Erika Schickel's You're Not The Boss Of Me: Adventures Of A Modern Mom is one of those books I know I'll keep on my shelves for years so that I can pick it up every once in a while just to reread passages and laugh. Here's what Erika and I emailed about recently:

mamazine: I think our kids are about the same age (mine are 11, 7, and 5 now), and I'm wondering if your categories of parents (Alterna-moms, Trad-moms) have changed as your kids have grown. Does it seem like those opposites still exist, or are parents of older kids moving toward the middle, as you seem to have?

Erika Schickel: You know, the middle of the road always gets a bad rap, but I've found there's a lot to be said for that smooth, even part of the pavement. I pulled my girls out of alternative school at kindergarten (well, first grade for my oldest) because they wanted to learn how to read and our humanistic school wasn't going to get that happening. So I put them in a local, neighborhood, public school. The first year it was tough for me, as I came to it with all that "traditional-education-is-so-cookie cutter" dogma you get in the a-world. In many ways it's true, and I railed against the endless Xeroxed homework sheets and "criss-cross applesauce" drills of public school crowd control. But in public school I also found real community, both for me and my kids. Instead of being surrounded by a self-selected group of people who all espoused one, shared philosophy, I was surrounded by families of all races, classes and religious/philosophical dispositions. Multiculturalism isn't part of an enrichment program, but a daily exercise as we bridge cultural divides to work and learn together. So, by going trad., I feel like I've had to be more open-minded, not less.

But you're also right Amy, the age my kids are now also has a lot to do with it. New mothers have a tendency to overthink things; at least, I did. Everything is a learning curve at first and you find yourself staking out your ideological turf, building your identity as a mother (not only "who am I?", but "how will I be different from my own mother?") And then there's the endless array of consumer, lifestyle and nutritional choices to make in new motherhood: Pampers or cloth diapers? Gerbers or food mill? Herbal tea or martini? These feel like big issues in the first years of motherhood, but as your kids get older, your family seasons and mellows and moms learn not to take everything so seriously. We find what works best is to do what works best. So if that's a big pot of quinoa on the stove, wood toys and "I messages," more power to you. If it's Disney Princesses and Lunchables, so be it. We do a bit of both around my house, and we're all growing up just fine.

mamazine: You write about smoking pot as a mother—why you did, why you felt like you had to quit, and why you think modern mamas in L.A. need to smoke pot more than say, pioneer mothers. Can you explain your theory for our readers?

Erika Schickel: Okay, the word "theory" might be a bit high-falutin' for the argument I lay out in my essay, "Fire Escape"—which is more of a half-baked (both puns intended) notion. But here's the gist: modern motherhood is a deeply isolating endeavor. Society puts moms in a pool of golden light, expecting us to be fulfilled in every moment of every day by the wonderment of child-rearing, the deep, instinctual satisfaction that comes from devoting ourselves to our precious young and then turns around and guilt-trips us when we don't live up to the hype.

How about the "Mommy Wars" for a bit of propagandist shit-slinging? None of the moms I know are judging each other for either staying home or working. That is a male-constructed conflict and it is a nice example of the kind of guilt and isolation that is force fed us as we're alone in our homes, all hormonal and exhausted and confused. It can make some of us weaker moms a little bit nuts, and sometimes we find ourselves needing a crutch.

I list a timeline of "Mothers Little Helpers" in the book: Booze, Paregoric, Valium, Vicodin, chocolate, shopping, etc. For me, it was weed. I ask the question if whether there is a correlation between mothers' substance abuse and the rise of the modern housewife. Back in the olden days, women were not raising children in isolation (well, maybe pioneer women were hitting the moonshine hard). But for the most part, children were being raised in extended families and moms had access to adult conversation during the day.

Today, us women who stay at home with our children can find ourselves alone, our pre-baby identities lying like a broken toy at our feet, and with the outside world of ideas, people, paid work, etc. beyond our grasp. This is particularly hard for our generation, who has been raised to be go-getters. We were given expensive educations, taught by our feminist foremothers to dream big and conquer the world. Then we have a baby and we're suddenly supposed to shelve those dreams and live solely off of maternal satisfaction. If we're not completely fulfilled in this new role, we're made to feel like we're ungrateful and unfit, or don't really love our kids. Back when my first daughter was born (in 1995), there weren't even mommy-blogs like this one to tap into for relief. I SO could have used this resource, but Anne Lamott was the only game in town (bless her). Some days were so long, tiring, lonely and yes... boring—it was either blow out or blow my own head off. Of course, I cannot address the specific agony of the working mother. That must have its own hellish moments as well. Basically, you're damned if you do, damned if you don't. Cocktail anyone?

So, I found myself sparking up on a semi-regular basis, using pot as an escape hatch from the submarine of stay-at-home motherhood. I finally quit (well, I no longer own the stuff, but have been known to break down at a party) because it was bad for my health and my kids were getting older and getting hip to my secret. In the essay, I make a humorous justification for my substance abuse because, well, I'm a humorist. So I relish making light of serious subjects, which isn't the same thing as not taking things seriously. I'm sure there will be readers who will be horrified by my admission and judge me, and maybe they're right to but there's not much I can do about it. I'm a flawed human being (as I believe are we all) and I'm not ashamed to admit it! The spirit of the essay and the book is: Yay, we're human!! We're gonna fuck up!! Say it loud and say it proud Mama!!

mamazine: At mamazine, we always want to know what writers we like are reading, watching, and listening to. What have you been into lately?

Erika Schickel: Well, I write book reviews for a few places, so a lot of my reading is assigned and often hit-or-miss. I've recently LOVED Michael Perry's new book, Truck: A Love Story, which inspired me to read his first book Population 485: Meeting Your Neighbors One Siren at a Time. also great. He is a beautiful writer/he-man/sissy-man/funny/ intelligent and most tantalizingly of all: a cultured hick. He writes about Edward Hopper and hay balers with equal authority and feeling. It's delicious stuff and any smart gal worth her salt will develop an immediate crush on Perry. I'm also crushing on Steve Almond who writes the best sex scenes I've ever read in "literary" fiction. He is also the author of Candyfreak, which is a total must-read for anyone with a sweet tooth. Right now I'm in the middle of E.L. Doctorow's The March which, like all Doctorow, is just staggering. He takes you inside the seething, living beast that is Sherman's Army, mowing down the South, and brings all the ethical, moral ambiguity that campaign held.

In the viewing department, I have two movie recommendations: Pan's Labyrinth, which I'm sure everyone has heard by now is brilliant. But lawzy, it is so unlike any film I have ever seen. So beautifully imagined, filmed, acted, etc. The other film is a little indie that is getting NO Oscar buzz and has probably already gone to video: Sherrybaby. It stars Maggie Gyllenhaal as an ex-con, ex-junkie mom trying to reconnect with her young daughter and totally screwing it up, yet having such genuine warmth and such an urge to do it right. I, of course, have that post-partum syndrome where anything sad relating to children in movies automatically makes me bawl uncontrollably (but don't worry, there's no dead children in this one). But this little film is very brave and moving and says some very true things about being a mom.

And finally, on the boob tube, you really can't beat Rome for fabulous bitch-moms. And of course, I love Weeds and wish they would invite me to come write for them right this minute. Jenji Kohan—you reading this?