Misogynists are not "real" men

I write a lot when I'm inspired.  I go through droughts, then my brain starts percolating.  So beware, I may post a bunch over the next few days.  I'm inspired by the people I love, by pain I see in others, by weather and tragedy and beauty in nature, and the sad, misguided foolishness I see in others.

I recently discovered a blog dedicated to "reclaiming masculinity."  My first thought was, "Cool!  I love my manly man and hope to raise a boy to be masculine in the most Godly sense of the word."  Boy, was I disappointed!  These men were not claiming Christian views of manhood, but even without the religious aspect, they are so far off-base, it's borderline silly...

Where do I begin?  Well, I will limit my rants to their issues with me...  For starters, women should be ashamed if they have shortly cropped hair.  To sum them up, "why would anyone remove their primary symbol of feminine fertility..."  Uh, well, because PERSONALLY my femininity is not reduced to the length of my hair and my fertility is completely unrelated to my scalp.  I had long hair for a very long time.  Some of my Chicago friends hardly recognized in pictures with longer hair.  I enjoyed having long hair, for a while.  I felt pretty with it, sometimes.  But when I cut my hair off, I felt more feminine, beautiful, alive, confident, and well, ME than I ever did with long hair.  I don't pull it back in a ponytail.  I cannot hide behind it in uncomfortable circumstances.  So I've almost been forced to have more confidence. 

Speaking of which, they don't think a woman should be confident.  Rather, she should be "fragile and vulnerable."  Do these men want a china doll they can shatter if she doesn't bend to their every whim?  My man LIKES having a confident woman who knows her own mind, has opinions, doesn't need to be told what to do, when to do it, what to wear, or how to think.  He likes that he is not responsible for entertaining me or bossing me around.  He likes that I have friends and interests I developed independently.  He doesn't want someone overly clingy or needy and that requires confidence.  That confidence attracted him to me initially.  He knows I absolutely adore him and love being with him.  But he also loves that I don't twiddle my thumbs waiting for him to come home and my life to resume.

These so-called "men" also declared that a woman's value is primarily determined by her fertility and beauty.  Oh. My. Stars.  I don't know if any of these males have found lifelong spouses or consider children trophies or what ideas they're rooting into a new generation.  But who determines beauty?  Oh yeah, it's in the eye of the beholder.  Obviously, with my short hair (and I'm sure other equally undesirable physical qualities I must possess) I would not be beautiful in their eyes.  But I am to my husband.  And I've been told by others who have no obligation to me whatsoever that I'm not unpleasant to behold.  I've seen some women who the world holds up and says, "This is beauty."  Sometimes I agree.  Sometimes, I think to myself, "Eh...not so much."  That doesn't mean these misogynists would agree with my perspective. 

As for fertility...  I cannot even begin to express how much this sentiment angers me!  I don't owe anyone an explanation, much less an apology, for how many children I do or do not have.  I don't owe anyone information as to how many I want, why I have one, or why the Duggars have 19, (God bless them!)  A woman's fertility, ability, or choice of birthing children is not what makes one a "real" or "feminine" woman.  A woman's loveliness is not in the length of her hair.  A woman's beauty is in her heart.  I pity any man who cannot see that, for they are missing deep and remarkable treasures.  Their lives are empty for lack of the warmth and wealth of a woman's tenderness and kindness and spunk and love.  (I do not say that to imply life with marriage is hollow; but life without relationships (platonic or otherwise) is less rich.)

Their last little issue with me that I will address in this particular post was that "being a stay at home mother should be shamed, not celebrated.  Why should she go shopping every day, spending his money while he slaves away in a cubicle?"  Uh, sure.  Obviously, these people have never met or held a conversation with a SAHM.  My husband is the first to tell you that my job is much harder than his; that he would rather go to work than be with the boy, do the dishes, the laundry, the cleaning, the cooking, the errands all day every day.  And, oh yeah, shopping with a toddler?  Not all it's cracked up to be!  If I go "fun" shopping, I don't take the kid.  That's either "me" time or girlfriend time and that means hubby is home and wanting time with the boy.  And I don't go "fun" shopping all that often.  (But even when I do, I rarely buy stuff...)  Have you ever tried to go grocery shopping with a three-year-old who refuses to sit in the cart, wants to "help" and grabs the wrong things, wants to hug and high-five EVERY PERSON HE ENCOUNTERS, then tries to "help" bag the groceries?  Yep, that's my idea of a good time!  Really? 

