Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Unlearning Girldom
A friend of mine posted this link to 5 Things We Should Stop Teaching Girls on Facebook the other day. I loved it. Worth a repeat.
My own "lessons" to add:
1. Don't be a victim.
2. There are always choices.
3. Tell the truth. You won't need to remember anything.
4. Be loud and proud
5. But nice too.
"As the mother of a daughter, I want to be deliberate in how I raise her with the hope that she can avoid the hang-ups and pitfalls that I have wrestled with. While I have learned countless invaluable lessons from the women who raised, nurtured and mentored me, there are a few things that I wish we, as women, could un-learn.
Clear your plate. Whether you’re hungry or not, keep eating until all of the food is gone. Take one look at me and you will know that I took this one to heart.
New lesson: We don’t want to be wasteful, so don’t put too much on your plate. Listen to your body. When you feel full, stop eating.
Be ladylike. How many of us suppress our thoughts and feelings because we don’t want to inconvenience anyone with them?
New lesson: Be considerate, but always speak your mind!
Ambition is not an attractive quality. And thus we limit ourselves.
New lesson: Reach for the stars. Toot your own horn. Conquer the world. And make a ton of money while you’re at it.
It’s not polite to talk about money. Women miss out on hundreds of thousands of dollars over the course of a career because we’re not comfortable negotiating on our own behalf.
New lesson: Be discreet, but know what you’re worth and say so. Once you earn it, you need to know how to manage it for yourself too.
He pushed you down on the playground because he likes you. What?!?
New lesson: No one gets to touch you without your permission. Boys who really like you will not be mean to you. He pushed you down because he’s an asshole. Tell a grown-up and if it happens again, knock his block off."
My own "lessons" to add:
1. Don't be a victim.
2. There are always choices.
3. Tell the truth. You won't need to remember anything.
4. Be loud and proud
5. But nice too.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Gone Fishing
It is time for my annual conference in San Francisco. That should explain my absence around the Internets and the fact that I am filled with rage and woe and lots of cookies. This will be over next week.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Time Machine (I Wish): Scott Pilgrim vs. The World
OMG. This movie was just about perfect. The only thing that would have made it more perfect would have been if it was my life before I became a boring, pregnant married lady watching it on Pay Per View in a hotel while my parents babysat my toddler. Michael Cera. Hasbians. Jason Schwartzman. Battle of the Bands. WHY HAVEN'T YOU SEEN THIS YET?
Time Machine: Pearl Cream
I saw this posted on someone's Facebook page and almost DIED. This used to be on t.v. all the time when I was younger, and we would imitate it and crack our shit up. Even then, as a little kid, you just knew it was offensive.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
This Is What a Relationship Looks Like: A. We're So Married or B. It's Really Fucking Cold
YG and I don't really do big Christmas presents for each other. We prefer to either get something that we both want for the house or go out to a fun dinner. This year, we decided to have my parents come up for a weekend in January and watch Zygote while we spent the night overnight at the hotel where we were married.
JM: Night at a hotel! Aw yeah!
YG: Sweet.
JM: You know what that means, right?
YG: Oh yeah. I know what you're thinking.
JM: Hot.
YG: Actually hot.
JM: We get to turn the heat up all the way without worrying about how much it's going to cost.
YG: We might actually be...
JM: HOT.
YG: Nice.
JM: Nice.
JM: Night at a hotel! Aw yeah!
YG: Sweet.
JM: You know what that means, right?
YG: Oh yeah. I know what you're thinking.
JM: Hot.
YG: Actually hot.
JM: We get to turn the heat up all the way without worrying about how much it's going to cost.
YG: We might actually be...
JM: HOT.
YG: Nice.
JM: Nice.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Some Brutally Honest Truths About Parenting (Or More Specifically, My Parenting)
Snow days start to suck more the older you get. Instead of snow angels and sledding, there’s dropped VPN tunnels and day care closings and shoveling, lots of shoveling. We spent Wednesday snowed in. Rather than look at it as an opportunity to spend extra time with our kids, we were cranky. YG and I both have a lot of work to do. I, of course, added this crankiness to my ever-growing List of Things To Feel Guilty About. Normal, good parents would be happy for a break from work. Normal, good parents would want to play in the snow with their kids. I don’t know what normal, good parents are. I don’t know if I know any. But I’ve gotten it into my head that I am not one.
It’s been a rough couple of weeks. Work has been ramping up, headed into the pressure-cooker Conference, and I am just reaching that part of pregnancy where my hormones are raging and physically, I ache all the time from things stretching and moving. Plus, the tiredness. All.The.Time.
