to Play Facebook Tag

1. I’ve got three kids. Ok, so it’s not that good of a reason, because clearly I’m doing everything I can to avoid that fact. But on it’s face, and if my husband were to read this, three kids require way too much attention for me to be able to participate in facebook tag.
2. I need to clean my oven. Seriously, it’s on my list for this week. I even bought the Easy-Off.
3. I need to drive back and forth to Target 17 times for no particular reason but mostly because I forgot my list.
4. I have to go through the Sunday circular to cut out coupons that I will never use.
5. Then I have to file those coupons in a little envelope that I will loose until mid-September 2009, at which point any coupons I may have actually been interested in using, will be just expired.
6. I need to get myself LinkedIn, which will require me making up a career and adequately embellishing my education. I need to get LinkedIn so I can finish stalking the people I couldn’t locate on facebook.
7. I need to sort two laundry baskets full of socks, most of which are black gold toe dress socks, of varying weaves.
8. I need to check the lot numbers on the two economy-sized jars of peanut butter I got at Costco in July of 2005, to make sure that they’re not involved in the great Peanut Butter Recall.
9. I will then need to do some internet research to confirm that salmonella can not live for more than three years, so that I feel better about the fact that I made six peanut butter sandwiches for my kids’ lunches just this morning.
10. I need to clean the bottom left-side of the base of every toilet in my house, because my five-year old son does not believe in a hands-on approach to urination.
11. I need to check my facebook account every 12 minutes, to make sure that I haven’t missed any chances to snicker at someone’s status update.
12. I need to get up, walk to my refrigerator, open it, stare at the food and wait for something that is both delicious and magically thinning, to surface. I will need to repeat this action 27 times.
13. After 27 attempts at healthy eating, I need to go to the refrigerator and eat two polly-o cheese sticks in rapid succession, while standing in front of the open door.
14. I need to spend approximately 4 minutes feeling really annoyed that I ate those cheese sticks. Then I need to make myself feel better by returning to the refrigerator and eating another one.
15. I need to empty my dishwasher and then reload it with the same dishes after I realize that I never ran it last night.
16. I need to reassemble the playmobile zoo without the instructions.
17. I need to search epicurious.com for a wholesome kid-friendly recipe featuring one over-ripe granny smith apple, a giant bag of pepperoni, green beans, blueberry-flavored greek yogurt, and 2/3 of a cup of orange juice.
18. I need to catch up on four episodes of Top Chef (if you know who won restaurant wars, don’t tell me), finish season 2 of the Tudors, and figure out why Tamara got Gretchen so drunk on The Real Housewives of Orange County.
19. I need to check if my daughter’s mali uromastyx (that’s a lizard) is actually still alive. This requires more time than you might think, since the critter doesn’t visibly breath.
20. I need to search craigslist for a gently-used calico critters house, an ottoman, and a bench for small children to sit on and remove their boots before tracking slush all over my house.
21. After I look for those things on craigslist, I’ll need to spend a significant amount of time reading other posts, just to make sure I’m not missing out on anything really good.
22. I need to find all my missing sports bras. I would check the laundry chute first, but that seems so unlikely.
23. I need to quick run my vacuum cleaner long enough to make some lines in the carpet so it’s obvious that I "just cleaned."
24. I need to read my husband’s parenting blog to make sure he’s not taking credit for everything again.
25. I need to figure out how to poke all the people that tagged me. And then I need to figure out how to buy them lots of "drinks" and "gifts" and shower them with unwanted facebook attention.

Kids TV Mini-Mystery

Why, without fail, whenever any kid starts watching Dora, do they say "I want to watch Diego!"? When I go to your house, I don't expect your cousin to be there.

Milestones

We have strep throat. It came late this year. Usually, the first child complains of a sore throat and promptly throws up just in time to miss participating in the school's winter concert, or if we are really lucky, they'll hold out for a Christmas Eve onset making them equally cranky and hopped up on candy canes. We are more than a month behind our regular schedule, so I guess I should be grateful (I'm not exactly sure why though, I still have three kids with strep).

