13
Mar 2013

5 Ways To Cope With Jealousy

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This is me.

 

This is The Man of Mans. I love him a whole lot.

 

The Man of Mans is a good and awesome dude, who treats me with heaps of kindness, respect, and affection. And while I am the sole recipient of his good husband lovin’, like many people (including myself), The MoMs sometimes finds himself attracted to other people. But I like to think of myself as a chill individual who isn’t prone to jealousy and can take it all in stride

I like to think of myself that way. But the reality is a little different.

In truth, I do get jealous.  I wish I was one of those super-confident people who can be all, “My person is having sexy feelings about some super-fine other lady. Whatevs. I KNOW my milkshake brings all the folks of my preferred gender to the yard, so I’m cool.”  Meanwhile, my reaction is usually something along the lines of “The MoMs is having sexy feelings about some super-fine other lady…

BUH!”

 

Intellectually, I understand that those mean, green feelings don’t do me a lot of good. However, the emotional part of my brain doesn’t always agree with what I think. While my rational side is saying, “No big deal. It’s totally normal to feel sexually attracted to multiple people,” my feelings are screaming “ME! ME! ME! DON’T LIKE OTHER PEOPLE! PAY ATTENTION TO ME! LOVE MEEEEEE!”

Fortunately, my rational side is (usually) loud enough to be heard through above the internal tantrum. In my moment of meltdown, it reminds me that indulging those feelings is a good way put cracks in the foundation of my most cherished relationship. And while I’m rarely able to rationalize my jealous feelings away, I find the following techniques can help to keep those icky feelings in check

 

Friendly Reminders

As I said, The MoMs has always been a wonderful partner. He loves me a great deal. In the seventeen years we’ve been together, he’s demonstrated that love in virtually every conceivable way. And I know this is hackneyed, but we are straight-up, legit best friends.

If The MoMs says to me, “So and so is really cute,” and I feel that little stabby pang in my stomach, I try to remind myself that he and are pals. Pals talk about stuff like this. What’s more, admiring the cuteness of another person doesn’t negate all the loving awesomeness The MoMs feels for me. It actually doesn’t have anything to do with me. or our relationship or anything except the fact that humans sometimes notice when other humans are cute.

 

 Check The Source

‘Hey, girl. What’s going on with you?’

That’s one of the first questions I try to ask myself when the green-eyed monster rears her ugly head. When I do a little digging, I usually find that knee-jerk jealousy happens because some deep-seeded insecurity has been triggered.

For example, I always have a micro-moment of panic when The MoMs tells me he has sexy feelings for a blonde. I grew up during a time when television showed us that California girls with sun-kissed locks were the undisputed queens of beauty and sex appeal. Then came sixth grade, also known as The Year I Read Sweet Valley everything. The Wakefield Twins and all of their fair-haired media cohorts left an indelible impression on my developing ideas about sex appeal – namely, that I didn’t have any since I am about as un-blonde as they come.

 

I’ve since learned that while blondes are very beautiful, they don’t have the monopoly on good looks. Still I spent my youth assuming that only people who could possibly see me as beautiful were my parents – and that was only because they had to. That’s a rough idea to live with when you’re girl living in a world that places so much importance on how women look.

 

When a blonde draws The MoMs admiration, the wounded twelve-year-old in me immediate feels threatened and sad, because how the hell are we going to compete with that. Fortunately the (slightly) more mature 37-year-old can remind her that there is no competition. Yes that blonde may be beautiful, but I can rest assured that The MoMs thinks that I am too.

 Make A Friend

Strange as it may, being friends or at least friendly with my husband’s crushes is one of the best ways I’ve found of getting past jealous feelings. I think it’s that whole thing where the unknown is usually way scarier than the reality. If The MoMs mentions having a crush on someone and I don’t know her,  I tend to imagine an Olympic-level snowboarder who speaks six languages and never farts.