On the parenting side, the MG is testing out her adolescence, rolling her eyes all the time and huffing or sulking whenever she is asked to do something. Or, correction, whenever I ask her to do something. Dad is still perfect and saintly and the expert on all things. I’m just the extra. Sadly, this is not just a function of the weird stepchild/stepparent relationship. Zygote also follows YG around like a shadow, demanding to be held and yelling if he dares to do something else. When I reach out to her and say, “Come to mama. I’ll pick you up,” she gives me this look that says, “seriously? Are you kidding with this?” She looks like my mother, but most so when she’s staring, witheringly, at me. “NO,” she shouts, decisive. I think of all my friends who never travel or go out by themselves because their kids would freak out. That must suck, but at least they notice when you’re gone.
Is this all sounding a little too sad sack? A bit much with the self-pity? Of course it is. But finding myself halfway through another pregnancy, I’m still SHOCKED and AMAZED that being a parent hasn’t transformed me into a shiny and new version of myself. Sometimes I think it’s brought out the uglier versions of me.
Zygote has started having temper tantrums. Given that she started everything else early, it’s not surprising that the Terrible Twos are starting now. If she doesn’t get her way, she melts down and screams. She throws things and hurls herself onto the floor, kicking and flailing. This is great fun in restaurants and other public places. We ignore her, give time outs, and other forms of “positive discipline” or yell back, and eventually she settles down, but not until everyone is rattled.
This came to a head last weekend during a battle to get her down for a nap. After multiple fits and starts and soothing and rocking and stroking her hair, she still wouldn’t calm down. Then she took her little hand and hurled it across my face so hard that it made my nose bleed. I was stunned, and my reaction was…not good. Horrific actually. I completely lost my shit. I screamed as loud as I could in her face, and left her wailing in the crib while I slammed the door to her room, punched it for good measure and then knocked a bunch of things off of our walls.
And then, quiet. Nothing except for her heavy breathing and hiccupy sobs. She went to sleep for two hours, and I crawled under my own covers to cry and made myself physically sick (read: puked. A lot). It’s not that I haven’t yelled at her before, or disciplined her. It’s just that my reaction was so quick and fiery. I replayed the whole scene in my head, wondering where I slipped over the edge from “my toddler is irritating” to “I’m so angry I’m going to punch the walls down.” I thought about her scared look, and remembered all the times I was nervous that I had finally pushed my mother over the edge. We would fight about my hair, and she would smack me with the hairbrush and I’d cry, wondering why she was so mean. Why I wouldn’t just let her brush my goddamn hair is another story.
I’ve always had some anger in me, but it’s the pilot light kind, always on but never really explosive, save for the occasional disaster. And it’s embarrassed me, because really, I’ve lived a pretty privileged life. What is there to be so angry about? But kids, and the lack of sleep and free time that come with them, have made that embarrassment really ugly. I yell. I lick things. I listen to Black Sabbath on the radio REALLY loud. It’s like being a teenager again, but without the cool goth makeup and badass boots. It’s just unattractive.
Other horrible traits of mine that have been amplified since having Zygote: an extreme lack of patience, selfishness, stubbornness, and a crippling fear of asking anyone for help for fear that I will appear incompetent.
After the blowout, I was afraid for Zygote to wake up. How do you apologize to someone that doesn’t talk? How do you explain to someone that hitting (her) and screaming (me) is not okay when she doesn’t really grasp those concepts yet? What’s the best way to convey ‘I love you no matter what’ when what she hears is blah, blah, blah, dog, blah, cat? I walked in there, and she rolled over, smiled big and reached out. “Hiiiiii mama,” she gurgled before scrunching her lips into a kissy face.
And that, there, makes it worth it. All the crap. I didn’t understand that before I had her, and I probably would have barfed all over a story like this, telling the author to go buy another Hummel figurine and Christmas sweater down at The Hallmark Store. The good parts are almost too hard to explain.
These kids seem to bring out the absolute worst in me, but they also help me find the good parts – tenderness, sweetness, those gross words that never had a place in my vocabulary before. I get to be silly. I get to sing off-key show tunes to an appreciative audience every night. I always have someone with a head on my shoulder reminding me, with authority, where my nose is. I get to be the nicer version of me too.
We survived the rest of Snowpocalypse without any other major incidents. Zygote’s smile did not magically make everything better, even though I had a brief few minutes (maybe seconds) where I thought, “I am never going to lose my shit again. I am going to read those Positive Parenting books and we are starting over.” A few hours in, I found myself dying to get out of the house. To do something, anything without being smeared in applesauce and boogers.
Is there some lesson here? I don’t know. This stuff happens. Most of the people I told this story too shrugged it off with a, “Relax. Stop guilting yourself.” I am….trying? Trying to remember that she’s going to get older and keep testing her limits. And trying to remember that her personality, just like mine, has its good parts and its less-than-appealing parts.
It’s been a rough couple of weeks. Work has been ramping up, headed into the pressure-cooker Conference, and I am just reaching that part of pregnancy where my hormones are raging and physically, I ache all the time from things stretching and moving. Plus, the tiredness. All.The.Time.
