High heels and half court

I was listening to a woman describe why she loves wearing heels and fancy purses.  This is not something I can easily understand.  High heeled shoes (or non-athletic shoes in general) make me feel unstable and uncomfortable   Purses are things that keep my hands tied up and are vehicles for losing important things in.  Such as when I put down the purse so I can use my hand and forget to pick the thing up again.  I’d rather pull around a ball and chain in bare feet.  At least my hands would be free and my toes unsquished.

This woman got through to me though.  She described the feeling of power, confidence and triumph.  That I understand!  It reminded me of a time I was playing basketball at a University gym.  I was the only girl there.  Half of the court was a group of 6 or 8 playing 3 on 3.  The other half was just me and a friend.  My friend was 6 foot 4 and pretty athletic.  I am not quite 5 foot 7 and my game plan is to run around, get in the way and wait for the other player to get too tired.  In other words, I am not so coordinated.

The boys on the other half of the court were finished and decided to watch us for a bit.  This gave us more room.  Instead of cheerleading, they decided to play Statler and Waldorf.  I’m a little sensitive to being made fun of for being female, especially when it was obvious these guy’s first language wasn’t English but they chose to speak it anyways.  I didn’t appreciate the comments.

“Next basket wins!” declared my friend.  He had been winning, I’m sure, so this was nice of him.  I had the ball but he pressed hard and I found myself being pushed backwards.  I was over the half court line, feinted to the side, stepped back, and threw.

Net!  Silence.  All the jokes about throwing like a girl died.  Yep, all those guys saw.  Even my guy friend was congratulating me on shutting them up.  Power, confidence and triumph!

If a pair of shoes can make someone feel like she sunk a basket from half court in front of a bunch of naysayers, I can understand why someone would want a closet full of them.   I take back all the snotty things I thought about a certain relative who has boxes of shoes.  And I’ve decided I need to start playing basketball again.

The Talk

Lil’T asked me what sex was.

First she asked what the difference was between sexy and pretty.  From the way the neighbour girl used the word, Lil’T thought they were the same thing.

Caught off guard, I said that they both mean you feel attractive but pretty was how you want to look for your mom and sexy was how you want to look for the person you have a crush on.   She paused.  My self-talk then asked if the focus on how you look vs how you feel was detrimental, especially if you are being an object for someone else to look at, but this thought was interrupted.

LilT then asked what sex was.

The book with pictures I got when pregnant with C-minor was hiding.  My prepared talks vanished with the ingrained fears that I’d burden her with (bad?) knowledge.   I considered pulling up a youtube video of dogs mating.

“Sex is when two adults touch each other’s bodies so they feel good.  Usually it involves the genitals.  That is a word for vulva or penis.”

I waited for more questions.  I had decided I would answer her questions and let her decide when she wanted to learn.  No more questions came.  She was off building a zoo for the toy animals.

Explaining sex is a lot more complicated than I thought.  It isn’t just putting a penis in a vagina.  That’s easy.  I realized I don’t actually have a clear definition of sex.   How do you explain the difference between a mother cuddling her child or two friends giving each other shoulder rubs – which are also two people touching each other because it feels good- and sex?  If two kids are playing doctor and it feels good, is that sex?  Was saying that adults do it potentially harmful?

I’m sure the talk will be continued.

Blank Page

I would love to be able to paint like this:

Steve Hanks “Mother’s Pride” and “____” (Couldn’t find the title)

Or this:

(Grabbed from this website http://www.articlesweb.org/lifestyle/watercolor-painting-tips-things-to-learn-in-using-watercolor-paints but no artist identification found)

For now, these are some of mine,  fuzzy from the scanner (they look better in real life):

A neighbour, who  now does only oils, recently lent me all of his watercolour books and gave me some paper and paints.  In those books I learned that I should never use paper that is less than 140 lbs if I want bright clear colours and the ability to layer and detail.  The paper I’ve been using is 90 lbs which these books say is for small children only.

I now have the heavier paper and am suddenly shy.  Until I try it out, I can say I could do better with better paper and blame the inferior paper for what I don’t like about the sketches.   I have fallen into the perfectionist trap of not trying something for fear of ‘failing’.  My fear is that my drawings will never get any better because I have mediocre talent.

In type, I can see this is ridiculous.  Of course I have mediocre talent; I’m not an artistic genius even in my mother’s generous view.  (This is a fact; I’m not fishing for a compliment.)  But with practice and after some paintings I don’t like, I can make good paintings.  It is practice that will determine my skill.  And each attempt gives me more practice.  My sketches are not reflective of my worth as a person, just a cumulation of my mood at the time, how distracted I was, and how much practice I’ve had.

Ok, I’m psyched up enough now to start.  Thanks imaginary audience for helping me feel like I’m not talking to myself.  Constructive criticism welcome.