Needless to say, these cavemen are not about recapturing masculinity.  They are not promoting "real" manhood as opposed to brow-beaten, whipped, or feminized versions of manhood.  I am all for "real" manhood.  I am all for my husband being strong, but that does not mean I must be weak.  I love that my husband takes care of the yard, but that doesn't mean I am incapable.  I love that he's the head of our family, but that doesn't make me a doormat under his feet.  I am his partner.  He is mine.  We complement one another.  We go together.  We fit.  His willingness to let me be his partner, to want me for his mate, to treat me as the equally intelligent and contributing member of our marriage that I am exemplify his masculinity in a million ways these foolish men will never experience.

A Special Kind of Stupid

It amazes me how what feels like faith to one person looks like a special kind of stupid to another. 

Noah spent years building a "boat" before rain ever fell on the earth.  Why would anyone need a floating structure?  And where are all these animals coming from and why?  Faith or Dumb?

Abraham packed up his family and lit out for the supposed "promised land."  He didn't know where it was.  He didn't know how long it would take him to get there.  He didn't have a GPS.  He just had faith in a God who usually did not choose to reveal Himself in audible or visual form. Crazy or unwaivering faith?

Mary tried to explain to her boyfriend, with whom she'd remained pure, that she was pregnant but hadn't cheated.  And oh yeah, it's the Son of God, the Messiah written about for these past thousands of years.  Yet Joseph didn't want to humiliate her.  So he chose to trust God; he chose to believe an angel.  And he chose to raise this little boy as his own, to the best of his feeble earthly abilities?  Liars or faithful followers?

Peter saw many miracles performed at the hands of Jesus.  But to step out and attempt to walk on water in the middle of a storm in REALLY deep water?  Yes, he waivered when his humanity took hold.  But he STEPPED OUT OF THE BOAT!  Man of little faith?  Or man of crazy-brave-trusting faith?

When it comes my turn, am I willing to wander into the desert?  Am I willing to step out of the boat?  Am I willing to look bat-crap crazy to the world, much less my friends and family?  Am I willing to be a special kind of stupid for the sake of faith in a God unseen and unheard but most assuredly known?

I hope so.  I hope I look foolish to the world when I trust God's plan and path.  I hope I don't have a good, common-sense reason to give anyone when they ask why.  That way, when God's plan is revealed, when it is shown that His way was higher and good and holy and right, I can't take any credit.  I get to point to God and explain His perfect will that doesn't make a bit of sense to me.  I get to say that, while the decision or journey was far from easy, it was right and worth it!

Making Memories

I am not crafty mom.  I am not creative mom.  I am not even "let him play with play-doh every time he asks" mom.  I am not structured without flexibility mom.  I probably let him watch more television than he should (although, in my defense, the kid loves "Andy and Barney.")  I am not perfect.  And I'll not claim to be.

But I have to admit, the days when the television is off longer, I enjoy more.  I'll put on music and we dance and act silly.  Or I'll turn it off entirely and go take my shower.  When I come out, he's using his imagination and creatively playing with his toys or singing and drumming on whatever he can find. 

Today, we acted silly together like super heroes.  (Jackson started it by draping a blanket on his shoulders and saying, "I super!")  So I grabbed my fuzzy pink bathrobe, Lino grabbed the throw from the back of the sofa, and we tied those, as well as Jackson's blanket, around all three of our necks.  (That way, our capes wouldn't fall as we "flew.")  We ran around with capes flowing behind us.  We proclaimed our super-ness.  Then after dinner, we played with a few puzzles.  (I'm always impressed at how much more our son knows than I realize.)  Then we read a few books.  And I'm always amazed that he has memorized some of the books and wants to take his turn "reading" to us.  Then we sang a few songs and just generally enjoyed being together as a family.