On the parenting side, the MG is testing out her adolescence, rolling her eyes all the time and huffing or sulking whenever she is asked to do something. Or, correction, whenever I ask her to do something. Dad is still perfect and saintly and the expert on all things. I’m just the extra. Sadly, this is not just a function of the weird stepchild/stepparent relationship. Zygote also follows YG around like a shadow, demanding to be held and yelling if he dares to do something else. When I reach out to her and say, “Come to mama. I’ll pick you up,” she gives me this look that says, “seriously? Are you kidding with this?” She looks like my mother, but most so when she’s staring, witheringly, at me. “NO,” she shouts, decisive. I think of all my friends who never travel or go out by themselves because their kids would freak out. That must suck, but at least they notice when you’re gone.
Is this all sounding a little too sad sack? A bit much with the self-pity? Of course it is. But finding myself halfway through another pregnancy, I’m still SHOCKED and AMAZED that being a parent hasn’t transformed me into a shiny and new version of myself. Sometimes I think it’s brought out the uglier versions of me.
Zygote has started having temper tantrums. Given that she started everything else early, it’s not surprising that the Terrible Twos are starting now. If she doesn’t get her way, she melts down and screams. She throws things and hurls herself onto the floor, kicking and flailing. This is great fun in restaurants and other public places. We ignore her, give time outs, and other forms of “positive discipline” or yell back, and eventually she settles down, but not until everyone is rattled.
This came to a head last weekend during a battle to get her down for a nap. After multiple fits and starts and soothing and rocking and stroking her hair, she still wouldn’t calm down. Then she took her little hand and hurled it across my face so hard that it made my nose bleed. I was stunned, and my reaction was…not good. Horrific actually. I completely lost my shit. I screamed as loud as I could in her face, and left her wailing in the crib while I slammed the door to her room, punched it for good measure and then knocked a bunch of things off of our walls.
And then, quiet. Nothing except for her heavy breathing and hiccupy sobs. She went to sleep for two hours, and I crawled under my own covers to cry and made myself physically sick (read: puked. A lot). It’s not that I haven’t yelled at her before, or disciplined her. It’s just that my reaction was so quick and fiery. I replayed the whole scene in my head, wondering where I slipped over the edge from “my toddler is irritating” to “I’m so angry I’m going to punch the walls down.” I thought about her scared look, and remembered all the times I was nervous that I had finally pushed my mother over the edge. We would fight about my hair, and she would smack me with the hairbrush and I’d cry, wondering why she was so mean. Why I wouldn’t just let her brush my goddamn hair is another story.
I’ve always had some anger in me, but it’s the pilot light kind, always on but never really explosive, save for the occasional disaster. And it’s embarrassed me, because really, I’ve lived a pretty privileged life. What is there to be so angry about? But kids, and the lack of sleep and free time that come with them, have made that embarrassment really ugly. I yell. I lick things. I listen to Black Sabbath on the radio REALLY loud. It’s like being a teenager again, but without the cool goth makeup and badass boots. It’s just unattractive.
Other horrible traits of mine that have been amplified since having Zygote: an extreme lack of patience, selfishness, stubbornness, and a crippling fear of asking anyone for help for fear that I will appear incompetent.
After the blowout, I was afraid for Zygote to wake up. How do you apologize to someone that doesn’t talk? How do you explain to someone that hitting (her) and screaming (me) is not okay when she doesn’t really grasp those concepts yet? What’s the best way to convey ‘I love you no matter what’ when what she hears is blah, blah, blah, dog, blah, cat? I walked in there, and she rolled over, smiled big and reached out. “Hiiiiii mama,” she gurgled before scrunching her lips into a kissy face.
And that, there, makes it worth it. All the crap. I didn’t understand that before I had her, and I probably would have barfed all over a story like this, telling the author to go buy another Hummel figurine and Christmas sweater down at The Hallmark Store. The good parts are almost too hard to explain.
These kids seem to bring out the absolute worst in me, but they also help me find the good parts – tenderness, sweetness, those gross words that never had a place in my vocabulary before. I get to be silly. I get to sing off-key show tunes to an appreciative audience every night. I always have someone with a head on my shoulder reminding me, with authority, where my nose is. I get to be the nicer version of me too.
We survived the rest of Snowpocalypse without any other major incidents. Zygote’s smile did not magically make everything better, even though I had a brief few minutes (maybe seconds) where I thought, “I am never going to lose my shit again. I am going to read those Positive Parenting books and we are starting over.” A few hours in, I found myself dying to get out of the house. To do something, anything without being smeared in applesauce and boogers.
Is there some lesson here? I don’t know. This stuff happens. Most of the people I told this story too shrugged it off with a, “Relax. Stop guilting yourself.” I am….trying? Trying to remember that she’s going to get older and keep testing her limits. And trying to remember that her personality, just like mine, has its good parts and its less-than-appealing parts.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Home Is Wherever I'm With You
I loved this cover making the rounds on Youtube. I might have gotten a little sniffly. Might have.
