08
Mar 2013

Question Of The Week

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It’s International Women’s Day. In honour of the occasion this week’s question is:

Who are the amazing women in your life?

I feel blessed by the abundance of super cool gals in my life. Each deserves a blog post of her very own and if I had the time to write them all I would. For now, I’d like to give a special shout out to the women of my family. Wonderful people, each of whom has helped shape me and sustain me as I stumble through this obstacle course called life.

My mom. My chattiness, my love of bright colours and my need for control all come from her. Sometimes we butt heads but at the end of the day it’s the little things – like her support of this blog – that let me know she’s always on my side. I love you, Mom. Without you none of this would be possible – literally.

My mother-in-law defies every stereotype associated with the role. She is warm, smart, honest, supportive and a ton of fun. She managed to build an impressive career in education, while has raising three exceptional, accomplished children. She is a tremendous role model and one of my dearest friends.

My sisters-in-law are pretty impressive gals too. The older is a doctor, the younger a lawyer. My “big sister”  is kind, funny and good everything from medicine, to mothering, to writing and words (she kicks my ass at Scrabble every time!). My “little sister” could run the world and we’d in very good hands. She’s brave, strong and loving. Their girls are very, very lucky to have these women as their mothers.

And speaking of those girls…let’s talk about my nieces. Four women-in-the-making. Four BIG loves in my life. Not only is my twelve-year-old niece a gifted athlete, she’s also kind, responsible and an all-around beautiful person. The eight-year-old is feisty, spirited and perhaps most clever kid I’ve ever met. My three year old niece is a charming, little storyteller, eager to regale the world with tales of all kind. And the one year old is an adorable baby muffin with bright eyes and a smile. They are the four best girls an aunt could hope for.

And Steph. The sister of my soul. We’ve been together since we were seven years old. She’s my oldest friend, my best friend and she knows me in a way that no one else can. When The Bean was born, I asked her to be his godmother. Though neither of is religious, I couldn’t think of anyone better to be my child’s moral guide through life. Steph’s sense of fairness, justice and equality are tremendous. She reads all the books. She knows all the sports. And you can tell me there’s a better best friend out there…but I won’t believe you!

Now it’s your turn. Tell me about the wonderful women that make your life awesome! The comments are open. Happy IWD, everyone!

Categories: Family, Feminism, Friends Tags: , , , , , , , ,
25
Feb 2013

Reflections on Number 8: California Dreamin’

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Aaaand…we’re back!

As I mentioned earlier, The MoMs, The Green Bean and I took a quick trip down to San Francisco.  Spending time in the Bay Area is always a pleasure, but we also had much business to take care of, namely scoping out neighbourhoods, looking at homes and meeting the locals.

By now, many of you know (and the rest of you have probably guessed) that come June, the family and I will be leaving Ottawa and moving to San Francisco!

Actually, it looks like we’ll be moving to Berkeley, where a slightly less expensive rental market will afford us an extra bedroom for guests. It’s a pretty happening city in its own right and a short BART ride away from its sister across the Bay. We spent the bulk of our time Berkeley this week and the friendly people, bountiful markets and vibrant night life were seductive indeed.

Why the move?

I decided several months ago that I wanted to continue my career as a sexuality educator. To do so, I knew I’d have to further my education. After a lot of research, discussion with colleagues, discussion with mentors and discussion with my family, I decided to I would apply to begin graduate studies in Human Sexuality this fall. The program that best suited my needs was the The Insititute for the Advanced Study of Human Sexuality, located smack dab in the middle of San Francisco.

The family I and briefly considered the distance option, which would have meant travelling from Ottawa to San Francisco for two to three weeks at a time, every four months. It was doable, but the more The MoMs and I thought about it, the more we realized that that much time apart was going to heap a ton of extra stress and work onto both of our shoulders – something that neither of us wanted.

What we wanted was to spend more time with each other and with The Bean. We wanted a break from some of the obligations that have us both a bit bogged down. The MoMs’ brother and his family recently made a big move to Australia. It was a risk leaving their very established life behind, but the fresh start has done them a world of good. The MoMs and I began to wonder if a new beginning might do us good too. Both of us love San Francisco. Nice weather and the opportunity to be outside in sunshine year-round would undoubtedly be good for the Bean. The MoMs could work there. I’d have access to some of the best sexuality resources and experts in the world. The more we thought about it, the more we realized heading out to California was a no-brainer. So we’re going.

