Mama's time has come. From the hills of Hollywood to the halls of the White House, there are mamas in the limelight. Instead of simply acknowledging the fact that any accolades Mom receives are long overdue, why not join the growing boom of females who insist on everything from paid maternity leave to rock festivals that feature female entertainment?

I refuse to believe the current movement is a response to the 1950s stereotype that kept June Cleaver in the kitchen with her lipstick on. And I keep hoping the momentum is bigger than an angry backlash of feminists who refuse to make room for softer, gentler versions of themselves. 

Most of all, I pray that while the idea of "family values" is of great concern to many of us, those values are not determined by a right-wing government.

We want different things. The point is, for the first time in many years, we are mobilizing to want something. The common thread between us is that we are reaching out to redefine what it is to be a modern mother.

For the first time in (her)story, we are single mothers, rocker mothers, soccer mothers, alpha moms, hot moms, and intellectuals, all taking on new work, new life definitions.

I am totally psyched to see a dialogue begin and, the sensationalistic Mommy wars aside, the truth is that we can all get along.

I started out as a mother and a wife replicating what I had witnessed growing up in middle-America. When my children were born in New York City from 1989 to 1994, there was a dawning of a new consciousness: a network of midwife-assisted births, natural parenting magazines, and higher consciousness baby groups.

As you may recall, this summer marked a relationship milestone: Going On Vacation Together.

I had planned to use this post, and perhaps the next two or three, to recap the trip and examine and analyze the various relationship stumbling blocks that occurred, but, as it turns out, there's nothing to write about. It was a lovely two weeks in which Mike and I did nothing but have a good time and not get tired of each other.

Instead, I will share some thoughts on packing.

Being the kind of girl who does not overpack, the kind of girl who does not bring five bags and expect her boyfriend to carry them while she traipses along in wholly unsuitable shoes is, I think, a good thing. Jake absolutely did not appreciate the joy and the wonder that is Alice's Impressive Packing Ability, and that was one of the many things wrong with our relationship.

Of course, packing in such a way involves somewhat obsessive planning. What Mike would think of this, especially when he saw the little outfit diagrams I make, I didn't know. So I sent him an email detailing what I was doing, thinking, "It's best he know this now, before he stumbles across the drawings and wants to know why I've labeled pictures of my T-shirts."

Did packing so impressively lead to what can only be described as the most marvelous vacation ever? Or was it because this particular relationship is everything I thought didn't really happen in real life?

I suspect the latter, myself.

This came in email from my friend Jan: "My husband, being unhappy with my mood swings, bought me a mood ring the other day. We've discovered that, when I'm in a good mood, it turns green. When I'm in a bad mood, it leaves a damn big red mark on his forehead.

"Maybe next time he'll buy me a diamond."

"That's what you get for having a husband," I replied, once I stopped laughing.

But then, since I'm so smart, what do I get out of not having one, or trying not to, anyway?

I remember a conversation I had with a colleague before I married Ed. My colleague had split from his wife of many years after learning of her affair. (Ouch!)

He asked me, "Sondra, you've been single for a long time. How do you stand it?"

How did I stand it?

First off, I told him, it's incumbent on us to capitalize on whatever state we're in.

The good thing about being single, I told him, is that I owed no one any explanations, or even any thought, about how I lived my life: when and where I worked, how to spend or save my money.

I could stay up all night watching old movies while eating crackers in bed, then hop on a flight to wherever suited my mood, and my finances.

I made it sound good, and you know what? It is good.

Now here I am on the other side. I'm pretty sure I'd feel different if I had kids instead of pets. And money is definitely tight in this early-post-Ed era: no more cable TV, which means I have a lot fewer movie all-nighters. Or crackers.

Right now, a spur-of-the-moment jaunt is likely to end in a local park.

But it is my life again, to do with as I please, and as best I can. I neither blame nor am beholden to anybody else for the way it works out.

You know, I'm not into diamonds. But if I want a ring, I can save up and buy the one I choose, rather than hope I like what somebody else picks out for me.

And that's good, too.

Traveling together. This opens up all kinds of possibilities for discovery. You're really together when traveling. Proximity and the logistics of this trip means that Certain Things will come up.

We'll be hiking. I have no stamina. At all. This was not true when I was going to yoga every day, but that's lapsed somewhat, and my wind was the first thing to go. I'm going to be the sad little puffing girl who can't keep up.

It's going to be hot. I get sweaty. I always feel like I'm the sweatiest person in the room. When the room is hot, that is. For a brief, shining couple of months, I worked with a guy who was sweatier than me and we bonded in our ickiness. No one likes sweaty. I've been assured that everyone thinks they're the sweatiest person in the room, but I don't think that's true.

