Can Mom be a Babe?

When your son asks if he can call you "Babe" -- as in, "Hey, babe," -- several lines of thought race through your mind.

You can plead to yourself: Please, please, please, I don't want to raise a Shia LaBeouf, who last month made waves by saying: “If I could meet my mother and marry her, I would. I would be with my mother now, if she weren’t my mother, as sick as that sounds." (Shia, you can call your mother beautiful without EVER going that far. It is sick.)

You can realize he hears his dad calling you babe and be happy with the fact that he recognizes terms of endearment (and genuine affection) in his parents' relationship.

Or you can giggle and ask (because your son is an innocent four years old), "I prefer Mommy, but why do you want to call me babe?"

"Because I love you," he says.

OK, I tell him. That seems like a good reason.

Becoming a joiner, for the kids

As I sit here on a brisk morning, my kids watching "Barbie: Diamond Castle" and eating a second breakfast of pretzel sticks because they can't yet play outside, I contemplate what I have become because of them.

Today, I am A Joiner.

Before kids, I was happy to have a small, family-like circle of friends -- we relied on each other, we entertained each other, we needed little else.

But now, with two pairs of inquisitive eyes watching my every move -- and two little minds mimicking most of it -- I feel the need to be a better role model when it comes to socializing.

When I was a kid, I was timid around most everyone but my family. Extracurricular activities were excruciating. It took me an entire play date (though, of course, they weren't called that then) to warm up. I was reserved (shy?) well into adulthood.

I'm determined to help my kids get past that awkwardness much earlier in life, because I can see they both thrive on interaction with others ... even when mom doesn't.

So I have Joined -- a group of women who meet weekly to discuss the challenges of parenthood. I have Networked -- coffee, lunch, dinner, you name it. I have Signed Up -- classes, lectures, performances.

I have met some wonderful people -- even if I've fretted in preparation for most every meeting.

And my kids are learning that home is safe. Home is where the heart is. But maximum fun can be found when you venture beyond these four walls.

Love being a family, but ...

Friday night is date night for me and my husband.

We decided a few months ago, when my work schedule changed and we needed our babysitter less often during the week, that we'd hire her to give us a regular break from "family" and a chance to once again be just "couple."

It has been amazing.

We escape only for about two hours every week (by Friday night, we're both too tired for major partying), but we've taken the opportunity to try new restaurants. Ones that generally do not serve chicken fingers and fries.

We've also visited our favorite restaurant (we're both Vietnamese cuisine freaks) often enough that the servers recognize us and, most times, can guess our drink order -- something that was status quo before children.

We spend most of our time (on a good night, all of our time), talking about something other than children. A wish list of vacation destinations. Career goals (and, in today's environment, worries). The books/magazines we're reading.

After all, it's one night a week to reacquaint each other with the individual adults that are part of our family.

It's a chance to remember why we got married, and why we stay married.

Worth a few hours of babysitting fees a week, don't you think?

Guys: Would you get pregnant?

Yep, what you're seeing is real. Oprah Winfrey is on her show, rubbing the belly of a man. A pregnant man.

The guy used to be a girl, until he legally changed his gender. He had his breasts removed, but kept his female sex organs for this very reason: in case he decided to have a baby. (If you're wondering, and you probably are, his wife had a hysterectomy and they used an anonymous sperm donor.)

I ... wow.

It's fascinating that this man decided to live as a man, but still wanted to experience something that is inherently female -- the act of giving birth. Think about it: the idea is mainly shocking because of biology. Women are built to have babies and men aren't.

But what if pregnancy and childbirth weren't limited to the female sex? You never know, one day it might not be.

Guys, if you could get pregnant and have a baby, would you do it?

6 hours in 1 car with a 13-year-old

I recently drove to Alabama to visit family, and came back with an unexpected passenger: a childhood friend's 13-year-old daughter. The girl's father lives near Charlotte, and she wanted to squeeze in a visit before school started.

After I'd agreed she could come along, I immediately began to fret. Over six hours in a car with a 13-year-old? How would I entertain her? Surely my iPod Shuffle's lineup of soul tunes, '80s hair metal and the opening strains of "Carmina Burana" would have her politely asking to be dropped off at the next rest stop. So we'd have to actually converse. What on earth would we talk about?

I was even more panicked when my old friend dropped off her daughter for the trip. Daughter? With her perfectly-applied lip gloss, glamorous sunglasses and Dolce & Gabbana purse (courtesy of daddy), she looked more like a 18-year-old young lady than a 13-year-old child. Still, her mom tucked her into my passenger seat with a kiss and a "now, you mind Miss Deirdre," (I inwardly groaned at that) and sent us on our way.

The first few minutes were deeply silent, with only the hum of air conditioner and her rustles through that costly little D&G purse. Then we began to make small talk. And then, since I'm forever curious about relationships of any kind, I seized upon her stray comment about a boyfriend her mother knew nothing about.

The floodgates opened and she talked nonstop for the next six hours.

Even in the era of e-mails, texting and cell phone minutes, some things never change; the kids still pass notes in class and hang out at the skating rink and meet up at the movies. What I found most fascinating was her claim that she's already had five boyfriends. After more questions I remembered that there's really no dating when you're 13; there's only "going with" someone (now it's also "hooking up"), and "talking to" someone, and rotating names in one's mental file of crushes. The girl talked of one boyfriend she'd secured when her best friend called the guy and asked if he wanted to "go with her." He said yes and bam -- it was a done deal. Break-ups are just as arbitrary, handed down over the phone or via note or e-mail, or simply by ignoring the other person until they get the message. "Cheating" can be as simple as a boy having a conversation with another girl. It's all fluid and experimental and surface-level; young ones practicing an adult game.

