I’ve posted my personal take on this “parenting philosophy” in the secret. And KellyNaturally.com has a very good commentary on the cover from an attachment parenting viewpoint.

Here, I’ll discuss the chosen cover image and its effectiveness from a communications standpoint.

First, the chosen cover:

Do you think TIME is aiming to portray what this mother is doing as good, or even normal?

Does the child look OK? Is he comfortable, relaxed, happy? (It should be noted that this is an actual mother and child, they are not models, and she actually does still breastfeed him. He is 3.)

In my view, the answers to all of these questions are NO.

The woman’s pose is somewhat defiant, though her stare is one of relative equanimity.

The child has to stand on a chair to reach her, rather than her coming to the child’s level.

Now, a contrasting cover shot that didn’t make the cut:

The child is in arms, eyes closed and the mother is seated.

She is non-combative, still with the look of calm on her face, but with her head tilted toward the child and her arms cradling him. He is in his own, peaceful, private world, unaware of the camera.

In spite of the child’s size, it’s far less jarring than the first photo. It probably still would have raised eyebrows in a culture where most don’t breastfeed past 6–12 months, but not as much as the chosen image.

My thoughts on the imagery and the public reaction:

In reading lots and lots of online comments on the cover—from people who did read the article, but mostly people who apparently did not read it (they didn’t know the mom and son were real, for example)—I found a range of reactions but they generally fell into some main categories.

Skeeved out

Many, many of the commenters felt this image of a preschool-age child breastfeeding was “gross, sick, repulsive and perverted” and expounded with comments accusing the mother of exploiting the child, saying that he is going to be made fun of when he’s older, saying this is going to make him “go gay,” and so on. Even as a proponent of breastfeeding for as long as is mutually agreeable to mother and child, I can understand how the average joe or jane citizen might find the image at least a little bit off-putting simply because the majority of Americans think breastfeeding is something for infants only and it’s not something they’re used to seeing. Still, I found many of the negative reactions to be needlessly angry and hostile. The jokes at the child’s expense were not funny to me

Pissed off, type A

Another sizable crop of reactions were defensive, likely focusing on the headline, “Are You Mom Enough?” Many women were offended by what they viewed as yet another endorsement of breastfeeding being pushed on them. The über-popular blogger Scary Mommy mocked up the cover expressing this, and her followers on Facebook mostly rallied in agreement. This is an interpretation I didn’t quite understand, admittedly not only because my own experience puts me in a very pro-breastfeeding place, but also because to me it seemed clear that TIME was not trying to present the practice depicted as something necessarily positive. The “Are You Mom Enough?” headline seemed to me to be sarcastic and when coupled with the assertion that “…attachment parenting drives some mothers to extremes…” it is made clearer that TIME was looking at this style of parenting with a critical eye, certainly not endorsing it wholesale (if at all).

Along with this sort of defensiveness, though to a lesser extent, was another, more predictable sort, complaining about the woman’s attractiveness and that she could not possibly be a breastfeeding mother and look like this. I’d say this might have been another strategy choice by TIME to inflict just a little pang of jealously among women, for not only are they competing in the area of “good mothering” but also in “hotness.”

Pissed off, type B

A smaller handful, mostly attachment parenting supporters, felt the cover was sensationalist for their own reasons: it not being representative of the reality of extended breastfeeding—which is usually considered to be breastfeeding for more than one year, but is not usually done quite so…shall we say…flagrantly as is depicted in the cover cover image. Indeed, one of the critical comments from a non-supporter of this kind of parenting snidely questioned whether this mom would pull her son aside for some breast milk after soccer practice if orange wedges weren’t good enough. Realistically, most people who breastfeed, still, at these older ages do it perhaps once or twice a day for bed time or quiet time alone at home.

Also the singular focus on breastfeeding for an article that was supposed to explore attachment parenting overall (of which breastfeeding is an important part, but only one of eight tenets) was puzzling to those who understand AP. This picture didn’t capture the spirit of attachment parenting that parents who practice identify with—mostly that it is very child-centered. (I think most people familiar with and supportive of attachment parenting would have preferred the second photo I show above.) Overall, it seemed to offend attachment parent proponents, though I did see one (and there could likely be more, but this is definitely a minority view) commenter that thought the cover was great in its defiance and her look of just daring someone to give her shit about how she chooses to raise her child.

Generally pissed off and fed up

Perhaps the most common response of all among those identifying as mothers was disgust at a media outlet once again “pitting women against each other” or “fueling the mommy wars.” These comments were often tagged on to those expressed by the previous A and B “pissed” versions, encompassing a range of secondary views on the matter, but generally saying “leave moms alone,” “we’ve had enough” and “we won’t play this game!”

Consensus?

So, what message did the cover convey? TIME skeeved out and pissed off a lot of people!

Obviously, it meant different things to different people—as images often do. But in this case, the meanings seemed particularly disparate.

If TIME sought to critique attachment parenting harshly, I would say it was somewhat effective conveying this with the cover, but not entirely. Many—moms especially—missed that point and were put on the defensive, thinking the question was straightforward and assuming they weren’t “Mom Enough” according to whatever this standard TIME was reporting on was.

If TIME was aiming to bring forth a better understanding of attachment parenting, the cover image was a huge fail, because it’s depicting something with many nuances in an extreme manner. It could be argued that TIME was trying to show one facet of attachment parenting—the so-called extremist—but I’m not sure that its audience is well-versed enough in the subtleties to actually understand that.

Some people chided TIME as a cheap rag scrambling for relevancy that has pulled stunts like this before, with a history of being provocative (Hitler as Man of the Year, 1938). Others reluctantly cheered its business savvy and marketing brilliance for stirring the pot and creating controversy to push sales, regardless of the quality of journalistic integrity.

I suppose it matters what your metric is—sales or clear messaging that gets your point across. Not knowing TIME’s aim (though I have my own suspicions) it’s not clear whether its message was conveyed, but if I had to call it, I’d say it’s a win in the attention grabbing/sales side but a lose in the clear messaging side—that much seems obvious.

* colors are weird! see footnote!

I’m a bit of a perfectionist professionally. I’ve never missed a deadline. Once my computer died right in the middle of a client’s newsletter cycle. I went out and bought a new one, installed all the needed software and got the job done on time—with my near two-year-old in tow the whole time. See this press release? It’s dated my child’s birthday. The actual day my kid was born. I think I posted that early in labor, sometime mid-day. Not only am I on time for clients (and employers) but I’m on point. Everyone makes mistakes once in a while, of course, but a perfectionist genuinely feels bad about a mistake, fixes it promptly, apologizes and does better next time.

