Tag Archives: meme

A “beautiful blogger” and a me meme

Beautiful Blogger Award

Torn between cynicism and seeing sweetness, this time I choose... sweet

The following can be blamed in its entirety on Shiny. Also on the trouble-making dear folk on Twitter who responded to my plea for topic ideas. You know who you are.

Also, THIS POST IS NOT SAFE FOR FAMILY. If you are related to me by blood, or by marriage to anyone related to me by blood, navigate away now. I will never acknowledge or admit to anything herein should you ignore this warning. So just don’t read it. Bye!

What goals, if any, do you have in life?

Travel in a TARDIS, have another baby and do all those baby things again, publish a book (or several), become successful and highly paid as a maternity-focus massage therapist, catch babies (or be in the room when their parents catch them), get professional photos done in which I look smashingly gorgeous, pose nude for art (wait, done that one), own a tortoise, keep chickens, learn to garden, perform cunnilingus (right up there with travel in a TARDIS in likelihood it’ll ever happen — and as its happening is predicated most probably on the death of The Man, I’m ok with that), be on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, give a talk at a conference (without fainting), go for a full year without having a migraine, live to be at least 99, and simultaneously die in a plane/in my sleep/having sex with The Man.

So, y’know, not much.

When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?

I wanted to be a doctor, like my mom. Or an actress — I wasn’t too bad. Well, ok, yeah, I was half bad, but just good enough that I had delusions of professionalism. Other aspirations (mostly later) were linguist, journalist, professional student (almost managing that one, despite, or perhaps because of, never making it through more than one class at college at a time) — but never, ever a mother. Actually, I still don’t want to be A Mother. Though I do quite like having a kid.

First kiss

My first kiss, the one I don’t count, was with another five year old girl under my parents’ bed. I wanted her, as much as a five year old can want anyone (which is more than adults like to admit to, I think) — not that I knew WHAT it was I wanted (I “knew” about sex, but, again, about as much as a five year old can know, and didn’t know anything other than the heterosexual procreative model), but I definitely knew I wanted something.

The kiss I do count, over a decade later (nothing in the intervening years) was in the back seat of The Man’s sister’s car, which he’d borrowed to take me and several of our friends to the Rocky Horror Picture Show in Berkeley, CA. For the record, I kissed him first — so, it was only a brush of the lips, but damnit, when you’re 16 and in the back of a car and have just tickled your best friend into submission in your lap, that counts.

Favorite cocktail

This is an interesting one, because I don’t drink. I was raised by a teetotaler and an adult child of alcoholics, we never had alcohol in the house (except for one bottle of rum used — in 2-tablespoon increments — to make our annual Christmas eggnog), and I grew up pretty convinced drink was Of The Devil. Or The Patriarchy. Or, well, something bad. And while I’ve since given up a hard line stance against it, and have even imbibed on rare occasion (and been drunk once, which, to his everlasting annoyance, The Man was not around for), I still don’t drink. I don’t like the taste of alcohol (and I can taste it, in the most minute amounts, no matter what else is in it), with my migraines and mood disorder alcohol would not be the wisest drug to use, and with a family history of and personal predilection toward addiction, I find it most prudent to simply abstain. And given that I get emotional contact highs from being around others who are partaking, I don’t find I’m missing much.

What are your weaknesses?

My ankles. My moods. My rage. My massive ego, and the truly ridiculous self-effacement I’ve cultivated to counter it. My inability to promote myself without either a) 10,000 qualifiers or b) going to unhealthily grandiose places in my mind. My addiction to chai, to Doctor Who, to being addicted. My inability to follow through. My fear of change. My introversion. My extroversion. My self-sabotage. My sedentary middle-class American lifestyle. I could countinue, but this isn’t much fun for me. Moving right along…

First memory

Probably my first memory is grabbing our special pillow and climbing up into my mother’s lap. I only remember that one snippet, and the feeling of love and happiness and belonging that goes with it, but talking with my mom, the pillow was our nursing pillow, and I wasn’t yet two years old, because I weaned on my second birthday. I have several other memories from my early years (including reminiscing with my father when I was about two and a half about “the good old days” when we were driving during the move from SoCal to the Bay Area), and by age four or five have started remembering a narrative of my life with lots of long-film memories.

