Tax Payer Dollars At Work or Multiple Births For Fun And Profit

Susan Smith. Remember her, the South Carolina woman who, in 1994 killed her two boys by driving her auto into a lake while the children slept in their car seats? Remember how she went on Good Morning America? That’s when we all knew something about her and her story was not right. Her demeanor, something about her and her performance that morning was just not quite right.

I’m having the same reaction to Ms Nadya Suleman, the Whittier, California woman the press has dubbed “The Octuplet Mom.” In a portion of the interview with the unbearable Ann Curry on NBC’s The Today Show, Ms Suleman volunteered that the biological father was “overwhelmed” by recent events but that she hoped he would want to be involved in the childrens’ lives in the future. Talk about entrapment. Did Ms Suleman bear 14 children to finally get her man? This relationship needs to be investigated.

If the children were all conceived through IVF, how is it that Ms Suleman appears to enjoy not only a longstanding relationship but an apparently complex, ongoing relationship with the sperm donor who she claims is the biological father of all her kids?  Who is this guy? And what does he do? Who’s paying for the premature birth and NICU expenses?

During her televised sit down with NBC, Ms Suleman repeatedly characterized the birth as “a miracle.”  So what then, is a miracle?

According to the American Psychological Association (APA):  miracle. (n.d.) citing Easton’s 1897 Bible Dictionary,* a miracle is defined as :

an event in the external world brought about by the immediate agency or the simple volition of God, operating without the use of means capable of being discerned by the senses, and designed to authenticate the divine commission of a religious teacher and the truth of his message (John 2:18; Matt. 12:38). It is an occurrence at once above nature and above man. It shows the intervention of a power that is not limited by the laws either of matter or of mind, a power interrupting the fixed laws which govern their movements, a supernatural power.

Hmmm.  Wilfully deciding to become pregnant, paying for IVF treatments and then cognitively participating with her doctor neither constitiutes an act of God nor a supernatural happenstance.  What happened here appears less a miracle and more like “a matter of mind.”  

Another Susan Smith moment for me was her appearance. Her nose (her lips especially) doesn’t look “natural.” Did Ms Suleman have cosmetic surgery in a pathetic attempt to make herself look like Angelina Jolie?

If so, how was this cosmetic surgery financed and when?  Was Ms Suleman influenced by the spate of reality shows featuring women with large families like the bewildering Duggars, or Jon and Kate Plus Eight? Does she believe this is her ticket to reality show fame and fortune?

Women have been devising creative ways to make a living in this world since time and memoriam, but when they take their act on the road and publish it on the airways and to the media for profit, that’s when the public, (and justifiably so) is outraged. When a human interest story reaches the airways, it generally brings out the best in all of us, our true altruism. We want to help and we do.

We love a feel-good story.  We love it when we can have a part in making someone else’s life better. For the featured family, the public airways is generally the last resort, turned to when all the other support mechanisms or government has failed. But lately there have been too many Susan Smith-like cases, too many GMA Queen for a Day sob stories, too many Live Ambush makeovers, too many people getting a new car simply for showing up at a taping of a popular talk show; too many people taking advantage and being taken advantage of.

And now Nadya Suleman. Her selfish motives are so obvious and yet who she really is remains a mystery. 14 lives are forever going to be affected by the decisions of this woman. Is she emotionally or mentally disturbed? From where I sit, something is not quite right with her. Mary Kay Le Tourneau was functional while mentally/emotionally impaired, and look how things turned out for her.  There is so much we don’t know about Nadya Suleman and her many enablers.  

Ms Suleman’s choice to bear 14 children, however,  is her private choice. It’s not for her to make the care and feeding of these children a public works project.  These expenses are hers to bear. If she has a longstanding and healthy relationship with a church as she suggests that she does, I think this is where it all should stay, as opposed to the public airways.

Alas, someone will pay for her story. It’s inevitable. It may even become a Lifetime Television Network movie event. Her book will get published and it will sell well. Hell, she may even get a reality TV show just like Jon and Kate, and a big, new house and a bus and Pampers and formula donated by the sponsor.