In my personal life, it’s a whole other story!

The past couple of weekends I’ve been doing some home improvement projects and my lack of perfectionism in my own life for my own things really was thrown in my own face—by me. I paint as well as I can. I hate the process of taping off ceilings and trim, though, and while I told myself this time I’d do it, I did about 4 feet of taping, got impatient and decided—screw it, I have a good and steady hand and I can do it without tape. For the most part I did and it looks fine. That’s me. Fine. The hallway by our bedrooms still isn’t done and I don’t think I’m going to make my self-imposed deadline of this Friday because I’m just over it, and I am totally OK with that. It will get done when it gets done.

Another weekend project was installing a backsplash in my kitchen. Overall, for a non-handy person, I think it looks pretty good and I am proud of it. Is it perfect? No! And I’m not going to waste my time detailing all the ways it’s not perfect. No normal person who comes to the house would probably notice (OK, they might, no slam against them, but would they care? I sure don’t think so!)

As long as we’re talking about imperfection and missed goals, let’s talk about my body! I’ve been scribbling out and rewriting weight loss goals on my calendar all year. I have been losing weight, and I am generally fine with my body, but ideally, I need to lose 10-15 pounds. I’ve had mini victories, in fits and starts, and I have no doubt that eventually I will succeed in reaching my goal, but, if I was doing this weight loss and getting in shape work for a client, I’d have been fired by now!

And…this is so unlike me…remember that Sketchbook Project thing I signed up for? Due postmarked next week? I’m scrambling to get it done. I never scramble at the last minute on projects for others. But, that’s just how it goes sometimes when you are self-employed, your own projects come only after your client projects—and all the work of holding the house together—are done. (I won’t even go into detail on how far behind I am on my Code Academy lessons!)

Taking a break from all the home improvement projects, I went to hot yoga yesterday. Here, my imperfection smacked me upside the head like a 2×4! Sweating my ass off, struggling to hold poses I’m not nearly as deep into as I should be, feeling so tired, almost broken. But instead of breaking, I melt. I ooze into my imperfection and my thoughts go to my dear husband and child at home, playing together, somehow getting along with out me so I may have this time. And I think of how much they love me, as imperfect as I am, and it’s so wonderful!

Clients and bosses don’t love you. They may like you a lot, you may do a great job for them, like I do. I get so much satisfaction from a job well done and having people paying me for my work being very pleased with what I’ve done for them. But, oh, how much more satisfaction do I get from people who love me NOT for my perfection, but without even a thought of my imperfection! They love me because I am me and because I am theirs! They just appreciate that I do things like paint and try to keep up our house and make them food and cuddle them. I don’t have to be a professional at any of it for them—though I am a damn good cook!

* A word about color: The color in these photos looks a little off and I don’t have time to futz with the settings, but in person, I’m happy with it! A friend asked which shot best represented the color and it kind of depends where you stand and which lights are on. Neither pic looks quite right to me, but the rosier I think are closer. I would say the colors are fairly neutral bluish greys, but the darkest grey, when you’re in the room picks up the purple-ish counters (which I don’t want to keep forever anyway, but felt like I had to work with for the time being…) just wanted something very basic and neutral without being just plain white or cream.

I came across an intriguing post on Facebook the other day about what Barbie’s actual measurements would be if she were a real woman.

I reposted because the numbers had never hit me quite like that before and what first came to mind was poor Barbie—she can’t even walk upright and doesn’t get to eat much. I didn’t think poor me, I have to try to attain this body and it is so very hard to do so.

It started up a bit of a conversation between some who tended to agree that Barbies weren’t great for kids to play with and others who thought they were just fine and had fun memories of playing with them themselves. One commenter joked that she’d be every man’s dream and I wasn’t sure if she was being straight or facetious, but I thought, no, the average guy appreciates a nice set of boobs, but a figure like this would be, I hate to say it—laughable, and not truly desired by most men.

Personally, I don’t have a big problem with Barbie, but I think a lot of it might just be because she holds little power or interest in our house with my daughter. She’ll play with the dolls she has from time to time, but she prefers to build with blocks or make things out of paper, play doh, and stuff like that. I wondered, though, what Barbie means to my daughter. Now, I don’t know if she even knows Barbie, as in the blonde, name-brand iconic doll. She only has a Belle version (yeah, Belle from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, which she has never even seen, I think this just happened to be the doll they had at Giant when I got the idea to buy her a doll) and some cheap Japanese anime-looking thing my mother-in-law got her. So to her, they’re just dolls. But, do they hold any influence in terms of being “models” to her for what a woman should be?

I asked her some questions about the Belle Barbie and contrasted it with a flat wood child dress-up doll, as you can observe in the video opening this post. I think her responses reveal a mixed bag of meaning. She says that the doll looks like a real lady and in fact, looks like mommy. (Really? Gee, thanks!)

When asked what the doll does for a job, she assigns a job based on what she is doing at the time—art—as well as what she perceives my job to be (art). Beyond that, she seems mostly focused on hair length and style and doesn’t read the doll as particularly skinny. This in itself could be problematic to some, since, according to real measurements, she would be rather skinny, but then again, the child said the doll looked like me, who is not particularly skinny—which makes me think that maybe children are not as focused on weight as adults are (or at least my child is not).

However, when asked if she thinks everyone should look like the doll, she says yes, albeit with a mischievous looking grin. But when asked what happens to people if they don’t look like the doll, she says we have to make them look like “you,” meaning to me, like the real people. The rest of our conversation gives a bit of a jumbled perspective. She point blank says she feels good about herself and that the dolls don’t make her feel bad, and when pressed, she decides she’s had enough and exclaims “I’m busy!”

This is the part I love the most about the whole thing, I think. She was busy painting and humored me for a bit about the dolls, but then she just wanted to get back to what she was doing which was clearly more important than the dolls. It seemed to me that she wasn’t really interested in how the dolls looked in the same way adults would be (hence the disconnect between my questions and the kind of answers she was giving).