The plan as it stands now is to go for a least a year. I have very strong attachments to Ottawa – especially the family of friends I’ve made in the almost fifteen years I’ve lived here. I also see that there’s a real need for sex positive resources in our city. Eventually I’d love to come back and continue working as a sexuality educator here in the capital. We’ll see what life has in store.

So that’s the jam. There’s a triple-long list of to-dos to get done before we pull up stakes. While part of me is champing at the bit to start this new adventure, I know the next few months are going to race by and I know I’m going to miss the shit out of Ottawa once we go. So I will enjoy the time I have left here, while I look forward to a new set of experiences and the chance to cross item number 8 of my 40 Before 40 off the list!

Categories: Community, Family, Friends, Fun Stuff, My 40 Before 40, Parenting, The Green Bean, The Man of Mans Tags: , , , , ,
18
Jan 2013

Question Of The Week

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Every Friday I ask you a question of the week. You can answer often, occasionally or not at all. If you have something to say but you’re feeling shy, you’re always welcome to comment anonymously.

Have you ever had an animal intrude on your sexy times?

Growing up, I had a cat named Pudding. While the name was evocative of a soft, gentle soul Pudding was in fact, a big, black territorial brute.  He was ruthlessly possessive of his turf and his people. One day, I was in our basement getting cozy with my then-boyfriend on the couch. Pudding the Cat was curled up on the nearby La-Z-Boy. To the uninitiated visitor he appeared to be sleeping but I knew he was doing feline surveillence, keeping an eye and both ears fixed on the intruder that was kissing me.

Eventually the smooching led to some handsy business. I was into it. Pudding The Cat was not. Despite being well into his senior years, he made a deft leap from his lurking spot over to the couch. He stalked over to my boyfriend, glaring at him with menace.

“I think you’ve made an enemy,” I told my partner in second base.

“Nah,” my boyfriend replied “I don’t think so. I’m good with animals.”

“Well he’s not good with people. Let’s just go up to my room.”

He was never one to back down from a challenge, that old boyfriend of mine. He was convinced his good-with-animal ways could appease my affronted pet. He reached out with one hand and scratched Pudding behind the ear. (Note: In my memory that gesture happens in slow motion, while I cry out “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”)

What happened next was an angry cat screech and a blurr of black as Pudding went ninja cat all over my boyfriend. Working with alarming efficiency, Pudding was the victor after only ten seconds of combat. My poor ex was bleeding from a dozen scratches to the arm.  Satisfied that the sexy mood between us was good and dead, Pudding gave a final glare before running upstairs to pester my dad for table scraps.

“I hate your fucking cat,” my boyfriend growled.  I couldn’t blame him. But I had warned him. Pudding the Cat…not good with people.

 

Categories: Family, Question Of The Week Tags: , , ,
31
Dec 2012

A Year In Review

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Aaand…we’re back!

Life took my best laid plans to scale back my blogging and turned them into a full scale hiatus. On the bleak side, I was plagued by a brutal flu, followed by a less intense but super-icky cold. Worst of all was the sudden death of a beloved family member just a couple of days before Christmas.

But the holiday hasn’t all been sickness and sad. The MoMs and I managed to pull together a pretty swank Christmas dinner, complete with prime rib roast and a successful first attempt at Yorkshire puddings. We went for our first family snowshoe through Gatineau park. I’ve also got some pretty exciting plans for the new year in the works…but that’s a subject for another post!

Right now I’m just glad to be back writing in the adorkable realm. And since this will be my final post of 2012, I thought it’d be fun to take a look back at my ten most popular posts from this past year, before taking the plunge into 2013!

Happy New Year, everyone!

 

1. My Favourite Things: Elvgren Pin Up Girls

2. It’s Not You, It’s Me. Well Actually, It’s Them

3. My Favourite Things: The Lelo Smart Wand (Video Review)

4. Plight of the Topless Woman

5. My Book Report On 50 Shades Of Gray

6. Why I Don’t Oppose Sex Selective Abortion

7. My Favourite Things: 50 Shades Of Snark

8. My Favourite Things: Dr. NerdLove

9. Sorry, But…

10. Princesses Are People Too. Why Kate Middleton Had Every Right To Be Topless.

 

 

Categories: 50 Shades of Grey, Crushes, Family, Feminism, Media, Sex, The Green Bean, The Man of Mans, Toys, Video
29
Nov 2012

Repost: Confessions Of A Pretty Good Mother

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It’s been a rough week parenting-wise. I’ve reached new heights of frustration and hit uncharted I-have-NO-idea-what-I’m-doing lows.

