Hood (eBook)

Prologue

War arises when there is a conflict between groups. We have heard of the Civil War and Gang Wars (e.g.. Crips and Bloods), but do you know about the mother of all wars? The Mommy war. Stay-at-Home moms, like Ann Romney, have been disgraced and put down for having never worked a “day in her life.” Hillary Clinton remarked in 1992 she “could have stayed home and baked cookies” instead of working as a lawyer. In the recent best seller “Lean In” Facebook go-girl Sheryl Sandberg declares “Now I really think we need more women to lean into their careers and to be really dedicated to staying in the work force.”

“The Hood” takes a hard look at this war. It is a first hand account of my life in the trenches - - - some names and events have been altered to protect people’s privacy and for the sake of the story. As a double agent, I have seen the war from the inside - one who has sailed on a beam reach and leaned in and one who has fallen off the boat so to speak and landed at home with the kids.

Can this story help bring peace to the war? Whether we are in the Home Girl Gang (stay at home moms), Parti Girl Gang (part-time moms) or the Go Girl Gang (full time working moms), all mother’s contribute to our world - but what are they contributing?

Mother Teresa, when accepting her Nobel Peace prize in 1979, was asked what we can do to promote world peace. Her answer was simple, yet profound. “Go home and love your family.” Maybe it is time that we all “Mom up” and heed Mother Teresa’s advise rather than engage in mutually assured destruction.

I was forced to enter the Mommy War against my will. Be forewarned, once you become pregnant you are on your way into the Hood and the war whether you like it or not. You can run from Motherhood, but you cannot hide. The Hood will get you in the end; and once you get in, you can forget about ever getting out. The Hood is a lifetime commitment whether you want it or not. Instead of the few, the proud, the marines, we are: the many, the humble, the Hood.

Some Hoods are demarcated either by signs welcoming you to enter or by walls or barbed wire fences warning you to keep away, but Motherhood has no boundaries. This Hood transcends every socio-economic barrier and can be found not only throughout every neighborhood in the United States, but also throughout the entire World. It is more magical than any of Walt Disney’s Hoods and more powerful than any sovereign statehood.

Giving life is much harder than taking it. To be initiated into some street gangs, you must pull a trigger and take a life. This is known as “peeling a wig”. In my Hood, instead of “peeling wigs” we “push heads”. Girls in my Hood must push a head the size of a bowling ball through the opening the size of a kiwi. Giving life is no easy task because as the baby’s head exits your body, your skin may tear open from your yaya to your anus. Alternatively, if you are not “lucky” enough to have a vaginal delivery, your belly will be sliced open like a watermelon so your little baby can exit your body through your uterus.

When gang members get sentenced to the penitentiary, they often build up their muscles by pumping iron otherwise known as “getting their yoke on.” They come out of the penitentiary looking like the incredible Hulk. When you get pregnant, you too will begin to pump up, but instead of muscles, you get the tummy pouch that stays with you even after your pregnancy sentence ends. You “get your pouch on” in my gang.

Gang members often have tattoos or “tacs” referencing their gangs. In my Hood, Mother Nature tattoos you against your will. As the baby grows inside you, your belly and breasts swell like balloons under a water faucet – so much so that your skin stretches to the breaking point leaving lovely stretch marks riddled across your abdomen. Your blood supply doubles to bring more nutrients to the baby, your overworked veins begin to swell. You will not get a blue ribbon, but bluish-green varicose veins in my gang.

Gang members often own the same type of cars. Cars are referred to as “whips” in the gang world. When I pick up my pre-schooler after school, I sat in a parking line behind 20 or so SUVs and Mini Vans. I myself am guilty of driving an SUV. It is the only car I know that can fit a double-wide jogging stroller, surfboard, regular stroller, diaper 6 packs, coolers filled with food and juice, and 10 overdue library books! SUV’s and Minivans are the “whips” of choice for us.