I don’t love Barbie, I just don’t see the doll as dangerous as some people do. I’m not saying that Barbies don’t represent an unrealistic image of the female form. It’s fairly obvious that they do. Some more than others. Nowadays there are a wide variety of Barbies. But what is less clear is how girls at various ages interpret this unrealistic form. And whether it matters. Few toys are realistic. Children have huge imaginations. And I just don’t know if younger girls are seeing these Barbies the way adult women (or ever older girls) do. Maybe my kid is not the best barometer of the damage Barbie can cause, since she’s not that into them. Still, I think her reactions to the questions about the dolls and their appearance and her own feelings were interesting in the way they didn’t fall in line completely with the kind of reaction one might expect—no noting the stark difference between the real mommy and the doll, no saying mommy was fatter, no giving the Barbie a fluff “job” like “princess” or something. She was very focused on the real people setting the tone for what went on and the dolls just being stand ins for us (even the flat little girl who played with wolves was a stand in for my daughter, herself, who is forever playing such make-believe stories). Most of all, though she just wanted to get back to painting her own picture!

I think what’s probably more important and effective than blaming plastic dolls for girls’ self doubt and unrealized potential is to make sure they have other stuff to do and other “role models” in the form of real, living, breathing women who are involved with them and not themselves emulating the Barbie lifestyle.

I went through a rough patch with weight when I was about 10–13 or 14. At first, I didn’t even know I was fat and I didn’t care. My mom, whether it was by strategy or by accident, was pretty nonchalant about it. I got lead roles in school plays as Evita (in a production highlighting various Broadway shows) and as Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, so no discrimination there. (Not bragging, these were small potatoes, just saying to illustrate that I was obliviously confident back then, until….). It was only over some time and a series of events—a family member made a comment about my weight, kids were making fun of me, and an ineffective doctor asked me “Is there anything you want to talk to me about?” (to which I replied, uhm, no) and then he mentioned my weight—that I started to feel bad about myself. It had nothing to do with plastic dolls, but about real people in my world. Let’s not pass the buck to Barbie while failing to watch what we as people actually do and instead make sure we actively engage with our girls. Surely, living people can have more impact than dolls.

By the way, this is what I looked like during the interview. No makeup. Unwashed hair pulled into a braid. Decidedly un-Barbie-ish! I am currently about 10 lbs overweight and not usually glamorous, either. And, just for fun, a pic of me at 10 as Dorothy.

I’ve said and done some awful things in life. Nothing criminal, really, but, I’ve said mean things to people I love. I’ve acted selfishly. I’ve acted violently. Some of these recently. There have been periods of better behavior. Periods of calm. I have not really given adequate focus to my spirit, though. I have not put enough effort or intention into truly cultivating lovingkindness and compassion. Even with a hopeful blip last spring half-reading Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life  it quickly fell flat and I was back to my usual self.

I feel like I have come to a place, though, now, where I can take the leap. That phrase comes naturally to describe what I mean to say, and is coincidentally the title of a book I’m reading (slowly) right now. Taking the Leap: Freeing Ourselves from Old Habits and Fears is Pema Chodron’s latest. It focuses on shenpa or “attachment” or ” being hooked” and helping the reader see how certain habits of mind tend to “hook” us and get us stuck in states of anger, blame, self-hatred, and addiction. The idea is that if we can recognize these patterns, they instantly begin to lose their hold on us and we can begin to change our lives for the better. She talks about how this path entails uncovering three basic human qualities—natural intelligence, natural warmth, and natural openness. “Everyone, everywhere, all over the globe, has these qualities and can call on them to help themselves and others,” Pema says.

I am only at the beginning of the book (I am reading at least 3 others concurrently, but do need to focus a bit, don’t I?) but boy do I need it! I have been having a lot of difficulty in my relationship with my husband lately. I have been feeling like he is very selfish and uninterested in my happiness, to summarize a whole host of painful details. I am trying to muster the spiritual and emotional strength to not be so self-centered myself, either (ironic that I am accusing him of this, while I am saying “I am not getting enough”). It is difficult because I feel wanting for nurturing myself.

I also have issues of shenpa with judging and always trying to find fault. Even in abstract things or things that don’t directly affect me. Parenting, politics, whatever. Pema, in an interview with Bill Moyers, notes that there is “something delicious about finding fault, even in ourselves,” and we do have to let it go to find peace. Not surprisingly, this comes from insecurity.

Pema says, “Alot of us are just running around in circles pretending that there’s ground when there isn’t any ground…somehow, if we could learn to not be afraid of groundlessness, not be afraid of insecurity and uncertainty, it would be calling on an inner strength that would allow us to be open and free and loving and compassionate in any situation. But as long as we keep trying to scramble to get ground under our feet and avoid this uneasy feeling of groundlessness and insecurity and uncertainty and ambiguity or paradox or any of that, then the wars will continue, the racial prejudice will continue, the hatred of [people with a different sexual preference, skin color, politics] it will always continue because you can’t avoid being triggered…” The trigger she means is the shenpa.

So, I was all wrong in a recent Facebook post (and so many other things) about “avoiding situations that oblige you to be inauthentic.” No, you have to embrace the discomfort. Perhaps not be inauthentic, but understand that there is no separate self and be mindful of why it is you are uncomfortable.

I think that sometimes, to some people, I come off as confident, but in reality I am actually quite insecure. I have made a life project of scrambling for ground and as I am aging, it is beginning to become quite clear that ground is shifting and that my best investment, per se, is in my spiritual wellbeing.

This may sound selfish, but my spiritual seeking has been spawned partially from a sense of wanting to be protected. I have come to a point in my life that the only way I can be content and assure my sanity is through spirituality. People will always do annoying things. Why are they annoying? It must be me. Why am I threatened? (I am finally admitting that what I feel is threatened!) I know that I will never achieve great wealth, no matter how hard I work—there have been missed opportunities, and we could save, save, save and work very hard and then suffer an economic meltdown beyond our control. My interest is, at least partially, in developing the spiritual strength to weather that, should it happen. I am an aging woman and my beauty will fade, no matter how healthy I keep myself. I need to be comfortable in who I am beyond how I look. My child may not do everything I want. She may disappoint. My husband may be cruel. My friends may abandon me. A whole host of awful things may befall me. I simply can’t pin my wellbeing on things that are inherently fleeting. What’s more, all this lifelong grasping for ground has left me feeling not at peace and even when I let go, just a little, and think on things in the direction of mindfulness, I begin to feel more peace. So, I think, it works!