I’m just a woman who loves her child. Some days, like today, that doesn’t feel like enough.  I’m reposting this entry to remind myself that it is.

I love my child.  I loved him the first time I held him and every moment since.  This is not the confession. It’s a fundamental fact of who I am.  I will love my child until the day I die.

Motherhood is hard.  That’s an accepted fact.  But what I find difficult – more than the actual work of raising my child – are the conventions and expectations that exist around being a mother.   I don’t have many “Mom” friends. By which I mean,  I have friends who are moms but motherhood isn’t the basis of our friendship.

When The Bean was a baby, I attended a few play groups. I found they were difficult for me.  First of all, all of the adults were women. That’s not surprising  ut for whatever reason I’m often uncomfortable in gender-segregated groups.  I also found had a strong need to focus on something other than my much adored baby.  At the play groups, the conversation revolved almost exclusively around the babies and the work of parenting.  Again, I shouldn’t have been surprised.  That was our common bond.  And parenting is hard.  I understood the need to compare notes on feeding, sleep schedules, vaccinations etc…but I didn’t want to.  I wanted to talk about anything else.  I wanted to be distracted from minutia of baby care, not immersed in it. But I didn’t know how to say that.  Not without disparaging the needs of the other women.  And not without sounding like a bad mother.

Once I took the still infant Bean to the playground in the suburb where we used to live.  Another woman, also with her baby, remarked that she had often seen me out and about in the community by myself.   She commented on my apparent comfort in leaving my baby with The Man of Mans (who at the time worked from home 4 days a week, to facilitate a more equitable parenting arrangement).  I assured her that The MoMs was as capable and loving a parent as anyone could be.  She chuckled and said something along the lines of fathers and their bumbling good intentions being inferior to mothers and their precision parenting.  It was clear from her tone, that I was expected to laugh in agreement because hahaha, men are SO clueless! They can’t take of babies or change toilet paper!

But I didn’t laugh.  It wasn’t funny and it wasn’t true.  Instead, I replied, “I wouldn’t have had a baby with my husband if I didn’t trust him to take care of it.”   My playground companion was thrown.  She thought for a moment, then said, “Hmmm. Maybe you’re just not as attached to your baby.”  It was clear from her tone that she hadn’t intended to be cutting…but what she said eviscerated me.  I was devastated. I was furious.   I loved my son.  I had never worked so hard or committed myself to anything or anyone with such devotion.  But because I was the mother, interests and activities outside of that role were cause to call my love into question?

I wanted to scream.    I felt nauseous, cold and I could feel hot tears of rage stinging behind my eyes.  When she saw my reaction, my playground critic did some frantic backpeddling, explaining it was self-criticism, an admission of her own overprotective nature.  I was angry enough that I felt I might hit her.  ”Don’t talk to me,” I told her.  I took my child and went back home.

I’ve been wondering lately if my reluctance to speak honestly about mothering with other mothers stems from that one bad experience.  The “Mom script” , which is how I think of it, demands so much.  It hard…hard in different way from the “Dad script” which seems to imply that men are naturally inept at parenting and thus praised effusively for any involvement.  Interestingly, I find I often related more easily to other father. My personality is similar to my dad’s. So is my parenting style.

The truth is, The Mans of Mans is a much more detail-oriented parent than I am. He also more of a planner and more organized.  Meanwhile, I tend to wing it a little more.  I don’t totally buy into the notion that being a mom is something I can do “right”.  I know I’m smart.  I’m reasonably sensible.  I’m loving. I have  financial and personal resources at my disposal should I need them.  Many a decent person  has been raised with a lot less than my son has.   So while marketing copy tells me that as a mom I should work in constant pursuit of smiley, sunshine-y parental perfection, it’s too exhausting and so very not-me. I have to cross my fingers and hope my standards of “good enough” suffice.

I admit I didn’t breast feed.  Those who understand the circumstances generally accept my decision not to do so.  But, I have to confess, even if it had been possible…I still might not have chosen do it.  It’s not meant as an indictment of any person who does.   Formula feeding with its lesser antibodies and admittedly cumbersome preparation meant The MoMs was an equal feeding partner.  My son got to bond with both his parents and we each got eight hours of uninterrupted sleep on a regular basis.  I’m a restless soul.  Having the physical freedom to leave my baby, kept me happy and energized during those arduous early months.  My son —  and perhaps this is just a stroke of tremendous luck — has a pretty sturdy immune system nonetheless.