Home -- Lyrics by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros
Alabama, Arkansas, I do love my Ma & Pa
Not the way that I do love you
Holy roly, me, oh my, you’re the apple of my eye
Girl, I’ve never loved one like you
Man, oh man, you’re my best friend, I scream it to the nothingness
There ain’t nothin’ that I need
Well, hot & heavy, pumpkin pie, chocolate candy, Jesus Christ
There ain’t nothin’ please me more than you
Chorus:
Ahh, Home
Let me come Home
Home is wherever I’m with you
(2x)
La la la la, take me Home
Baby, I’m coming Home
I’ll follow you into the park, through the jungle, through the dark
Girl, I’ve never loved one like you
Moats & boats & waterfalls, alley ways & pay phone calls
I’ve been everywhere with you
That’s true
We laugh until we think we’ll die, barefoot on a summer night
Nothin’ new is sweeter than with you
And in the sticks we’re running free like it’s only you and me
Geez, you’re something to see.
Chorus
“Jade?”
“Alexander?”
“Do you remember that day you fell out of my window?”
“I sure do, you came jumping out after me.”
“Well, you fell on the concrete and nearly broke your ass and you were bleeding all over the place and I rushed you off to the hospital. Do you remember that?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, there’s something I never told you about that night.”
“What didn’t you tell me?”
“While you were sitting in the backseat smoking a cigarette you thought was going to be your last, I was falling deep, deeply in love with you and I never told you ‘til just now.”
“Now I know.”
Ahh, Home
Let me come Home
Home is whenever I’m with you
Ahh, Home
Let me come Home
Home is when I’m alone with you
Home
Let me come Home
Home is wherever I’m with you
Ahh, Home
Yes, I am Home
Home is when I’m alone with you.
Alabama, Arkansas, I do love my Ma & Pa
Moats & boats & waterfalls & pay phone calls
Ahh, Home
Let me come Home
Home is wherever I’m with you
Ahh, Home
Let me come Home
Home is when I’m alone with you
Sunday, January 09, 2011
Healthy Pregnancies And Overweight Women (Or Best Spam Ever)
Someone must have found out that YG has a chunk of a wife. This showed up in his inbox, and I had to laugh. Canine blood from penis? Really?
-----Original Message-----
From: martinvignes@hotmail.com [mailto:martinvignes@hotmail.com]
Sent: Sunday, September 12, 2010 11:50 PM
To: vpn6000@yandex.ru
Subject: healthy pregnancies and overweight women
Get canine blood from penis
http://dtykmdxtudx.nextmail.ru/
Saturday, January 08, 2011
Reading Frenzy
I have not been doing much writing lately, or blogging, even though one of my resolutions was to try and post at least twice a week. However, I have been on a tear with books, reading pretty much anything I can get my hands on. A few recent pics:
1. Freedom -- Jonathan Franzen: Blah, blah, blah, the writer of our times, book of the century, blah, blah. All that aside, I did like this book. Or not like it. I find that Franzen creates incredibly unlikable characters that I want to know more about, and I can't put his books down. But I find it hard to believe that this is the best writing out there right now. I don't think it's bad; I don't think it's not brilliant -- it just doesn't compare to my other "great books."
2. Wishin' and Hopin': A Christmas Story -- Wally Lamb: A cute, easy read for the holidays. Probably more enjoyable if you are Catholic and/or Italian.
3. Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide -- Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn: I saw WuDunn speak at the Simmons Leadership Conference last year, and immediately bought the book and had her sign it. I was so inspired that it sat on my shelf for seven months. Eye roll, please. I would characterize this read as "important." It made me want to do something, help people, and the advice was extremely practical, not one of these patronizing "well, we should dismantle our entire economic system and have everyone join the Peace Corps" tomes. Because both the authors are journalists as well, it's very easy to digest. READ THIS BOOK.
4. Because I Said So: 33 Mothers Write About Children, Sex, Men, Aging, Faith, Race, and Themselves -- Kate Moses and Camille Peri: This anthology was pulled together by the women who wrote for Salon's 'Mothers Who Think' column. Some of the essays were slightly boring, but all tackled bigger issues than the 'sleep training is hard' and 'i used to be someone important and now all I do is change diapers' standard mommy stories.
5. Charmed Thirds -- Megan McCafferty: The third installment of the Jessica Darling novels, covering her college years. I read this in a day. I love Jessica Darling. I love Megan McCafferty. We need to be bestest friends forever.
I just started The Help in an attempt to read a book that people are talking about when they are actually talking about it. And what are YOU reading?
1. Freedom -- Jonathan Franzen: Blah, blah, blah, the writer of our times, book of the century, blah, blah. All that aside, I did like this book. Or not like it. I find that Franzen creates incredibly unlikable characters that I want to know more about, and I can't put his books down. But I find it hard to believe that this is the best writing out there right now. I don't think it's bad; I don't think it's not brilliant -- it just doesn't compare to my other "great books."
