<rant>I get a more than a little edgy over our sexpectations for women. Don’t get me wrong, sex is great. Sexy can be a lot of fun. But when it seems overwhelmingly that sexy = “hot women scantily clad” (oh boy, bring on the spiders) as opposed to sexy = “awesome things between pairs (or, whatever) of people,” that can just suck.
There are lines I draw in the sand. There are lots of things people find acceptable — or at least fail to question — that set me right off, especially when a woman’s sex appeal gets pulled into business and other inappropriate settings.
So without trying to parse “what is ok?” and “what isn’t?” in laborious detail, can we all watch this and just agree *something* is very very wrong?
Next time you laugh or leer at outrageously raunchy women in a very public setting, tell me — is this really how you want your daughter to look, feel and behave?
I’m all for bringing sexy back. I just think it’s way sexier when sexy is shared a little more evenly. </rant>
If you’re too lazy to click through to her brillarious post, Cliff’s notes follow:
Wow, so, from Divorce to Reconnecting your family, we gots all kinds of family (dys)function goin on here at LGYL. (There something you’re not mentioning? Like that you just fell off the friggin face of the earth & then returned w/out a word? -Ed.) [Um, yeah, that blog pause? You have NO idea. -Lmns]
But back to this post. We’re pausing… (again, dammit? -Ed.) [No, I mean shifting gears from obnoxious to eloquent. Will you just shaddap Ed? -Lmns] …for an uncharacteristically sentimental moment to ponder some of the wonderful, beautiful things about family, and ways of reconnecting. Now that I’ve totally ruined the mood, take a deep breath, smile, and consider these ways of connecting with those you love most:
Reconnecting with your family: a How-to
Presence. Quiet. Conversation. Shared experience. Touch. Collaboration. Play.
Preparing + sharing a good meal.
Love as a verb more than a noun.
Stepping away from the web, the gadgets and the external world. (Tho its sometimes possible to reestablish civil terms via email when something goes off the rails.)
Shared effort/work/accomplishment: Chores, yardwork, raking leaves, chopping wood, shoveling snow, accomplishing together. Shared exhaustion and satisfaction in a job well done.
And when we got home, well we just started chopping wood
Because you never know how next year will be
And we’ll gather all our arms can carry — Dar Williams
Retreat/vacation: Even just goofy daytrips. Especially goofy daytrips. I friggin love goofy daytrips.
Also incredibly important — self care and self-love. Nothing above will work without it. This used to be my biggest problem. The more solid you can be loving you, the more you can give to others. The oxygen on the airplane? Put your own mask on first.
Who knew our debt to Coney Island?
Coney Island, he said. They had a display, a freak show, for lack of a better word. Perhaps one day a baby was born too soon and this experimentally-minded doctor said ‘Let’s see if we can keep this fetus alive outside the womb…’ and he managed it, and then again, and then they were all hooked, trying to get them to survive smaller and smaller, and nobody had ever seen such a thing. It was one of the most popular displays.
We got off so easy. 34+ weeks. Healthy. Just 8 days’ NICU. Coney Island, I’ll never look at a corn dog the same way again.
Kate is another hero. My baby’s twin whispered silently, commonly, away just into the fetal period. She’s had the strength to meet, love, nurture and surrender her Liam, sharing his short life and radiant memoryspirit —
When the sun dapples through the trees they whisper we have him. They may be all the sum of osmosis and photosynthesis and veins and nutrients but to me altogether they are one voice that breathes, knows, keeps.
— with every one of us.
Thanks for the free post, WhyMommy. Keep on rocking your fight against IBC.
Moms. We love our kids. We drive ourselves nuts taking care of them and helping them learn and grow. We would do anything for them. Right?
Of course. So do them a favor and take care of yourself. Do your monthly breast self-exam and report any changes to your OB/GYN. ANY changes. Even something that seems minor, like redness, soreness, thickening, itchiness, texture changes, dimpling, or a bug bite that just won’t heal. These seemingly minor symptoms are also signs of the baddest breast cancer out there – inflammatory breast cancer – and need to be checked out right away.
So do it for yourself or do it for your kids. But please, do your breast self-exam this month. Even if you’re pregnant. Even if you’re breastfeeding. Even if you think you’re “too young for breast cancer.” It could save your life.
[Team WhyMommy! Heading off to BlogHer this week? Looking for something to fill the space while you’re on the plane to Chicago? “Steal” this post and put it up at your site while you’re gone, or let me know if you’d like me to send you a more detailed and informative post, and that’s one more post down before you go! Oh, and have a GREAT time in Chicago!]
What is it with the shift from telling your kid’s age in months to telling it in years?
Sometime around 2 years of age, this starts to happen. By 3 the deal is pretty much sealed. I defy you to find a preschooler whose parents will answer you “oh, my __aiden is 38 months old.”
Unlike most parenting quirks, it’s not just the kid-obsessed parents who think this way. When someone asks me how old my daughter currently is, I know for a fact they are not looking for “1”, they want to know “22 months.” But I’d say 36 months is the absolute outer envelope. Nobody’s kid is 48 months old.
I think it’s fraction acceleration.
When you notice the feeling that time is accelerating and moving “faster than ever”, you’re noticing that a year is now an increasingly small fraction of your time on earth. What was once a whole 1/10th of your life seems to dwindle to a “mere” 1/25th. 1/35th, etc. So I think that’s what’s going on here. That and developmentally, a 12 month “1 year old” and a 23 month “one year old” might as well be seedlings and trees.
To be less glib, can you treat this next year as 1/10th of your life instead of the actual fraction it’s become?