Geronimo!

Sorry for anything said that went down the wrong way for anyone. No harm intended.

Ding Ding Ding! Spain’s reigning Queen has come back with a serious left hook (ha, I made a pun there). And although we seem to have an empty stadium, I’m going to try to worm in around the points, as they happen, as it’s getting hard to do it the other way, dissertation for dissertation. Here goes:

Queen: Um. I think you just proved my point. “A good family life, of any kind, always benefits a child. Even if it’s not the one I’d pick (the family life, not the child, I’d pick those babies in a minute). Real love and affection, and security from a family that may not fit my ideal traditional preference, wins over a lousy, kid beating, impoverished, 2 parents of opposite sex and married but screaming at eachother all the time family any day.”

Me: OK, agreeing that some things (like the welfare of children) are more important than standing on principle doesn’t mean I’ve come over. And I’m doing my damndest not to prove your points, so ouch. No. Any where we can agree is good with me. I like finding the points of agreement, with anyone. Even you. Really, I type in jest here.

Queen: Thats what I’m trying to say. So if good family life, of any kind…wins…why the gripe about “…then comes marriage, then comes (fill in the blank) with a baby carriage? I’m surely going to ruffle many colorful feathers here, but I really wonder. When did we begin not only to accept, but celebrate, even envy, women and couples, who have children before they even talk walking down the aisle?”

Me: Because it was a good title, that flowed well into my little rant. Or in my world, it did. And it does cause me some concern that we, as a culture, are all so titillated by celebrity, that we don’t care a whit about what they may or may not be doing, as long as we can see pictures of it. As we mentioned before, that kind of obsession in itself is disturbing. Blend that with good cause for a rockin’ religious conservative freak out, and wow. You’ve got a humdinger there. I’m not sure that’s how you spell humdinger. But I will stand by my statement that this course we, as a culture, seem to be going down troubles me. Clearly, it is of no negative consequence to you, and I accept that. Again, I concede to agree to disagree. Respectfully. There is nothing that is going to go on here in blogland that will sway you, or me, from our convictions here. I just really don’t want to start dinner, so I’m still going.

Queen: I think your first paragraph answers your initial question. When did we begin to celebrate it? When women took it upon themselves to be nontraditional and take care of kids with our without a man. When they either had their own or took others in. When it became all about love, and not all about love as defined by a traditional conservative. Just all about love. That’s it. That’s all. You can’t try and define love. You can’t define it as only within a marriage between a man and a woman. You can’t try and define it as only with a walk down the aisle. [I will insert here, for ease of conversation flow, that I did not, nor do not, define love. Or what marriage is. What I will say here, and what will no doubt piss some people off, is that I believe God did. I know, I know, this opens a ginormous can of worms, but that is my belief. But what started this whole little debate was my beliefs. Which anyone who likes to can totally disagree with. That doesn’t threaten what I feel to be true, or make me not like them. Of course, by now, the converse may not be. By merely stating that little bomb above, I may have plenty of people (like all 3 who reads this) decide I am not like-worthy.] That’s the problem here. You started this entire discussion asking the question when we began to accept and celebrate anything other than the traditional way. We began to accept and celebrate when we (me, anyway) realized it was about love. Not your love. Not my love. But (insert person here’s) love. You can’t contain it. You can’t define it to only fit your head’s idea.

Me: I think we all end up defining it to fit into our head’s ideas. In some way, shape or form. Some just have broader definitions, and others narrower. Oops. I used the word narrow in relation to myself. Does that count as right-hooking my own chin? Yikes. Anyway. Maybe none of us should do said defining of love, but we’re human, and somehow do. If we didn’t, none of these sorts of conversations would even occur.

Queen: As for the idea that most of us Non Christians find the judgemental Christians coming off as
“we’re better”–it’s not all in my head. You said it was a very subtle difference. And when you start trying to legislate or make me think anyone but the traditional mom and dad family is “not right” it goes from subtle to pushy.

Me: 1. Are you saying that I did, in fact, move from subtle to pushy? Or are you speaking in generalized terms concerning many Christians you know, or have come in contact with. 2. Either way, and I do hope it’s the latter, and you are dead on. It is not all in your head. I hope I didn’t convey that at some point. I see it too. All the time. And it pisses me off. Christians amongst themselves go at it all the time. A waste of energy. Why can’t we just go with the things we do agree on? Any of us? Haven’t you heard the joke about Christians being the only army that kills its own wounded? Anyway. I can rant all I want. You can rant all you want. But at the end of the day, I’m trying to talk about issues that bother me, not specific people. I named names in this case (the celebrities) because it just so happened it was their pictures associated with the issue at hand. And I don’t know them. And I’m not going to hurt them in my tiny corner of cyber-space (although, maybe it doesn’t matter - maybe I should never name names). You do this too, I think, have a little rant now and then, and not get specific. Except for that woman knitting in her car. I’m pretty sure that was specific. And your finger was specific.

Queen: Did I mention I’m married. To a man. With two kids? I’m not unlike you my dear. Not at all. And I think you need to remember that neither is the nontraditional family.

