I have been nominated in all three categories over at BlogLuxe. While I normally am pretty dismissive of these sorts of award polls as nothing but popularity contests (and they are popularity contests, make no mistake), I’m actually feeling the love right now, with the [...]]]> And Most Provocative. And a Blog You’ve Learned the Most From.

I have been nominated in all three categories over at BlogLuxe. While I normally am pretty dismissive of these sorts of award polls as nothing but popularity contests (and they are popularity contests, make no mistake), I’m actually feeling the love right now, with the feedback I’ve been getting on my last few posts¹, so go, sling a vote² or three my way. You can vote once a day, through July 12, and winners will be announced at their exclusive shindig at the BlogHer ‘10 conference. Which I will be attending. (BlogHer, not the shindig, and there’s a post somewhere on my ambivalence about that.)

Speaking of my lastest post, I’m not sure I’ll be able to reply adequately to the stories and support shared there (and on On breastfeeding…) but I have read them all, and appreciate them all. I’ve never been more in love with blogging and with my readership than I have been the past couple days.

I said on Twitter yesterday that I’ve never heard a secret uttered that was not more bearable for having been spoken and shared, and so I’d like to remind you that I’m still offering RMB as a host to anonymous posts, as part of the Naked Pictures of Faceless People series. I cannot tell you how much speaking my truths — no matter how awkward or embarrassing or socially-unaccepted or guilt-inducing or supposedly-shameful — has helped me. If there’s something you’d like to get out but you don’t have a place for, I would be honored to host it for you, anonymously or not.

I’m still cynical enough most days to doubt that this blogging thing can change the world, but I know it’s changed my life — and right now, that’s enough.

Yeah, Day Three fucked my back up. Or rather, my back, injured long long ago when I was twelve, decided it had had enough and wasn’t going to take it any more, and I wasn’t going to give yet another massage, I was [...]]]> You know that fabulous class I was gushing over in my last post?

Yeah, Day Three fucked my back up. Or rather, my back, injured long long ago when I was twelve, decided it had had enough and wasn’t going to take it any more, and I wasn’t going to give yet another massage, I was just going to lie on the floor and cry for an hour.

That day? Also the first of my cycle. And the spasm came while I was trying to put on my pants, so I was on the floor wearing only a nursing tank and my bright red undies¹. So, that was fun².

On the other hand, if you’re going to have a great big physical and emotional break down, there are worse places to do it than a room full of nurturing women half of whom are doulas (some wonderfully radical) and all of whom are massage therapists or massage students.³

This has happened to me before⁴, and it will likely happen to me again, although I’m working on preventing it. But this has me thinking a lot about privilege⁵, and access to medical care, and sick days, and disability, and, oh, lots of things.

Like there’s this: since it happened, I’ve seen a massage therapist, a physical therapist, and the chiropractor twice. The latter two are almost entirely covered by my insurance, and the former offers me a student discount (which I can only be because I had good enough credit to have taken out a massive loan to cover my schooling — it’s really true that the more you make, the less you spend).

And there’s this: The Man took two days off, took a super long lunch to get me to an appointment the third day, and has a job that allows him to work from home once a week so he was around again to help me out today. He’s salaried, has abundant⁶ sick and vacation days, and is in a class of work that allows for flexible hours and minimum oversight.

And this: when I am not up to writing, when I am not up to taking out my own damn sponge, I can do nothing but sit around and pop NSAIDs and ice my back and go to body work appointments and bitch about #backpocalypse2010 on Twitter. I lose some readers and some momentum, I miss a week of The Boychick’s Bookshelf and am five days late on a monthly menstrual post⁷: I do not lose my job, I do not worry about paying my rent, I do not grit my teeth and soldier through and further damage myself to avoid those things.

And then there’s how hard it is to ask for help, the socially imposed conditioning to apologize for being hurt⁸ that I’ve struggled with, the allowances I am given because this is presumed to be temporary, the language used to describe the incapacity⁹ that is today only for me and every day for others, the suggestions that it’s my own fault for not taking better care of myself, the voices¹⁰ saying that if I’m so damaged what am I doing trying to be a massage therapist… there’s rather more going on than I can identify, much less analyze. Especially as the ice pack melts and my hips start tingling and my back starts twitching and my bed starts calling — loudly, in the form of snores from my child and texts from my lover.

But I haven’t forgotten you¹¹, and soon I’ll be back with another Boychick’s Bookshelf (and there may be a collaboration there to announce soon — stay tuned!), and a review of Flow (oh so mixed), and whatever else I can eke out time for (ideas I never lack — time to follow through, often). And I promise it’ll be a little less apocalyptic¹², and a lot more topical.

