B's 5th birthday is tomorrow, and her teachers had informed me that I could bring in a snack for her class today to celebrate. In my not-very-many-years as a parent, I've seen B bring home goody bags from classmates' birthday celebrations, and realized that I've kind of cheaped out in the past by just sending in a package of Oreos for her party. This year, she's at a new school, with new friends and new anxieties and insecurities. I really wanted her to meet #5 head-on and with confidence, so I asked her what she wanted to have for her party theme. "Dragons!" she exclaimed (as in, How To Train Your Dragon). Dragons it is.
I had seen tiny dragon figurines at Target a couple months ago, so I figured if they were cheap enough I could buy a bunch to give to each of her classmates in a goody bag. Last night, I made the trek and found them in the toy aisle right away. I practically emptied Target out of those dragons. Mama-guilt-meets-American-consumerism at its finest hour.
I walk to checkout and have a male cashier, somewhere in his mid-late 40s. He greets me immediately, but isn't chatty. At some point during the transaction, he must have felt like he should be more conversational, so he remarks, "You're throwing a boy's birthday party, huh?" (you know where this is going...)
Now, it was about 9 pm on a Thursday night. I'm sure this guy was tired after a long day of standing on his feet, dealing with customers and transactions. I'm sure he thought he'd just make conversation with me, we'd exchange some pleasantries, and I'd be on my way. But, something made me "go there", when maybe I should have just let it go.
Me: Now, why would you assume this was for a boy's birthday party?
Cashier: (annoyed) Because you're buying a bunch of boys' toys.
Me: There's no such thing as 'boys' toys'!"
Cashier: (trying not to roll his eyes) Okay...
Me: Actually, this is all for a little girl who loves dragons.
(Silence)
...I couldn't help myself...
Me: You don't need certain body parts in order to play with dragons.
Cashier: (dismissively) Okay.
I know it might have been uncalled for, perhaps even a little rude. But if that guy was comfortable making an assumption to me about gender roles, then surely he would impart that suggestion on to the children in his life. I just that morning had dropped B off at her school, only to notice that all the boys in the classroom were on the floor playing with building blocks and structures, while all the girls were at the table coloring. There's nothing wrong, inherently, with either of these activities. But I don't believe that by nature, boys are born to build and girls are born to color. I think the power of suggestion that we as adults pass along to our kids goes a long way. I've seen the way the girls in her class can get down on the floor and work imaginatively and cooperatively to build ramps, slides and towers with those building blocks. Likewise, I know many of the boys enjoy cutting, pasting and coloring at the arts & crafts table. So why, in an informal setting, do the segregate themselves and migrate to the stereotypical gender-role activities? Perhaps because accidentally or otherwise, it's been suggested that those are the activities appropriate for their sex? Heck, if the cashier at Target would tell me that, then surely there are adults that would say that to their kids, right?
So, B has her dragon-themed party in just another couple hours. I won't be able to make it, but A will, and he promised to take pictures. I wonder if the kids--boys and girls--will love their new dragon toys. My guess is, given the opportunity, kids will see a toy as just a toy, no gender assigned.
Friday, May 30, 2014
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Yes All Women?
My heart is still pounding...my voice is still not quite right. I just stepped through the door to work after having approached a small group of male construction workers who I observed cat-calling women.
Perhaps I'm still a bit sensitive because I just read an article yesterday about the #YesAllWomen movement that has ignited after the murders at UC Santa Barbara. Although I don't entirely agree with everything that's been said in support of that movement, I do think it's true that men have no idea how one-sided, intimidating and unappreciated their interactions with women can be.
As I was walking up the block to my office, I noticed a group of three young male construction workers, standing half underground (they were doing work on the infrastructure under the street). An attractive young woman was walking up ahead of me, and I saw all three of the men's heads turn approvingly in her direction. Then one or all of them started yelling unintelligible things her way. She either didn't hear or chose to ignore them because she didn't respond, just kept walking. They saw me walking next, and I don't know if it was the fact that I was carrying a baby, or the fact that I was looking right at them, or maybe they just didn't find me attractive, but none of them said anything to me. I almost just put the whole situation behind me and went inside my building. My coworker had just arrived and noticed me, so he had left the door ajar for me. But something made me not go inside. I realized I had to say something for all the women who have ever felt frightened to walk down a street for fear of being harassed by men. For all the women who don't have the nerve or are too afraid of the repercussions of standing up to disrespectful men. I just had to.