Me: Oh yeah. I knew that. I’ve been over to your site quite a bit. I like it. The Kaiser? Your son? Pumpkin? Yep. Pretty square. Just like us. Or real close. My hubby and I don’t share the Playboy thing. Remember? We’re prudes. Christians are renown for being sexually oppressed. I’m sure they’re are tons of jokes I could recall, but I can’t right now.

Queen: You need to get to know some of us. We do laundry, carpool to school, and sign permission slips. We pack lunches and change diapers and care and love just the same. Our lives are just as boring and just as domestic. I think thats where the real confusion may be. That it can’t possibly be true that these families are much more like yours than they are different.

Me: Alright. This is sounding like yall are somewhere on some other planet, and we are off on our little judgemental piece of space, and never the twain shall meet (what is a twain?), because we won’t open up long enough to get to know you. I just don’t see it that way. Really. I already see us all in the big ol’ mess of raising children and having families and doing the laundry, and signing the slips, and picking up the dog poop, together. I didn’t think I needed to stop and make an effort to get to know you, or others like you, because at least around here, we already find ourselves friends with all sorts of families, some even seemingly crazy liberal like yours (I’m still grinning here). I wasn’t aware of being really out to lunch on the differences any of us may have. And the more people you know, obviously, the more differences we’ll have. Just because I expressed a cultural concern doesn’t mean I hole up, thinking the the entire earth is going to revolve around my little perspective, and when it doesn’t, I ain’t going out there. And then God forbid I talk with anyone who would ever hold an opinion different that mine. I think I said earlier, in an email, that it is good, to me, to get to know all sorts of people from all walks of life, even *gasp* liberal ones. I really love R2Ks, and she puts liberal right there at the top of her blog! But worse, really, she won’t ever eat a cheeseburger with me. It’s sad, really. But this stuff stretches me. Grows me a bit. Confirms some things, and changes others. I was just expressing an opinion in the same way any of us do. I didn’t understand, or I didn’t agree with something, so I said it.

I didn’t just come right out and say “all those who partake of this way of life and don’t align with me in entirity are just wrong, dead wrong”. I said certain things make me gag. Or mad. Or I’m fed up. But I didn’t point a finger and just say “you are wrong”. I was trying, again, to express my opinion. And in spite of something you’ve had to say before, that “its like religion or politics. Either you tolerate and listen to the other side’s reasons, or you act like an ass and try and convert everyone to your ways. Admittedly I think all cry-it-out parents are wrong. But it works for them. So who am I to tell them not too? I also think Christians, Jews, Hindus, Muslims, etc. are wrong…but so long as they are happy and not hurting me, live and let live baby. (Republicans suck too, by the way)”, and that I have done the crying it out, and am Christian, and even *forgive me* voted Republican before, if I could get to blogher, I’d love to meet you, and many others face to face, go have a drink, and lots of guffaws. No political/cultural/religious quizzes involved. Because I don’t think I act like an ass and try to convert any one else. Just don’t make me say that F word. You can say it. I am just too much my Momma’s girl to do it.

This probably concludes our little isolated cyber-space bounce around the ring. I think it’s safe to say that all opinions are personal, and not meaning to be foisted upon another. I can avoid dinner no longer. Any input is still welcome, unless it’s ugly to me or the Queen. You can say it, but as she says, say it nicely. Good evening and good weekend.

It may just be you and me, Queenie, duking it out here, but here I come again. You say:

Whew. I’m glad I came back to check how this discussion was going! Ok, first of all I was up late…but am also out here on the West Coast…so it wasn’t as late as it may seem. No late night partying going on over here in Los Angeles (hard to believe, I know) just a teething baby and colds all around. Nothing like sitting at the computer, nursing and blogging until midnight.

You make great points. And I think we actually agree on a lot of these issues despite our religious differences. Man should be accountable. Man should honor a commitment. Man should set good examples. I guess my issue with the entire post is the assumption that I’m making here. And that just might be me…but the idea that the world is going to h-e-double hockey sticks because of what we *think* is going on with some random hollywood couples. Or because someone chooses to not have a traditional family. I say, and here is where I think we’ll disagree, that we’re actually a stronger society for this. Huh? You say to yourself. The decline of so called christian morals in america making us stronger? How so?

Well, I’m going to go out on a limb here and say these nontraditional families are every bit as loving, caring and stable as the chrisian traditional family. I think they challange what you see as acceptable. I think they force you to think outside what you know to be true. I think they are every bit as valid and upstanding as a traditional marriage and family. Just because it isn’t what you are used too. Or what you think is good and right…doesn’t mean its bad. Think about that. And I know there is no offense meant and none is taken. But when you just *assume* mom and dad are “ideal” you assume anything but is “bad.”
I have no problem with people rather seeing a traditional family…but I do have a problem when those people assume the alternative is somehow no good. You assume that your traditional family is better. Superior. And there in lies the problem. We can all agree that not everyone raises their kids the same…we can all agree that not every family is the same. Its the assumption that somehow because your idea is “divine” or “faith” based, that its “better” than those who are not.

