So, this time when the politicos again came a storming at our door, in the guise of the old and tired, “Mommy Wars”, after Hilary Rosen made an inappropriate comment about Ann Romney, “never working a day in her life,” instead of getting divisive we changed the conversation.

We changed the conversation to one of issues not “pass the tissues”. We demanded that government take note that women are 50% of the electoral vote and asked them to stop treating us as a special interest group; we insisted that policies be enacted to support women and mothers; to provide paid family leave, paid sick days, quality and affordable child care, fair wages and end the war on women.

And make no mistake, this is a war on women.

In October of this year, a new ruling to the credit card act Regulation Z went into effect via the Federal Reserve Board and the ruling prevents a woman from getting a credit card in her own name based on her partner’s salary, even if she had a good credit rating prior to making the decision to stay at home. The new rule states that “credit card applications generally cannot request a consumer’s ‘household income’ because that term is too vague to allow issuers to properly evaluate the consumer’s ability to pay. Instead, issuers must consider the consumer’s individual income or salary.” Translation: the partner making the income will need to co-sign if you want a credit card and aren’t working for an income. Shocking, right? This sets women back one hundred years. This also means that women and mothers in abusive relationships have one more layer of control to fight against (and one more way they can be made to feel unequal in the relationship).

Debra Levy, a past Board President of Mothers & More first wrote about the issue back in March 2011 in a guest post on Kristin Maschka’s blog. Kristin is a former Director of Mothers & More and the author of Remodeling Motherhood, which redesigns the concept of “ownership of income for the breadwinner of the family” to that of ‘shared income, based on contributions, paid or unpaid from the members of the family”.

The title of her post was: “Stay-at-Home Moms SHOULD be Mad at the Feds“.

Following Debra’s post, Tara Brettholtz, president of the Board of Directors of Mothers & More, and Gina Earles, the CEO of Mothers & More wrote a letter to Dr. Elizabeth Warren at the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau last year expressing their concerns about the ruling. The letter was also sent to the Board of Governors of the Federal Reserve.

There was no response.

“Since over 80 percent of women in our nation have children by the time they’re 44 years old, this means the majority of women in our nation are disadvantaged by discrimination at some point in their lives,” As Kristin Rowe-Finkbeiner on her blog on www.MomsRising.org.

These are alarming statistics. If we don’t see and shout our value to the world, we will remain invisible, and our work of caretaking, and supporting society and our community will remain invisible.

So who will help women and mothers? If you are looking toward established mainstream journalists, yes, somewhat, but look again. It is the bloggers who will bring forth a new generation of politically involved women (and we have to be involved, it’s a matter of our survival). These woman and mothers in the trenches know what is at stake. Bloggers are giving motherhood and the invisible work of motherhood a voice heard like never before in the history of our culture (since Gloria Steinem, my idol, created Ms. magazine).

Make no mistake. We are in a revolution. At stake: our value, our survival.

I will be working in the next few months and years on ways to give women a voice in government; a voice “around corporate America” policy, and a voice on the national stage. I will be providing tools and specific tips you can follow on how to create the change in your life that you want to see in the world.

In the meantime, there is much work to be done. Join Mothers & More, which touts the value of a mothers work whether paid or unpaid, provides opportunities to connect with like-minded women, and offers chances to give back to the community and economically disadvantaged women through advocacy efforts like Power of the Purse. You can also check out www.MomsRising.org, which highlights the issues and provides links to letters you can sign that go straight to policy makers;. Pay attention to bills on the table that will take away your rights and write to your local congressperson via writing to the United States House of Representatives.

Will you join me? Rise up and be heard. Together women and mothers are powerful!

Estelle Sobel Erasmus is a journalist, columnist, author, blogger, content curator, advocate for mothers’ rights, former magazine Editor-in-Chief (American Breast Cancer Guide, Women in Touch, Woman’s Own, Esthetique, Body by Jake), writer for hundreds of national publications and websites, blogger, social media aficionado, former adjunct professor at NYU and most importantly a mom. She recently read for Listen To Your Mother-NYC. You can like her author page on Facebook and follow her on Twitter at @mommymusings011.

©Estelle Sobel Erasmus, April 2012

Usually my Mother-in-Love Monte hosts it at her house as she has a lot of space for entertaining.  I piped up and volunteered to host this year at long last.

We have a tiny house. It is a 1920′s bungalow with about 1,400sf total.  132 sf of that is my 11x 12 dining room.  Not big.  Small.  And if you get all Martha Stewart about it and want 24 inches for each person at your table the only way to make that work in my house is to knock down the walls and build an addition!  But I am doing it.  (Not the addition, the lotsa people in the little dining room.)