I have to be honest with myself without being too hard on myself, though, and this will enhance my compassion toward others. And compassion toward  others is certainly a much more worthy goal than protecting myself, isn’t it? One may want to say “we are all works in progress,” but the first thing that came when I captioned my image and got the idea for this post was “we are all a work in progress”—the singular—which is a little magic in its observance of something universal and whole, and that there is no separate self. So hard to remember, but so important.

I often think to myself how good I have it. I am so over the blog posts and feature articles about how hard parenting is. Yes, I have my grumpy days, but most days I really do think, “Damn! Am I lucky!” This “Don’t Carpe Diem” one was really popular recently, and while I get it, it really didn’t resonate with me as much as it annoyed me. I kind of actually do carpe diem (to use her parlance), and while at the end she gets to the point that we should pay attention to the good things and be grateful, and offers some lovely examples, I really don’t buy  the “parenting is like climbing Mt. Everest” analogy. Really? Something like 1500 people in all of history so far have climbed Mt. Everest. Billions of people have had children. In the comments to the Carpe Diem post, there were actually people saying that if you don’t think it’s hard, you’re doing it wrong! I don’t think people should feel bad about themselves or feel guilt if they have a bad day—or week. But, I think people need some perspective.

I just saw another one today—14 Reasons Why Being A Stay At Home Person Sucks. And then there’s the pissing contest about who’s got it harder, working moms or stay-at-home-moms. What an odd thing to want to argue—I’ve got it harder than you! Well, I’m here to say that I love my life—sure it probably is easier than many people’s, but “the complainers’” lives are also probably easier than most of the world’s population, and people throughout history as well. And I am so grateful.

I am hesitant to post this because in some ways, in the “mommyblogosphere” it actually seems subversive to be happy, without qualifications, about your life and your kid. People will think you’re bragging, or maybe just misery loves company more than someone saying how wonderful things are when another person may not be feeling so wonderful. But, I think it’s important to talk about when we’re happy, too. I think the “parenting is so hard” meme has just gone way too far.

I would challenge the Don’t Carpe Diem types to actually, yes, try to savor the moments, even the “screaming Target” ones (I seriously don’t understand how asleep at the wheel one has to be to find themselves in a situation where their kid has taken merchandise off the shelf or opened food in the store unbeknownst to them, and I don’t get the tantrums in stores thing, but I digress, maybe those anecdotes are for effect). But savor those, too, yes, do try. Much has been written about mindfulness and how it actually alleviates stress and makes people happier (Google it). Counting the minutes til your day ends? On a regular basis? Something is wrong with how you manage your days.

I remembered in the back of my head a post I’d written before, generally on this topic, though I didn’t remember it being quite so far back in time—actually when my kid was in the supposedly “terrible” twos! It’s heartening to know that more than two years later, I still feel the same. Maybe the good times can last! My post doesn’t even touch on comparisons between the average American mom and those in Africa who have to walk 5 miles to get water or something. Doesn’t even touch on the blessing of having healthy kids (as most of us do) versus a kid in the cancer ward (imagery my dad, who works in a hospital, was quick to invoke when we were discussing the relative hardness of parenting). My post is about much lighter things than those.

I was discussing this with my mom the other day. How happy my life is now, these golden years of long days (but for me, seriously not long enough) at home with my young child. I worry about the transition out of these days. I often envision my mom with me, back in the 70s, before my siblings came along, just us. Long days. Baking. Playgrounds. Doing art. Reading. A young, young mother just in her early 20s. I envision idyllic days for her. But, they had less money than we have now, and presumably more worries (?) She didn’t have the internet (for better or for worse). And, she was so young. I asked her if she had any fears or anxiety in her time about what would happen someday if X, Y or Z happened—because the flipside of gratitude can often be anxiety about losing what you’ve got. At least for me, if I don’t keep it in check. She told me she used to think, “OK, what is the worst that could happen?” And, she told me, she saw those “worst things” actually happen (including the death of a child). She observed that all these things happened, and, there she was, surviving. And there she was that day on the phone with me, dropping some serious knowledge on her daughter. Maybe she ought to have a blog.

Anyway, here is my old post:

From October, 2009

Reading The Women’s Room, fiction from 1977 that paints a really ugly picture of women’s lives in the 50s and 60s, I am struck with what a very easy and pleasant life I have. My mom suggested we read the book; one of her friends is reading it for a book group. So far, so good, if not a little much. Nobody’s happy. I suppose there are moments of happiness, or at least of relief, but overall, the women seem so unfulfilled, oppressed, and, well, sad. In addition to this novel feeding my obsession for mid 2oth century American socio-realist entertainment, I have become a big fan of the popular Mad Men series, watching every new episode and catching up on the old ones on DVD. The women of Mad Men do a little better than those in The Women’s Room, but there’s still much to bristle at.

I want to know, was it really like this? My mom was a hippie artist type in the 70s, married to my dad, a long-haired herb toking guitar god who worshipped her as his “primordial woman,” while making the modest living a non-college grad with smarts and a work ethic could still make back then. So this stuff was actually before her time. She told me she didn’t think it was quite like this for all women, reminiscing about her own mother, who would’ve been living this life during the period covered in the book, and thinking of her own mother-in-law. Both worked outside the home (one in a canning factory—sad, monotonous labor—the other as a milliner and in retail—something she liked) neither were sexually repressed (as far as we can tell), and both had nice husbands—my grandpas. My mom said she thought maybe it was a New England upper middle class thing, these tortured women. She said our lowly Eastern European immigrant people in the working classes in the city were different. Our people simply didn’t have time for the ennui. They were too busy getting by. I don’t know, but, boy is life different for me now than what’s described in The Women’s Room and what I see on Mad Men.

I live like a queen.

I don’t have to keep a particularly sparkling clean home. Although I keep it orderly, basically clean, and bug-free, my husband doesn’t really have any expectations of me in this area. Or, maybe I just haven’t tested him, but why would I want to? I have a certain standard for my own surroundings, of course. I get to go to the gym, go shopping (I’m not a big shopper, so by this, I mainly mean grocery or house supply shopping or toys), hang out with my adorable one girl child. It’s a dream! I also get to work a little bit, earn some money, stimulate my brain and interact with serious adults just enough to keep myself “sharp” with a foot into the door of the “real world.” We’re not wealthy, but I don’t worry about money when I go on myfrequent stops to Whole Foods for a snack, Starbucks for a smoothie for my girl and a coffee for me, Walgreens for some fresh Play Doh or new markers, Macy’s for an occasional Clinique treat for myself, or books, books, books from Amazon. (I swear, this post is not a commercial and I am not being paid by any of these companies!) Oh, and my husband is not selfish or brutish in the bedroom, either, although he can be a little bit messy in other rooms of the house. He’s just a normal guy and my best friend.