Now, I have no idea what these people are really like…but let’s just take Brad and Angelia for example. Have you taken any african babies into your home lately? Gone and done any real charity work in thrid world countries? Seems like Angelina is being rather “jesus” like to me. But those things seem to get discounted when we hear she isn’t married. I guess her good work and love for those kids is invalid because she did it (to start anyway) without a man. How silly! And now that she has a man…its the wrong one. Because he was married. But we don’t know what went on there. For all we know, Jennifer wouldn’t have babies and was a raging alcoholic who beat Brad. We have no clue. Just the same as we don’t know if Brad is just a dog. And while I hope that man can overcome his primal urges, and will always expect him too. I can’t say I’m shocked when he doesn’t.

This is fun. I love discussions like this.

And I’m back:

We have 7 african babies, and just got back from a 6 month stay in a third world country. I just don’t talk about the black skinned babies, because, as you know, we conservatives are really huge biggots. And the stay in the 3rd world country was at their poshest republican funded resort. I was there with the Bush’s. We were talking about how great the world would be if we could send all the liberals to Iraq. I really am kidding here. We were just talking about my cheese grits recipe. Seems Laura’s a fan. I’m going to take your above comment, and do like last time…

So…where to start. Oh, first, of course I make great points. I’m brilliant and always right. That has everything to do with my being Christian. Didn’t you see that in the handbook of any church you may have ever visited? We’re always right? We know everything because God tells us directly? He has our Cingular plan. Anyway. I don’t think I’ll go over to your extrememely dark side (grinning here) and say it makes us stronger. But certainly diversity does. Whhhaaaa? Did I just contradict myself. Maybe, but what I mean is the kind of diversity that I feel could be harmful, not helpful. But that, again, is just me coming from my religious cult background (grinning again). Next month, the mother ship is landing. If you want to go with us, you have to be in Cowpens, SC at 1:37 am on the 28 of February. Leap year, duh.

However, there is no way around the fact that I feel, as do some other freaks out there, that certain aspects of diversity aren’t all good. I get it that these are things you think are. Point taken. (hey, I just got a “great post” comment on my first of this illustrious series…nanny nanny boo boo…another conservative geek) We can agree to disagree. But I will never say that this means they somehow cannot be as loving and caring as I, in all my perfection of superior family James Dobson values, am. (more grinning) That would be just arrogant on my part, and we know I’d never be that way. On the point of seeing others doing it another way, I won’t say I see it as bad. But I’d be lying if I said I saw it as just as good. And yep. This can get me in trouble here. But I promise I’m saying it with as much humility as possible. I’m not on my soap box, just sharing my ever enlightened heart (still grinning).

As far as the faith issues go. Here it can get even more tricky. I’m sure you understand that if you really believe in something. Really truly have it at your core of being, then you can’t just divorce yourself from it to see something “another way”. But you can treat any situation you may feel you wouldn’t choose with love and respect. We may teach our children what we feel to be true, but we never ever equate that with we’re better than. It’s a subtle difference, but one we try to achieve, and one we feel is sorely lacking in many people of all sorts of faiths and beliefs. You mentioned Jesus. He was never, is never, about condemning people. He loved/loves people. He may have, and did, state what he knew (now I’m speaking from my understanding of his teachings, and knowing you may not buy this) to be good and right for us, and ask for change of a life style (like the prostitute at the well), but he was the first to sup with the outcasts of that society. Befriend all. Help all. Now I’m calling you an outcast. No. I’m not. I’m just talking about that biblical situation. And one more point, to try to clarify/understand each other. When anyone holds anything to be true, to their inner most being, in this case, our faith, it is very difficult, if not impossible to think everything else is equally true. If it were, we wouldn’t care so strongly about what we live. I’m sure like the points of life you want to instill in your children, like run fast whenever they encounter someone like me. ; )

And yep, absolutely. Angelina is being pretty darned “Jesus”. No doubt about it. And I, personally, do not throw the baby out with bath water, even if she poops in it. That is good. And good is good. If I had any help I wanted with my current children, the cash to travel freely, and someone to cook and clean my toilets (not cook the toilets, cook meals) while I built a hospital in Zimbabwee, I’d better darn well use it wisely and get to stacking bricks. I give her props for that. And especially for taking poor Bradly in if he’s been beaten by a raging alcoholic hubby beater. Poor Brad. And despite all my ranting, I sincerely hope for a wonderful family life for all of them, and any children they may have in the future. A good family life, of any kind, always benefits a child. Even if it’s not the one I’d pick (the family life, not the child, I’d pick those babies in a minute). Real love and affection, and security from a family that may not fit my ideal traditional preference, wins over a lousy, kid beating, impoverished, 2 parents of opposite sex and married but screaming at eachother all the time family any day.

Top that, Miz Queen Thing.

The Queen of Spain stopped by sometime, looks like early this morning (what were you doing up so late? Trouble sleeping? I was up at 4 myself) and had some very interesting points on my previous post. I started to just leave a comment back to her, in an effort to elaborate, but instead, found myself writing another post. I hope, Ms. Queen, it is OK with you that I copy your comment here, and go on with this vein this morning. Looks like we may hold (respectfully, of course) some different ideas on this part of our culture, and inviting others into the fray may get my traffic boosted prove educational.