2. Wishin' and Hopin': A Christmas Story -- Wally Lamb: A cute, easy read for the holidays. Probably more enjoyable if you are Catholic and/or Italian.
3. Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide -- Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn: I saw WuDunn speak at the Simmons Leadership Conference last year, and immediately bought the book and had her sign it. I was so inspired that it sat on my shelf for seven months. Eye roll, please. I would characterize this read as "important." It made me want to do something, help people, and the advice was extremely practical, not one of these patronizing "well, we should dismantle our entire economic system and have everyone join the Peace Corps" tomes. Because both the authors are journalists as well, it's very easy to digest. READ THIS BOOK.
4. Because I Said So: 33 Mothers Write About Children, Sex, Men, Aging, Faith, Race, and Themselves -- Kate Moses and Camille Peri: This anthology was pulled together by the women who wrote for Salon's 'Mothers Who Think' column. Some of the essays were slightly boring, but all tackled bigger issues than the 'sleep training is hard' and 'i used to be someone important and now all I do is change diapers' standard mommy stories.
5. Charmed Thirds -- Megan McCafferty: The third installment of the Jessica Darling novels, covering her college years. I read this in a day. I love Jessica Darling. I love Megan McCafferty. We need to be bestest friends forever.
I just started The Help in an attempt to read a book that people are talking about when they are actually talking about it. And what are YOU reading?
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
Holidays: The New Media Way
My dad has read Night Before Christmas to me every year* on Christmas Eve since I was born. This was my first Christmas Eve outside of the Whip, so we did it via Skype.
And proving how social media savvy we are, I didn't even take this picture. My brother took it. But he didn't send it to me. Too old school. I took it from his blog.
Yes, roll those eyes.
More holiday pics here, and an update soon.
* We didn't do it in 2002 because my grandfather died early Christmas morning that year, so my dad gets a pass as Christmas was sucking for numerous reasons beyond no Night Before Christmas.
And proving how social media savvy we are, I didn't even take this picture. My brother took it. But he didn't send it to me. Too old school. I took it from his blog.
Yes, roll those eyes.
More holiday pics here, and an update soon.
* We didn't do it in 2002 because my grandfather died early Christmas morning that year, so my dad gets a pass as Christmas was sucking for numerous reasons beyond no Night Before Christmas.
Friday, December 17, 2010
This Is What a Relationship Looks Like:Guest Edition
Courtesy of my friend, BB, who passed this along to me yesterday detailing a scene from her marriage.
P: give me bread. now. do it.
B: no
P: i bought that bread so you shouldn't actually be eating any of it.
B:
p: well fine, then you can eat the cheese but no bread.
(5 min later, as he goes upstairs):
P: don't eat any bread
B: how do you know i didn't put this bread up my butt?
p: how do you know i didn't rub my nuts all over the bread?
/end.
I like that we are not only in our undying love for butt jokes.
P: give me bread. now. do it.
B: no
P: i bought that bread so you shouldn't actually be eating any of it.
B:
p: well fine, then you can eat the cheese but no bread.
(5 min later, as he goes upstairs):
P: don't eat any bread
B: how do you know i didn't put this bread up my butt?
p: how do you know i didn't rub my nuts all over the bread?
/end.
I like that we are not only in our undying love for butt jokes.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Speak To Me About Networking
Do you do it? How do you do it? Has it paid off? I am shy and curmudgeonly, but I desperately, and I mean desperately, need to be doing something new. That means putting myself out there, and um, I do not want to be out there.
Saturday, December 04, 2010
This Is What A Relationship Looks Like: Did I Really Write Nice Things About You Just Yesterday Edition
YG: Where have you been hiding?
JM: I was in the kitchen, on the computer. Facebook.
YG: Did you make me anything?
JM: Like what?
YG: Tea? Hot chocolate?
JM: You want me to make you something?
YG: It would nice if you made me something once in a while. I make you tea or cocoa every night.
JM: I made you that thing. Sometimes. That time.
YG: What things?
JM: I make you money.
YG: You don't make ME money.
JM: I totally make money.
YG: You're not out there hustlin' in the streets to bring ME back some cash.
JM: I pay the rent. And I made you coffee like TWICE this year. And I cleaned ALL THE THINGS that time.
YG: *smirk, smirk, smirk*
I made the tea. Check that box, bitches.
JM: I was in the kitchen, on the computer. Facebook.
YG: Did you make me anything?
JM: Like what?
YG: Tea? Hot chocolate?
JM: You want me to make you something?
YG: It would nice if you made me something once in a while. I make you tea or cocoa every night.
JM: I made you that thing. Sometimes. That time.
YG: What things?
JM: I make you money.
YG: You don't make ME money.
JM: I totally make money.
YG: You're not out there hustlin' in the streets to bring ME back some cash.
JM: I pay the rent. And I made you coffee like TWICE this year. And I cleaned ALL THE THINGS that time.
YG: *smirk, smirk, smirk*
I made the tea. Check that box, bitches.