And yet, this 13-year-old has a good head on her shoulders. She earns great grades, plays on the basketball team and has a tribe of friends she calls her "brothers" and her "sisters." She has a poise and a confidence that I never had as a teenager, and I applaud her mother for raising such a well-balanced child. She told me about a boy who, after she repeatedly turned down his invitations for movies and such, had gotten frustrated and called her "fat." ("I'm not fat, I'm thick. There's a difference," she told me she'd replied. Connoisseurs of the curvy black female form can testify to the accuracy of that statement.) He'd also punched her in the face, she added. I was mortified at the lack of home training on his part, but she breezily explained she'd thrown him across the room. He hasn't bothered her since.

With all this talk of boyfriends, I was getting antsy. Just what was she doing with these boys? But when I asked if she'd ever kissed any of her boyfriends, she said "NO" so emphatically that I believed her. Later in the conversation she shared that she and her best friend "sister swore" that they would remain virgins until they got married.

"A sister swear, that's SERIOUS and important," she said solemnly. "You can't break it. Ever." Her naivete was endearing -- and my sigh of relief was so great ("she's not putting out!"), my foot almost slipped off the gas pedal.

By the end of the trip we were listening to her mix CDs and she was showing me her favorite dances. When we pulled into the parking lot to meet the waiting car, she piled out, all giggles and energy. She gave me a big hug when I handed over her bag. "I had fun!" she announced.

I waved as I pulled away. I was exhausted. But I had fun, too.

Tiger stirs emotions, good and bad

I was e-mailing with some girlfriends about photos of Tiger Woods and his wife and new baby. While most of the comments were cooing and cute ("They'd better hide that girl. Angelina will try to adopt her!"), I found myself in an exchange with one good friend that I wasn't expecting. Here's an excerpt:

Me: I'm really happy for Tiger. I wish his dad had lived to see his granddaughter.
Friend: I'm not unhappy for Tiger, but I don't have enough love for him to be happy. ... As a black person, not just a woman, I've always felt rejected by Mr. Casablanca or whatever made-up race he decided he was. Yes, I accept the accuracy of it, however ... I knew then he'd never end up with a black woman.
Me: Doesn't matter to me what race he married. But I know I'm in the minority on that point.
Friend: It doesn't matter what race he married ... if I felt that someone black had had a chance.
Me: I refuse to hold that against him. So he's not attracted to black women. That's his choice. He lives his life, we live ours.
Friend: You're right. If only he weren't an example of so many men. It's hurtful to be the least attractive of women ...

At this point, I asked if I could mention the conversation on the blog. She said she didn't mind, then continued (the parentheses are hers):

Friend: You understand what I'm saying tho, right? Tiger simply magnifies the issue (or he's the most prominent example): Many men are looking for any ethnicity of woman except African-American. And usually I would say black. But there are many white men who find African women attractive (or end up with them), but don't like (never considered) African-American women.

I avoid this topic, because it depresses me. Black women are the least likely people to get married in America. We're the most likely to raise children alone. And as far as male-female relations go within the black community, some women get really pissed off when they see a black man with a woman of another race. They see it as selling out, or abandoning their race, or as just not giving black women a chance. (As an aside, author Joy Jones wrote a provocative Washington Post essay entitled "Marriage Is for White People" that was heavily forwarded and discussed among blacks. Check it out.)

Race doesn't matter to me in my search for potential partners. The way I see it, people have such a hard time connecting, let alone building committed relationships, that limiting yourself to a certain race may hinder your efforts. Yet I totally understand the desire and preference for people to marry within their race as well.

As I said to my friend, we live our own lives. We make the decisions that are best for us. But let's try not to hold it against others if they make a choice that we wouldn't.

My friend's a mom now. Wow.

This is a special Mother's Day for me, because I got to send a present to one of my friends.

Sure, I know people who have kids, but this is the first year one of my close girlfriends, one of my "Sex and the City"-type girlfriends, has become a mother. And she -- I'll call her Madre -- has taken on a challenge that I think is scary, yet awesome: She's in the final stages of adopting a foster child.

Many of my friends want to have kids, but they're waiting until they're in a committed relationship or married to do so. And Madre, who's a couple years older than me, used to feel the same way. But she really wanted a child, and although she dated energetically and with purpose, she just wasn't meeting the right guy. After much consideration, she started the process of adopting a child through the California foster care system. Almost two years later, she now has an adorable 9-month-old girl.

Madre called me recently while she and her daughter were out for a walk. I could hear the baby cooing in the background. The joy in Madre's voice brought tears to my eyes ... and pain to my heart, because I'm not there to be one of the baby's many doting "aunts." I also want to be there for Madre because what she has undertaken won't be easy. The baby was born to drug addicts, so she had cocaine and pot in her system. Madre said when she first put her daughter on the floor, the baby didn't know what to do; Madre suspects that the previous foster parents, with four other kids in their care, never let her crawl around. Add to that the extra stress of being a busy professional who is also a single mom.

But if anyone can handle it all with good sense, patience and humor, it's Madre. I admire her for starting parenthood when she was ready, and for not letting the prospect of raising a child alone stop her. That baby girl is going to have one of the most fun, most loving, most well-rounded upbringings a kid could have.

As one of the doting aunts I've started doing my part. My Mother's Day gift to Madre? The CD "Rockabye Baby! Lullaby Renditions of Metallica." Like me, Madre's got a little headbanger in her. Might as well start the kid off right!