Women back then were expected to keep a spotless home (or so it seems) and had fewer modern technologies to help them do so. The “exotic” foods that light up my days (sushi, kombucha tea, chips and salsa, dark chocolates, microbrews) weren’t readily available. I mean, in Mad Men, even cosmopolitan Don Draper admits he’s never had Mexican food! Most women had more than one child, increasing the work load and decreasing the magic significantly, in my opinion (but that’s fodder for a whole other post, and purely a matter of individual choice). Women didn’t get to choose whether to get pregnant, at least not as easily as we do today, with so many birth control options available to us on one hand, and fertility help on the other. Women didn’t get to choose whether they were going to work or not, what they would do for work, or when, either.

I realize that even today many women don’t have that choice about work. Some need to and don’t want to. Others want to and can’t get it. And then there are the very lucky ones, like me, who have the rarefied experience of doing just enough satisfying work, on their own terms, and I get to do this while enjoying the cool experience of raising a “perfect” (wink wink) daughter in her early pre-school years from the comfort of home.

I gush about my girl because she is so gorgeous, so smart and so good. She is a genuine pleasure to be around. I actually enjoy hanging out with her, going to the coffee shop, doing art at home, going on outings to farms, playgrounds, museums and such—just us. Sometimes I think a mom who really likes her child is rare, too (from some of what I read online), and I don’t know whether that’s just them or their lousy circumstances that detract from the pleasures of parenting. (Or maybe complaining makes for more of a sense of camaraderie? Or website hits?)

Anyway, so often I find myself thinking how good I have it and that maybe it’s not so common to have it so good. Other times, I do get into minor slumps, feeling a little bit of that spoiled, suburban ennui that seems so shameful. I get testy with my husband, thinking he doesn’t help enough around the house or something. But, when I look at the whole picture of the world around me, and history falling off behind me, I am struck by what a glorious time in my life these years are, spent basically just chilling out and enjoying life with my small child at home.

Someday, I will have to either go back to work for someone else or build my business with more intensity. My girl will get older and will want friends other than me. Maybe the fact that these golden years of my daughter’s babyhood are but a short stage of my whole life adds to their fun and beauty, and tolerability—knowing I don’t have to stay home, forever, with a gaggle of children and do housework, the lifestyle that seemed to ruin so many women back in the day. (But, maybe I would even have liked that, who knows? I could see finding happiness in that.)

Everything changes. And, I do worry, just for a minute here and there, about what if this all got taken away from me. What if I lost my contract or my husband lost his job? Things would be harder. We’d be OK, but the ease of it all would vanish and I’d have to readjust a few things, for sure. I don’t even venture into the territory of worrying about if something happened to my child. That’s too scary.

I’m sure I will find plenty of happiness in my future, but damn, are things great for me now, and I just want to be able to look back and remember it in this post.

Mies van der Rohe, a design hero of mine, once said “I don’t want to be interesting. I want to be good.” He meant his architectural designs, of course, but what are we doing other than designing our own lives? The comparison can be pondered generally about life, as well. Interesting or good? By “good” Mies likely meant serving a purpose, in the form follows function vein. And without superfluous decoration. As explained in the Wikipedia entry, he strove for a minimal framework of structural order balanced against the implied freedom of free-flowing open space. I could go on and on relating minimalism to contentment, but then I wouldn’t be being minimalist, so I hope, dear reader, that you “get it,” at least a little.

Interesting or happy?

Recently, I stumbled upon Penelope Trunk, a former startup exec, now homeschooler, conflicted work-at-home mom, blogger and generally supersmart and interesting ultra drama queen, who is going to say in her forthcoming book (I think) that it’s better to have an interesting life.

She has many posts on her blog about a happy life vs an interesting life, including a quiz she says helps determine whether your life is happy or interesting. My result was -1, which means: You are suspiciously well balanced. Or lacking a self-identity. I’m not sure which. I am going to go with well balanced. I don’t seek happiness, I seek contentment, which is even better, but maybe even more boring.

For me, it is more important to live a happy/content life. I think it is  important to be able to find it without relying on material things or even other people. As I type this, I don’t know that valuing this is, necessarily, that much different from having an interesting life, it must depend on who’s assessing it, and I can only assume that each person must be responsible for assessing whether their own life is interesting or not. I mean one person’s interesting, is another person’s harried. I hate harried.

Trunk says in another post, “I think I want an interesting life. Not that I want to be interesting, but I want to be interested. I’m talking about what I think is interesting to me. I want to choose things that are interesting to me over things that would make me happy.” I do, too, but I don’t believe that I have to live in New York, change jobs alot (or even have a job), or insist on alot of choices to be interested. In fact, I am overwhelmed by being interested.

Part of my “problem” is that I am interested in too many things. I wake up, thinking I’m going to check e-mail, see what’s up on Facebook since I last checked before going to bed (and sometimes if I wake up in the middle of the night) and then move on to my day. But, I often stumble upon a link someone posted, or remember something I wanted to find out, then one thing leads to another, and another and I am dreaming up some new side project or buying a book I must read, or finding out about something I must try. This happens too much. This (and having to actually work to come up with money for living and tuition) is why it took me 10 years to complete an undergrad degree. To some extent, this keeps me from achieving the Miesian goal of being “good” (jack of all trades, master of nothing). To get good, you need some focus, right? I’m good at focusing on specific projects, like in a work environment. I am good at meeting deadlines for others, but when it comes to the openness of my own mind, my own life, it’s another story.

One such recent Facebook post (thanks again, LotusBluMama) lead me to this idea of keeping a logbook (instead of a full-on journal, where, you know, you have to write longhand sentences and full thoughts). The logbook is brilliant. Quick bites of things that hit you that may be useful or interesting to remember. I started one for the new year and already what stands out to me is how I want to be more present with my child. So, I have to find more interest in things I can do with her than in my internet explorations, or  at least strive for more balance than I have now. This is likely to be my last winter at home with her and then, last spring, and maybe even last summer, before school and bigger-kid life sets in. I need to be more focused on savoring this time. I need to be present.