Best imaginary friend growing up

Oh gods… I hate you two for asking this one. Ok, here’s the thing: I am probably pathologically imaginative. At any moment, I am here, but I am also likely… not-here. And I’m not sure whether this is something that everyone does and no one talks about, or I’m just… fucking bugnut crazy. But anyway. Growing up, I was a, um, pretty big Star Trek: The Next Generation fan, so my imaginary friends were Wesley, Data, Guinan, Picard, Troi, and so on. One day I realized that Q felt more real to me than God did. (The next day — or month, or something like that –, though, She tapped me on the shoulder, and we had a little conversation, so that’s alright. But that’s a story for another day.) We’ll not talk about my best imaginary friends of today.

***

So here’s where I’m supposed to tap three more bloggers and hand them a pretty picture and make them do this too. But, um… no. Though there are a couple people who don’t blog regularly who I would love to see go through this little exercise (ahem, Jenn and Susannah). But mostly I’m ok having this and all other chains end at me.

What’d you think? Any surprises? Anything else you’re dying to know about me? Any good stories this inspires you to share about yourself (please do!)?

Are you a good parent? quiz memes, or, the always-good-for-a-chuckle double standards in parenting

I ran across this meme today, which is both funny and incredibly sad and telling about our society (spelling as in original, author unknown):

With all the conflicting parenting advice out there, it’s difficult to know whether you’re a good parent or a bad parent. Take this handy quiz to find out once and for all.
Keep track of your answers on a post-it and total your score at the end. Won’t it be a relief to know whether or not you’re a bad mom?

1. How many hours per week does your child spend in daycare?
A. None. I’m a stay-at-home mom.
B. 40 or more. I work full-time.
C. About 20. I work half-time.

2. Where does your baby sleep
A. In a crib.
B. In my bed.
C. In a co-sleeper.

3. Do you allow your child to watch television?
A. Yes.
B. No.

4. Has your child been vaccinated?
A. Yes.
B. No.

5. How many scheduled activities (storytimes, lessons, classes or playgroups) does your child attend each week?
A. None
B. One or more.

ANSWERS:
1. Day Care.
A: Stay at home mom. You are a bad mom. Your child will be poorly socialized, will lack verbal skills, and will become horribly ill during kindergarten because he or she has never been exposed to germs.
B: Full-time working mom. You are a bad mom. Your child will have an attachment disorder. You are missing the best years of his or her life.
C: Part-time working mom. You are the worst mom. Your child will suffer attachment issues, be poorly socialized, lack verbal skills and will be sick as a dog forever.

2. Sleeping arrangements.
A: Baby sleeps in a crib. You are a bad mom. How could you put your child in a cage to sleep? What’s wrong with you?
B: Baby sleeps in your bed. You are a bad mom. How could you risk rolling onto your child and killing her? What’s wrong with you?
C: Baby sleeps in a co-sleeper. You are a bad mom. How could you waste so much money on that ridiculous co-sleeper? Is it because you read about it in Dr. Sears? You won’t be able to afford to send your child to college.

3. Television
Yes. You are a bad mom. Your child will be violent, mouthy, and unpleasant. He or she will whine for every candy and toy they see the next time you go to the store.
No. You are a bad mom. Your child will lack reading skills and will have nothing to talk with other children about. You are raising a freak.

4. Vaccinations.
A: Yes. You are a bad mom. How could you do that to a helpless baby who cannot consent to being experimented on by the public health system?
B: No. You are a bad mom. How could you do that to a helpless baby whose immune system can’t fight off all those germs?

5. Activities.
A: None. You are a bad mom. Your child will fall behind his or her peers and never catch up if you don’t head over to the children’s theatre production of “Apocalypse Now” this weekend.
B: One or more. You are a bad mom. Your child is overscheduled and will suffer a breakdown due to the stress you’re putting on him or her. You’re probably doing Suzuki, aren’t you?

Brought to you by the folks at Parenting, Mothering, Time, Newsweek, The Today Show, Babycenter.com, Wonder Time, What to Expect When You’re Expecting, Your Pregnancy Week by Week, your pediatrician, your obstetrition, your mother, your mother-in-law, and that awful psycho in the elevator who knows better than you how you should be raising your kids.

(Note that Mothering, the magazine I volunteer for, got a shout out. Note also that when they said “find out if you’re a good parent”, they meant good mom.)

