damned either way

While Shea was busy making us rich in St. Louis, I watched "Brief Interviews with Hideous Men" based on the book by David Foster Wallace. And this quote stuck out about understanding women:

"My position is that actually most of the time you can figure out what they want, I mean, logically deduce it, if you're willing to make the effort to understand them and to understand the impossible situation they're in. 

Schizophrenic media discourse, exemplified by, like, for example, Cosmo. On one hand, get liberated. On the other hand, make sure you find a husband. Who wouldn't be nuts with that mess laid on them all the time in today's media culture? 

The most important thing is to understand her, understand the paradox.  Damned either way."

It is a messy paradox that extends far beyond Cosmo magazine. When we were in high school, it was the girls who were putting the names of football players on the back of their "Senior Women" sweatshirts so that they, as "little sisters," could bake them cookies before every game. (note: I had no part in this nonsense.) At the same time their teachers were telling them they could shatter the glass ceilings they would no doubt encounter.


Now, there's the urge to be career-driven and competitive and not subject to some man for purpose or direction - especially when there's talk of that icky submission word. On the opposite end, there's the inherent desire to have children, be vulnerable and let the man lead in a relationship.


I do believe in letting a man lead and submitting - I think it's the way God made us. (Go ahead and throw your feminist spitwads at me.) But there's a huge part of me that feels resentful that most likely there will come a day when I have to choose between my career and my kids knowing that that day will never come for Shea. Though, he has the burden of being the financial provider, an instinct most women lack. Sometimes I put on makeup not because I want to or think I need it but because society tells me everyone will feel bad for my husband who has a wife that doesn't care about her appearance anymore. I give in.


However, I wonder if in today's world, the pressure to choose a female role actually comes from fellow females rather than males. I recoil when I have to explain why I think women and men actually are made differently. Why I don't push back when told women should be godly, faithful, gentle, self-controlled and loving rather than pushy, dominant, self-seeking and loud.


It's actually other women's judgments that scare me the most.


We judge the women who stay home from their jobs, cook dinner every night and just play mom. "Aren't they bored? Don't they lack purpose? Clearly, they had no motivation. She obviously can't stand up to her husband." 


We judge the women who are career driven and less family orientated. "She probably doesn't even know her kids. How selfish and arrogant."


Damned either way, indeed.

combat ready

Maybe it's the guy behind you at the grocery store or sitting at the bus stop. Maybe it's your next door neighbor or your best friend's new boyfriend.

One in six women are raped. 

Scary but unfortunately it can happen to you. Or me.

The Ali Kemp Foundation sponsors self defense training in memory of Ali, a K-State student who was murdered at a neighborhood pool where she worked. I was in college when Ali was murdered and covered the story for my college newspaper. I've been wanting to participate in the foundation's training, and finally did this weekend with my friend Johanna. The course was taught by a black belt karate couple. The husband is also a corrections officer.

We learned about awareness. More than just the usual "hold your keys between your fingers" tricks. But things like asking the company coming to do work at your place if they do background checks on their employees. (Guess where felons and sex offenders can get jobs after prison?) When to run from a gun and when to stop and listen. How to keep your car from looking like a woman's car. Criminals know we're the trusting gender, and they take advantage of that.

Then we learned combat. Not just scratch your eyes out, but real combat. I can get out of a choke hold three different ways. I know what to do if an attacker grabs my hair from the front or grabs my hair from behind. If I am on my stomach, I can roll over on my back. And then roll someone off of me even if they double my weight. I can poke out their eyes, punch them in the nose or throat and knee the heck out of their groin. We practiced on our partners and then really practiced on dummies.

I do hope I never have to use it and that awareness of my surroundings will be enough. (Plus a lot of loud screaming.) But I feel more empowered knowing I have the tools to fight to survive.

Behaviors I am changing immediately:
1. Remove the girly items from my car to make it less of a target.
2. Write down my running route, my outfit and time I left every morning.
3. Never go anywhere for more than 15 minutes without letting someone know where I'll be.
4. Pay more attention to people around me. Especially those who enter my bubble.
5. Participate in a TAKE class once a year to review techniques.

Police estimate it only took 15 minutes for Ali Kemp's attacker to beat and strangle her to death. In the middle of a summer day.

Would you know what to do to save your life?

ice in the underwear

On one of our recent road trips I was reading blogs on Shea's iPhone. And several posts about what life is like after giving birth - the physical part - made me have to put my head between my knees. On more than one occasion.

I am not seeking these blogs out. They are finding me at every turn. Haunting me.

I have spent the last few weeks asking everyone I know who has had a child if this horror is really true. My mom rolled her eyes (OK, it was on the phone but I guarantee she was doing it) and told me "that's ridiculous." Mother-in-law says I'll just love my baby so much that I won't care. My friend Kristin says it's just like a bad period. I also think they are all lying.

But these blogs, yikes. There are tales of wearing ice packs in your underwear. One girl took notes on her iPhone each time she went to the bathroom. Blood. Tearing. Pain. Fear. I can't tell you more. My breakfast is now in my throat, and I am crossing my legs with alarming strength.

Then there are the picture of stomachs that look like cottage cheese. And in all honestly, I am quite fond of my tummy. I don't mind having to workout to lose weight but if the texture of my skin resembles curdled milk...ACK.  My mom says this is also silly. I was born in November and she was back to her starting weight of 110, and then five pounds lighter by spring. With no trace of a stretch mark. Thank God we share genes.

We're not even talking about babies really. Which is why I emailed Shea this morning to tell him I'd like to wait to have kids until they develop a way to have children pain and gross free. But also naturally because despite all this information, I am still determined to give birth naturally. Because if you couldn't already tell, I am crazy.

i'm blaming this on eve

This post is going to be about cramps, the girl kind. So if that makes you weak in the knees, go read someone else's blog, reconsider the fact you want to be married to a woman someday, and come back tomorrow. 

I used to get cramps really bad. One of my first memories is sitting in zoology class and not being able to stand up to walk to the lab tables because the pain was so bad. My mom would often have to pick me up from school and greet me with a heating pad.

Then I got on the pill because that helps. And for the most part, I don't get that kind of pain anymore.

Until yesterday.

I take Imitrex for migraines when Tylenol won't do the trick. I am guaranteed an intense migraine the day I stop taking my pills as my hormones switch over. So right on cue, Monday night I had to fumble around in the bathroom cabinet for my magic yellow head pills.

Tuesday as I was walking out the door for work, they hit. Like a baseball bat to the knees. I managed to drive to work, but sitting up straight in my chair was a lot to ask. I took three Tylenol, which might as well have been candy. I swear that for a brief second I considered the fact that perhaps I had been pregnant the last nine months without knowing it, and this was the beginning of labor.

Turns out, the medicine that narrows the blood vessels in my head to stop the migraines also narrows the blood vessels in my woman parts causing P-A-I-N. This is extremely convenient since both things always happen at the same time every month.

Seriously, if being a woman wasn't hard enough.