The Queen wrote:

I think everyone wants love.
I think everyone would agree that commitments should be honored.
But I have to ask…how much do you really know about any of these people? What you see on Oprah? Or at the checkout counter? We don’t know the real stories, or the real lives of ANYone of the couples you mentioned. It may have looked like husband stealing. But do we really know what went on? I think what is worse than a society that appears to not honor it’s commitments, is a society that looks up to and is interested in a very small group of people in a fictional place called “Hollywood.”
I’ve interviewed and personally met many of these people. And I can promise you, nothing is what you think it is.

I also think children can thrive in a one parent household. I, myself, would have happily adopted or otherwise had I never married. I also think you have to account for the fact that man is an animal. And some of those animals are just not meant to be managomous. Sex drives. Procreation drives. And while some of us seem to have crawled out of the sludge, there will always be a part of our population that can’t seem to rid themselves of their primal instincts. I don’t think those celebrities are asking if you approve. Nor do you have any real idea what led them to the place they are at. By suggesting that they are examples…simply for staring in films, or recording a song…is absurd.
…great post. Lots to think about here.

and I began to reply:

Hey Ms. Queen! Primarily, I am discouraged by this apparent worship of the “famous and beautiful”. People are going to do their own thing, and we’re not always going to agree with it. But this culture is obsessed with the gory details of these people. I find it sad. And you are right, we (or at least I) do not know the real inside scoop. Except they were all at my house the other week and told me. No. Not really. I am sure they don’t care if I approve at all. They’d find me quite pedestrian, and absurdly conventional. Fine with me. And they most likely didn’t ever think their daily poops would end up in the grocery check out mag rack when they started their careers. However. I feel that no matter how public or non-public a life is, we owe each other as much as we can muster. Which seemingly for some of us, may not be much. We don’t operate in a vacuum. Each choice of each person on this planet, in my humble and often ill-informed opinion, causes a ripple effect that reaches out for miles and miles. Right down to one of my children, or yours, one day. And when they read that stuff in the grocery check out, right there at eye level for them to see, it adds to who they are and who they may become, if ever so slightly. No matter whay I say, or how I explain, they’ve seen that so-n-so just cheated on so-n-so with 2 guys at some bar in NY, complete with mostly naked picture, and now spouse is yelling divorce, or going cheat, too, or did, or whatever. Is all this true? Probably not, or at least not entirely. But as you stated, our worship of this tiny, fictional corner of society puts it all out there for all to see, and for children, to ingest. I’m sure it’s a 2 way street. They live publicly. The public craves the details on Britney’s latest antics at a bar with her newborn. Poof. Front page rumors. On something that if you or I ever did, we couldn’t pay someone to care about. Or could we? Now that’s idea for some extra cash…

And on the state of man in general. I respect your opinion here. I disagree with the assumption that some of man just can’t keep it in their pants (or keep their skirts down), because we are man. But I understand what you state. For me, and this most assuredly has much to do with my faith (Which I understand you not to share? Again, respected differences.), all of man has the ability to be better, to distance themselves from the rest of the animal kingdom. Clearly some don’t choose to, but they could. I agree when you say some just won’t pass primal. What gives us the possibility of soaring higher than my dog is the ability to say no to the primal. According to my beliefs, man is created to be able to rise above these urges. So I expect more. I want more. I can’t ask it of those who don’t adopt my faith, as they cannot be held accountable to a standard they don’t buy. But I don’t have to like what appears to be evidence of how they live. And Lord knows, I hope it’s not as bad as it often seems. Public persona or not. I could have the same gripe with my neighbor. They wouldn’t care, but I could have the gripe. And you are right. It certainly seems some of us just threw a slimy leg over the edge of land, and the behavior corresponds.

For me, adoption or insemination without being married wouldn’t have been an option. So clearly, I tie “family” up in a big traditional, preacher/rabbi blessed bow. But again, I know this is my take on things, and not everyone’s. And not yours, as you state. I only mention it here to further explain my perspective when I begin to contemplate the consequences of some of what seems to be happening in the world. I fully understand that my choices can’t be, would never be, those of each and every other soul on our planet, but I want to see traditional families. In my faith, (again, it’s mine, not yours or everyone else’s, so I’m not forcing it down unwilling throats, just talking from my bank of feelings), a mom and a dad are ideal. What a child needs. Can a family thrive without this ideal? I certainly think so. And know, like you do, many who do. But from this personal perspective, I will naturally feel a sadness, a disappointment, when I observe this ideal, my ideal, my opinion of God’s ideal (and I’m saying it clearly here, it’s my opinion of God’s ideal), not being able to be met. And I’m hoping and praying that our children are able to live, want to live, this ideal.