There's the bench thing. I love benches. I can't pass a bench strategically aimed at a scenic spot without sitting on it, at least for a few seconds. I mean, if someone took the trouble to aim a bench at something, the least I can do is sit there for a minute and appreciate it.

Thank God he already knows about the peeing thing. I have no problem peeing outside, but I'm going to have to ask him to cover his ears.

Luckily, the whole video game thing, which I have kept impressively under wraps thus far, will not be an issue whilst in another country.

When you start dating, you realize there are a number of things you don't necessarily want the other party to know about — at least, not at first. Habits, tendencies, things you're mildly embarrassed about, things you're not sure will go over well, things that didn't go over well with the last partner. They're small, yes — not really that big a deal in the grand scheme of things — but you're not necessarily eager to share them.

I mean, you can love and trust someone and still not want to them to know you have a really, really hard time peeing when you think anyone can hear.

Since we're in a long distance relationship, when Mike and I see each other we stay in each other's apartments. This means we're together a lot of the time. This means he's figured a lot out already.

And no, I can't pee if I think anyone can hear. Or if I think someone's waiting for the bathroom. Obviously, this had to come out into the open early on. He hasn't stopped rolling his eyes, but he has let me pile pillows on his head before I head to the bathroom.

He's found out how I feel about jammies. In that I like them — a lot. In that I tend to come home from work, put them on, and stay in them the rest of the day. In that I avoid getting dressed as long as possible over the weekend.

He knows the house kind of revolves around the cats.

I've had to admit, recently, that I have a number of friends I only know through the Internet.

He knows I smoke sometimes.

These things have all come to light. None of them, of course, have been a big deal, but all of them were things I was reluctant to share. They are all things that may not have been learned as soon as they were if we hadn't been sharing a space.

In less than a month, we're taking a trip together. There's no hiding when you're traveling. What will come to light then?

Over the past year and a half or so, I've gotten very comfortable being alone, doing things alone. Some things, I've found, are better by myself. I've come to like my own company. I've found that I prefer the quiet, prefer solitude.

Traveling, for example. That first trip alone, to Wales, was very much a ‘well, no one can stop me from doing this, so I'm going to do it to prove I can' kind of trip. It turned out, a lot of that trip was marvelous because I was alone. I like traveling alone. I like not having to worry about other people's preferences, comfort, plans. I like eating when I want, stopping when I think something is pretty, sitting on as many strategically placed benches as I want. And I am a sucker for a strategically placed bench.

How, I've been wondering, will I do traveling with someone else?

In June, we'll find out. June marks one of those relationship milestones — going on a trip together. Mike and I are going to Greece for two weeks.

After having been in a relationship for so many years with someone who did not want to go places with me — too expensive, ‘just wanted to stay home', whatever really lay beneath that — it's startling, a little, to be with someone who wants to do this with me. Startling, but wonderful.

At the same time, I wonder — how will this be? I've learned how to do this alone, how do I learn to do it not alone?

I suppose it's the same as getting into a new relationship, in many ways. You get comfortable being alone, living alone. You start to really enjoy that feeling — the being surrounded by only your own stuff, your power over your surroundings, the never needing to compromise. Figuring out, little by little, how to let someone in.

I love fairytales. I want a fairytale. I want Prince Charming to find me, romance me with all he's got and propose — and trust me, I won't refuse. (Especially if he looks like a younger Brad Pitt or a gorgeous George Clooney.)

I believe that when you marry, it's forever. It's death do you part. I watched my mother uphold that vow for years while my father died slowly from Alzheimer's disease. And 20 years later, she's still faithful. She never even dated.

That, to me, is marriage.

I suppose that's why I never married in the first place, come to think of it. I didn't want to be stuck forever unless it was Brad Pitt. Make sense?

There's also the fact that in Quebec, about 70% of the population don't marry and live in common-law relationships. When a large group of people who share a culture don't believe in marriage, it's tough to be the outcast and convince your partner marriage is a good thing.

But I did dream about marriage. I wanted the ring. I wanted the white dress, and I wanted it from the beautiful tiny little wedding shop near Parliament Hills in Ottawa.

I'd walked past the store after closing time one evening, and the window had soft lighting on a beautiful, one-of-a-kind handmade medieval dress that had a circle of satin roses around the waist. It was $5,000. I fell in love.

I wanted a church wedding, because I was raised somewhat Catholic and thought that Catholic churches were gloriously magnificent and beautiful. (And because of that death-do-you-part thing I was talking about.)

Then I wanted a barbecue in my back yard. Cheap, easy, and fast. I wanted beer and music. I wanted to ditch the dress and have a party with people I liked.

End of story. That was it. No reception, no horse-drawn carriage, no petal-strewn walkways...just a ring, a dress, a church, and hamburgers. No marriage and no Brad Pitt, either. Oh well. I can still dream about it!