I’ve asked around on Twitter and Facebook, but for those of you following me neither [...]]]> No, not that kind of name (I did promise I’d never fake y’all out on a pregnancy again, after all). The name I need is for the anti-kyriarchy/pro-diversity kids’ books review series I’m (finally, after thinking about it for aaaaages) starting.

I’ve asked around on Twitter and Facebook, but for those of you following me neither place (whyever not?), here are some of the ideas so far:

• An Unbiased Review
• Books Against Bias, or Books Without Bias
• Words Without
• Raising Refined Readers
• Get ‘Em While They’re Young
• Equal Reads
• Raising Radical Readers, or Raising Readers Radically
• RMB Reviews
• Wonderful Words, or Wonderful Words Without Bias.
• Actually Good Books
• Books for Unbiased Babes (or Babies — except it’s more for toddler+, if only ‘cuz that’s where the Boychick is).
• Boychick’s Books Against Bias, Boychick’s Unbiased Books, Boychick’s Anti-Bias Books
• Read the Change

It’s been pointed out that most of the names are about what the books are not, and it might be better to have more positive description, of what the books under review are, or at least are trying to be.

Another point: pro-diversity books tend to come in two types: 1) “Not everyone lives/looks/is the same as you.” and 2) “You are not alone.” White privileged liberals (like myself) tend to focus on the first type; and while those are indeed valuable, they are also quite othering, assuming (ironically enough, given their supposed messages of anti-marginalization) that their audience is a child of privilege, usually white, abled, with two parents, middle class, etc. The reviews will include that type of book, but not exclusively, and (to the best of my ability) acknowledging that narrow focus. The name, therefore, should reflect this; titles like “Books to Open Minds” speak only to the first category of book, and aren’t really what I’m looking for.

The review will cover both books with explicit anti-bias messages and those which feature non-white straight cis middle class characters. It will focus on American books geared (for the moment) toward toddlers/preschoolers, because that reflects the books we read to the Boychick, but I hope it will be relevant to my readers outside of North America and with varying ages of children.

So, what are your suggestions on the name? Thoughts? Ideas? And while we’re at it, have any books you’d like me to review?

Also: please remember that I’m still accepting submissions for two guest series: the Womanist/Feminist Parenting Primer, and the anonymous series Naked Pictures of Faceless People. Ideas for other guest posts are also always welcome. Share your stories!

And I think the slug just went into hibernation. (Do slugs hibernate? I bet I would know that, if my brain hadn’t been replaced by a maybe-hibernating [...]]]>

This is my brain. The leaves are my cranium. Or maybe hair. I don't know, look at my brain, can it reason these types of tricky questions out?

And I think the slug just went into hibernation. (Do slugs hibernate? I bet I would know that, if my brain hadn’t been replaced by a maybe-hibernating grey slug with four neurons in its slimy slug head.)

There’s this thing, this hormone, called thyroid. Consider it your body’s energy regulator. More thyroid = more energy, higher metabolism, better brain function. (Until you get too much, and then your body sort of burns itself up, which is what causes spontaneous combustion. Or something.) Less thyroid = less energy, metabolism like a bucket of very cold molasses, and slimy hibernating slug brain.

I’m in “less thyroid” mode¹.

It’s entirely my own damn fault, of course. I do this regularly — procrastinating on renewing my prescription for anti-slug fuel — but this time I not only left it too long, I didn’t want to go back to the same doc. And looking for a new primary care provider when one is fat, and has no desire to get fatter by trying to get thinner, is not exactly, shall we say, fun. So I put that off, too.

And when I finally did find a new PCP (a process about as enjoyable as I expected it to be, and I still don’t know if he’s willing to be unbigoted enough to work with long term), he wanted me to stay underthyroided long enough to get a “good baseline” from which to calculate a new, non-slug-brain dosage. Isn’t that special?

It is thanks to my new status as a humanoid Ariolimax that posting here has been slow of late. Because slugs probably do have a lot to say, but it mostly revolves around an abiding hatred for salt and beer, and I sort of figured y’all might not find that especially interesting. Although, I could be wrong. Insert yet another bad slug-brain joke here.

I’d be more concerned about this transformation, or offer predictions for its cessation, but that would require at least five neurons, and a higher order grey matter in my cranium.

In the meantime, all your veggies are belong to me. Nom.

Slimy, slimy nom.

All of the above?

I ask because this lovely post over at the clever Better Baby Box (read her post Suicide is Painful. seriously.) got me thinking, especially in the light of recent hubbub (in North America at least) over “mommy bloggers” and my [...]]]> A parenting blog? A social justice blog? A personal blog? Something else entirely?

All of the above?

I ask because this lovely post over at the clever Better Baby Box (read her post Suicide is Painful. seriously.) got me thinking, especially in the light of recent hubbub (in North America at least) over “mommy bloggers” and my own recent mullings over this blog and its structure (or lack thereof).