Back in 1989, way before my life on the front line of the Mommy War, I was a senior at the University of California in sunny San Diego. I biked along Torrey Pines road to the final for my political science class on Gender and Politics. While I was biking, I did my best to recall what I had read in Betty Friedan’s book, “The Feminine Mystique” to make sure I would be ready for the last exam. The book’s premise, that a woman could loose her identity to her husband or children, seemed utterly ridiculous to me.

After graduation, I would be on my way to law school and a career. Soon, I would be a lawyer. I would never be defined by anyone but me. I was going to help people who could not help themselves. I would never be a person who answered occupation, “Housewife” or “Stay-at-home Mom” on any census. I believed that with more learning opportunities and chances to get a better education, those ridiculous stay at home moms would hopefully go the way of the dinosaur and be extinct by the time my Generation X joined the working force.

Fast forward to 1999. It was the end of the century. While people partied to the artist formerly known as Prince’s song “1999”, I was busy with my career. Not only was I a lawyer, I was the Hollywood Resident Counsel at the Screen Actors Guild and the litigation supervisor. I was helping the “working class” actor get overtime or even proper meals and an occasional few A list actors. I was also in denial about being pregnant. I didn’t even think about being a mother until I was hospitalized with a kidney infection and was told by my doctor that I could “loose the baby” in my 8th month of pregnancy.

While I was in the hospital, I started to want to become a mother, and started writing a book to my daughter instead of working on legal briefs. After my baby girl was born, I spent four wonderful months bonding with her, but when my Family and Medical Leave Act time was up, I went back to work full-time and full throttle. I agreed with the Hilary Clinton philosophy and way of life - - - instead of staying at home and baking cookies, I continued to work as a lawyer. I was a member of the triple G – “Go-Girls-Gang”. The triple G girls are moms with careers who work full-time away from their children.

I continued to work as a lawyer up until the day I delivered my second baby – a beautiful boy in July 2001. On 9-11, while I was at home on maternity leave and nursing, I watched twin towers fall like a stack of lego building blocks. The devastating images were imprinted in my mind. Witnessing that day, even only on television, shook me to my core. I, like most everyone else in America, was forever changed.

When I returned to work in November, I had to fly to New York to investigate the Screen Actors Guild rerun election. I was stopped by security at the airport and targeted as a potential terrorist. Why? Because my breast pump and the wires attached to it were cleverly hidden in the big brief case I put on the conveyor belt. The TSA thought the Breast Pump was a bomb.

As a member of the Go Girls gang, I had little time for my babies. I felt like a mouse on the wheel of never ending work. In 2002, I finally made a decision. I would try to emulate a friend who was a part-time Los Angeles City Attorney who had managed to straddle her feet on two floating barrels the working barrel and the mommy barrel of life. She was a member of the “Parti-Girl” gang. Parti-Girls work part-time, or should I say, woman are paid half their salary and do twice as much by working at a job and working at home to raise their children.

I submitted a proposal outlining the pros and cons of letting allowing a part-time job and scheduled a meeting with my boss VS, who had never had babies. She punted the ball and told me that I would have to ask the Executive Director of the Screen Actors Guild, BP, if I could go part-time with a 50% pay cut. I was ready to join the PG gang.

Mr. Boss man looked at me, paused for about one second and said: “No. Working part-time as a lawyer sets a dangerous precedent. If you go part-time, then everyone would want to go part-time.”

He looked down. There was no room for discussion or debate. The decision was not “personal”, it was just the reality of working in the Union, and he had the final say.

I had to make a choice – my career or my kids, I chose the dangerous path which I swore only 10 years earlier I would never go down – the path of a house wife and stay-at-home mom. I left the Go Girls Gang and joined the Home Girls gang which is kind of liking going from the Crips to the Bloods.

Ironically, when I started to get involved in local community issues and inquired about running for local office, I was told that if I ran for office I would lose, and that I should stay home and be taking care of and baking for my beautiful babies.

Later I received a Census questionnaire in the mail asking about my occupation. I couldn’t believe what I did next. I marked “Housewife”. Am I a failure? What would Sheryl Sandberg say? Was Betty Friedan right? Did I make...