I hope she will also get regular home visits from Child Protective Services in Whittier, California. That some authority will be appointed to make certain the proceeds from her TV appearances will go to the care and upbringing of the children and not so Ms Suleman can continue to have pink acrylic French tips or more cosmetic surgery. Finally, I hope never to hear about Ms Suleman or her children ever again.

There is precedent. After all, the McCaughey seven born November 19, 1997 were the only family so far to really become famous. Diane Sawyer loves the McCaughey seven, and returns with her camera crew annually to update us on how they’re doing.

The Chukwu octuplets (born in December 1998 in Houston, Texas to Nigerian immigrants) were the world’s first set of octuplets. Born in the United States, the smallest of the octuplets, Odera, died a week after birth. There was hardly any fanfare in this country, but the birth was an international sensation and remains so to this day. Diane is not so interested in them. They appeared recently on The Today Show. It would really be disgusting for Ms Suleman to garner more national attention than either of these families, neither of whom exploit their children or their situations with reality shows.

People need to feel accepted and approved for who they are. Desperate times are forcing people to devise more desperate measures. How many women are out there now closely observing how things turn out for Nadya Suleman?  How many more children are poised to be exploited on reality television? Or become their family’s sole means of support? How many more multiple birth moms are out there waiting in the wings for their big TV break or their 15 minutes or Today Show segment at taxpayer expense?

Tick-tock… tick-tock… tick tock…

Originally posted February 20, 2009

*Retrieved February 15, 2009, from Dictionary.com website: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/miracle

From Blastocyst and Beyond!

Oh, now don’t be hatin’, but children should be seen and not heard.  This is especially true in restaurants, movie theaters, supermarkets, libraries–  any and all public places where people are paying for the privilege to eat, watch a movie, enjoy a leisurely read or are studying in public libraries (yes we do pay for this privilege with our tax dollars).

For you parents who blithely move about the country under the mistaken belief that your child’s protracted shrieks, screams, outcries, growls, grunts, yips, squeals, yells and all manner of vocalizations are just too adorable, I’m here to lovingly tell you–  they’re not.

What they are is inconsiderate, startling, unpleasant, unwelcomed, alarming, distracting and annoying.  They are way, way, way on the negative side of the spectrum of cute and adorable; nowhere near within range.  The longer you allow the outburst to go on, the more my blood begins to boil.  One of us needs to be put out of our misery.  

Only it ain’t gonna be me. 

Now this is the part where you ever so slightly shrug your shoulders and then sheepishly direct one of those “Oh well, nothing we can do about it” glances towards me that’s supposed to make everything wholly tolerable then. 

Oh, oh, of course.  That’s your child.  Everybody and their mother knows they’re not responsible for their behavior, silly me.  Let me just digest my food. After all, what can these hapless parent(s), grown adults with jobs, maybe even piloting our airplanes, possibly do to control their own kids?  How stupid of me.  You’re right.  Let me just pay for my meal and leave. Heaven forbid I should be the nasty old curmudgeon who ruins your dining experience this evening.

Not!

Oh, and I especially  love when your kids are running amuck about the place, hiding under tables, teetering and tottering about with grown folk tripping over themselves  trying  not to  trip over them, or having to stand and wait while walking behind them, or narrowly  avoiding nearly  braining them when  a door opens and oops–  why there’s little Austin or Emily obliviously running by with you cooing and  smiling and coaching ten feet away. 

My most favorite thing is when you allow your kid to approach our table, mid-fork to mouth, and just stand and stare while you sit ten feet away.  After all, your child is just too adorable and I’m the adult so let me just bear this uninvited, unwelcomed, insufferable alien landing.  “If you can’t fix it, you gotta stand it*,” right?

Wrong!

I was eighteen years a single mom.  My only child is now 24 years old.  I received a whoppin’ $25.00 a week in child support.  He said he couldn’t “be involved in this.”  I said ‘I ain’t mad at’cha.’  I didn’t win the love lottery.  What’s the use in crying?  But I chose to continue with the pregnancy.  I could not wrap my brain or my gut around my “choices”  so when that airplane landed on the runway of my life I knew I just needed to decide.  I began to pilot that plane and lift it off the ground.  I experienced turbulence during that eighteen year journey.  I had no encouragement, no help, no support from family.  There was not even proximity.  I found it difficult to start and sustain friendships.  I had no circle.