She writes:

Raising My Boychick, written by Arwyn, does deal with some parenting issues. In reality, though, it’s a blog about society, gender, asking questions and occasional geekiness (Dr. Who, anyone?) My kind of blog. Some of her posts have opened up entire avenues from which to view the world.

And, really, while I never would have said that about what I write myself (my stock answer to “oh? what’s your blog about then?” is either the tagline¹ or simply “feminist parenting”), it does seem apt.

Last August, Annie at PhD in Parenting put me in the mommy blogger category of “Social commentary inspired by parenting“, which sounds about right to me, too.

Then a dear friend, when I asked her whether she thought mine was a parenting blog, said this:

you are a blogger who happens to be a mom. you are an incredible writer who makes people dream things they’ve never even thought possible. you are a woman who writes about what she sees in her society, in her world. some of it is great, some of it is major suckage, some of it has to do with parenting, all of it has to do with being human.

Which stroked my ego not a little, but also says some things that ring true to me as well.

But none of that is what I would have said. So am I wrong? Are they? Or is this blog too all over the place — or, to be more charitable (or more egotistical), too broad and complex in scope — to be limited to one short description?

What do you say? What sort of blog is this, anyway? How would you describe it in three words, or one paragraph, or 140 characters, or whatever it takes? (How long does it take to describe RMB, and what does that say about here?)

Indulge my introspection².

Insertion: inferior surface of bedding covers.

Actions: tearing of the hair, mastication of the jaw, and systemic collapse via exhaustion.

To shorten this muscle, continue cramming relentlessly. To lengthen, intermittently apply chai latte and laughter.

Approximately 2% of you are laughing now: to you, who have survived kinesiology in medical or massage school (or [...]]]> Origin: proximal massage education facility.

Insertion: inferior surface of bedding covers.

Actions: tearing of the hair, mastication of the jaw, and systemic collapse via exhaustion.

To shorten this muscle, continue cramming relentlessly. To lengthen, intermittently apply chai latte and laughter.

Approximately 2% of you are laughing now: to you, who have survived kinesiology in medical or massage school (or too many years of Latin or Classical Greek club), my sympathies, and admiration at your survival¹.

Tonight we went over the take home final and did the practical in kines upper. Tomorrow is the practical for massage upper — during which I at least get to give and receive a massage, even if observed for 1/3 of it. And next week is the final round of finals (har har), after which this quarter is d.o.n.e.

Next quarter I’m taking off of weekly classes, and focusing on the maternity massage certification. (Pregnant and in the greater Portland, OR area? Contact me in May. Free student massage(s). I’m completely serious.) Even with that, I should graduate by the end of 2010. And should be holding my license this time next year.

Hold me.

Also, I scheduled an appointment — finally, a whole quarter later — for next week to speak up about the abysmal ableism I experienced (endured) in Pathology. Apparently the curriculum has since been redesigned, and the redesign finalized for Path I, but I might still be able to influence Path II (which I will take in the summer — I’ll have old Path I and new Path II). So I’m partly kicking myself for not speaking up earlier, partly crossing my fingers that the overhaul has negated the need for my upcoming meeting with the curriculum coordinator, and partly shaking in my Birks at the thought of having that conversation.

Really hold me.

And send chai, and laughter. This studentum wants to last longer.

It seems inevitable that whenever I have a day of wow-I-totally-get-this-parenting-thing, look-at-me-be-zen-about-his-tantrums, damn-dude-why-can’t-you-just-let-it-go-like-I’m-doing, the next day — the very next day — I completely fucking lose it. Break-a-plate-in-anger-when-he-dumps-out-the-eggs-he-doesn’t-want lose it.

I don’t like it. Maybe the zen [...]]]> Just enough of my persistent-not-exactly-optimism is left that I won’t say it is inevitable… but damn does it seem it.

It seems inevitable that whenever I have a day of wow-I-totally-get-this-parenting-thing, look-at-me-be-zen-about-his-tantrums, damn-dude-why-can’t-you-just-let-it-go-like-I’m-doing, the next day — the very next day — I completely fucking lose it. Break-a-plate-in-anger-when-he-dumps-out-the-eggs-he-doesn’t-want lose it.

I don’t like it. Maybe the zen days aren’t worth it, if this is the price.

*******

In other news, The Man has been fixing the bloggityblog up, even as I’ve been trashing our real life home. Raising My Boychick now has a mobile site, the Archives show an accurate post count (instead of including the glossary not-really-posts), Popular Posts is back, and all the old post internal links back to blogspot have been replaced with RMB links. So yay him.

*******

In other other news, today is — was — my nephew-I-haven’t-even-met-yet’s 2nd birthday, and I am a shit aunt and a shit sister and a shit sister-in-law because I have done nothing about it, except remember at a time when I couldn’t call and spend the rest of the day beating myself up about it.

*******

That is all.