Alright, now I’ve gone on to rambling and making sure I cover the bases of not offending anyone ever with my opinions. Enough. Clearly I come from a pretty conventional, Christian perspective. Clearly, we all don’t. And I hope clearly, it is not being conveyed that I think less of anyone that doesn’t line up with me head to toe. So I’ll stop trying to make sure any one who ever stops by here could never ever be offended by my opinions. I think that corresponds with the silly little quote of the day at the top of this page. I don’t know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everybody (Bill Cosby). We just have to be true to who we are, who we’re called to be, and conduct that life with respect to others, no matter the differences. No need to apologize for that, but boy, I sure do try sometimes.

And now, for my dear friend, who’s oldest child is just reaching 6 and a half. She called last night with the eternal dilemma of what do I tell him when he says but everyone else gets to (fill in the blank). After telling her what I usually try to say in these instances, she said would you just write that down? I need a script, or something. So Mel, your script…

(with much empathy) Ooh, hon…I am sooo sorry that it feels like every one else you know in the whole world gets to see “Saw II” and have their own personal cell phone. Mommy and Daddy know just what that feels like. We remember when (use personal anecdote, like say, when it was your birthday party at the roller rink, and you were the only one in farm print quilted overalls, that your Momma made, and all your little girlfriends got to wear their embroidered jeans and logo Ts…just pulled that one out of the air, of course). Then move on to…we sooo wish we could just let you do all these things that feel so important to you, and that when you don’t get to do them, y - (wait a minute, Blue is up, snuggle fest) - you feel so left out. And that feels really bad, we know. Like you have to miss out on all the good stuff. But you know what? It’s just not our choice alone. We have a job to do, that God gives us. And he tells us (when he asks how, you can say, through His word, or in our spirit, etc.) what is good for you and what is not. We have to make decisions for you that are not always easy, for you or for us. Because it is our job. It’d be easier to just let you do whatever you want, whenever you want to, but you wouldn’t turn out to be the young man one day that you’re supposed to be. We wish we could do for you, and give you, just anything you want, but it would be wrong. It would actually be bad for you. So we just can’t. And we know this sometimes will make you angry. That’s OK. We understand. You just can’t be disrespectful to us while you feel that way. But we’ll be here when you want to talk about it, and all the other stuff that’s hard out there, and makes you feel left out. ‘Kay? (hugs all around)

And Mel, when and if that fails, this is the most fool proof method I know to use. Choose one of the following:
1. Because I said so.
2. Because I’m the boss of you.
3. Because I’m the mom/dad, and you’re not.
4. Because I like to see you suffer. (just kidding) But you know, sometimes when one of ours persists in a ridiculous line of questioning concerning something that’s just not fair, or how come he/she gets to (whatever), and he/she doesn’t, or why don’t we do (something) for him/her, we just say because we love him/her more than you, or because we think it’s funny when you’re miserable, or well, you know, he/she is our favorite. And you know what? They get this look like whaaaaaa? and then know immediately that we’re kidding, that we are doing what we do because we’re doing the best we know how, and they relent. And we usually start laughing. Just a thought. Sometimes works for us.

Although, this may solicit some controversy, not to mention a few pervs, I’m gonna jump in. Boobs. Big ones, small ones, saggy ones, removed, augmented, beaten cancer, or sadly, succumbed to it, reduced, whatever. The female breast will nearly always draw attention or conversation, or both, when mentioned. Or sometimes when just passing by. Why? Maybe because they’re always out there. You see pretty well what a woman’s toting, or appears to be toting, thank you Wonderbra, in just a simple person to person conversation. You don’t have to look, they’re just there. Just saying.

I cannot speak for all women. Just myself and a few I’ve had the privilege of discussing breasts with over the last coupla decades, since we nearly all (women, of course, hopefully not men) starting praying this would be the summer we “got them”. This would be the school year I went back with a bra. That I needed. Only if. I’m not ashamed, although I am remiss, that I still don’t need one. Not really. Remiss? Why? Because I want to really need a bra. Is that so crazy? That’s what I’m wondering. God gave’em to Eve. I just want my share.

What is the mental or physical connection between cleavage, and feminity, and does it have to be that way? It is for me, and I’d shake it if I could. I know, I know, many women struggle with breast cancer, beat it, and maybe lost their breasts in the process. Are they any less a woman? NO. This registers in my head. But in my shirts, well that’s another story. By the time I was 19 or so, I knew that was it. There wasn’t going to be a magic summer that blossomed on my chest. I was a perky, petite, albeit smallish B, and that was all she wrote. So there. At that age, I started asking my Dad for a boob job. My Dad. I had no compunction about it. I just figured he was the one with the bucks, not me. But alas, I got married the next year, so there went the dough (good thing really, as my hubby has always said it’d be weird if my father payed for my breasts - he’s got a point there).