Anyway, strep is a pain in that for the six hours between the diagnosis and the amoxicillin taking effect you are forced to deal with a cranky, demanding, exceptionally whiny child who actually deserves to be a cranky, demanding, exceptionally whiny child (and therefore totally delegitimizes your urge to strangle said cranky, demanding whiner). But overall, compared to a lot of other childhood afflictions, strep really isn't that bad. And sometimes, something good can come of it. For example, I hit a major milestone yesterday that I may have had to wait just a little bit longer for and it was only because my kids had strep. For the first time in nine years of pediatric visits, I knew for sure that when it came down to me or the doctor - I had the upper hand.

A little background: I am the type of person who invariably acquiesces to medical authority. When it comes to anything medical, I tend to simply do what I am told. Wait a second, before you give up on me, assuming I am spineless or maybe even too lazy to question medical authority, think about this: I always work under the assumption that I didn't spend my most critical social development years locked away in medical school whereas physicians did, therefore while I gained an ability to relate to mankind during that time, doctors had to have gained something too and since it wasn't necessarily social skills it MUST have been a vast medical knowledge. This reasoning of course supports the related theory that you shouldn't really trust a doctor that seems too normal, too cool (which is why the Olivia Wilde character on House is totally unbelievable and why I would totally let Doogie Howser MD perform neurosurgery on me if necessary).

So what was so different about yesterday's visit to the pediatrician? Well for one, I'm pretty certain that the doctor that examined my children was, well younger than me! This hasn't happened before. When we first brought my daughter, now eight, to this office, we picked the youngest, hippest (use my above comments to qualify the adjective "hip") doc on staff. But she still had a good fifteen years on us and even if she weren't a pediatrician, as a mother of three she knew way more about kids' health than we did as parents of a three-day old. Yesterday, our regular pediatrician wasn't available and my children were examined instead by the practice's new girl-doctor (that's not rude, it’s accurate). As soon as she opened the door to our little examining room, I knew it would be important for me to seize control of the situation. I could tell for certain that, for once, I had more experience with children and common childhood illnesses than this doctor and If I didn't tell her what was wrong, who needed to be tested, and in what order they should be tested, I would be doing a disservice to both my children and the doctor. Moreover, if I didn't demand that -regardless of the test results- all three children would walk out with prescriptions for whatever antibiotic they hadn't had last time (because even I know it’s a good idea to rotate them), I'm sure we would have spent at least an extra hour in that office not to mention the two additional trips I would be making later in the week for the children who didn't appear to be afflicted but clearly were by virtue of their proximity to the eight year old ball of misery they spent most of their time with. Of course, I was as gentle as could be in guiding her to the decision that she would in fact be giving all three children throat cultures and we would not be waiting to confirm the results of the 24 hour test before starting medication.

And that special combination of gentle and firm, disarming and bossy that only mothers and awesome bargain sale shoppers have, really took hold of that doctor. In no time, she was offering me treatment options I never even knew existed. She said things like, "how would they like their medicine?" I tried to play it cool, so as not to give up my hard-won authority, but until that moment I knew of only one style of children's medication - the thick sticky bubblegum flavored liquid that you suspect tastes like earwax (but you would never, ever admit that to your kids.) The newbie also told me that if you wanted you could still have your kids take their strep antidote in a single dose, with a shot - just like I did at least once every winter of my childhood. This was incredible information, the pediatrics version of classified information, I have been inquiring about this shot for at least seven years and all of the older, experienced doctors had sworn it was no longer available. This girl was so new at this, she didn't even know what she was giving away!

In the end, we opted for the liquid version of amoxicillin, because I guessed it was better to spread the hassle out over ten days then to try to get three screaming kids out of the office, down an elevator and through an icy parking lot. And besides, my third grader was smart enough to have figured out that the shot wasn't in fact the only choice.

The gravity of the situation dawned on me on the way home from the doctor's office (just before I got totally distracted by the hell that is Target with three sick kids), suddenly I am older than someone. Suddenly, I have more experience than someone. Suddenly, I might know just a little bit more than an expert. And that expert someone isn't one of my own kids. I'm not sure if this is depressing or enlightening or both.

Probably I'll ask for our old doctor back the next time, afterall, she is our “old” doctor.