How is that free?

Lil’T had a panic attack so I rode on the school bus with her to school.  There was a rousing debate over whether this was a free country or not with some of the bigger kids.  The school goes up to grade 4, so they still weren’t very big.  I didn’t hear much of their conversation because my kids were singing “wheels on the bus” in my ear, but I was still impressed.

“This is a free country.  If it wasn’t we’d be all dead cuz they’d make us all go fight in wars.”

“No, it isn’t a free country.  When we grow up we have to get jobs and do what our employer tells us to.  How is that free?”

 

Dance-Walk Flash Mob!

On the weekend we joined a flash mob of dance walkers at our downtown pedestrian mall.

What is dance-walking? Besides awesome and ridiculous? (See the links below.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ib3Duz_6a9M&feature=youtu.be

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10150887470554865&set=vb.173749015991290&type=2&theater
https://www.facebook.com/dancewalkingglobal

We started out just after lunch time.  Our little group had about 20 little kids and 20 adults.  What is more adorable than a group of tousle haired 3 month to 5 year olds wiggling and jumping down the street?

(There aren’t many pictures of the kids since I hadn’t asked their parent’s permission to use them.  You’re missing out.)

The buskers jammed with us.

We ended the dance-walk at a fountain where we continued the party with some newcomers who joined in.  After the kids jumped in and got soaked, most of them stripped off their clothes and jumped back in.  They were soon joined by other little kids.  One tourist mother was very confused but decided it was a Canadian custom for little kids to strip naked and dance in public fountains and joined us with her 2 year old.

One regal white-haired lady dance-walked with us several blocks all the way to the fountain, jumped in the water with us, and then asked, “Is this one of those flash mobs?”

Rekinder?

My now 5 year old is approaching the end of Kindergarten.  She can read when she can sit still and she loves doing “number games”, which is what we call math.  She is also one of the taller kids in her class and doesn’t seem to have problems playing with others.

She hates school.  Mornings are terrible and my cheerful go-getter is often sobbing, screaming, begging and bargaining.  I find myself bribing her to go to Kindergarten.  There have been issues with bullies, but Lil’T informs me that the two problem kids are now being nice to her.

Every time I mention to the teachers that Lil’T is afraid of school, they are surprised and talk about how happy she seems.  Since I’ve been volunteering I notice that my child is quiet at school and therefore unnoticed.  Of course, the days I am there she gets picked to be a ‘special helper’.

Preschool was very similar.  At first she was in a big group (with mostly girls) and hung back in the shadows, too afraid to tell the teacher that her turn had been missed.  We switched to a smaller group and she just bloomed.  She was usually the only girl in the second group but she was a different girl than she had been in the other class.   She was outgoing, funny, confident and happy.  Maybe I need to put her in a boys’ school.

I think I’ll put her in kindergarten for another year.  Even though she is already so tall, maybe it will be ok.  I was always one of the youngest in my class, but I was also tall and got good marks.  I always felt ashamed for succeeding in anything and jealous that my self-proclaimed (male) rivals were never made to feel bad for doing well.  Part of me is scared that  girl who is older, taller, and more advanced than her classmates won’t be treated well.   Part of me is ashamed for having that fear.

Maybe things have changed.  I overheard a teenager on the bus patiently telling his friend that this teenager thought girls were smarter than boys since he thought his gal friends made good decisions.   Then this kid explained to his friend that the fact that this kid’s girlfriend did not want to sleep with him (yet) was not the same as her cheating on him and he was not going to break up with her.  He said that he hung out with his girlfriend because he liked spending time with her as a person and would if she were making out with him or not.

Maybe I don’t need to worry so much.

Opera & Flu

This has been a crazy week.   Lil’T was performing in an opera that the kids in her elementary school wrote with the help of our city’s professional opera company.  I didn’t even know we had a professional opera company.

Since this year’s science theme is space, the kids made the opera about a super nova.  I nearly cried at the end when the sweet super nova explodes.   After the stars and Pluto there were, of course, artist Diego Rivera, bullfighters, and flamenco dancing aliens (the kindergartners).   I couldn’t believe these kids wrote an opera full of science, sci-fi, existential angst, loss and friendship.  The older grades, 4 and 5, were also the orchestra.  Amazing.

Then I had my four impacted wisdom teeth extracted and my lover (PNL) and Lil’T came down with the flu.  The past few days I’ve been hallucinating on codeine while trying to help the flu victims.  Thankfully, C-minor seems happy and healthy.  However, unlike her big sister who reacts to me being sick by becoming more helpless, the toddler reacts by getting into more mischief.

Throwing tantrums, throwing toys, throwing punches, but thankfully not throwing up.

Updated: We are both sick now.