There are twelve people nose to tail that need to fit in that dining room, and I just landed a vintage table for 100 bucks including slightly awful chairs.   With both leaves it will seat twelve in a very loving, intimate (OK crammed!) sort of way.

I am beyond thrilled to place so many folks at one table again. Entertaining is a great pleasure for me and I have missed my larger dining table from my single life.  I even had to buy a longer white table cloth and twelve white napkins.

And I already started to recover those chairs…might even finish them by Sunday!  I even created a marvelous Easter centerpiece I love for said table.

So that is ready.

That is all that is ready.

Because I still have to think about food.  And how to please Two Meat Monte.

My husband and I have been married for five years and we are both blessed by loveably crazy in laws.  My dad is John’s only parent in law from my side, and he stays overnight with us once a week.  He is a beekeeper and sells honey  and we are on his route so we get a weekly date night: fabulous.  BUT my Dad is ever so likely to corner John as he is leaving for work.  I mean travel mug in hand, bag on shoulder, front door open ready to leave for work.  My Dad in his crazy pj pants and his geezer presentation will sidle up and cluelessly block the doorway as he tells an interesting but untimely tidbit of some moment in his day or week.  John is sweet.  He listens and smiles and nods.  He responds.  And then at last he leaves.  For work.  And Dad lets him.

My in laws are wonderful. I got parents, a sister, a brother and some awesome cousins for our girls.  My Mother in Law, or Mother in LOVE as I say it, is so loving and accepting of my special brand of crazy I will never know how to thank her properly. She aches for me losing my own mother so young, and so she loves me like a mother.  I ask her advice and share my vulnerabilities openly.  She and I are very similar, and in good ways, so I think that helps.  I love her, she loves me.

And Yet.

Even with a rock solid love relationship she is still, at times Mafia.  And her Mafia name is Two Meat Monte.  She has a heart so full and a desire to make life so much better at times it is overwhelming.  She rarely comes for a visit without bringing food.  Either Panera, or beautiful meals from her own kitchen.  When I was pregnant and even fairly recently… she comes to our house and makes us dinner in my kitchen so I can do something else.  She is awesome.  Unless you tell her not to bring food. She still does.

And there is the small matter of a national holiday this weekend.

That I am hosting.  I am cooking most of.  I am decorating for.

I do not like ham unless it is Eggs Benedict and slathered with hollandaise sauce.  I know it is an Easter tradition.  Two Meat Monte knows it too.  The Novaks serve ham.

I was thinking a leg of lamb my Dad makes for us.  I do not like the idea of lamb, but it would be yummier to me in lieu of a big fat salty ham hunk on my table.

BUT.

The Novaks serve ham.  And polish sausage.  I always opted to eat the sausage at Easter although I actually enjoy Monte’s ham.  I do.   But I forgot about it in the planning.  She reminded me. I said I didn’t want to be Two Meat Monte and she leveled me with one unspoken word: TRADITION.   “Oh.”  she says, “We always have polish sausage with the ham for Easter.”  Even though I am hosting. I want to cook and surprise and delight, but it is not how they do Easter.

I know they would indulge me.  They would tolerate a slight deviation.

BUT I love them.  I love Two Meat Monte.

I realized I do not have a family of tradition.  My Dad is just as outside the box as I am.  My Mom was fun crazy too.  I have been raised by one parent or the other without much family sprinkled in there to create and carry out a lot of tradition.  My husband and I have weaved what traditions I have (champagne for everything, opening a gift on Christmas Eve, eating movie theater popcorn immediately instead of waiting for the movie to start) and merged them with his beautifully traditional upbringing.  We have created some traditions of our own too, just for our little family.

I love our big family celebrations.  My Dad and his Love Kim come to everything.  They are as welcome as I am and the entire family enjoys each other mightily.  My life is enriched by the vibrant experience of my new, improved sense of family.  Raising our two girls amidst all this love and stability and tradition is a beautiful thing.

And there will be a ham on my big Easter table in my small dining room.  And Two Meat Monte?  She is bringing the polish sausage.

MAMAS:
What traditions do you enjoy, and which ones do you try to get rid of? If your family was mafia, what are their names?

Here more from Heather at Live Your Life OUt Loud and @farbrent.

And, it wasn’t until I moved to Summerville, SC and joined Mothers & More  that I realized I would dread the day when every house we visited for a play date or book club had a…dog or cat or hamster or sheep or all of the above!

If you personally know me, then  you know that I am absolutely positively afraid of animals, be it domesticated or wild. I have to clarify, I do not hate animals. I am extremely afraid of animals because I am not sure how to handle a hostile animal-to-human conflict.

My Political Science degree did not offer Conflict-Animal-Resolution and Animal-to-Human public policy courses. Though, if there was a talking-rabbit who was also a radical conservative and a member of the GOP, then I would know how to ease our tensions.