Pokemon Gone Wrong

We have a problem in our house, it's of the Japanese, anime style and it's called Pokemon (if you don't know much about pokemon, it's worth investigating if only so you can understand my pain and prevent the sickness from invading your house). It started with some trading cards - no actually I think it started with some playground discussions which evolved (pardon the pokemon pun) into the trading cards and then again into the TV show. At Christmas it showed up under the tree as a Nintendo DS and a Pokemon Diamond and Pearl game. Dammit Santa! Anyway, suddenly it's everywhere in my house. Which would be ok, if it were just me, my husband and the eight year old. And I would even be alright with it if it were the three of us plus the five year old. But the pokemon obsession has taken hold of my two year old - my sweet baby-doll loving, dress-up wearing, cuddly two-year old.

Focus here, this is my last baby, and she is obsessed with pokemon!

Anyway, this morning she told us that when she grows up to be "Dawn" - the girl hero of pokemon (not to be confused with feminist-type girl heroes, just the one of the three main human characters that happens to be a girl), she will have a piplup (a penguinesque creature). Actually what she told me first was that when she grows up to be a gym leader she'll have a piplup. Gymnasiums are where most of the pokemon battles take place and the gym leader is the top trainer at each gymnasium (for some reason this all reminds me of karate kid).

Yes, on its face this isn't all that disturbing, preschoolers pretend things all the time. But my little one isn't pretending to go on a picnic or ride a unicorn, she's deeply engaged in complex and imaginary battles in which she plays one of two roles. The first is the role of an unsupervised preteen wandering the Japanese countryside with a gang of other unsupervised preteens (one who is named Brock and is some sort of an oversexed, undersatisified chef) in search of a mythical city inhabited by ever-evolving monsters and their "trainers". I should be honest and tell you that these kids aren't entirely free of adult supervision. Every now and again they do seek the counsel of various professors, an army of sexy nurses named Joy, and sometimes they even skype with their parents back at home. The second role is that of an actual pokemon. When in this character she runs about making shooting type noises and holding her hand, palm forward, as if something were shooting out of it. She is helpful enough to explain these noises as she is making them by yelling things like "Piplup use bubblebeam!" in her tiny voice. Both types of pretend play are equally disturbing, but the latter is definitely more embarrassing when it emerges in such peace- loving- hippie-hangouts as the produce section of Whole Foods.

I've grown used to this behavior, although through this post I readily admit I have not completely accepted it, but today was the first day I figured out how to leverage the fantasy to my advantage. You see today was the last day of this semester of Little Gym (the $400 tumbling class that lasts for 20 weeks, but in which your child is terrified the first six, interested the next three and then utterly bored for the remaining three months). On the last class of the last semester the children put on a "show" and invite guests to come and watch all they can (but refuse to) do. My daughter had two guests coming this morning, her lovely grandparents, and absolutely no interest in going to Little Gym. That is until I pointed out that she would be going to a gym and not only would she be going to a gym, she would be bringing home a medal just like Dawn on pokemon. That kid was ready to go in no time.

Now I just have to wait until my daughter rejects Dick and Jane in favor of Manga.

Why TV is bad for kids (and worse for parents)

I have a friend who doesn’t let her kids watch any TV. She doesn’t even have a cable hook-up. She gets most of her news online and her kids get theirs, well frankly, they just don’t get any news. This no TV rule says a lot about my friend. It says that she is obviously a brave woman who lives by her convictions, we’ll see how this pans out for her once her boys reach middle school. It also says, quite obviously, that she is a better mother than I am (and probably you too). But it also says that somehow she knew something, something that the rest of a missed along the way and that is, Noggin and Nickelodeon and Disney and even PBS Kids are all in a brilliant conspiracy to screw us, the parents of their target audience.

I know it's a grand assertion and I don’t usually put much stock in conspiracy theories, but stick with me. I am confident once you read the following couple of paragraphs, you’ll agree that there is incontrovertible evidence that kids' television is designed to completely undermine parents in general and mothers in particular.

For years I have known that there is something inherently wrong with kids' television but I haven’t been able to put my finger on it. No it isn’t the bizarre mix of muppets and humans in walk-about costumes that defines shows like the Doodlebops and Yo Gabba Gabba. And it isn’t the absolute lack of any plot (or real dialog for that matter) characteristic of the Teletubbies or Boobah. It's something less obvious, something I could never quite put my finger on, but something that always just felt wrong about kids shows. And then it hit me earlier this week. These shows deliver unreal -no, poisonous -expectations about parents and mothers in particular!