Why did I fixate on this at such a young age? Why did I feel I was too small? Who told me that? No one, really, other than every model every to slither across a catwalk with a size D top and a 21 inch waist. Culture tells us that is sexy. Flat little Bs are not. But is that all? What about subconsciously equating fullness, roundness with maternal and sensual things. Women are created with more, um, flesh, to actually, literally nourish life. You just don’t get that Madonna (the virgin, not the like a virgin) image from skinny little girls with no bust. Some women love being pregnant simply because they fill out for the first time. They feel sexier, more alive, more beautiful (I just felt more nauseous). When I talk about this with my hubby, he says it must be like what men feel about their, their, um, girth. Or, well, length. But this, this I do not get. Those things don’t stand out under clothing as a part of the style of the clothing, or at least, they shouldn’t under normal circumstances. I mean, if I can’t fill out a swimsuit, or blouse, it’s obvious. As far as I know, there is no problem associated with not filling out a pair of jeans. The butt usually does that.

So, not filling out clothing is one issue. My mom just says get one of those bras. But I want to, well, I want to be, ummm, attractive, without having to wear a bra. And I finally gained peace with that when I was about 24. Hey, petite is fine. At least it’s all perky. And then I had a baby. And another, and another. And they all nursed for at least a year. And dammit, now I don’t even have those Bs! And my hips and waist? Not really too big, but in proportion now to the shruken top, and I mean shrunken, are totally out of whack. I have become a classic pear. I can’t help but prefer a bit more of an hourglass. Not a perfect one, just a proportionate one. Is this too vain to ask? Is it wrong of me not to want to look like an adolescent boy from the mid-waist up, and a Ruben painting from there down? Somehow, when I’m standing there in the mirror, it’s just hard to work up that “I am woman” feeling. Forget feeling seductive. Sorry if that’s too much info, but this is bugging me.

So I pose this to all the world of blogging. Are we copping out and buying into culture’s definition of “sensual” if we say, think about, oh, I dunno, breast augmentation, or are we taking charge of our lives, not unlike diet, exercise or mascara, or hair coloring, and trying to acheive the best me we can be? Is there an imaginary line we can cross? My girlfriend’s husband says it’s not breast augmentation, but breast restoration, as apparently, she has the same issue I do. Kind of like coloring the gray in your hair, back to its natural brown, but with some anaesthesia, a little knife, and some temporary bruising. Simple really.

I really just want to know where some other women, particularly the motherly kind who may know exactly what I’m talking about, feel about this issue. Really. Boob jobs. They’re not just for Barbie anymore. Real down to earth women go for it, too. Haven’t you seen Doctor 90210? And I’m not talking about something for my husband, I’m talking about something for me. Blessedly, he loves me just the way I am. I’m just not so nuts about it.

Finished the floors, got to upstairs, did both bathrooms up there, and shelled out $74 to the children for sticks! How could I have known that they’d really get into gear for a nickle a stick? I figured, well, they’ll hang in there maybe, 45 minutes, maybe an hour, and more than 2 hours later, they were all involved, and demanding their pay! And suddenly they were making little noises about how, aawwww, I, the mom, don’t get paid for all my work, and ooowwww, isn’t that saaaad…yeah, dammit, it IS sad. I figured with Speedreader’s pay, he got a bit better than $15 an hour! He’ll be damned lucky to get that with a college education! He’ll be begging me to pick up sticks! I’ve never earned that much! Then, I got to teach the awesome lesson of telling him that the Chick-Fil-A meal we all got for lunch just ate one whole hour of his stick-picking-up-work. Wow. Was he ever astonished. A whole hour? Maybe he didn’t like to eat out all that much afterall…that Fly Pen he got for Christmas? Seven stick picking up hours. The Four Wheeler he thought we’d be stupid enough to look into? 21 stick picking up hours…This has proved to be an unschool lesson worth its weight in gold. He is FINALLY beginning to understand what we mean when we say we want to “stretch our dollar”, or we need to “be mindful and good stewards of what we spend”. Once he had to sweat for it *presto*! he’s suddenly a fiscal conservative.

I once read that the difference in a liberal (and I mean more fiscally here than anything else) and a conservative is that the liberal has nothing to lose, and the conservative has earned something he/she doesn’t want to give up without say in the giving. Makes some sense to me. All I know is that I got more conservative after I saw how much was taken out of the paycheck we’d spent many many life hours earning. Not so unlike Speedreader realizing how many sticks he’d have to pick up for a trip to Lego Land. And I didn’t even issue a 10-99. Happy Income Tax Day, which isn’t so far away.

this was for fun. Apparently, I may be very wrong. As tonight, this is an email/comment I received on this Flashback Friday idea. When I was informed, as can be seen in my comments section, that I may be stepping on some toes, as below:

Karin at HeartSongs (http://three-part-harmony.com/heartsongs/) started the original Flashback Friday quite some time ago. I’m sure she’d have no problem with you participating, but if I were her, I wouldn’t be real pleased to see someone else claiming my idea as their own. Just saying…

I responded honestly that this just came to me, that I’m new to this, and have never seen this person or her site. And that I would contact the potential “originator” of said idea. And then received this:

Well Allison, to some it is a game, and to others it is a hobby. Please, do visit her and inform her that you intend to take her idea and pass it off as something you just happened to think of months after she did. Should you decide to do your own version of Thursday 13 as well, I’m sure the blogger who created the idea will be equally as pleased. It is not a competition, but you will find, since you are new to this hobby, that bloggers tend to take something called a copyright very seriously when it applies to their creative writing ideas.