And it got me thinking.  I don't know at what age memories and moments become imprinted on children.  I don't know if he'll remember any of these things.  I don't know if he'll recall playing superheroes when he's a teenager or father or granddad.  I'm not sure if these moments matter in the grand scheme of his life.  But they sure matter in the grand scheme of mine.  And so, if these memories are made only for me, they are beautiful, worthwhile moments I know I'll carry with me the rest of my life.  These times make me so grateful for the child I have, the husband I have, the job I have, and the life I have.  I know the days I want to pull my hair out, these small memories will soothe me and remind me how very blessed I am. 

So I'll make memories.  Hopefully, I'll realize how much I enjoy these days and be more deliberate to make them wonderful more often.  I'll keep these memories.  I'll understand what the Bible said when it was written, "She treasured these things and pondered them in her heart."  I'll lock away these memories as treasures of the wonderous grace and mercy God gave me in this little family. 

Choosing God on this side of Eternity

I've thought a lot lately about one of the misconceptions about people who choose to believe in and love and trust in God.  I think a lot of people, believers, agnostics, and atheists, are under the impression that belief in the Almighty is simply a free pass from suffering in the afterlife.  How sad and misguided!  People fail to remember that life on this planet was meant to be permanent and perfect and lovely.  When WE chose to reject the perfection He offered us, another plan was set into motion.

But believing in Christ and accepting his offer of salvation and eternal life isn't the only gifts He gives.  Rather, the Giver of Life wants us to experience a full and satisfying life on THIS side of Eternity, as well as the other side.  Choosing Christ is not a promise to have no problems or trials or sufferings on Earth.  (Actually, He kind of said the exact opposite.)  But what we do have in the midst of those trials and sufferings is amazing.  And, in my opinion, something a relationship with a false deity or no belief in the Higher Power, can offer. 

What we have on Earth is Peace and Joy.  God gives us peace in the most horrific of circumstances, even when we don't understand it.  While we cry, He weeps with us.  He holds us in His arms.  But then He does something incredible.  He turns our mourning into JOY.  His timing for that transition is unique in every situation.  And we must let Him.  It is usually subtle.  It sneaks up on us.  But He puts a glimmer of a smile where we never thought we'd find one again.

He gives us Trust.  He allows us to trust Him and our fellow human beings.  I think we're a suspicious breed by nature because we know the sin and deceit of which we're capable.  But through Him, through the trust that He's gained by proving Himself faithful and true throughout the ages, we trust one another.  And we become people who can be trusted.

He pours out Blessings.  He desperately wants to spoil us with His love.  And He's so creative in how He does it!  Maybe our salary isn't as big as we think it out to be.  But maybe our money stretches further because He allows our car not to break down.  Or He provides a mechanic who cuts us a break.  Or milk and bread are on sale when payday's a week away.  Maybe He gives us blessings in the form of the lives He allows us to intersect.  Maybe He puts your new lifelong bestie in your path in the most obscure and unlikely of ways.

And most of all, He gives us Grace and Mercy.  For me, I cannot consider one of these attributes by itself.  Grace is getting what we don't deserve.  Mercy is not getting what we do deserve.  How humbling both of those thoughts are!  In a culture that preaches entitlement, it's an honor to know that our life is not steered by what we do or don't deserve.  Our lives are guided by His richness in Glory.  The Grace that I've received time and again is almost unfathomable.  And the Mercy.  Oh the Mercy.  So often I continue to pray, "Please don't give me what I deserve!"  And I have so much more than I could ask for or imagine.  And the best part of all?  His Mercies are new every morning.  His faithfulness never ceases, even on this side of Heaven. 

Don't get me wrong.  The idea of spending an Eternity with the Creator greatly excites me.  I believe in Heaven.  But I don't think I'm supposed to rush to get there.  God has given me so much here on Earth.  I want to treasure and cherish every person, every blessing, every possible moment while I'm allowed.  God is truly a God of Eternity.  He stretches from Age to Age, Beginning to End.  His love doesn't begin with our Death.  So why should we limit His blessings and riches of LIFE to solely the afterlife?

My Infinitely Wise Perspective of Potty Training

Like so many other parents (of one child,) I am the quintessential expert on potty training and everyone should do everything exactly as I have because my child is perfect.