Also, I  don’t have fangs or claws to defend myself. With that, I hate the zoo. I refuse to take my child to the circus because I don’t know when an elephant will snap and stump on my head. If you were wondering, I am okay with aquariums. Animals are meant to be in the wild. They should be somewhere in the jungle singing and dancing like in the cartoons “The Lion King” or “Jungle Book” – not in my backyard. And, in Summerville, SC everyone, and I mean everyone, I knew owned some sort of animal, rodent or both.

Then, that dreadful day came when Mariam was almost three and asked for a puppy. How did Ben feel about this? Well, for one, he loves animals! He grew up on a horse farm, had several dogs, cats, a bird, and maybe a rabbit or two growing up. His mother was the town’s veterinarian. Put it this way, when I was giving birth to both Mariam and Emilia respectively, he told the nurses he was confident about coaching me through it because he had witnessed and even assisted in birthing horses. (Note to Ben: I am still not a horse)

At first, I would entertain the idea. Some days Mariam will bring one of her stuffed puppies (did I mention stuffed animals also give me the creeps?) and pet it in front of me. And, with her huge big brown eyes try to convey that having a puppy is a blessing.

I told her that when there comes a day when a puppy learns to use the potty then I may consider it. Until then, the electronic puppy that does back flips with a touch of a button will have to do.

“Where’d she come from?” I thought.  “What a poser. That woman does not look anything like I feel.”

It’s cliché, I know, but I couldn’t help thinking, “I don’t feel a day older than 25!”

My mind really doesn’t.  Actually, my mind feels more vibrant and alive than it did when I was 25.  Back then, I was a brand new mother, and although it might not have shown up on a reflection, I felt more aged and exhausted in that period of my life.

During the five years I spent child-bearing, I was sure I was killing off every single brain cell in my skull.

I put my long-term goals for education and career on hold for the arrival and rearing of our children.  I often worried that I was sacrificing the one part of my body that I would not be able to rebuild with the deft hands of a plastic surgeon.

I felt like I was losing my mind.

I know there are lots of moms who worry about the mind-numbing experiences of raising young children, but I’m here to assure you that not only are you not killing brain cells, but research suggests that motherhood may actually increase brain growth.

In fact, a small study led by developmental psychologist, Pilyoung Kim, found that the gray matter in the brains of new mothers grew over a very short period of time in the early stages of motherhood. In the 2010 article in the New York Times, entitled “Mother’s Brains are Bigger”, the author celebrates the good news that positive interactions with newborns actually increases the capacity in the brain.

I wish I had known this information when I was grumbling under my breath about the “tasks” of mothering babies.  I would probably have benefited even more from this phenomenon if I had embraced the positive interactions rather than letting myself worry about the frustrations I felt about mothering small children.

That might explain the fact that I stood in that reflective mirror for probably five minutes and then wondered what I was rushing through the hall for in the first place.

Oh well, just because I missed my chance to enhance the brain power as a new mom doesn’t mean I can’t exercise it more now, right?

Kim’s group of researchers published their findings in the journal for Behavioral Neuroscience.

Read more from Meagan  www.meaganfrank.wordpress.com and http://twitter.com/choosingtogrow.

Situation One:  Everybody does it.  Everyone works during their life like it or not. Just like everyone is at one time or another involved in potty training.  Even if you aren’t signing up for parenthood, your folks aimed your tukus in the porcelain throne direction more than a few times, I bet.

Situation Two:  Potty training a hungry tired angry distracted annoyed devious lying laughing toddler is about what your average work meeting looks like.  (You are chuckling because you know this to be true.)  A staff meeting in any business setting always has a herding of the cats element to it.  Or in the case of my point, a herding of the heiny to the potty element to it.  Potty Training, Working!

Situation Three:  You can lead a horse to water, (WAIT.  That could be gross, never mind.)

Situation Four:  Even though you want a person to be responsible for their own mess, sometimes you are the one man clean up crew.

Situation Five:  Sometimes in your work life, you think your idea is AWESOME.  You think you have nailed it and you are set up for advancement, a raise and the corner office.  But then you step back and notice…your aim wasn’t so great after all.

Situation Six:  Sometimes at work there is a line for the bathroom and you have to wait a bit.  Or you need a bit of….privacy…and so want to claim the bathroom all to yourself privately.  Potty training is the same except the bathroom is always needed as soon as you have availed yourself of it, and no, they are not willing to wait in a line.

Situation Seven:  Dressing for success is common in business.  When it comes to potty training, undressing for success is the way of it.  (Frankly undressing for success can be common for work and potty training, come to think of it.)

Situation Eight:  Potty Training is like working in an office because sometimes what starts out as a team building event ends up with everyone in tears sitting on the floor together.  Except in potty training there is also hugging. And M&Ms. Not likely to be found in an office.  Well, maybe the M&Ms?