But when I have had occasion to hang with The MoMs crushes, I almost always discover women who are outgoing, funny, kind of dorky and who like board games. Women that I almost always like, probably because we have stuff in common. Which I guess makes sense. Like many people, The MoMs has a “type” that he’s attracted to. And it always helps me feel better to realize that he doesn’t like these women because they aren’t like me, but rather, because they are.

 

Honesty IS The Best Policy

I keep describing scenarios wherein The MoMs tells me that he’s attracted to someone and then I feel jealous. You might be wondering, ‘Whassup with that? Why does he keep talking about other women to his wife?’

He does it because that’s what I want. I’ve been in a relationship where I’d chastise my partner if he mentioned another women or pout petulantly when I caught him gazing after someone as we walked down the street. We played the game where I insisted that he behave as though I were the only woman on earth and he indulged, albeit sometimes in a playful, patronizing way.

We played that game for our entire relationship. It was exhausting. And you know what? It didn’t make me feel better. In fact it made me feel worse. Because I knew he was lying to me and even though I’d explicitly asked for it, the dishonesty still eroded my trust. I also think that on some level I realized that it’s futile trying “keep” someone in that way.  I want a partner who wants to be with me. I don’t want to be in a relationship with someone who’s there because I’ve effectively eliminated all other options so I become the choice by default.

So there’s that. And there’s also the part where keeping the crush stuff out in the open makes me feel better because if The MoMs is telling me about it, I know it’s no big deal. It also means that we can chat about the true nature of his feelings, which are generally pretty low-key and non-threatening.

Keeping crushes on the down-low definitely fuels my insecurity. But knowledge has the power to tame that green-eyed beast

 

Trust And Let Go

Jealousy and possessiveness tend to go together. Which makes sense. Jealousy – at least the OMG SEXUAL COMPETITION type – is basically fear that we’re going to lose our partner. That fear can compel us to hold on a little tighter.

Seeking reassurance from The MoMs can be really helpful in jealous times. The aforementioned talking, plus extra cuddles, kisses and “I love yous” go a long way towards calming my anxious heart, when a new subject of attraction enters the mix. That having been said, I try to avoid telling my husband who he can spend time with.

The MoMs and I are married, but I don’t feel that gives either of us the right to dictate who the other associates with. The MoMs and I have a set of mutually agreeable boundaries about which interactions are exclusive to our relationship. Beyond that, I really don’t like to impose sanctions on how my partner interacts with other people. After nearly a decade and half, we have a great deal of trust in each other. For me, that trust is too valuable to discard over the occasional jealous moment.

 

So that’s more or less how I deal. What about you? Do you jealous have moments? Have you found effective strategies for coping with those  lousy, green feelings?

Categories: Dating, Suckpants, The Man of Mans 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: , , , , ,
06
Feb 2013

Sex and Self Esteem (Video Post By Request)

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I’ve had a few questions recently about how to help a partner who’s struggling with body image issues and what to do if those issues affect their desire for sex.

I decided give my fingers a break from typing and do a video response instead. Remember viewers, I’m not a therapist or a counsellor – just a gal with some opinions and a video camera.

I’m also a gal who should tidy her bedroom. Hello, wayward sock in the background!

All right, enough with the disclaimers. Time for the video. Roll it!

 

 

Categories: Body Image, Love, Masturbation, Sex, The Man of Mans, Toys, Video Tags: , , ,
30
Jan 2013

Say Something

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Trigger Warning: This post contains some discussion of sexual harassment and assault. Please exercise self-care and skip this post if you need to.

The other night, The Man of Mans were walking downtown after a fun night out with friends. The January deep freeze was on in full force and from the moment I felt the arctic air on my face, I had only one goal – getting to the nearby parking garage and our car as fast as possible. I was quick-stepping along the sidewalk urging The MoMs to keep pace. We were a few blocks away from the parking garage, when I spotted a man and woman who seemed to be engaged in some major public display of affection.