In all honesty, I felt safe. These were young guys in their 20s. They were at work in the middle of the street with uniforms on. My job was just a few short steps away. I knew nothing bad was going to happen. So that made it easier than if I were in a parking garage or an empty street at night. I wouldn't have the nerve or feel safe doing it then.
I walked up and, my voice clear and strong, but still shaking, told them that I was speaking because not all women feel like they can. I told them that no woman appreciates being called after and harassed simply for walking down the street. One of the guys seemed immediately shamed, and he looked stone-faced at the ground. The other two men smiled. I told them I could tell they thought it was funny because they were smiling, but that it's not. Men who treat women like that are making women feel intimidated and fearful, when all we want to do is walk down the street. I told them surely they have women in their lives who they care about, who they wouldn't want feeling this way because of strange men on the street. I told them that women should be able to walk with pride and respect and not be shamed by men cat-calling and commenting on their appearance. The two men who were smiling gave me a bit of lip service, feigned humility, but were smiling (sheepishly?) by the time I stopped talking. The other man seemed like he genuinely heard what I was saying and was taking it to heart. So, maybe my words made some impact. I walked away, shaky and nervous with a charge of adrenaline and emotion.
I almost posted this story to Facebook. But I didn't want to get a bunch of "likes" and congratulatory comments from well-meaning friends. I didn't do this for that. I did this so that perhaps one day a woman won't get harassed by these guys because the men actually stop to think before they say something. Maybe they'll think about how their words, actions and general appearance come across to a woman walking down the street, and instead of cat-calling, perhaps they'll just nod courteously and wish her a nice day.
Perhaps I'm still a bit sensitive because I just read an article yesterday about the #YesAllWomen movement that has ignited after the murders at UC Santa Barbara. Although I don't entirely agree with everything that's been said in support of that movement, I do think it's true that men have no idea how one-sided, intimidating and unappreciated their interactions with women can be.
As I was walking up the block to my office, I noticed a group of three young male construction workers, standing half underground (they were doing work on the infrastructure under the street). An attractive young woman was walking up ahead of me, and I saw all three of the men's heads turn approvingly in her direction. Then one or all of them started yelling unintelligible things her way. She either didn't hear or chose to ignore them because she didn't respond, just kept walking. They saw me walking next, and I don't know if it was the fact that I was carrying a baby, or the fact that I was looking right at them, or maybe they just didn't find me attractive, but none of them said anything to me. I almost just put the whole situation behind me and went inside my building. My coworker had just arrived and noticed me, so he had left the door ajar for me. But something made me not go inside. I realized I had to say something for all the women who have ever felt frightened to walk down a street for fear of being harassed by men. For all the women who don't have the nerve or are too afraid of the repercussions of standing up to disrespectful men. I just had to.
In all honesty, I felt safe. These were young guys in their 20s. They were at work in the middle of the street with uniforms on. My job was just a few short steps away. I knew nothing bad was going to happen. So that made it easier than if I were in a parking garage or an empty street at night. I wouldn't have the nerve or feel safe doing it then.
I walked up and, my voice clear and strong, but still shaking, told them that I was speaking because not all women feel like they can. I told them that no woman appreciates being called after and harassed simply for walking down the street. One of the guys seemed immediately shamed, and he looked stone-faced at the ground. The other two men smiled. I told them I could tell they thought it was funny because they were smiling, but that it's not. Men who treat women like that are making women feel intimidated and fearful, when all we want to do is walk down the street. I told them surely they have women in their lives who they care about, who they wouldn't want feeling this way because of strange men on the street. I told them that women should be able to walk with pride and respect and not be shamed by men cat-calling and commenting on their appearance. The two men who were smiling gave me a bit of lip service, feigned humility, but were smiling (sheepishly?) by the time I stopped talking. The other man seemed like he genuinely heard what I was saying and was taking it to heart. So, maybe my words made some impact. I walked away, shaky and nervous with a charge of adrenaline and emotion.
I almost posted this story to Facebook. But I didn't want to get a bunch of "likes" and congratulatory comments from well-meaning friends. I didn't do this for that. I did this so that perhaps one day a woman won't get harassed by these guys because the men actually stop to think before they say something. Maybe they'll think about how their words, actions and general appearance come across to a woman walking down the street, and instead of cat-calling, perhaps they'll just nod courteously and wish her a nice day.