A Mayo Clinic article talks about cultivating contentment and lists among its tips devoting time to family and friends, and living in the moment. I know I have heard in yoga practice that being present is key to contentment. I would like to find more scholarly articles, maybe studies on this to link to, but I think in my heart I know it (INFJ, here). And as I try to complete my thoughts and wrap this post in a good way, my girl is literally clamoring for my attention and so I must go.

This post is shared, but by no means complete. But if I don’t come back to it for a while, it’s a good thing, because it will mean I have found the strength to focus on things to make me more good. And, in one is good the way Mies meant it, they are bound to also be interesting.

I guess it was just a really good class (Jennifer at Mind the Mat). I’ve tried classes now and then, some were alright, others just bleh. Now, I want to find ways to go again—same studio, same instructor. It was just that good. She had the perfect pacing of challenge and rest. She incorporated partner assists that were actually really effective and not awkward. I did an assisted handstand! I never do handstands! I sweat my ass off. It was wonderful

I will still do my at-home practice, of course, because really I can go to a studio, at most, once a week. I really saw today, though, how complacent I’ve gotten just doing my DVDs. It is hard to focus in your own home. Your kid needs something. There’s dust under the TV cabinet. My laptop is right there. Do I have e-mail? I am re-committing to make more of an effort in my home practice, but I think this is the year that I will add real, live classes.

I’ve actually been doing yoga semi-consistently for a couple years now, and posted about it before in past blogs, below, but I can’t say I’ve progressed in my practice. So, in addition to “brown bagging it” I am going to enjoy feasting on classes with some regularity this year.

From July 2010

I came across an article in the NYT that showed a side of yoga I don’t really know. I mean, it’s not that hard for me to see that this side would be out there, that it would exist, but I guess it’s just not on my radar. It makes sense that anything people enjoy could also become a source for business and enterprise, but it’s just not what yoga means to me.

The article opens saying “There is so much going on in John Friend’s life right now that an assistant once teased him about waking just before dawn and calling to ask for coffee, only to be reminded that he, Friend, was in Quito, Munich or Seoul, while the assistant was back at home base in the Woodlands, a cushy suburb north of Houston.”

That’s funny. Too busy, too crazy, scattered. The exact opposite of what yoga is supposed to be. To me.

I do yoga in any old comfortable clothes, in my house, with a DVD, while my kids plays around me. It brings me peace. It gets my blood flowing. It cleanses me, centers me, balances me. I need this. Alot.

I don’t get the expensive classes, retreats and gear. Yoga is almost like brushing my teeth, but more special. Maybe it’s like a religion, too. People go on religious retreats, I guess. But, for me, it’s just a part of my day I really love that I need to use to keep me on track, mentally, physically and spiritually.

From March, 2010

I came across a post on Slate’s Double X blog the other day that was a great intersection of some of my most keen interests—work-life balance, feminism and yoga! The headline was “Yoga Mats Won’t Solve Your Stress Issues” and the HTML title to the web page was “Buying things won’t keep you from stressing out”; both intriguing titles that may misrepresent the point the poster was trying to make, but that play nicely into a point I would make.

First, about the post: It springboards from a recent New York Times Magazine piece, “Depression’s Upside,” arguing that the contemporary norm of alleviating the discomfort of depression through drugs short-cuts the important problem-solving process we need to go through to attack why we’re sad. The post asks “Could the same be said about stress?” And points to an article in Feminism & Psychology that makes a similar case—that efforts to stamp out women’s stress ignores the very real problems that are stressing us out, namely working for a living while running a household. What’s more, when mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy, so women’s stress also can have deleterious effects on the kids and husbands in our lives.

Double X’s post says “She’s got to remain calm at all costs. Thus, responsible women are on a perpetual quest for so-called ‘balance,’ which, of course, is impossible to achieve.” And, according to the Fem/Psych piece, society is telling women they can resolve work-family tensions by fixing themselves. “As long as women are increasingly helped to view stress—and their own emotional reactions to it—as the enemy to be vanquished, possibilities for widespread social critique and social action will be effaced.” Double X says, “Women see their stress as a personal problem and not a structural one, such as lack of family friendly workplace policies or affordable housing… it would be nice if the few things that busy women did for themselves [to relieve their stress] weren’t regarded as a new category of ‘work.’”

Now, I agree that women, working moms in particular, are stressed. Who could deny that? Recent pieces/blogs in the Washington Post and New York Times dealt with this, and I became fully absorbed in them, almost like watching a horror movie, reading about these tales of endless days, endless chores and no light at the end of the tunnel. A big feature in the Washington Post magazine really delved into the harried lives of working moms, with one woman’s personal account of where her time goes. Especially troubling was the Washington Post piece talking about how some people actually lose money by working, by the time they are done paying for childcare. Ouch! Thing is, I am one of the lucky ones, as I am not particularly stressed, anymore.

How did I become un-stressed? I have to credit yoga. It could be something else, too, but I do think yoga has so much to do with it and its the biggest, most clear change I’ve made. Ever since January of this year, I’ve been doing about a half hour of yoga 5-6 mornings a week (basically just skipping the day I go running for 2-3 hours, because I just feel too selfish doing all that). It makes alot of difference in my mood. You may remember, I had some rough times with stress previously then finally recognized that things were getting really bad late last year (although I approached that post mostly with good humor). I started out doing yoga as a tool for my weight loss efforts because I thought that doing something to focus my mind and my intentions for the day before mindlessly stuffing random food into my mouth for breakfast would help me make better food choices. Also, it would be a way to start the day with at least a little exercise that would be OK if it was interrupted by my small child (unlike cardio and such, where you need to keep your heart rate up, etc.) And, maybe, just maybe by kid would join with me in some of the poses or at least the spirit of it, and it would be a togetherness thing. It all worked out just like I hoped.

Of course, my child sometimes interrupts me when I’m doing yoga, but as a general rule, I don’t stop what I’m doing unless it’s an emergency or it’s during a transitional pose or something really quick. I do talk to her, if she talks to me, responding to her chatter and such, but it’s all very pleasant and I still feel that I reap the benefits of doing yoga. I still am moving my body in a deliberate, yet flowing, way, that stretches me physically, emotionally and mentally and makes me feel so good. I still am paying attention to my breath. I still know I am doing something with a centuries-old, sacred tradition and that if I am going to be mean or bitchy or petty that that is dishonoring this tradition. The tradition of yoga reminds me, with its opening and closing greeting or wish “namaste” that I am part of the universe and all of the universe is within me, and so I better be nice and not hate because what I am hating is in me, too. But I don’t think of all this consciously at the surface, it’s just kind of there, deep within. And no, I am not perfect. I still lose my temper with my kid sometimes and I still bitch at my husband, but I do it much less and I feel I am on a gentle ramp up to more peace and acceptance as each day goes along.