I don’t deny the claims of breast milk is best. I just don’t parent like that.  I’m so familiar with the notion of  mothers who give endlessly of themselves for the sake of their children.  I’m not that mom.  Mothering has effected me in some soul-altering ways, but it didn’t change my fundamentally selfish nature.   I will never deny my son anything he needs from me…but I won’t deny myself if I don’t feel it’s necessary.

I work. I go running and I go dancing.  I go to the theatre. I cram a lot of fun into my life, even if that means I have to stay up very late to do it.  I see my friends as often as possible.  I send my son to pre-school, to his grandparents, I hire babysitters.  I’m very comfortable exposing my child to a community of caregivers.  I feel great taking time for myself.

I confess I’m relatively lax on the application of sunscreen and the educational merits of his toys.  We spend a lot of time outside, but I have no issue parking him in front of the TV with an age-appropriate show when I need to get shit done.   I’m happy when he eats nutritionally balanced meals, but I’m not terribly concerned when he doesn’t.  I confess to losing my cool.  I confess to losing my temper.  I feel bad, but at the same time I expect it of myself.   I almost never read parenting books or websites. They generally serve to undermine my faith in my own instincts.   I encourage The Bean to take risks, run freely around playgrounds, cut vegetables alongside me.  I draw the line at life-threating/altering risk but I want him to do things that can and do result in falls, scares, bumps, cuts and other unpleasantness.  Life is shitty sometimes. I want him to learn how to deal.

While I sometimes feel nostalgic for his baby days, I’m thrilled at his growing independence.  I’m certainly not wishing his childhood away, but every step he takes away from me and towards self-reliance feels like an affirmation.  Someday, he won’t need me at all.  My dad once told me that the day I moved away from home, he was very sad, but tremendously relieved.  ”Once I knew you could take care of yourself, my biggest responsibility as a parent was over.   I could relax and enjoy watching you live your own life.”  Now that I’m a parent, I totally relate.

Sometimes, I’m afraid to talk to other mothers.  I’m afraid of being judged as inferior, uncaring.  I’m afraid of asking questions that might seem judgmental or intrusive.  It’s a sensitive subject.  In that way, I’m as typical as any mom I’ve met.  Maybe one day I won’t be.  Maybe one day, I’ll be able to trade notes with the great moms at the playground, secure in the knowledge that a pretty good mom is the best I can be…and that’s totally okay.

Originally posted December 14th, 2010

Categories: Family, Feminism, The Green Bean, The Man of Mans Tags: , , ,
01
Nov 2012

40 Before 40

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On Saturday I will be 37. And while that’s clear evidence that I’m growing older chronologically, I still look forward to my birthday with child-like (or more accurately, childish) excitement.

I’m jazzed about this birthday but I’m also aware that my 40th is tantalizingly close. I have to admit I’ve been looking forward to hitting that milestone for a long time.  Assuming I still have health, love, family and friendship in my life, making it to forty definitely feels like  accomplishment. And I’m almost there! Almost, but not quite.

I see the big 4-0 in the distance. But I must remember that life is journey and I should enjoy the ride. I should also eat fewer fortune cookies, because I’m starting to sound like one. Basically, I’m excited about turning forty but I also want to be excited about the three years before that happens.

So…

I’ve made a list. My 40 Before 40.

Long time readers of this blog and its predecessor, Adorkable Thespian, may remember my 101 in 1001. It was a list of 101 things I would attempt to do in 1,001 days. My time on that list expired a couple of weeks ago (If anyone is curious, I completed 58 of the 101 items). So this seemed like the perfect time to gear up  and ride out my thirties with a new set of goals.

The 40 Before 40 is a  list of forty things I hope to do before I celebrate my fortieth birthday. Will I achieve them all? Unlikely. Will I have fun trying? Hopefully.  As with the 101 in 1001, I’ll likely post about my progress as I check certain tasks off the list. I’ll begin on Saturday when I will attempt to bake my own birthday cake.  It all wraps up November 2nd, 2015 – the eve of my 40th birthday!

Here we go…

NADINE’S 40 BEFORE 40

1. Bake a cake from scratch.

2. Make a coconut cream pie for my dad.

3. Perfect a French fry recipe.

4. Co-host a Passover seder.

5. Get a non-ugly, non-holiday themed apron.

 

6. Go to grad school.

7. Earn my Master’s in Human Sexuality.

8. Live in San Francisco.

9. Attend a SAR.

10. Become an AASECT certified sexuality educator.

 

11. Write a book.

12. Speak at a conference.

13. Run my own sexuality workshop/seminar.

14. Plant a vegetable garden.

15.Don’t kill the vegetable garden.