Friday, May 9, 2014
The One About The Flowers
A few weeks ago, A's brother and sister-in-law became the proud parents to twin boys. We are over the moon excited for them, after many months of anticipation, planning and waiting for the babies' birth. While at work today, I had the thought that it'd be nice to send our sister-in-law a flower arrangement in celebration of her very first Mother's Day. I went online and picked out arrangements for her, for my mother, and for a sweet neighbor back in Michigan. Now that I'm gainfully employed again, it felt nice to be able to afford a luxury like sending gifts to loved ones.
After work, Samara and I met up with A and B for some family time, dinner and drinks. On the walk home, I casually mentioned to A that I had purchased flowers for those three special ladies, feeling a bit guilty that I had not sent an arrangement to his mother. I quickly added, ''But I know your mother, and she's not really the flower type, so that's why I didn't buy her any.''
A rolled his eyes and laughed. ''Dont worry, I took care of my mother already.'' I breathed a silent air of relief before asking, ''You sent her flowers?'' A replied, ''Yup, and I sent Christine flowers, too, so I guess she'll be getting two arrangements from us.'' Christine is our sister-in-law. I looked at him, wide-eyed. ''You sent Christine flowers, too?'' Neither Adam nor I is particularly great about gift-giving, so I was surprised that he would have had the same idea to send flowers to the new mom as I did. ''Yea, evidently you were thinking the same thing,'' he said, before adding, ''actually she's getting two arrangements from me because I got the address wrong when I purchased them. When I called the company to try to get it changed, they said it was too late and so they'd have to send another arrangement to the right address, but that the first arrangement would likely go to the right address anyway.'' So our dear Christine is getting three floral arrangements from us for Mothers Day. Apparently we are REALLY excited about her new entrance into motherhood. Apparently we also need to talk more about plans regarding gift-giving.
When we arrived at home, B in her usual style ran ahead of us, up the steep slope of the front yard and onto the front porch. I was wearing Samara in the wrap and so I moved more slowly. I heard B exclaim, ''Dad, we got mail!'' and then, ''What do you think it is?'' At that point, I realized we had a package by the front door. As I walked onto the porch, I saw the long box and wondered what could be inside. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a flower arrangement. My first thought was, ''I wonder who would send me flowers...and why?'' It took a couple seconds for my brain to connect the dots. I turned to my grinning husband and asked, ''Did you get me flowers?'' He replied, ''Maybe.'' We are not really the type to do flowers, an unnecessary luxury that costs money and only ends in sadness when the blooms wilt, brown and fall off. I bent down to open the box. Two dozen red roses, so beautiful. I gave him a kiss of thanks. A lavender bath set and box of chocolates were also included. I kissed him again. The red, red roses came with a daringly racy red vase that reminded me of the sophisticated, romantic rendezvous that we used to take in our youth back in New York City. I smile when I think how our children will never know the crazy young love side of us, a side that still exists but is hidden behind the duties of jobs and bills, parenting and commuting. The side that gets hidden by making everyone else's Mother's Day perfect and forgetting to enjoy my own. But that young love side of us still exists; A reminded me of that this evening. Even more than the flowers, I loved the special note he included in the box. While I choose to keep his words private, I will say they are quite possibly the most beautiful things he has ever said to me. And I loved it all, even if we're not the type to do flowers.
After work, Samara and I met up with A and B for some family time, dinner and drinks. On the walk home, I casually mentioned to A that I had purchased flowers for those three special ladies, feeling a bit guilty that I had not sent an arrangement to his mother. I quickly added, ''But I know your mother, and she's not really the flower type, so that's why I didn't buy her any.''
A rolled his eyes and laughed. ''Dont worry, I took care of my mother already.'' I breathed a silent air of relief before asking, ''You sent her flowers?'' A replied, ''Yup, and I sent Christine flowers, too, so I guess she'll be getting two arrangements from us.'' Christine is our sister-in-law. I looked at him, wide-eyed. ''You sent Christine flowers, too?'' Neither Adam nor I is particularly great about gift-giving, so I was surprised that he would have had the same idea to send flowers to the new mom as I did. ''Yea, evidently you were thinking the same thing,'' he said, before adding, ''actually she's getting two arrangements from me because I got the address wrong when I purchased them. When I called the company to try to get it changed, they said it was too late and so they'd have to send another arrangement to the right address, but that the first arrangement would likely go to the right address anyway.'' So our dear Christine is getting three floral arrangements from us for Mothers Day. Apparently we are REALLY excited about her new entrance into motherhood. Apparently we also need to talk more about plans regarding gift-giving.