Friday, December 03, 2010
Committed, Marriage, Etc
I just finished reading Elizabeth Gilbert's Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace With Marriage. Yes, she is that Eat, Pray, Love lady. Yes, fine, judge me, because I liked the book. Part-memoir, part travelogue, part marriage history, it basically tells the story of how she, a divorced feminist, makes peace with deciding to get married again.
There weren't a lot of stories in there that I hadn't heard before, but I obviously loved the memoir parts because I almost always love memoir, and I liked the legal parallels she drew between interracial and gay marriage. She discusses the Lovings, and how at the time the Supreme Court ruled that race-based legal restrictions on marriage were unconstitutional in 1967, "70 percent of Americans vehemently opposed this ruling. Let me repeat that: In recent American history, seven out of ten Americans still believed that it should be a criminal offense for people of different races to marry each other." The mind boggles. I think of how many interracial couples I know now, and I cannot imagine this. This gives me hope for the future of gay marriage and the tide of public opinion.
Perhaps the best part of the book, though, was all the discussion it prompted between YG and I about how we see our own marriage and where we want to go. We are thick in the middle of the child years right now, and sometimes its a struggle just getting through day and all the chores and all the SHIT -- never mind being the kind of person that anyone else would want to be around. But here's the thing: I like YG. A lot. Yes, of course, I lurve him and all that -- husband, father of my child, all around nice guy, blah blah. But I LIKE him. I like being around him and talking with him and scheming with him. He's usually my favorite person in the room (expression courtesy of a friend who said this exact phrase about her husband, and I fell in love with it).
Really, if I could sum up in one sentence what I want out of this marriage, it is that I hope we always like each other.
So read the book. Or not.
There weren't a lot of stories in there that I hadn't heard before, but I obviously loved the memoir parts because I almost always love memoir, and I liked the legal parallels she drew between interracial and gay marriage. She discusses the Lovings, and how at the time the Supreme Court ruled that race-based legal restrictions on marriage were unconstitutional in 1967, "70 percent of Americans vehemently opposed this ruling. Let me repeat that: In recent American history, seven out of ten Americans still believed that it should be a criminal offense for people of different races to marry each other." The mind boggles. I think of how many interracial couples I know now, and I cannot imagine this. This gives me hope for the future of gay marriage and the tide of public opinion.
Perhaps the best part of the book, though, was all the discussion it prompted between YG and I about how we see our own marriage and where we want to go. We are thick in the middle of the child years right now, and sometimes its a struggle just getting through day and all the chores and all the SHIT -- never mind being the kind of person that anyone else would want to be around. But here's the thing: I like YG. A lot. Yes, of course, I lurve him and all that -- husband, father of my child, all around nice guy, blah blah. But I LIKE him. I like being around him and talking with him and scheming with him. He's usually my favorite person in the room (expression courtesy of a friend who said this exact phrase about her husband, and I fell in love with it).
Really, if I could sum up in one sentence what I want out of this marriage, it is that I hope we always like each other.
"It's been famously said that second marriage is the triumph of hope over experience, but I'm not entirely sure that's true. It seems to me that first marriages are the more hope-drenched affairs, awash in vast expectations and easy optimism. Second marriages are cloaked, I think, in something else: a respect for forces that are bigger than us, maybe. . . . Maybe the only difference between first marriage and second marriage is that the second time at least you know you are gambling."
So read the book. Or not.
Wednesday, December 01, 2010
Testimony Testimony
I am deep in the plumbing of feeling sorry for myself right now because my work/life balance seems to be a lot more about work than life right now. Hence, no updating. But then I remembered the high of my last class and getting congratulated on a fabulous essay, and the high of my weird, strange testimony at church. I was surprised that they asked me to participate because I'm not exactly "church-y," but the positive feedback about being honest and having said what other people were thinking but couldn't say was overwhelming. And just...NICE. I figured I'd post it here.
After being approached to give my testimony, my initial thought, or the one AFTER revivals and speaking in tongues and fire and brimstone, was, “wouldn’t you want someone a little more spiritually evolved than me to do this?” But I have a tendency to ignore or be completely oblivious to Gifts from God – even when they are so close I can trip over them. So I decided to look at this “giving testimony” thing as an opportunity or gift.
YG and I have been members of First Church for a few years now, after doing a bit of church shopping. We were both raised with religion, and we both realized, gratefully at the same time, that we were missing spirituality and that sense of church community, in our adult lives. I don’t remember when our first visit here was, but I do remember the sign of peace and all the hugging, looking at YG and saying, “no. just no.” I am an awkward hugger and complete social weirdo, especially with strangers, and I couldn’t imagine hugging. In church. YG gave me one of his YG-Let’s-Just-Chill-Out-A-Minute looks, and we stayed. And it was great. Welcoming. It was the first church I felt like I BELONGED in, that was speaking to me. We stayed after for coffee hour (me, begrudgingly), and I think I may have even socially interacted with people without dying.