 

16. Teach The Green Bean to ride his bike without training wheels.

17. Take The Green Bean to an San Francisco Giant’s game.

18. Take The Green Bean to lunch at Shopsy’s.

19. Run the National Capital 5K with The Green Bean.

20. Compete in a duathlon.

 

21. Go cross country skiing.

22. Go downhill skking.

23. Skate the length of the Rideau Canal.

24. Master backwards roller skating.

25. Learn to skate-jump.

 

26. Learn to make my own burlesque costumes.

27. Perform in a burlesque show outside of Ottawa.

28. Take a burlesque class/workshop.

29. Attend the Feminist Porn Awards in Toronto.

30. Visit The Museum of Sex.

 

31. Visit The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

32. Visit Danielle in Seattle.

33. Visit Corsica.

34. Rent a cottage and relax for a week.

35. Take some yoga classes.

 

36. Organize my closet.

37. Consign some unwanted clothes.

38. Get a pair of beautiful yellow pumps.

39. Have a new family portrait done.

40. Plan a celebration for my 15th wedding anniversary.

 

 

 

Categories: Family, My 101 in 1001, My 40 Before 40, Parenting, Porn, The Green Bean, The Man of Mans Tags: , , ,
21
Sep 2012

Fashion Friday: Falling For Fall

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It’s Fall! Woo! Or to put it more accurately: It’s fall. Woo?

As a lifelong sun worshipper, I’ve always had issues with autumn. September means that summer is over and deep-freeze of winter is looming. It’s the longest possible time before the scorching weather I love returns so I’ve spent most of my life having a shitty attitude towards the whole season.

This year, I’m trying to change my outlook. Fall may never be my favourite season, it’s still got it’s good points. Fall means beautiful folliage and tea-drinking weather. The mosquitos are gone and the morning light no longer wakes me up before 6 a.m.  Thanksgiving, Hallowe’en and my birthday are all on deck.  Not too shabby.

Fall’s cool temps also mean the return of fun wardrobe staples. Sweaters. Tights. Boots. And Jackets. Blazers and jean jackets are a great option for days that begin as cool crisp mornings and develop into bright, mild afternoons.

Jacket: True Meaning. T-shirt and Jeans: Old Navy. Boots: Dr. Scholl’s. Bag: Bentley

The blazer yet another eBay score, snagged just a couple of weeks ago. It’s reminiscent of my beloved Banana Republic Coat; however the orthogonal tweed pattern is subtle enough that it kind of reads as a solid. I wore this to yesterday’s Consent workshop. I hoped that the structure of the jacket would imply competence and the marshmallow peep yellow would signal fun…or barring that, tastiness.

Jacket: Old Navy. Dress: Target. Necklace: Forever 21. Shoes: Chinese Laundry.

Just because I’m trying to improve my attitude about fall, that doesn’t mean I can’t also be in denial about the end of summer. It’s not over until it’s over. And while the calendar says it’s over today for me the season ends when I flip my wardrobe. Jean jackets like this one let me extend the use of my warm weather frocks until the last possible moment.

 

Jacket: RW & Co. Dress: Zara. Boots: Dr. Scholls. Custom Necklace: Silver Hand Jewelry

The other day, I came home from a long day of work and rehearsals and The Man of Mans handed me a box. Inside was the nameplate necklace pictured above – a beautiful piece of custom work by our friend Chris Manning! I guess technically it isn’t a nameplate, per se. That’s okay. If I’m ever forced to join a witness protection program  or enroll in spy school, I won’t be Nadine anymore. But no matter where I go or what I do, I’ll always be adorkable.

In other news, the family were in Fredericton for Rosh Hashanah this week. We stayed with The MoMs’ sister and her family and on our second day there, my brother-in-law brought us all out to one of his favourite camping spots by the water to cook-out, canoe…and fish.

I might become a fall-lover yet!

Categories: Family, Fashion, Fashion Friday Tags: , , , , ,
13
Sep 2012

Fashion Friday Repost: Clothes For Thought

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Shopping bagged!