When we arrived at home, B in her usual style ran ahead of us, up the steep slope of the front yard and onto the front porch. I was wearing Samara in the wrap and so I moved more slowly. I heard B exclaim, ''Dad, we got mail!'' and then, ''What do you think it is?'' At that point, I realized we had a package by the front door. As I walked onto the porch, I saw the long box and wondered what could be inside. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a flower arrangement. My first thought was, ''I wonder who would send me flowers...and why?'' It took a couple seconds for my brain to connect the dots. I turned to my grinning husband and asked, ''Did you get me flowers?'' He replied, ''Maybe.'' We are not really the type to do flowers, an unnecessary luxury that costs money and only ends in sadness when the blooms wilt, brown and fall off. I bent down to open the box. Two dozen red roses, so beautiful. I gave him a kiss of thanks. A lavender bath set and box of chocolates were also included. I kissed him again. The red, red roses came with a daringly racy red vase that reminded me of the sophisticated, romantic rendezvous that we used to take in our youth back in New York City. I smile when I think how our children will never know the crazy young love side of us, a side that still exists but is hidden behind the duties of jobs and bills, parenting and commuting. The side that gets hidden by making everyone else's Mother's Day perfect and forgetting to enjoy my own. But that young love side of us still exists; A reminded me of that this evening. Even more than the flowers, I loved the special note he included in the box. While I choose to keep his words private, I will say they are quite possibly the most beautiful things he has ever said to me. And I loved it all, even if we're not the type to do flowers.
Monday, May 5, 2014
The Game
So, employment rising has manifested into employment happening. I've been at the new job a full week now, and so far things are going well. In fact, I couldn't ask for a more flexible, understanding work environment. My boss is allowing me to bring Samara with me to the office, at least until I'm able to get her into daycare. Right now, she's still at the sleepy, nap-and-nurse-all-day-long stage, so having her here is not really an issue. By the time we're off the waiting list and into daycare, she'll definitely be at a point where I couldn't really have her at the office anymore, so hopefully the timing will work out.
Home life has, undoubtedly, changed. We all get up around the same time--earlier than I've gotten up in years--and after getting ready for the day, Adam and B walk off together down the street so he can drop her off at school before he walks to work. Samara and I usually leave 30 minutes later. I've been driving into work so that I can easily place a sleeping Samara in her car seat at my desk without interrupting her. However, I do not like driving in city traffic, because a) it feels like I'm just 5 seconds away from getting into an accident, b) the stress, c) the pollution factor, d) I support mass transit, and e) I need exercise. So, as of tomorrow, Samara and I will be walking to the bus, which will take us to the train, and then we'll walk the last 10 minutes to the office. I got a bouncy seat for the office so she has a cozy place to rest. Our commute will increase from 25 minutes to probably about an hour, but I'm trying to be positive and pragmatic about it. After all, we bought the house we did so that we wouldn't have to use our car very much.
As I write this, I'm struck by how much my life has changed since I started this blog 7 years ago. Back then, I was young, attached, and travelling all over the country. Now, I'm older, married, a mother to two children, and stationary. I miss the old days and the ability to move around and experience new things and meet new people, especially since I don't really enjoy living in this current place. But I wouldn't trade my marriage or my children for anything.
Well, it's 10 am and I've blown enough time. Back to the game.
Home life has, undoubtedly, changed. We all get up around the same time--earlier than I've gotten up in years--and after getting ready for the day, Adam and B walk off together down the street so he can drop her off at school before he walks to work. Samara and I usually leave 30 minutes later. I've been driving into work so that I can easily place a sleeping Samara in her car seat at my desk without interrupting her. However, I do not like driving in city traffic, because a) it feels like I'm just 5 seconds away from getting into an accident, b) the stress, c) the pollution factor, d) I support mass transit, and e) I need exercise. So, as of tomorrow, Samara and I will be walking to the bus, which will take us to the train, and then we'll walk the last 10 minutes to the office. I got a bouncy seat for the office so she has a cozy place to rest. Our commute will increase from 25 minutes to probably about an hour, but I'm trying to be positive and pragmatic about it. After all, we bought the house we did so that we wouldn't have to use our car very much.
As I write this, I'm struck by how much my life has changed since I started this blog 7 years ago. Back then, I was young, attached, and travelling all over the country. Now, I'm older, married, a mother to two children, and stationary. I miss the old days and the ability to move around and experience new things and meet new people, especially since I don't really enjoy living in this current place. But I wouldn't trade my marriage or my children for anything.
Well, it's 10 am and I've blown enough time. Back to the game.
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