I did have a few really nice, but sadly transient experiences with some really great people who wandered in and out of my life during my 18 year journey.  One was a lovely young man named David.  At one time, I worked three jobs to support myself and my then nine month old son.  I worked full time for a group insurance company, weekends during the day at  Fotomat, and then four week nights and every weekend at night at a basic cable network operations facility on Long Island.  That’s where I met David, a tall, gangly, 28 year old with a thick, wavy helmet of light brown hair.  He was thin with a long swan-like neck and a giant  Adam’s apple protruding from within it.  He had a deep, breathy, velvety smooth voice and a low, rapid-fire, staccato giggle that makes me smile as I think of it.

The year was 1984 and David was in the closet.  He was gay, and I was his fag-hag.  I was his confidant, his friend, his cover.  Whenever there was a company function, we went together.  We spent a lot of time together outside of work.  He was a delight with my son.  He was one of the dearest, most warm-hearted people I have  ever known in my adult life.

The guys at the facility suspected he was gay, but I could never figure out how.  I had no idea he was gay until he told me, and while I never witnessed David being mistreated, or shamed or belittled or anything, when he told me what he was experiencing there, I believed him.  David decided he needed to move to San Francisco.  Within six months, he was gone.  I received one phone call, but then I myself moved and we lost touch.  I never saw nor heard from him again.

Being a single parent, even under the best circumstances is 100% wretched and 100% joy; 100% giving and 100% receiving; 100% blessing, 100% malediction.  It’s all-in, baby, and women who characterize the SP life  as 50-50 are already standing 100% behind the eight ball. SP is more than just a part of your life–  It’s your entire life but only for a finite and relatively brief period of time. 

In my case, the “parenting” phase was complete by the time my son was 16.  By then, not only did he  know what the expectations were, he was mastering them. He had his baseball league.  He worked part time for the Seattle Mariners.  He was making responsible choices.  He was never in trouble at school or with the law. I was only providing for him materially and guiding him.  I was just his mother– not a parent.

Now I realize some of you appear not to have it as I did.  From conception (yes, we knew right then and there we were pregnant) to birth (I was in labor only two hours, natural birth, no drugs) I won the labor and childbirth lottery.  From blastocyst to this very day, my boy is my joy.  How did this happen?  I was not afraid to discipline him.  I didn’t fear damaging his self-esteem or hurting his fragile  feelings, and you know what..? It didn’t rock my world when he hurt mine.  The expectations I had for him were high and so were my standards and these were never compromised.  

My son was not my “little man” or the “man of the house” or my “Boo.”  He was never my friend, my peer or my confidant.  I didn’t stop being an adult so I could be on his level.  He had enough on his plate just being my son and I had all I could handle just being the best mom I knew how to be.  To this day, I think my son would rather drive steel pins through his eyes than disappoint me and he knows I feel exactly the same towards him. 

I did not tolerate my son behaving badly in public or being disrespectful, rude or discourteous to grown folk.  I did this by letting him see my disappointment on those occasions he indulged those behaviors, and by showing him my approval when he didn’t.  Unwanted behaviors prompted expressions of disappointment and were frowned upon.  Desired behaviors were approved and smiled upon.  Literally.  And you have to stand your ground and stay the course, even when it’s especially hard and you are especially exhausted.

I suspect this is the hardest part of parenting for many.  It’s the part that’s often replete with unpleasantness.  My experience has shown me that parents who fear disciplining their children most are the ones most likely to verbally, physically and emotionally abandon self-control, and they know this about themselves.  The rest of us may have steelier nerves or use what Lee and Marlene Canter called “the broken record” technique, or we tend to be more alert, conscientious and considerate when we are in public with our children.  I know I certainly was. 

More than anything in the whole, wide world, your child wants to please you, but you have to teach them how. They’re depending on you to do that. Your child does not want to alienate your affections.  They want your approval, acceptance and attention.  Acting out behaviors are born out of a mistaken belief that this is how to succeed in getting your  approval, acceptance and attention.  Disciplining your child guarantees they’ll always be able to do just that. Maybe then I can enjoy my dinner and maybe truly see your Austin or Emily is just too cute.

*Ennis Del Mar,  Brokeback Mountain |  2005 |