And then we kept coming back. My stepdaughter, MG, joined the Sunday school classes, Dan married YG and I, and later, when Zygote came along, she was baptized here.
It’s hard to describe and put into words, especially in 3 to 5 minutes, what being here means to us. When people find out that we come here and that we volunteer our time, their initial reaction is usually, “YOU go the church?” followed by “Why?”
Mainly because I can be quiet here. I can listen here. Most of the time, I have a constant monologue running through my head of things I have to do, ways I’m supposed to be, things I’m doing wrong, tasks that need to be accomplished – a laundry list of ways I am somehow not good enough. Sometimes being here is the one hour during the week that I can remember and have some clarity about what I’m doing all those other things FOR. And really, what’s important.
I have been incredibly blessed with a beautiful family and good health and enough money, but I don’t always remember that. Sometimes it feels like we are living from chore to chore, but when I’m here, it’s like there’s a mute button on everything else and I can be still and listen to what God wants me to hear, that still-speaking God that I can drown out in my day-to-day life.
There’s also the community. We’re all a little Cambridge crunchy in our own ways, but this community has come through for us in ways that were completely unexpected and totally amazing. When I was 37 weeks pregnant, YG got sick and suddenly lost his hearing completely in one ear, needing to learn how to use his balance again. Then I had Zygote and began a pretty hideous bout of post-partum depression, while our older daughter was also battling different illnesses and ended up needing an emergency appendectomy. Let’s just say it was not the best Spring.
Through all of this, you gave us food and letters and helped run errands and sometimes just came and sat with me when I felt like I might go crazy. And we never asked for it! Neither YG or I are particularly adept at asking for help, and I much prefer to soldier on alone. Give me more – I can take it. That which does not kill you only makes you stronger. That kind of stuff. But helping is what First Church does. It’s who we are. And I am so grateful.
I’m glad we ended up here. I can listen and learn and contribute where I can. I have never had to prove myself here. People just accept that everyone has gifts to offer, and they welcome them. I hope that being here will give me clarity on how God wants me to use those gifts in the rest of my life.
Sometimes I still have a very Sunday school view of the world, and I want there to be rumbling and thunder and a parting of the clouds and God saying, “JM, this is exactly what you should do with your life and how should do it. Step One: work part time. Step Two: Run far, far away from Corporate America” and so on. This would be VERY convenient for me. Especially, if it was bulleted or in PowerPoint.
But I suspect that this is not how God rolls, and that the real learning will come in figuring it out for myself, with your support on the way. I am grateful for this space to be quiet, to hear and feel what matters, and to be near people who are modeling the ways that I would like to be. Thank you.
tes·ti·mo·ny
[tes-tuh-moh-nee, or, especially Brit., -muh-nee]
–noun, plural -nies.
1. Law . the statement or declaration of a witness under oath or affirmation, usually in court.
2. evidence in support of a fact or statement; proof.
3. open declaration or profession, as of faith.
4. Usually, testimonies. the precepts of god.
5. the Decalogue as inscribed on the two tables of the law, or the ark in which the tables were kept. Ex. 16:34; 25:16.
6. Archaic . a declaration of disapproval; protest.
After being approached to give my testimony, my initial thought, or the one AFTER revivals and speaking in tongues and fire and brimstone, was, “wouldn’t you want someone a little more spiritually evolved than me to do this?” But I have a tendency to ignore or be completely oblivious to Gifts from God – even when they are so close I can trip over them. So I decided to look at this “giving testimony” thing as an opportunity or gift.
YG and I have been members of First Church for a few years now, after doing a bit of church shopping. We were both raised with religion, and we both realized, gratefully at the same time, that we were missing spirituality and that sense of church community, in our adult lives. I don’t remember when our first visit here was, but I do remember the sign of peace and all the hugging, looking at YG and saying, “no. just no.” I am an awkward hugger and complete social weirdo, especially with strangers, and I couldn’t imagine hugging. In church. YG gave me one of his YG-Let’s-Just-Chill-Out-A-Minute looks, and we stayed. And it was great. Welcoming. It was the first church I felt like I BELONGED in, that was speaking to me. We stayed after for coffee hour (me, begrudgingly), and I think I may have even socially interacted with people without dying.
And then we kept coming back. My stepdaughter, MG, joined the Sunday school classes, Dan married YG and I, and later, when Zygote came along, she was baptized here.
It’s hard to describe and put into words, especially in 3 to 5 minutes, what being here means to us. When people find out that we come here and that we volunteer our time, their initial reaction is usually, “YOU go the church?” followed by “Why?”
Mainly because I can be quiet here. I can listen here. Most of the time, I have a constant monologue running through my head of things I have to do, ways I’m supposed to be, things I’m doing wrong, tasks that need to be accomplished – a laundry list of ways I am somehow not good enough. Sometimes being here is the one hour during the week that I can remember and have some clarity about what I’m doing all those other things FOR. And really, what’s important.