Yeah, I couldn't keep a straight face when I wrote that, either...   But here's my reality.  I read lots of books.  I read lots of blogs.  I listened to mommy-friends and mommies I either don't know or don't care for giving me both solicited and unsolicited advice.  I read books that told me to let him run around naked.  I heard people tell me to plan to not go anywhere for a week or better.  I had people tell me he needs to be forced to do it when he's 2.  I've heard that I shouldn't give up if it doesn't seem to be working because then the child will feel like he's "winning" and I'll never be the person in charge again.

I tried potty-training several months ago.  I tried the methods in the book and the methods (that made sense) from moms I know, trust, respect, and admire.  I tried letting him run around in just his underwear.  I tried forcing him to drink constantly and making him pee every 15 minutes.  I tried putting training toilets on towels in the living room and  the bathroom.  I tried, I tried, I tried.  But after a while, Jackson just flat out laid down on the floor screaming, "I don't want the potty!"  I offered him a choice of wearing big boy underwear or a baby diaper.  He looked at me matter-of-factly and said, "Baby diaper."

So, I backed off.  I put him back in diapers.  I'd offer the option of the potty every so often, but I never pushed the issue.  My philosophy became as follows (with wise insight from two fabulous moms):  1) If I turn this into a battle of wills, he may become too stubborn and actually do damage to his body (i.e. UTI or constipation) by refusing to toilet.  2) Nobody ever started kindergarten wearing diapers.  3) Regardless of how much I push, he won't be potty trained one day earlier than he chooses to.  The only difference is how long we both spend being frustrated.

A couple of weeks ago, out of the clear blue sky (not having talked about it lately) I was about to put a diaper on him.  "I want big boy underwear, Momma," he said.  "Ok.  But that means you have to go pee-pee in the potty, not in the pants," I explained.  (Duh!  Of course I told him he could wear underwear!)   Early on, he had a few accidents.  He'd refuse to use the toilet only to have an accident.  He's still not great about telling me (I have to tell, not ask, him.)  But he's agreeing to it now and slowly getting better.  He's learning to say "I don't need to go," instead of "I don't like the potty!"  He's even gotten to the point where he'll come find me and tell me he needs to "pook." (His word, not mine.) 

He's been accident-free for probably 5 days or better.  This includes going to the gym, dance and tumbling class, the park, long drives, and other people's homes.  He's getting to the point where he's waking up from naps and even in the morning bone-dry.  (Not every time, but more often than I'd expect.)  All that to say, I'm all for being the parent.  I'm all for being the person responsible for his well-being and see that he develops on track, eats healthily(ish), has manners, and generally turns out (hopefully) to be a kind and responsible adult in a couple of decades.  But in this particular circumstance, for this particular parent and child pair, it has definitely been the right decision to have this be a child-initiated event.

So, as I said previously, do everything exactly as I say.  Because (this second time around,) potty training is pretty darn easy, laid back, relatively unfrustrating, and ridiculously rewarding.  BE LIKE ME!

Robbed.

On Sunday, our apartment was broken into.  They took some video games, gaming systems, and accessories.  They took my husband's work laptop.  And they took our personal laptop.  (They even had the audacity to use our own trash bags to carry their "loot" out!)  And no, we did not have our laptop backed up.  Foolish, I know.  It will never happen again.  Yes, we had renter's insurance.  But let me tell you what we were REALLY robbed of...

Photos.  They took every picture and video of our son and of our life together.  Yes, some of them are on facebook and/or youtube.  With a great deal of time, effort, and energy, we will be able to recover at least some of them.  But it still just sucks.  And it still hurts.

 On my laptop was the book that I've been writing over the past couple of years.  The one I was over 2/3rds done with.  The one I had every intention of finishing by December of this year.  The one I thought I had emailed to myself so it would be in "the cloud" in case catastrophe ever struck (but which I cannot currently find in any email account, either inbox or sent items...)  On my laptop was other writings (songs, poems, letters, musings.)  It absolutely breaks my heart to lose all my writings.  I'm going to try my best to recreate them, if for no other reason than to not let the thieves win.

Peace of mind and safety.  The small things I took for granted, like showering while my son napped, I'm now afraid to do.  My heart rate increases slightly every time I put the key in the door to walk in.  Will it catch or will I find it to be unlocked again?  Even just being at home alone with my small son makes me nervous for the first time.