I was then inspired to write a complementary quiz for fathers:

The good dad/bad dad quiz:

1. How much time per week do you spend in the same room with your child(ren)?
A) 0 — I work 100 hours per week and travel more than 50%
B) 3-5
C) 24/7 — I am a stay at home dad

2. Where does your baby sleep?
A) In his own room in a crib
B) In bed with the wife
C) In bed with both of us

3. How many diapers have you changed in your child’s life?
A) 0-1, but I made sure the little woman always did it within 4 hours of the kid dropping a load
B) 50-100
C) About once a day when I was home

4. If divorced, do you pay child support?
A) Yes, the minimum amount
B) Yes, when I can afford it after the widescreen tv payments
C) No, I got out of it and use the money to pay for my new, blond, wife and our two new children

5. What do you know about your children?
A) Their names, their friends, their friends’ parents, the number for their school or daycare, their dietary likes and dislikes, their vaccine schedule (or all the reasons why they are not vaccinated), the date of their next dentist, pediatrician, and music lesson appointments, and what they really want for their birthday
B) Their names, a couple of their friends’ names, the type of instrument they play, and what they want for their birthday
C) Their names… usually

Tally up your answers:

Time with kids:
A) None–you are a good dad, because you work so hard to provide for them.
B) 3-5 hrs/week–you are a good dad, because that’s more than your father spent with you
C) SAH–you are a Super Dad!

Sleep arrangements
A) In a crib in their own room–you are a good dad for putting your foot down and insisting the little woman separate from the leech
B) In bed with the wife–you are a good dad for sacrificing your own needs to meet your baby’s
C) In bed with both of you–you are a Super Dad!

Diaper changing
A) 0-1–you are a good dad for making sure the little woman does it
B) 50-100–you are a good dad for occasionally giving the little woman a hand
C) Once a day–you are a Super Dad!

Child Support
A) Yes–you are a Super Dad!
B) Yes, sometimes–you are a good dad for pitching in when you can
C) No, due to new family–you are a good dad to the new kids for saving your money for them, and a good dad to the old kids for providing them with siblings!

Kid trivia
A) Know it all–you’re lying
B) Know some–you’re a good dad, because you know the important stuff
C) Know their names–you’re a good dad, because at least you stuck around long enough to hear their names

Brought to you by the patriarchy and every exclamatory comment over how fabulous it is when a dad actually does some small thing to parent his kids.

The Man said too much of it was true, and it was all too frustrating, to be funny.

For the record, I answered bad mom, bad mom, bad mom, bad mom, and bad mom. He answered good dad, Super Dad, Super Dad, n/a, and he’s lying.

And there you have it. The double standards for parenting neatly summed up in a pair of moderately funny and entirely depressing memes.

What does a feminist mother look like?

I’ve been on the hunt for other feminist parent blogs, and I found the motherlode at blue milk. I imagine I will be filling up my RSS reader with the plethora of amazing feminist parent blogs linked to from there. Finding this abundance, when I started this blog largely because I hadn’t heard this voice before, both intimidated and inspired me; it makes me want to close up shop with a redirect to blue milk and a “what she said” note, and gives me hope of finding an audience and has me thinking of a hundred new blog posts of my own.

One of them (this one) you could call a cheat, or a meme, but I, like blue milk, call it:

What does a feminist mother look like?

1. How would you describe your feminism in one sentence? When did you become a feminist? Was it before or after you became a mother?
I could crib, and use the ever-popular “feminism is the radical notion that women are people”, and it would be true, if annoyingly vague. Feminism for me is a path to the end of gender-based discrimination, to gender equality, to a world where women are not systematically oppressed and men systematically elevated. I believe I was raised a feminist; whether or not the word was used, and regardless of my parents’ not-exactly-equal marriage, the idea that “women are people”, and that the system is set up against us, was there from the beginning, reinforced at many turns. In fact, I was frankly shocked when, in adolescence, I discovered that not all women (smart, strong women at that!) identify as feminist. Didn’t they believe women were people? Didn’t they disagree with policies oppressing women? So why didn’t they identify as feminist? I still haven’t figured out an answer to that that satisfies me (though I blame the patriarchy).