As we got closer, the majority of my brain was still occupied with matters of Warmth. Car. Now! But as glanced at the couple out of the corner of my eye, I became concerned. I don’t want to go into too much detail about another person’s experience – that part of the story isn’t mine to reveal. But as we passed the couple I heard and saw something that made me question whether she wanted what was happening.

‘Maybe I should stop,’ I thought. Then, almost instantly I began doubting myself, ‘What if you’re wrong? What if you make a scene? What if she doesn’t want you butting your nose into her affairs? She didn’t ask for your help. She’s not screaming or anything. The MoMs hasn’t said anything – he clearly doesn’t think it’s weird. No one else on the street is doing anything. It’s really, really cold and maybe this is nothing. Maybe it’s just your imagination.’

I glanced back one more time. Then, I kept walking.

I second later, another pedestrian who was clearly even more susceptible to cold than I am,  scurried past us. He was moving quickly with determination but he did pause for a moment to talk to us. Gesturing towards the other couple he said  ”So, um…something pretty weird’s happening back there, ” and took off.

“Yeah,” The MoMs whispered to me,  ”I was thinking the same thing.”

They had seen it too! This wasn’t my imagination.  I made my way back to the couple. “Excuse me,” I said, addressing the woman, “Are you okay?” Again, I’ll spare the details but as it turned out things were not entirely okay. After a brief exchange, the woman assured us she would be fine, thanked us and hurried away.

The man stared at The MoMs and I momentarily. “Oh wow,” he said ruefully, “I guess that was really bad.” He trotted away. The MoMs offered me his hand and we quietly finished our cold nighttime walk and climbed into welcoming warmth of our car.

I wish this were a different story. I wish I’d thought to ask that woman if she wanted company when she turned to walk away. I wish I’d acted immediately when my gut first told me something was off.  But the truth is while I eventually did something, it was that other guy, the one who told us that “something weird” was happening back there, who deserves some major props.

Cliff of the Pervocracy once wrote this awesome blog post about how, when you spot weirdness, telling someone in the vicinity can be a great strategy. To quote Cliff:

Next time you see something that seems wrong, but “oh my gosh maybe not really maybe I shouldn’t say anything I don’t know,” you don’t have to go right to the cops or the boss or run into the situation with your fists up.  What you do have to do–this is a goddamn order–is tell someone about it.  Someone as confused and powerless as you are.  Just check in.  ”This seemed off to me, does it seem off to you?”

Sometimes it isn’t even about how the other person reacts.  Sometimes it’s just about putting it into words.  You hear yourself describe the situation and you realize what you’re describing.

Sometimes it’s just about taking a step, even if it isn’t the perfectly right step, that makes you realize you are allowed to act on this; now that you’ve done something you can do more.

And sometimes they look back at you and say “yeah, that was fucked up. I was thinking the same thing but didn’t want to say anything.  You think we should go tell someone about it?”

And that, two people realizing they’re not the only one in the universe who has a problem with what’s happening, much more often than any spectacular act of lone-hero courage, is how evil gets dragged into the light.

I saw someone I thought might have been in trouble. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I failed to follow Cliff’s order. Fortunately, that fast-walkin’ dude was on the ball. Props to him because if I hadn’t said anything, I probably wouldn’t have stopped. It was only once I knew that someone else had what I had seen, that I was compelled to take action.

As for the man we interrupted? I was only once he saw his behaviour through the eyes of random strangers that he stopped to  reconsider his actions. Will our 90 second encounter influence what he does from now on? Who know?  It will definitely influence me.

Sometimes it’s easy to rationalize harassment or assault. If the act isn’t overtly violent, if there’s a pre-existing relationship, if everyone around you starts rationalizing it too. But it’s a lot harder to rationalize these things when someone calls it out. Someone spoke and I could no longer justify walking away. I spoke up and – at least in that moment – that dude could not justify his behaviour. The next time I see something and the red flags go up, I won’t search for an excuse to ignore my instincts. I will say something to someone and hope that it triggers a chain of change.