Merry Christmas to you and yours as well.

I just want to say that I’m here for fun. That whatever has “happened” to occur to me, actually has, and that I do indeed, credit Miss Leanne with all her Thursday 13 fun-ness. I link right up to her, and mention her frequently. No attempt to steal here. I like participating in all this stuff, and would love to have others hang with me as I walk through this new “hobby”. I see it all as a great outlet for women, everywhere, no matter what their backgrounds, age, history, race, religion. We can have a voice. We can meet others. And in theory, I sure thought it was about support, and fun. Not copywriting infringement and “rights”. Why do I suddenly have an urge to slam my locker closed and tell my best girlfriends not to talk to her anymore? Is this highschool? Or is it a fantastic forum for women to get to know eachother and share a bit of life…oh! Do I hear the bell? I might be late for our quiz in bio today…gotto make sure I make that!

I would love good, fun traffic. I would love “popularity” in this funny blog world. I won’t pretend that’s not fun. But this stuff? I left it behind 20 years ago, and hoped most of us did, as well. And Leanne? I love your idea, and that you offer a great idea to link up to. What is wrong with sharing the ideas? Sharing the traffic? Sharing the fun, whether it be game, hobby or much needed outlet?

What I thought was a place to share what I feel, to be excited that people may read what I feel, to vent my wannabe writer-ness, seems to have become a slanted sorority of sorts, like the clique of girls I simultaneously loathed and longed to be, when I was 16. More than half my lifetime ago. Certain blogs seem to be able to dictate what the rest of us do. Suddenly, silly silly ideas like a Flashback Friday becomes proprietary rights. What? Is this something revolutionary no one else could have thought of? Are we kidding ourselves? Is there money changing hands that I don’t know about? We’re not putting food on the table here, we’re playing, or sharing. Or we would like to kindle some relationship, even if we may never meet in person. Moreena’s participation in this blog stuff has garnered her blood donors, gift givers and life time supporters for her very sick little girl. Running2ks has been blessed to visit her, and donate blood herself…many of you out there have participated in this walk with Moreena. And not turned this into some sort of infantile popularity contest.

If it means I have to take sides, worry about “stealing” copyrights (about which I would never care, this is pretty public afterall), or contacting any of the 50 some odd million people out there with blogs to make sure I didn’t duplicate one of their ideas, just to have an outlet I love, then I quit. I have been proved that this is all false. Just stupid. I’ll just open a Word document and type away til my heart’s content. I hoped I’d finally found a spot that didn’t run like middle school cheerleaders. Maybe I was wrong.

Aaaahhhhhh. The dryer is running. The washer is running. The dishwasher is running. The DVD player is running. Coffee is perking. The Christmas lights are twinkling, and my toes are warm. Toasty, toasty warm. And the dog has had his hated coat removed. Forget any statements ever made about loving to live in an antebellum age (Scarlett fixation). I love the 21st Century. And in the 21st Century, there are goodies like Lexapro, and Wellbutrin. That’s gotta count for something. I’d probably have flipped my crinoline wearing arse out in 1854. Scarlett on a whiskey binger following post partum depression. Maybe pulling a ivory handled pistol on her Rhett. Burning down Mammy’s kitchen. Not pretty. (Don’t think I’m glamorizing slavery, just recalling the movie. I’m all about that being one of our most evil institutions in history)

So this morning, I’m back to ignoring the children as usual. They’re probably not that hungry yet, anyway. And I’ve been thinking about my own “hook”. R2ks has Refrigerator Art on Mondays, I know Phantom has Whining Wednesdays, Leanne does a Thursday 13, and I think Running is doing a Thankful on that day two. I’m sure that Tuesday is taken somewhere. I’ve been thinking of something along the lines of Flashback Friday. A day where we post a favorite picture, from any time in our lives, or even our friends or other families. Gotta grandpa from 1904 that you’d love to show off? A shot of a newborn that makes you smile? Wedding pics? Highschool graduation? Keg party? You favorite sofa, or most hated one? Would it be fun to post it, and write a little description, and see everyone else’s fav memories?

Just putting it out there, getting a little feedback (can’t do anything without everyone’s approval and affirmation). I may just do it myself, just because I want to. And that’s what this is all about, right? Me. But, since I’m just codependent enough, please let me know what you think. Please?

You’re back. Me here, just munchin on a few Fritos. I think 7 Fritos have 36 Weight Watcher points, but I DON’T CARE. At least, that’s my story and I’m stickin to it. Problem is, later on, sometime, today, tomorrow or next week, I’ll fall in a heap in our closet, truly distraught that there is this lop that falls over the waist of my jeans, and folds that double up in my belly when I sit down. Or while I’m bent over shaving in the shower. Or when my husband nuzzles up against me, late at night. Honestly, I’m just getting real here. I KNOW it’s vain. I know in the world’s eyes, I’m fairly thin. But not thin enough. Not like I used to be. I know that God sees only the heart, and that the beauty of a Godly woman is in her love of the Lord, and how she serves him. That this earthly stuff vanishes. But it seems I can’t help it.