And when I say "robbed," I mean that, in a small way, I feel like I've lost small pieces of Nathan again.  Pictures of him.  Writings about him.  Writings of his.  Things that weren't on facebook or any other online resource.  Things that remind me of him.  Just a sense of his being that was digitally captured. 

But what they cannot take, what they will never change, is my sense of self.  I am not now, and have never been, and will never be a victim.  I refuse to allow this circumstance redefine me.  I was widowed.  I was robbed.  But I am NOT  a victim.  I have had to remind myself over the past week of lessons learned during Nathan's illness and after his passing.  I am who I am because of, not in spite of, what I've been through and who I've known and loved.  I am always first and foremost a daughter of the most high God.  I am daughter to wonderful parents, wife to wonderful men, and mother to a wonderful child.  I have amazing siblings, extended family members, and friends.  I get through tough situations because I have Christ and support of kind people. 

So, while this situation, hurts, and sucks, and makes me uncomfortable and want to cry, I know that the tears will dry.  I know the fears will subside.  I know the pain will dull.  I may recover my data.  I probably will not.  But no matter what the outcome, I know who I am, I know who I'm not, and I know that, in the end, I'll come out stronger.  And they don't get to win...

Best Words Ever

Some days, being a play-at-home parent is mentally and emotionally (much less physically!) exhausting.  Some days, I feel like all I do is fuss and fight and punish my child.  Some days, I REALLY miss having an office to go to or wish someone else would spend the day with my child (knowing full well he would behave like a little angel for anyone but me.)

Today, though, I LOVED being my little boy's mommy.  Lately, I guess, would be more accurate.  He's still getting up WAAAAYYYY too early in the morning.  (I recently bought a stay-in-bed clock on ebay that should arrive tomorrow.  Will post more on that another time.)  But other than that nasty little habit, his behavior seems better and his temper more even-keeled.   But today was epically fun!

It started off with him coming to lay on his dad's side of the bed while his father was in the shower.  We snuggled for a few minutes.  Then he reaches over, strokes my cheek, and calls me "Sweetheart" in his inarticulate, sing-song, three-year-old voice.  So precious!  We go to the gym, come home, eat lunch, he naps, yadda-yadda.  I asked him what he wanted to play after he had his milk and he said "Basketball."  So we go play basketball in his closet (which is large enough to double as his playroom.  Seriously.)  I love that every time he makes a shot, he falls into me for a giant hug and giggles uncontrollably.  (Although I do hope he outgrows that particular habit by the time he's in competitive sports in school, for his own sake!)  He missed several shots in a row at one point, and I could see him getting frustrated.  I told him to slow down and keep trying.  Three shots later, he finally makes another goal.  He was so excited and proud of himself!  You could see that he had determined not to quit until he made another shot.  He sank onto my lap for a cuddle and declared he was done with basketball for the time being.

So we played kitchen.  Still in his closet.  After he was done "cooking" whatever concoction he was making this time, he decided to pull EVERYTHING out of the play kitchen.  I didn't mind as long as it was picked up eventually.  Once he was done, he wanted to play with his millions of blankets.  I reminded him we have to clean up one thing before starting another.  He actually sang the "Clean Up" song by himself!  And he actually cleaned up (which was even more impressive than the song.)  I know it seems silly and trite, but I'm so impressed when he's actually happily obedient and agreeable to "chore" type activities.  I guess maybe him being three isn't the worst thing in the world.  He then decided to pile all the blankets on me (as I'm stretched out facedown on the floor) and sit on my back.  Then he decides I'm a horse.  So he starts bouncing up and down on me saying, "Yee-haw!"  I don't know where he got the Yee-haw from, but I couldn't stop laughing!  He then puts away most of his bedding, save one blanket which he decided to drape across his shoulders and declare, "I'm super!"  (This was also a new one to me; never done or said that before.)  I asked him, "Are you Super-Jack?"  "Yeah!" he said delightedly.  Then he went to get another blanket back off the bed, threw it across my back and said, "Super-Mom!"  BEST. WORDS. EVER!

I can't even remember what we did or played after that. All I knew was that, no matter how rotten the bad days are; no matter how often I want to string him up by his toenails; no matter how crazy or angry or sleepy he makes me; I am honored and blessed to be his mommy.  And I am beyond privileged to get to have these small middle-of-the-day moments with him.  Yep.  I love my job!