 

 

 

 

 

Categories: Community, Consent, The Man of Mans Tags: , ,
21
Jan 2013

Art And Science Sittin’ In A Tree: A Case Of Opposites Attract (Repost)

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Opposites attract.  A somewhat hackneyed generalization, but in my case the adage is apt. The Man of Mans is my greatest love but we experience  the world through contrasting perspectives.  I’m an artist. He’s an empiricist. I’m an emotionally-driven, dreamer, running madly off in all directions. The MoMs is quite literally math genius, brilliant, rational and unfailingly reliable. Seriously, y’all, dude NEVER loses his keys.

I used to swear up and down that I would never get married. It’s ironic that a mathematician changed my mind on the matter.  My youthful disdain for marriage was rivaled only by my deep dislike of concrete sciences.

I took the requisite math and science courses in high school, primarily to appease my well-intentioned parents. They wanted me to go to univeristy and study Marine Biology. That way if my plans to work as a stage actor fell through, I’d always have oceanography as a fall back career.

High school science was le suck. In my opinion it was the forced memorization of random facts, with absolutely no room for experimentation or exploration.  There was no creative potential. In the beginning I did ask a lot of questions. But most of the time, my quest for deeper understanding – or any understanding – were met with the same answer,

“It’s just a fact.”

So I shut up.  And I shut down. And a quiet, but very deep resentment of science and all the subjects that seemed predicated on explanation “it’s just a fact” began to develop along. Horrifying marks in chemistry and biology developed as well. I was summoned to the guidance department. The conversation went something like this:

ME: “I don’t know.  I just don’t get it,”

GUIDANCE COUNSELLOR: I think you should consider dropping your sciences.  You’re clearly not a concrete thinker.”

I was more than happy to take her advice.  I said good-bye to science and wrote it off forever. So I wasn’t a concrete thinker. So? Who wanted a head full of hard, gray heavy glop anyway?  I had big plans to set the Canadian stage on fire. Leave the concrete to the engineers and math nerds.

I graduated high school and went on to study at The University of Waterloo – a school renowned for its world class engineering and math faculties.  The MoMs and I met my first day there.  After a few false starts, we began hanging out and soon we grew to be great friends.  He was unusual and kind. Smart and truly passionate…about math! I found his zeal for calculation utterly disarming.  Passion was a quality of artists – musicians, painters, performers!  People like me!  Mathematicians were just scientists with numbers. They didn’t have passion.  They had cold, hard fact and Internet porn!

The Man of Mans was and remains to this day, the most open-minded person I know. I, on the other hand can be immovably obstinate and rigid in my world view. Opposites.  It was The MoMs who gently opened my mind the idea that empiricism isn’t bound by the rigid parameters set for me in high school.  I wanted to cling to my adolescent viewpoint.  But when I let myself look at the world through my partner’s eyes, I see things differently.  Engineers and their creations.  Scientists consumed by exploration.  Mathematicians with great passion.

One of my favourite things about my partnership with The MoMs are our distinct points of view. Even our shared experiences hold the potential for great conversation, because we tend to see things differently.  And yet, we seem to understand each other.  When I am moved by a work of art, The MoMs knows what that is.  And he can analyze that very same piece of theatre in concrete terms, highlighting themes/patterns I wouldn’t notice on my own.

It turns out that art and science are not really about opposites. They’re both forms of expression borne of a human need to analyze, describe and make some sense of this crazy world around us. Concrete and creative thinking aren’t mutually exclusive and artist and the scientist need not be rivals. Sometimes they fall in love. As I learned in physics, opposites attract…and that is a very good thing!