It took me a long time to like yoga. I tried it many times in various forms and it never really took completely til recently. I think its because this was when my life needed it most, and, because I found a really good, capsulized routine that worked for me. I had the DVD for a few years and tried it now and then, but only recently did it click. For me, it’s the perfect routine because it’s simple enough for me to lose myself in the breaths and the flow, but it’s athletic enough for me to actually feel things and the poses aren’t held too long to the point of boredom or discomfort. That, and the fact that it’s only about 40 minutes, and there are decent breaks in the flow at 20 minutes, 25 minutes and 30 and 35 minutes, if you have less time. The DVD is the Crunch Perfect Yoga Workout and I do the “Fat Burning” one. Seriously. I love it.

Doing something specific for yourself that takes you out of your usual mode and that you know if good for you can do wonders for your attitude and can give you alot of hope. For me, this is yoga. For someone who doesn’t run already, it could be running. (I already ran and so I needed something else, and something with a more spiritual side, although I can find alot of peace in running, too.) I would argue that every person, no matter how busy, can find a half hour a day if they want to.

As to the idea that yoga or other earnest forms of stress-relief are just a band-aid and don’t solve the real social problems that are at the core of why women are so stressed, I’d say that you still have to make it through the day. And frankly, when I dwell too much on the large problems of the world, that gets me down and I feel helpless. Let’s face it, some of these things are just too big, too complicated, and we have to make it through the day and try to do it with some joy and grace, right? We do need to take care of ourselves first, and at the same time we need to be tuned in to the fact that if we are, honestly, stressed out all the time, that it’s just not sustainable. I do believe in working toward bigger social goals that we may be interested in, like gentler workplace policies (for all people, not just families, everyone needs work-life balance) but in the mean time, we do need to take care of ourselves. And, perhaps dropping out a little from the rat race, whenever and wherever possible, instead of this madness of always striving for more and keeping up with the Joneses, is a way of passive resistance that can, over time, effect social change. Maybe doing yoga or participating in some other kind of mindful practice that has nothing to do with paying the bills or keeping up in society would provide the mental cleanse women needed to empower themselves further. Just think, if all these stressed out working moms just said NO, all at once, to being over-extended, what would happen?

Full disclosure: To many, I may not qualify as a woman who would be stressed out, so my reflections may be discounted. On the other hand, my situation may also be viewed as an example of what might be, if one so chose. I do not work full time outside the home at this point in my life. I have a pre-school age child and I work part-time from home. I do not outsource childcare, but she does attend a low-key neighborhood preschool 8 hours a week. I work on average 15 hours a week, sometimes up to 20. For this, I recognize, I am pretty lucky. At the same time, I worked to set the situation up, and, we live a little differently than some peers who have two full-time incomes. On the other hand, in this economy, we are also better off than many who are scrambling to get by on two full-time incomes. It’s not for me to solve all the complicated issues at play in the world, just for me to do the best I can within my own framework and approach others with compassion and understanding.

I am the rare woman (apparently, judging from what I read online) who doesn’t feel particularly guilty about my choices and doesn’t have a problem saying “no” to non-business demands on my time that I’m not interested in. Maybe that’s why I can say to those who would bring something from the local grocery store to a school bake sale—why bother?—and mean it without any snarkiness.

The latest nontroversy in the henhouse of first world privilege was sparked by a piece in last week’s New York Times about whether “‘Store Bought’ Spoils the Potluck Spirit.” There are so many layers to this “very important” discussion. The title and parts of the essay talk about potlucks, but the main issue seems to be surrounding mommies who bake goods for bake sales vs. mommies who drop off store-bought goodies.

As far as potluck dinners someone may be invited to, or office parties calling for contributions, things like that, I don’t see a problem with bringing something store bought. Personally, I prefer homemade food and would make something from home myself, but, not everyone is a cook. I still recall a Harris Teeter cherry pie brought for dessert by couple we had over for dinner and it was amazing.

For bake sales, though, it just seems silly to contribute store bought goods. It’s beyond ridiculous to have a situation wherein people are in a gymnasium paying 50 cents per Oreo or something. The point of the bake sale is the school gaining from the value-added labor put in by the dedicated home bakers for the baked goods, not the markup on costs of ingredients. Or is it? I mean some school districts actually forbid home-baked goods at bake sales due to allergies, lack of controls over home kitchens, etc. So, why in the world even have a “bake” sale?

Honestly, as much as I like baking, the bake sale does seem like a relic of times past in which women had a “signature cookie” (I do!) and keep flour, sugar, butter and eggs on hand in the house. I’m not so sure people do this anymore, in general. But, practical matters aside, the NYT article generated alot of discussion of broader issues from  feminism, to how pressed working moms are, to how needy schools really are…

In the many online responses to the NYT story, we heard angrily indignant outbursts suggesting bake sales are just a way for stay-at-home-moms to show off, we hear of the life-altering anxiety some women feel when asked to bake something (really?!?) and a whole organized discussion on NYT itself showcasing a range of opinions on the matter. There are those who claim it’s sexist to have bake sales because of an assumption that it is incumbent on the women to bake. But, that is about people’s own hang ups. I personally know a man who is a president/CEO  who took a personal day to do holiday baking, so there! There are people who moan that they just don’t have the time. Again I point to my CEO friend, and would also argue that it only takes about a half hour to make basic chocolate chip cookies or a batch of brownies.

Really, though, people, it’s simple: If you don’t like baking or, at any juncture in your life don’t want to bake or don’t have time to bake then just don’t sign up for the bake sale. You don’t have to do everything. You can find another way to contribute, if you wish.

I took great pleasure in dreaming up the cupcakes pictured above—my constellation cupcakes for a space-themed event. I looked up constellations online. I mixed what I thought was just the right shade of blue frosting to represent sky (definitely an abstraction, of course). I had to go to the city to Dean & Deluca to get silver dragees to decorate them with. I didn’t know they’d be so hard to come by, and pricey, when I designed the cupcakes, but I had a vision. And, I won a Starbucks gift card for my trouble (not sure how that factored into the profits of the fundraising event, but mine is not to reason why in this case…)

I am not big on school fundraisers, personally. My view is, charge me more for tuition (in the case of our current private preschool). Or, ask for donations, if it has to come to that. Or, raise taxes for the public schools.