 

I will be OK

Depression is starting to wriggle into my brain again.  I haven’t had very many down days in a row for a long time.  This past week my brain is falling into its old familiar habits of repeating all my failures.  However, my list of ‘sins’ is shorter now.

- I’m annoying, I hate how I am always attracted to social justice issues and how I feel the need to inform other people.  I see myself as preachy, annoying, a downer, and maybe guilt-tripping.

But then the part of me that doesn’t want to give up asks why I am so disgusted with myself for caring about social justice?  Is that so bad?  Maybe I’m just an awkward person who gives a shit but doesn’t know the best ways to make a positive change…  that is forgiveable, right?

- I feel like I’m a whiner, that I frame myself as a victim and a helpless object that stuff just happens to.   Why can’t I see myself as strong or capable?  Why do I feel so guilty if I allow competence?  Why do I feel safer viewing myself as passive?  I don’t really like feeling sorry for myself, but the alternative seems frightening.

Again, can I give myself a break?  Maybe if I stop focusing on my failures I could grow a little here.

- I tell myself that I’m not a good mom.  I either spend too much time and attention on my kids, or I feel like I’m neglecting them.  Either I’m feeling bad that my 5 year old wants me to wipe her bum or frustrated that my 2 year old doesn’t want me to and tries to run away.

Then I tell myself that the perfect mom does not exist.  Its ok.  My kids will be OK.  I will be OK. http://www.patheos.com/blogs/lovejoyfeminism/2012/03/i-hate-the-mommy-wars.html#comment-8013

- I also question my right to be alive, to take up resources and space.  What right do I have to be here?  Have I earned my place?

Of course, I don’t question anyone else’s right to life.  So, why do I belong in a different category?

I am dealing with these thoughts so much better than I did before!  I will be OK.

Flowers and Cliffs

A coworker brought me flowers last week (she regularly buys flowers for people). My lover realized that he had never brought me flowers. Unless you count edible wildflowers we found on walks. Of course, he never bought me flowers because he is actually grows poppies, marigolds, yarrow and more. (Besides, many bought flowers use enough pesticides to contribute to long-term health problems to workers.)

Of course, my ex did love ‘romantic’ gestures. These generally creeped me out. He spent hours making me CDs with mushy love songs. He loved to sneak into my living space and decorate it with candles and hearts. He made magazines mimicking celebrity mags with our faces on them and cute little articles about how we had been spotted together. Usually this involved putting my face on Jennifer Lopez’ body. His nickname for me was J-llo because he said I jiggled with I ran. Somehow I could never convince him this was not flattering.

He would sing me songs. I don’t mind people writing me poems or singing me songs but they have to be either sincere, witty, or sarcastic. Sappy songs annoy me. I have nothing against being sincerely sweet, but these songs seemed as genuine as Cool-Whip.

I felt bad that I did not appreciate this romantic guy. It was my fault for being: cold-hearted, unrealistic, unappreciative, unresponsive…  The problem was that when I did not react the way I was supposed to- gooey admiration – I was wrong.  I was supposed to love these gestures whether I liked them or not.  He either did not know what I really liked or did know but disapproved and tried to change me.

That is one of the biggest gifts my lover gives me: seeing who I am and appreciating me.

He also occasionally brings me olives or finds an unexplored bike route with sandstone cliffs.

Tooque Ridiculous

Why are people embarrassed by being practical?

Yesterday I picked Lil’T up at school instead of the bus stop.  Us parents waited in the school entrance as  it was below -20 C with the windchill; which is not too cold but cold enough.

As it was time to leave, the another mom reluctantly pulled a knitted toque from her purse.  She went on about how embarrassing it was to have to wear such a ridiculous piece of clothing.  She sounded defensive as she explained that her ears got too cold on the way to the school so she would have to wear it now.  It was true, her ears were a painful shade of red.

In contrast to her light jacket, open neck, and bare head and hands, I was dressed for the weather.  I had on ski pants, a neck warmer, and all the rest of the appropriate clothing.   I felt like I was hearing a painfully skinny person tell a person of average size about how the skinny person wants to lose weight.   Did the woman not see the toque already on my head?

This mother is over 40 years old.   If she were 14 I could understand it.  If she were trying to boast about how she could handle cold I could understand it.  If she had a hairstyle that would be affected by the headgear I would be less perplexed.  Nope, she was under-dressed because she felt embarrassed by wearing a toque.   All of this was in front of her daughter who did have a toque on.

How often to we talk at people without seeing them?

And who says toques are ridiculous?  This beautiful one from Etsy is gorgeous

http://www.etsy.com/shop/KnitMonkies

Or these:

from http://www.facebook.com/pages/Live-Love-Crochet-Baby-Hats/179012592182452

(My favourites are the football and shark toques not pictured here.)