Situation Nine:  At work there are countless occasions when someone does something so basic and expected for their job but still want a big kudos.  In Potty Training that Someone also does something so basic and expected and still want a big kudos for it.

Situation Ten:  Finally, in both working and potty training  every day the poop is the same and you are often the one in the middle of it…but eventually everything gets cleaned up and put to right and tomorrow is a whole new day.  With clean underpants!

Heather lives in Valporaiso, IN and is a member of Porter County, IN Chapter 47. Make sure you check out here blog, Live Your Love Out Loud and follow her on Twitter!

I walk into what I’m thinking is a routine eye exam (I’ve worn glasses or contacts since the age of 12 – no big deal) and I’m in the middle of the same exam I always get – you know the one where they show you the same object with different lenses – “Number one or number two? Number three or number four? Number four or number five?” We’re coasting right along when my clearly middle-aged female doctor wraps things up by saying with a smirk and a glimmer in her eye like she’s just beat me at a game of chess, “Ok, I have your reading glasses prescription!” Say what? There was no warning, no lead up. “It’s a natural sign of aging,” she says tipping her readers at me like she’s happy to be adding another one to her club. “It usually occurs around the age of 40 when people experience blurred vision while reading or looking at the computer.” I was just about to lose my perimenopausal cool when I salvaged a smile and calmly asked the sly optometrist what injection or surgery I could have done to take care of my NEW *&%$@ age-related ailment. I just knew if I threw some money at it, I could make it go away. I mean you have gray hair, you die it; you have wrinkles, you get an injection; you are in menopause, you buy some synthetic hormones on the black market. Like she was taking some kind of twisted pleasure in my mental anguish, Dr. Sees A lot says, “They are working on different surgical procedures, but nothing is out just yet.” NOT what I wanted to hear.

So I ask my apathetic optometrist, “You tell me there is no injection, there is no surgery – what am I supposed to do?” She says with a smile, “You have several options; the first of which is to wear one contact lens that acts like the near-sighted eye and one contact lens that acts as the far-sighted eye.” She goes on, “You might have some minor problems with depth perception. You mentioned earlier that you ski. This might not be the best option for you.” “What the @#$%?” that mean little perimenopausal voice was screaming in my head. “Yes, I ski; I also drive a car!” The second option, she explains, is to ditch the contacts and wear split lens glasses – “nope, not happen’n,” I say to myself. And of course, the third option, pick up a pair of those “we’ll try super hard to make you look chic, not old” animal print and cosmic colored readers.

You know what I say – forget it! Until I dislocate a shoulder or give someone a black eye extending my arm out to inconceivable lengths to read that dreadfully small print, I’ll stick with option number four – DENIAL.

So I did go to Walgreen’s just to “see” what kind of readers they had, and look where I found them:

Let me zoom in a little closer for you.

It’s a little depressing! Thank God for retail therapy ‘cuz I need some!

Her voice sounded like a four-year-old but her demeanor was a mixture of valley girl meets vampire slayer. She twirled her index finger around all while attempting to roll her eyes back while the other hand was on her left hip. Now, we were in public and the Fari, before kids, would have contemplated to answer her daughter with a slap to the face for getting a snarky attitude. The Fari, after kids, stopped and got on Mariam’s level and talked to Mariam like the big girl that she is. I told her sorry sista’ but the panties are staying on, and if she is a good girl and loosens that attitude then I will buy her four-year old girl panties.

And, this is the part that makes parenting worth it. She stopped, stared at me, thought for a second, and then wrapped her arms around my neck cushioned with two layers of jackets and thanked me with a big kiss on the cheek.

I am a conflicted person. You could probably tell by now of how I react to situations like my daughter’s uncommon obsession for the color yellow and being a stay-at-home mom. I have a running joke with my friend Lindsay that before kids I won the Mother of the Year award three years in a row but I lost my winning streak the day I gave birth to my eldest. The Fari, before kids, wouldn’t take crap from no one, especially from her own children. Now, I try my best to cover up their crappy attitude and wipe their crap clean from their little tushies.

After the warm hug, kiss good bye, and I gently but firmly shoved Mariam into her classroom, I let out a huge sigh. I start daydreaming of sipping mojitoes while sailing toward a Caribbean island alone with a steel drum band playing in the background. In my daydream, I am wearing a size two indigo maxi beach dress, a large beige brim straw beach hat, and oversized Armani exchange sunglasses that covers half of my face. I hear a faint “what about me” from Ben, my husband. Yes, Ben can come too.

Keep up with Fari in her post-kid life at Don’t Eat All the Food: The Misadventures of Majestic Tulip, The Not–So–Naval Officer’s Wife.