Categories: Love, The Man of Mans 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: , , ,
15
Nov 2012

Repost: The Little Known Perils of Working In Sex

By 5 Comments

Originally posted March 11, 2010

photo by trec_lit

I’ve had a variety of unremarkable day jobs: government work, standard retail…that sort of thing.  Then, through a series of flukes and coincidences I’ve wound up with a whole other career…in sex.  There’s much to love about working in this sphere.  It is, by nature, a sexy field to work in.  I get free and/or discounted condoms, toys and other paraphernalia. My work has helped me sort out some of my own issues related to sex and body image.

I also see a lot of boobies.

I love what I do.  That having been said, there are quirks of the trade.  Here, for your education and amusement are 10 occupational hazards of working in sexuality.

10.  All Talk. Less Action.

I talk about sex all the time. Which leads some people to assume that I have sex all the time.  The truth is that Man of Mans and I live jam-packed lives as working parents to a young child.  If you invite us to a party, you may catch us sneaking off to a seclude corner somewhere but it’s just as likely to be for a power-nap as for make-outs.  Add to that the high probability that I’ve spilled something sticky on my shirt  and really it’s miraculous that I get any action at all.

9.  Condom Surplus

Condoms, condoms everywhere.  A box in my spare room.  Leftovers from presentations.  Standard swag at conferences.  I come across random rubbers in my purses, my pockets…once stuck to the bottom of my shoe.  Need some latex?  Come see me. I have enough to sheath every member of our fair city.

8. Jumping To Conclusions

Once some friends came over to hang out and one of them brought a video. I immediately wondered why they had brought porn and if they wanted us to watch a group and would that be super-awkward?  It absolutely would have been, except for the part where the movie was The Big Lebowski.  I sometimes forget that when most people say  ”I brought a video” or “come round the back” or “I could eat some sushi” they’re being literal. Life is not one continuous double-enterdre

7. Buyer’s Remorse

Access to deeply discounted toys and other hot paraphernalia is awesomehats.  But like with anything else, I’m susceptible to the seduction of sale prices, regardless of what the item is.  As such, I’ve come home with a few items that far exceed my sexual ambitions and/or flexibility.  When I look at an item and think “where does this GO?”, that’s probably  a clue that it’s not the toy for me.

6. Impropriety Is The Spice Of Life

Due to the nature of our work, conversation around the office water cooler tend to be about the current season of Lost…and clitorises. Oscar fashion…and clitorises.  The latest federal budget…and…you know.  I can and will bring any conversation back to the clitoris.  It’s a deeply ingrained instinct.  Great for work and nights out with certain friends.  Less wonderful at wedding receptions or playground chat with my fellow parents.

5. Blurting!

This one’s related to number 6.  Recently, I was at dog training class when the instructor asked us, “what is something you really, really wouldn’t want your dog to have in his mouth?”  No one answered.  The instructor prodded futher, “Really?  Nothing?  Nothing you wouldn’t want your dog to grab…perhaps trot out in front of guests?”  “Um…your vibrator?” I ventured.  Everyone in the class looked at me like I’d eaten a kitten. “I meant something like shoes,” the instructor corrected, “Dumbass.” She didn’t say that last part but it was strongly implied in her tone/withering glare.

4. Spoiler Alert!

One of my many guilty pleasures used to be pulp fiction novels.  Sadly, I can no longer enjoy them.  Or soap operas.  Or romantic movies.   I can’t be in the same room as a sex scene, without critiquing all the titillation out of it.  Because of my professional lens (or “smartypants-itis”, as I like to call it), I ruin pop culture sex for myself and I wreck it for other people too!   One friend has already stated emphatically that she will never watch Y Tu Mama Tambien with me.

3.  Not Pimpin’

Dear Random Strangers Who Approach Me In All Sorts Of Random Situations,

I work as a sex educator. That’s not the same thing as doing sex work. I support it, I just don’t do it. If you want information on safer sex practices or how to locate the G-spot, I’m your gal.  If you want access to a sexually experienced kink-specific, instantly available play partner, I’m afraid you’ll have to ask elsewhere.