Also, my view about “community” and how to be a part of it has a changed a little since I blogged about baking cupcakes for a preschool affair two years ago, right around the same time a similar (though less widely publicized) blurb came out on the web, and while I still like to bake and will do so at any opportunity given, I’ve had a dose of reality about how much contributing to such things actually makes one part of a community.

After a healthy amount of volunteering, I still don’t feel super connected in my kid’s school community, so it takes something more than this, and I am still trying to figure out what that is.  I have made a couple of friends, but I still feel a little bit like an outsider. That may just be my own issue. I’m not sure why. It could be because since I do work some, I am not free at any and all hours for various activities. It could be because I only have one kid. I don’t know why for sure. But, I’m OK with it, since she’ll be going to another school next year for kindergarten and I don’t know that the public school scene is as insular, and I do know that I don’t care all that much. My kid will find her friends and be fine. We’ll both learn as we go.

I am kind of eating my words about community, though, but stand by my love of baking!

A post from November, 2009

I’m always coming across little things on the web that annoy…the latest being this post on Babble (link now dead) where a woman wrote in a letter about not wanting to make stuff for the school bake sale—and she was asking if she should “raise a stink” or not about being asked to bake something, because, the men weren’t asked (how sexist!) and she was so busy with work (how very important she must be).

I guess there are two kinds of people in the world, whether feminist or not, moms or not, men or women—those who like to bake and those who do not like to bake. Me, I like to bake. I love to bake. And I love having the opportunity to bake something and not have to eat the whole damn thing myself or worse, throw it away in three days when it dries out. So, I was very happy to sign up to make something to donate to my daughter’s preschool for the “cake walk” at a little “fun fair” they are having tonight. For a couple tickets, the kids can participate in a musical-chairs kind of thing where they walk around colored pictures and when the music stops, if they are on a certain square, they win a cake (or cupcakes, as the case may be…my “Constellation Cupcakes” are pictured here…the event had an outer space theme).

Of course, I, too, am busy. I have a toddler who only goes to preschool a couple days a week. I have a freelance design business with deadlines and such. Whatever. Even when I worked full time outside of the home I enjoyed making holiday cookies to bring into the office. The point is, I believe we can all find time to do something nice that will delight and make people smile. Maybe baking is not her thing (this woman who wrote in). That’s fine. Why not just say so and ask if there was some other way she could help. Maybe they need signs or something? Maybe they need someone to sit at the bake sale table for an hour. She wanted to just write a check and be done with it and that’s fine, too. But, then she shouldn’t complain about being an “outsider” among parents and feeling shunned—although I suspect that many people who feel this way are just projecting.

These silly things like bake sales and school activities where everyone pitches in with some hokey active contribution help build community. I got involved early because I want to be in the mix for my daughter. It’s very likely I will have only one child, so I want to plant the seeds early of connections with other parents, families and kids so that she will feel part of a community. Parts of the process of being involved in the fun fair (I helped with other aspects than just making cupcakes) were a little annoying for a type-A, e-mail addict like me—with multiple-day lags in communication, trails of unanswered questions and a very, uhm…flowy…work flow process. BUT, it was good for me to be forced to be part of something kind of amorphous and more laid back that I am used to, and something that I am not in charge of…and to see it all work out, with happy kids and families having a fun time together (hopefully, we will see how it pans out tonight).

For those parents who are too busy to lend a little hand to their kids’ schools, and yet feel like outsiders, I say, you can’t have your cake and eat it, too, if you can’t even be bothered to make a cake. But of course, it doesn’t have to be cake. Find a way you can be part of things—even if its small, make it meaningful and make it more than throwing money at the school. Make an impression. Be part of the community.

And here is my showing from last year’s event. I swear it was intentional. One of my FB friends felt the need to tell me my flower looked like a vagina. See? No respect!

I came across some tweets a couple weeks ago on the Extreme Couponing fraud controversy and was like, what?!? (This, apparently, is old news.) After briefly admiring the cleverness of the numbers game the fraud lady played, I was taken aback by the effort of it all. Coincidentally, a couple days later, a friend of mine blogged about the show, basically capturing my feelings on couponing, extreme or otherwise: It’s not my thing.

Now today, after sitting on this post for a while, worrying about looking like some rich bitch who’s too good to want to save a dolla AND trying to find time to come up with some jazzy imagery, Jezebel posts on couponing, inspiring me to get off my duff and finish my post—and it’s just what I was thinking: most extreme couponers aren’t doing it for the savings.

I remember my mom clipped coupons, for a while. We were a one-income household of three kids and she was doing her part to spend my dad’s earnings wisely. Even mom gave up, though, after realizing that time (and effort) to some extent, really is money. The time it would take to go to this store versus that for the better deal. The time to go through the paper, organize the coupons, keep track of expirations and such. You have to buy two of this, four of that. Sometimes its just better to dash out and get what you want or need when you need it, rather than being lured into buying certain things because you have coupons for them. And, oh yeah, you have to remember to bring the coupon to the store! (I can’t even remember to bring bags to re-use.) OK, well, I guess it’s not that hard, if you keep it basic, but for many women, even this feels just like so much more household drudgery and wouldn’t we really rather be reading the paper instead of combing through coupons for processed foods we shouldn’t be eating anyway? I have NEVER seen a coupon for an apple or a tomato.

These extreme couponers employ strategies like buying multiple newspapers for more coupons (even the “realistic couponer” buys two newspapers), and then stockpiling goods, and buying things they never even would use—just for the thrill of the deal. Or, is it something else that drives them? A yearning for some sense of purpose? Has the dignity of keeping a home been reduced to commercial feats of acquiring the most goods while saving the most money? And at what cost? Does couponing provide them with a feeling of security? Maybe having 100 cleaning wipes, 450 rolls of toilet paper and 250 paper towels in stock makes a person feel prepared for anything? Of course, maybe to many it’s just good fun, and how someone chooses to spend their free time is really not my business. I’m sure many wouldn’t “get” why I’d choose to go run in the woods for four hours. Like the hoarders, though, in my view, extreme couponers seem to be pining for something  beyond a good deal or well-stocked cupboards that I am not sure the couponing experience can deliver.