This past Friday I spent a delightful afternoon shopping with Jes and Natalie Joy.  Fun times with fun women made all the better when Jes explained that she is transitioning into a career as a professional style/shopping consultant and was hoping that Nat and I would volunteer as test clients.  Having the advice of a style professional has been a fantasy of mine ever since What Not To Wear hit the North American airwaves.  I eagerly agreed to submit to Jes’ expertise

Getting dressed is not rocket science.  My three-year-old can do it.  Styling, on the other hand, requires some skill.  I’m an outfit gal. I like for my clothes to fit in a specific way. I try to combine items of clothing into pleasing ensembles. Once I have the clothes, I can usually put them together all right.  When it comes to acquiring clothes…I’m a bit of a loose canon.  My standard approach to shopping is time consuming.  Basically, I take half the store’s inventory into a change room, try everything on and whittle the choices dow to 3 or 4 pieces that I really love.

Shopping with Jes was far more efficient.  She easily identified  items she thought would work well for me.  Seeing a flaccid garment on a hanger and being able to envision it accurately on a body requires good understanding of form, shape and colour. Natalie Joy and I have different body types and very different skin tones and Jes was equally successful with both of us.  Jes was thoughtful when it came to textile, taking into consideration movement, breathability, laundering – all important factors for working parents like Nat and I.

We each of us came away with a cohesive set of clothes.  The ten or so pieces I bought can be combined to create dozens of outfits.  It’s a standard rule of economical shopping, but one I’ve always had trouble executing.

I’ve been thinking lately that I’d like to write a script that centers around clothing.   I’ve no sense of the form I might use to tell this story.  Nor do I know exactly what I want to say.   Like my closet, there’s a LOT of material.  Clothing, style and fashion are sometimes dismissed as vapid or inconsequential. I love getting dolled up, playing in my closet and sussing out new duds.  But my love affair with clothes is challenging sometimes.  I get self-conscious about my sartorial lust. As a feminist identified woman, I sometimes fall victim to the misconception that traditionally feminine pursuits are a betrayal of my personal politics. I can usually talk myself down from that ledge,  however; I do have more legitimate shame/ guilt about being a privileged, consumerist clothes horse.  The Post-Fab Princess, writes a fabulously-smart fashion-focused [ETA: now defunct] blog. She says it thusly:

I have an utterly unwholesome obsession with fashion – AND OMG J. CREW – frequently at odds with my anti-consumerist sympathies. What’s a fabulous feminist to do?

I derive tremendous pleasure from dressing myself.  When I choose an outfit, it’s like working through an equation; taking into account variables such as my mood, the weather, the demands of my day and the contents of my wardrobe to arrive at an ideal ensemble.  Dressing is my self-care.   It’s a way I’ve found of being kind to my spirit and nice to my body, which doesn’t always come naturally for me.

My love of clothes and shopping comes from my father.  Growing up, I noticed that he took great care in cultivating his wardrobe, buying the finest pieces he could afford.  He was also a bit of a label junkie, seduced by cachet of Calvin Klein, Hugo Boss and Ralph Lauren.  We often went shopping together on Saturday mornings in downtown Toronto. He would buy me spiffy little kid duds and treat himself to a  new pair of shoes or one of his signature trilby hats.

My mother rarely shopped for herself.  Hers was a make-do wardrobe, as she doggedly tended to my needs, those of my father and our home.   She didn’t make time to do much for herself.  She made due with the clothes year in and year out.  She didn’t like what she wore. I know that because she would mention it, letting out a frustrated sigh at not having bought new clothes in years.

As an adult, I really sympathize with my mother.  She truly believed that it was her duty to give everything she had to our family.  But at the time, her self-sacrifice made me sad and it made my angry.  I understood but lacked the adult’s vocabulary to tell my mom that I neither wanted nor needed her to care for me to the exclusion of caring for herself.

When I grew up and after my parents split, my mother slowly but surely started investing in herself, inwardly and outwardly.   Now she wears clothes that reflect her personality.  It was a delight to discover that she is also a bit of a fashionista.  And it turns our clothing aesthetics are quite similar.   We share the same love of vivid colour and bold pattern.  Though she is far, far better at accessorizing than I am.  She has so many fun shoes.   She wears chunky, textured necklaces and metal bracelets.  When those bracelets clang together to me the sound is my mother, as much as her voice.

Clothes aren’t important to everyone and that’s okay. I believe that who a person is is more important than what they wear.  But I express who I through the clothes I wear. Dressing my body brings me joy and that joy affects my heart and soul.  Just as I’m intrigued by art, music and other sensory experiences, I’m drawn to the costumes people put on.  A man sitting on the street on a hot summer’s day has a story behind his worn winter coat.  The woman at the party in the look-at-me red dress is intriguing to me.  The person sitting next to me rocking a crisp man’s shirt and frilly pink skirt chose that outfit for reason. What could it be?  There is so much I love and think and wonder about clothes.