2. What has surprised you most about motherhood?
I was fortunate to join a mothering community and make mother-friends (both online and in face-to-face) before even deciding to have children, and I read voraciously, so little about this parenting journey has surprised me, other than the specifics that our path have taken (I was not expecting congenital hypothyroidism, for instance, nor that a child of not-skinny The Man and I would be long and lean). The one thing I often run up against that surprises me, though it shouldn’t, is the way mothering, motherhood, and mothers are perceived, and conversely the way fathers and fathering is perceived. Would that I had a dollar for every sexist “dads can’t do this/mothers are this way/babies never like dads” comment I’ve heard!

3. How has your feminism changed over time? What is the impact of motherhood on your feminism?
I think I have become more radical over time, and possibly more cynical or jaded — I have discovered that feminism isn’t as ubiquitous as it should be, that there is more sexism still in the world than I believed possible, that even the advancements we have achieved either have backslid or had undesirable consequences, that gender-neutrality and gender-equality even as goals are again being rejected and reviled. I have become more critical of the only-women-must-change philosophy of the ever-popular “choice feminism”. In motherhood, I have become more aware of how much the system needs a radical overhaul, how little progress has been made toward sane and family-friendly policies that would support equally shared parenting, and how really, truly damaged by sexism little boys are as well as little girls. I have also become more nuanced in my thoughts on women, motherhood, and work, having become more aware of the importance of attachment and breastmilk in the early years; but even this goes back to becoming more radical, and believing we truly need a major, systemic, patriarchy- and corporatocracy-toppling revolution.

4. What makes your mothering feminist? How does your approach differ from a non-feminist mother’s? How does feminism impact upon your parenting?
A look at the clothes and toys the Boychick has displays a large part of the differences between us as feminist parents and American popular non-feminist parents (a post about toys and clothes is forthcoming) — and the way I answered just now, with us not I, is one of the ways that my parenting is different, because The Man and I see these choices as ours, whereas in a non-feminist family, the choices of what young child wears and plays with is more exclusively the domain of the mother (with the father having veto rights over anything pink and girly for his sons). My mothering is feminist because I expect my partner’s fathering to be equally invested in our child. The Man wore our baby every day of his life until he was over a year and a half; he is an overt and outspoken breastfeeding supporter; he took charge of non-nursing nighttime parenting; he learned about and equally practiced elimination communication, and changed diapers when we missed, and did the diaper laundry. I as a feminist mother assumed and allowed (did not interfere with) him to establish his own, unique relationship with our baby. I encourage the Boychick to be nurtured, and nurturing, to be attached and dependent, and independent, and interdependent. I do not assume I know who as an adult he will be or who he will love or what he will do, simply because I know the genitals between his legs. We chose his name while knowing him in my womb, without knowing his sex. Feminism informs every part of my parenting, even if some parts look “traditional” and therefore patriarchal.

5. Do you ever feel compromised as a feminist mother? Do you ever feel you’ve failed as a feminist mother?
I think that very question is telling: it is on the woman to “succeed” or “fail” at feminism. I reject that notion, and say instead that society often fails us, requiring compromises to feminist values that, if universally accepted and accounted for, would create an entirely new kind of life.

There have been times when I have looked around at my traditional-appearing life and thought “what the hell am I doing?” But I do not believe that reflects a belief that I have failed, rather that I have temporarily bought in to the (entirely false) idea that I must change, and take part in the inherently patriarchal, capitalistic, stuff-based rat-race if I am to be a “real feminist” or a “fulfilled woman”, once again placing the traditionally-male higher in value than the traditionally-female. I feel angry often that The Man and I are not able to lead quite the life we would like to, thanks to patriarchal, anti-feminist institutions and cultural expectations, but no, I do not believe this means I have failed.

6. Has identifying as a feminist mother ever been difficult? Why?
I exist at an interesting crossroads, being both a feminist and a “crunchy”, attachment-minded parent. The natural birth/breastfeeding/attachment community draws such a diverse group, from radical submissive proud housewives to radical equality-seeking queer feminists, and everything in between. In that context, it is sometimes difficult, in that I am often lumped in to categories and stereotypes that are entirely counter to my feminism; or, conversely, I may be accused of rejecting attachment values if I proclaim my feminist ones. Convincing people one can be both at the same time is not always easy.

7. Motherhood involves sacrifice, how do you reconcile that with being a feminist?
This is such a strange question to me, although I recognize where it comes from (the idea of the sacrificial mother). Any relationship or endeavor involves sacrifice: having a pet, having a partner, having a job, going to school… The things we want in life are worth sacrifice, compromise, giving up one thing to get another. I don’t believe in sacrificial motherhood (the mother as martyr), so I don’t feel I sacrifice more as a mother than I do as a partner, as a student, as a person with companion animals. It’s definitely more involved, and if someone is used to living only for the self, that can be a shock, but for someone with an awareness and appreciation of interdependence before having children, it’s not much of a change of type, just a change of scale.