2. Family Bonding

My parents are very supportive of the work I do.  *Very* supportive.  Perhaps too supportive.  Like when my mom (Hi, mom!)  came to the fellatio workshop I was giving and sat in the front row.  Then she enlisted my help in selecting a vibrator.  It was only a minor stroke, but one that I feel is responsible for at least 50% of my typos.

1. Rashes

Blisters. Sores. Pustules. Warts.  The most casual of acquaintance will describe dermatological afflictions of their genitals in graphic detail.  Not that anyone should ever feel shamed into silence by a potential STI.  But I’m not a doctor or anything close to a qualified diagnostician (though I can point you in the direction of someone who is).  Also?  People tend to initiate the rash conversation when I’m eating.  Let me finish eating my yoghurt, then we’ll talk about your discharge.

Categories: Fun Stuff, Parenting, The Man of Mans, Toys
14
Nov 2012

My Favourite Things: Reunions

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Feel the excitement!

I love reunions!

I’m not talking about the high school variety. I’ve never experienced one, though movies have led me to believe it will be a wacky night of poseur hijinks and the eventual realization I’m better off than the cool kids all set to Simple Minds’ ‘Don’t You Forget About Me’.

But today I’m talking about a much anticipated reunion with The Man of Mans!  He’s been in Bejing for the past ten days doing business-y things but that’s all done now. Tonight he’s coming home!!

Ten days may not seem like a terribly long time. I certainly know couples who have easily endured much longer separations. But this has been the most time we’ve spent apart in well over a decade.  As such, I’m jump-up-and-squee excited that my best friend will be back in our bed tonight!

It’s also been my longest stint of solo parenting. In the past, I’ve relied on my family to step in and give me hand when The MoMs is away. This time I decided to go it alone. Although I wasn’t really  alone.  I’ve gotta give props to The Green Bean. He has been all kinds of excellent since his dad left : helpful, co-operative and full of hugs. Seriously, the kid has shown unprecedented levels of awesome this week.

Yesterday I saw my shrink. I told her that I’d been nervous about taking charge of our family fort all alone. The MoMs is a partner in the true sense of the word. We do the heavy lifting of raising our child and running our home together and as such, I rely on him a great deal. So I was pleased to discover that I was able to manage reasonably on my own – at least temporarily.  And as I said to Shrink, although I’ve missed The MoMs immensely, the silver lining is realizing that it’s not because I need him. I just like him an awful lot. I cannot wait to see him again!!

So calloo callay! My reunion is but a few hours away! I’ve done okay during my time alone but I am more than ready to have my partner back!

Categories: Love, My Favourite Things, Parenting, The Green Bean, The Man of Mans Tags: , , , ,
09
Nov 2012

Fashion Friday: For The MoMs

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Prepare yourselves, peeps! . It’s about to get all sexy up in here!

In many ways, my relationship with The Man of Mans is a classic case of opposites attract. He’s an empiricist, I’m artistic. I’m impulsive, he’s cautious. He’s an introvert, I’m a balls-out extrovert.

I am a costume-loving, fancy-pants wearing, any excuse to get in a get-up kind of gal. And The MoMs? He has a thing for ladies in PJ pants.

And not just PJ pants. The MoMs loves seeing a lady looking casual in comfy old t-shirts, leggings, yoga pants or any other type of loose untailored clothing. He’s appreciates simple hair and little-to-no makeup.

“That’s not sexy,” I told him once” That’s a sick day.”

Bare naked face!

The MoMs took my judge-iness in stride and proceed to break it down for me, thusly.

Casual clothes are a sign of intimacy. It’s what people wear when they’re relaxed, unguarded and being themselves. It’s honest and it’s vulnerable. “Plus PJ pants make women’s butts look really good,” he added.

I had to admit he had a point.

So this week’s outfit is dedicate to The MoMs. Because I love him. And because sometimes it’s good for this clothes horse to reign it in and take a casual Friday.

I warned you about the sexy ;-)

Categories: Fashion, Fashion Friday, The Man of Mans
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