So…what are you wearing?

Poseur!

Orignally posted June 7th, 2010

Categories: Body Image, Family, Fashion, Fashion Friday, Feminism, Friends
10
Jul 2012

Never Change

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Fabulous hat. Fabulous kid.

 

The Green Bean’s bedtime routine is always the same.

He discards the day’s dirty clothes in the hamper and marches into the bathroom to brush his teeth. We play a quick game of family hide-and-seek, followed by a story, a song, hugs, kisses and (for some reason) handshakes goodnight.

Last night I was sitting on the floor, while The Man of Mans and my Bean sat perched on the edge of his bed, immersed in the adventures of Geronimo Stilton. I looked up at my little boy. He’s getting big – fast.  There are days when his energy, antics and willful nature break the limits of my patience.  Sometimes I go off the rails entirely and I’m a train wreck of a parent.  There are other times – busy times – when my son’s needs become items on the day’s very long to-do list. But sometimes there are the moments like last night, when I feel compelled to stop, breathe and take him in.

He is a beautiful boy . His skin is healthy and tanned from hours of vigorous play outside. His mouth gets impossibly big when he laughs. His soft brown eyes are alight with life. He’s energetic and very adept physically. He’s always has questions. He loves being with people. He’s very much his own person.  Last night I had to smile seeing his bedtime dress, which included a kicky yellow barrette clipped in his bangs.  The Bean wants to grow his hair long and wear it in a braid  like his friend from Saskatchewan. Now that he can gather small tufts and clip them back, he’s very excited. Accessories mean progress!

My son loves to run, climb and play sports. He also likes to be in the bathroom when I’m getting ready for a night out so he can try on my makeup. His dress up outfits include sharp blazers and classic pearls. He’s a rough, loud, aggressive little boy, who loves construction sites and high heels.

I never want him to change.

Yes he will change. His preferences will almost certainly become more expansive and more clearly defined as he grows older. Some of this is – as they say – just a phase, though only time will tell if it’s his interest in sports, construction or womanly shoes that will fade over time.  But I hope he never feels he has to be someone he isn’t or hide aspects of who he is. That’s probably too much to hope for.  Who amongst us made it past childhood and through adolescence without capitulating, at least a little, to external expectations. But I can’t help it. I looked at my son last night – this lanky child with skinned knees and a funny clip in his hair – and he was perfect. That barrette wasn’t worn in defiance of gender roles or as a political statement. It was just my kid, being who he is.  I love who he is. I don’t have the words to express how much I love who he is.

I won’t tell my son that he can’t wear a clip in his hair or try my makeup or run rough shot in a skirt because he’s a boy.  But someone else will. Someone well meaning, who thinks they’re helping him learn how to “be a boy”. Or someone cruel and closed-minded, who will try to hurt him to make him ashamed and afraid of who he is. I know it will happen to him, because I’ve seen it. I know it will happen to him, because it already has. He’s already been maligned for violating the narrow boundaries of masculinity. It’s painful, seeing how it hurts him.

As I watched my son last night, I suddenly thought about Jamie Hubley. More specifically I thought about his parents. It’s been almost seven months since their son committed suicide. I wondered if they had ever sat and watched Jamie as I was watching The Green Bean. Surely they loved their son, as I love mine. Surely they had moments in their busy, stressful lives, when something had made them to stop and see their child as perfect, an indescribable gift.  Now he’s gone.

I’m still thinking about what the Hubleys have lost. What if I lost my son?  I think of all the queer and trans youth who are relentlessly tormented for just existing and being who they are. What if that’s my child?  I think of how many young people have been broken by cruelty and taken their own lives. I think of their parents and it breaks my heart.  The thought that someday that might be my Green Bean makes me frantic.

I don’t know if The Bean’s funny little clip is a phase or an early sign of his gender identity, expression or orientation.  It doesn’t matter to me.  It’s part of who he is. I love him. I’m proud of him. And damned if I didn’t hug him a little tighter and shake his hand a little more firmly as we said our good nights.

Rick Mercer said in response to Jamie Hubley’s suicide  ”It’s no longer enough to tell kids who are different ‘It Gets Better’. We have to make it better now.” I admit, I don’t know how to make it better – but I’ll try. I love my son, so I’ll try.