8. If you have a partner, how does your partner feel about your feminist motherhood? What is the impact of your feminism on your partner?
We are feminist parents, whether or not The Man identifies as “a feminist” (this has changed over time, with him becoming more comfortable with it as we have talked more about it; the cultural shaming of identifying as feminist is even stronger for men than for women). It seems to me that one cannot act fully as a feminist mother with a non-feminist partner (see answer to question 4); in order to be a feminist mother in a partnered relationship, the partner MUST take up equal childrearing duties without regard to “traditional” gender roles. I think The Man has a much better, closer relationship with the Boychick due to our views on equality parenting (which is to say, due to feminism).

9. If you’re an attachment parenting mother, what challenges if any does this pose for your feminism and how have you resolved them?
I don’t think attachment parenting is in any way contradictory with feminism; attachment mothering is. Attachment parenting means both (all) parents build attachment with their child: this means we both wear him, both sleep with him, both offer gentle guidance, both play with him, both bring him in to our lives and help him see us work (to the best of our ability). The only apparent contradictions are breastfeeding and the home/work split; breastfeeding is not a challenge to feminism at all, but a facet of it (more on that later), and I’ve previously discussed the compromises that have led to me staying with the child during the day while The Man works in an office. Both have meant that in other ways, The Man takes on a proportionally larger role than I: when the Boychick was exclusively breastfed, The Man did almost all of the babywearing when we were together; when he comes home at lunch or after work or on weekends, he does more of the pottying and dressing and playing. Since rarely do I leave them both (I am a homebody by nature), I do spend more time with the Boychick than The Man does, but I don’t think I spend much, if any, more “on” time. The mother-child relationship in a breastfeeding, attached family may be closer in the younger years than the partner/father-child relationship, but with equally shared as well as attachment parenting, this isn’t a “problem” for me as a feminist mother.

10. Do you feel feminism has failed mothers and if so how? Personally, what do you think feminism has given mothers?
I think the patriarchy fails mothers, and that feminism isn’t done yet. I think some branches of feminism were (inadvertently, I like to believe) hurtful to mothers, but that isn’t a failure of feminism, but a win of the patriarchy: whenever we fight with each other, it is the patriarchy that wins.

Feminism has given us so much in tangible contributions that so many non-feminist-identified women take for granted these days (if I do not remind myself, I can forget it too), from being seen as legally persons instead of property of a man, to the right to vote, the right to divorce, the right to contraception, the right to make decisions for our children, the right to own property, the right to work, the right to terminate a pregnancy, to the ability to have a child out of wedlock without being shunned, the ability to be pregnant in public without being shunned, the ability to have family at our births, the ability to birth without the humiliation of enemas or pubic shaving (though the patriarchy still asserts itself in other ways), the ability to chose our last name and the last name of our child, the ability to speak up and not be laughed at in the public sphere. These (and more) are all direct results of feminist activists, of feminism changing the way we as a culture think. We have so much more to do, but we must not forget how far feminism has brought us already.

Is it still a meme when you make it up?

Bumper stickers I love but would never put on my car:

  1. anything anti-Bush
  2. Doing my part to piss off the religious right (I actually own this one)
  3. Get a taste of religion: lick a witch.
  4. Affordable health care begins at the breast
  5. Tree-hugging hippie pinko leftist liberal — and I vote!
  6. FSM (explanation, for the uninitiated)
  7. Reality has a well-known liberal bias
  8. Change how you see, not how you look (ok, this one I might actually use)

Bumper stickers I would put on my car without qualms:

  1. Pro-child, pro-family, pro-choice
  2. Support families, support children, support marriage equality
  3. Coexist
  4. International Breastfeeding Symbol

Of course it’s in a 2-1 proportion. There are always more I can laugh at than I can give bumper space. I’ve decided it pretty much comes down to whether it’s inherently offensive, or anti rather than pro. I have friends I adore who are part of the religious right, who had to use formula, who voted for Bush (really!). I’m perfectly happy to promote my values, but not attack others’.

I still snicker at Can we impeach for a blown job? though.