This may not surprise you when I tell you that I came to this conclusion while watching the Noggin/Nick Jr mainstay Franklin. You know it's the one about the turtle with that insidious theme song "Hey it's Franklin, comin’ over to your house"? Here’s what I noticed, Franklin does a lot of really dumb stuff, including lying to his parents (or not telling them the whole truth right away) quite often. And I don’t mind that, that’s the part of the show that is real. What bothers me is that Franklin’s mother never, ever loses it on Franklin. She always talks to him in the same sweet turtle voice no matter what they are discussing. She never throws up her arms in complete exhaustion and then blurts out something she wishes she didn’t - hey I’m not looking for an expletive laden send-up of the little turtle's behavior or anything - but she never even says "Gee Franklin you’re acting like a complete brat right now and I can’t be held accountable for whatever happens next if you don’t get it together by the time I count to three." Franklin’s mother, in all her sweet, even tempered supportiveness, is misleading my kids into thinking that mothers like her exist in the world. That somewhere in a little paradise filled with talking animals and clubhouses, mothers don’t get mad at their kids ever, no matter what. This isn’t just a problem with television turtles. It's everywhere, think about it, the mother on Little Bear is the same way (even worse really) and it's just as bad on Clifford and Dragontales too.

And Dora’s mom never says "Take this map and go play with your monkey because mommy - I mean mami - has to clean up the mess you and the super babies left behind and then I’m going to lie down for a little while because I couldn’t sleep a wink last night because those damn babies kept waking each other up and your papi got pissed off because I haven’t washed any of his dress socks for the past two weeks so I’m feeling a little grumpy and underappreciated and overburdened this morning"

TV sets us up to fail. It lies to our kids convincing them that the rest of the mothers in the world are patient and comforting all of the time, that they always know what to do and how to solve whatever problem the kids might be having.

Children’s television isn’t bad for mothers only. Its pretty hard on father’s too. For the most part, the dad’s on kids' tv shows are strangely available, involved. I have never seen father turtle actually do any sort of work, except in the garden. He’s always around. Yes, the dad on Little Bear does travel for work sometimes, But he’s a sailor - daddy off to sea to fight the sea monster (and catch fish) is infinitely cooler than daddy off to work to look at the computer and talk on the phone (although my youngest would get a kick out of speaker phone).

The parents on the shows for older kids aren’t much more realistic. Hannah Montanna’s dad is, well he’s Billy Ray Cyrus for chrissakes! And the dad on the Wizards of Waverly Place is a wizard. On Corey in the House the father works in the white house. What’s a regular parent left to do when we’re not talented, magical or cooking for the President?

This isn’t even counting the shows where the parents are altogether absent. What kind of message is this sending to my kids? Is it saying "your mother is smothering you because she doesn’t let you go outside and rescue wild (and traditionally carnivorous) animals like Sra. Diego does?" Is it saying "your mother is a a total spoilsport because she makes you clean your room and practice piano instead of hanging out with your crew of weirdly matched bugs and animals in the backyard like all five moms on the backyardigans?" Or, "your mother’s a bitch because not only will she not let you have a giant dog the size of your elementary school, or even a wonder pet, she won’t let you have any pet at all?" I think the answer is all of the above.

I think its obvious. These shows, or there writers, are working together in some sort of underground movement to destabilize parenting in the United States. I suspect that the same thing is happening in Britain and the rest of Western Europe. The British imports I’ve seen - Thomas, Teletubbies, Jakers - all have no parents and an uncomfortable amount of autonomy for their main characters. And let’s not even go there with the Scandanavian offerings like Lazy Town. I haven’t figured out the hidden plan yet but I know there is something wrong with that show.

Japan is not even on the table at this point. I mean c’mon, pocket monsters?

Its undeniable - tv makes us look bad, really bad. The only problem is, it's so, so easy. I’ll risk my reputation and sell my soul for a couple of minutes (ok hours) of actually productive time.