I have been incredibly blessed with a beautiful family and good health and enough money, but I don’t always remember that. Sometimes it feels like we are living from chore to chore, but when I’m here, it’s like there’s a mute button on everything else and I can be still and listen to what God wants me to hear, that still-speaking God that I can drown out in my day-to-day life.
There’s also the community. We’re all a little Cambridge crunchy in our own ways, but this community has come through for us in ways that were completely unexpected and totally amazing. When I was 37 weeks pregnant, YG got sick and suddenly lost his hearing completely in one ear, needing to learn how to use his balance again. Then I had Zygote and began a pretty hideous bout of post-partum depression, while our older daughter was also battling different illnesses and ended up needing an emergency appendectomy. Let’s just say it was not the best Spring.
Through all of this, you gave us food and letters and helped run errands and sometimes just came and sat with me when I felt like I might go crazy. And we never asked for it! Neither YG or I are particularly adept at asking for help, and I much prefer to soldier on alone. Give me more – I can take it. That which does not kill you only makes you stronger. That kind of stuff. But helping is what First Church does. It’s who we are. And I am so grateful.
I’m glad we ended up here. I can listen and learn and contribute where I can. I have never had to prove myself here. People just accept that everyone has gifts to offer, and they welcome them. I hope that being here will give me clarity on how God wants me to use those gifts in the rest of my life.
Sometimes I still have a very Sunday school view of the world, and I want there to be rumbling and thunder and a parting of the clouds and God saying, “JM, this is exactly what you should do with your life and how should do it. Step One: work part time. Step Two: Run far, far away from Corporate America” and so on. This would be VERY convenient for me. Especially, if it was bulleted or in PowerPoint.
But I suspect that this is not how God rolls, and that the real learning will come in figuring it out for myself, with your support on the way. I am grateful for this space to be quiet, to hear and feel what matters, and to be near people who are modeling the ways that I would like to be. Thank you.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Patience: The Virtue I Don't Have
I seriously considered biting my child today. She has been whiny and irritated and frustrated. According to the baby books, this is "a normal phase of development" -- the kids want to be doing more and are frustrated that they can't. According to me, it sucks.
I did not bite her. I took the high road and got right in her face and shouted, "Oh my god, what the HELL do you keep whining about?"
File under: Proud Mother.
I did not bite her. I took the high road and got right in her face and shouted, "Oh my god, what the HELL do you keep whining about?"
File under: Proud Mother.
Monday, November 15, 2010
I Was A Young James Dean
Or not. But this is what I was talking about in referring to Girlyman's awesomeness. Girlyman video directed by the even-more-awesome Margaret Cho.
And yes, Ty really is that cute up close, but SKB called her first.
And yes, Ty really is that cute up close, but SKB called her first.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
What I've Been Writing About
Next week is my last week of class, and I'm sad. It's been a royal pain in the ass to make the schedule work, but so great, and makes me sad that nobody will pay me to do this all the time. Because really, you should pay me to write all the time. About things I want to write it. It would really make the world a better place.
Stories that I've written this semester have been about:
1. The time I swallowed a nickel in church
2. My roommates in London
3. Why I like running
4. How fabulous it is when your grandfather dies on Christmas Eve
5. Why I hate "the obesity crisis"
6. My change of perspective moment, also known as how I survived postpartum depression
My teacher is a real stickler for 600 words or less, so it's been a challenge to tell "important" stories in that short a space, but workable. I have gotten lots of good feedback, and I want to take another class.
Other things I've been doing:
1. Reading Jonathan Franzen's new book. Undecided.
2. Going to see Girlyman with SKB and gang, listening obsessively ever since.
3. Listening to a lot of Devotchka.
4. Working on my "testimony." I got asked by my church to do this, and once I got past the initial "do I need to speak in tongues and start converting people?" freaked out ness, I began to enjoy it. I have to stand up and deliver it to the congregation next Sunday, so we'll see how it's received. I already edited out all the swears.
Stories that I've written this semester have been about:
1. The time I swallowed a nickel in church
2. My roommates in London
3. Why I like running
4. How fabulous it is when your grandfather dies on Christmas Eve
5. Why I hate "the obesity crisis"
6. My change of perspective moment, also known as how I survived postpartum depression
My teacher is a real stickler for 600 words or less, so it's been a challenge to tell "important" stories in that short a space, but workable. I have gotten lots of good feedback, and I want to take another class.
Other things I've been doing:
1. Reading Jonathan Franzen's new book. Undecided.
2. Going to see Girlyman with SKB and gang, listening obsessively ever since.
3. Listening to a lot of Devotchka.
4. Working on my "testimony." I got asked by my church to do this, and once I got past the initial "do I need to speak in tongues and start converting people?" freaked out ness, I began to enjoy it. I have to stand up and deliver it to the congregation next Sunday, so we'll see how it's received. I already edited out all the swears.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)