 

 

 

Categories: Family, Parenting, Queer, The Green Bean, Theatre
05
Jul 2012

Don’t Call It Mommy Porn! In Defense of 50 Shades Of Grey

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Last week I read 50 Shades Of Grey, the erotic, pulp fiction sensation that is sweeping several nations. I’ve heard a lot about this book and now that I’ve read it I have a LOT to say about it. In the spirit of the 50 Shades trilogy, this week I’ll be posting three entries on my experience in the Grey zone.

 

50 Shades of Grey. I’ve criticized it. I’ve mocked it. Now for my final post in the series, I will attempt to defend it.

Long before I read the novel, I’d seen countless reports highlighting 50 Shades’ mass appeal amongst married suburban women. “Mommy porn” is how the book has been characterized in the media. I have to say that label annoys significantly more than the book itself.

“Mommy”. From the day I brought my son home from the hospital I’ve been acutely aware that in society’s eyes I am first and foremost a mother. I’ve written a few times about the specific expectations and assumptions that come with being a momand how challenging it can be to define that role on my own terms. I won’t rehash here but I will say that one of my biggest peeves about motherhood is the way some people insist on relating everything I do to the fact that I’m a lady-parent.

Men consume pornography. Many of these men are married, live in the suburbs and have kids. And yet, I have never once heard anyone use the phrase “daddy porn”. When men become fathers, they’re generally regarded  as individuals rather than “daddies”. They aren’t inextricably linked to their kids. And, yes there’s a whole load of bullshit thrown at men who do prioritize parenting over, say, career – but it’s a different beast.

My partner has “a career”. I am “a working mom”. When men with children start businesses, they’re entrepeneurs. Women with kids are “Momtrepeneurs”. This morning I read an article about a “mother of 2″ who will compete in boxing at the 2012 London Games. Meanwhile, another report about David Beckham’s dashed Olympic hopes made absolutely no mention of his…three?…four?…a lot of kids.

I am a woman with a child. No matter what I do, somehow someone somewhere finds a way to connect it to motherhood.

Overwhelmingly, use of the term “mommy-porn” that I’ve seen have either been condescending ( “Aw, look – all the moms are reading kinky books and getting turned on. They’re experiencing sexual feelings, just like REAL adults! Isn’t that cute?”) or incredulous (“Holy crap! Moms get HORNY?  Who knew?). Every time a journalist uses that term, my middle fingers spring to attention and the rage begins, because NEWSFLASH, YOU FUCKING MORONS!: MOTHERS ARE HUMAN BEINGS!

I love my child. He’s big, big stuff in my world. But he doesn’t consume every moment and molecule of my existence. I’m still a woman. I’m still a person complete with all the sexual desires and needs that grown-up people tend to have. The problem is that when we make it all about the motherhood, everything gets connected back to kids. And – rightly so – most of us don’t want to connect sex or smut or book porn – to a child.

A few people have asked me why I think 50 Shades of Grey has found such a huge following amongst women, particularly middle-income women with children. My guess is as good as the next persons, but I did have this thought:

In my initial critique of 50 Shades I mentioned that Ana, the protagonist, is portrayed as sexually passive. I also felt that the book portrayed her passivity as a positive quality. Ana is the quintessential “good girl”, uninterested in sex and the very strong, very powerful Christian Grey has to entice her with his irresistible allure.  I do wonder if that dynamic is appealing to some female readers because it’s familiar, even relatable.  Our image of a “good” mother is usually of a woman who is nurturing, loving and focused on the well-being of her children to the exclusion of all else. “Good” mothers are also like Ana – sexually engaged but only when her partner initiates. A good mother is never motivated by her own lust or sexual desires.

Which, of course, is hot-from-the-oven falsecakes. Having children does not negate a woman’s need to get carnal. Mom’s are sexual people who enjoy sexual things like being horny, reading porn…even getting kinky. And though the media would have us believe differently, this really isn’t news.

Regardless of my opinions about the quality of 50 Shades Of Grey, I am thrilled that so many women are enjoying erotic content and getting off on it. They’re telling their partners about it. They’re telling each other about it. Some are exploring and expanding their sexual experiences. Others are just feel inspired to read more raunchy books. Good!  Yay! Snaps up!

Some of us think 50 Shades of Grey, poorly-written with uninteresting characters and troublesome politics. Others say that it was a great read that got them hot and bothered. But when people insist on saying it’s  ”mommy porn”, well…that’s when I have one mother of a problem!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Categories: 50 Shades of Grey, Books, Family, Feminism, Parenting, The Green Bean Tags: , , ,
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