There is a part in Spanglish (one of my favorite movies) in which the narrator comments that she’d love to explore at Princeton, should she be accepted, the cultural differences between American and Hispanic women.

American women, I believe, actually feel the same as Hispanic women, about weight. A desire for the comfort for fullness. And when that desire is suppressed for style, and deprivation allowed to rule, dieting, exercising women become afraid of everything associated with being curvacious. Such as wantonness, lustfullness, sex, food, mothering, all that is best in life.

Is this true? Somehow, it sparks a small something in my spirit. The way we, as women, are created is with flesh, curves, fat (yes, fat), to largely be able to bring life into the world. If men bore children, they would look like us. And in bearing these children, our breasts become full, with life sustaining nutrition, our hips soften and widen to carry the load, give birth. Our bellies expand miraculously to protect that little life, our faces, and limbs usually lose what might have been an angular look, to hold the significant increase in fluids, coursing through our bodies, allowing the baby to grow, thrive. And do we think, really think, that after such life changing, and growing, and body manipulating, we are going to pop right back into place, like those old Stretch Armstrong dolls? And show no mark of the transformation?

I believe only in the last 30 years or so, this pressure to get thin, be thin, stay thin has really exploded. I am sure I could research this for supportive statistics and facts, but I’m too busy typing and nibbling on some of the cake the dog didn’t get to do it. I remember when no one ran, unless they were being chased. I was young, but I remember. I remember my parents learning for the first time the direct correlation between fried chicken and butter biscuits, and their pants fitting too tight. Young women who married, were expected to eventually have children, and if they were particularly thin, soften, put on a few pounds. It was just life. But now? Now we see mostly naked cover girls gracing the magazines 6 weeks after giving birth. Tabloids touting how much weight Brittany, or Denise have lost in what amount of time since their babies were born, and showing us them in tiny midriff tanks to prove it. Isn’t this part of the problem? If you don’t show your ass and its thong to everyone and their dog, you don’t have to keep it quite so tight.

Until Twiggy, the average sized model was a 12. A 12. I’m getting all twisted up when my 8s get snug. I know this is completely whacked. Marilyn Monroe, Ava Gardner, even Lucille Ball. 12s. But in the time since, anything over an 8 is considered plus sized. That means, for the fashion world (which I’m sure is run by little men who hate women), you are only normal, if you are a 0, 2, 4 or 6. Is this nuts? Or is it just me?? If that’s normal, then 8, 10 and 12 must be overweight, and anything beyond that, obese. It’s wrong.

The worst part, to me, is that if I can’t get my psyche under control with this, there is nearly no way my daughter will grow up understand healthy body image. If I constantly criticize myself, even if only in my head, she’ll learn we’re never good enough. There’s always something we should be doing to look better. No words I can ever say will counter what she sees me see, in the mirror every morning. So I pray, I talk it out. I start to get on top of it, and then while we’re hanging out watching King of Queens one evening, double Ds hit me in the face from the TV screen. The Victoria’s Secret Angels, looking every bit anything but angelic. 24 inch waists, legs up to their throats, and a huge pair of ta-tas on top. And my husband gets to see it. And so does yours. And hers. And there I was, feeling good, snuggled up with my love, in my drawstring sleep pants and a cute little tank top, suddenly feeling like a giant, old, cow. A big, lumbering, mom. The antithesis of sexy. The opposite of desirable. Gee, really want to go have a little nookie now. All I can think is that those images are now in my husband’s head. Every flash of concave Angel belly blows my belly up in my mind exponentially. And yep, we all know the ones (or, I do) who’ve had babies. That only makes it worse. Who can live up to that? And why should we even try?? But for some reason, many of us do. In small ways, maybe, but the internal comparison is always there. Sick.

I know there are a few of you who check in here who will likely be either A. gagging that I think 10 pounds is anything, or B. ill that I would entertain such vanity, or C. Disgusted that there is any of this nonsense in my head. But maybe it helps to say it isn’t always the way it looks? That for someone you may feel has it made, they may have their own demons to battle, as ridiculous as those demons may be? And that really, we women, any of us who struggle to loosen the cultural albatross, and pursue what we know to be true, healthy and right, are all in this war together. Against anyone attempting to determine our worth, based on anything other than our hearts. Against our culture continuing to shove down the throats of husbands, sons and daughters, that this is the way to be, live, and look. Against the notion that any of us should be anything but the way God created us to be; short, tall, larger, smaller, brunette, blond, black, brown, red, yellow or white. Against the idea that we should pursue some warped version of perfection, not health. Against the idea that only the very young are worthwhile, and begin to embrace the reality that women growing in age and experience are among our greatest resources. If we can just switch focus and tap into them, and enjoy our own journies. See our marks of motherhood, aging, and maturing, as badges of honor. Those stretch marks? The not so pert breasts? The softness around the middle and hips? Medals of Valor, Courage, and Honor. I hope we can, because that’s where I’m headed. At frightening pace.