My Boobs Are Tired

They are tired of being a kitchen. They are grateful (because it's November) but they are really tired.

Secrets and Hidden Treasures

This season in my life is not colored with leaves (boo on a southern fall) but with children. Lots of them. Sun up to sun down they knock on my door and eat my food and play in my house and clog my toilet with toilet paper and leave their dirty socks in my hallway, and their muddy footprints in my kitchen and play and fight and play and fight ALL day long. Because it’s November and I am supposed to be thankful and because I’m interested, I’m focusing hard on the realities of childhood.

In her book, Listening to God With Children, Gianna Gobbi reminds her readers (me) of Maria Montessori’s prayer for teachers.

“Help us, O God, to enter into the secret of childhood, so that we may know, love and serve the child in accordance with the laws of thy justice and following thy holy will.” Sounds nice , uhh?

Entering into that secret requires quite a bit from adults. On most days,I imagine it requires more discipline and willingness than adults care to give. Perhaps because they are stressed, or distracted, or hurting, or overwhelmed or maybe they just don’t care. Or maybe they choose their parenting style when they feel insecure as parents because their homes have messes or when their children are disobedient or dirty and impolite. I admit that I have let one of the aforementioned drill my parenting at one < more> time or another. Including impatience with insistance on choosing a hair-do, ignoring requests for attention to mind numb on facebook, rushing through art projects, allowing Nick Jr. to parent, and flat out being rude to my kid and justifying it to myself in the name of PMS. I need no reminders that this parenting business is hard. Especially when it requests that my home be wonder world for the entire neighborhood.

Digging for treasures is hard work. And I know, so long as I am a parent -because I chose to be, I am my child’s first teacher . And it is my job to reach for an understanding of this secret; this treasure--So I can parent it, nurture it, guide it, and delight in it. I like my job. And today, I am giving thanks for it.

Chicken Legs, Beer, Sex and The Church

I have a new friend. She feels like an old friend. (Love it when this happens) Last night we rocked on my porch and talked about sex, church, the exploitation of diamond miners(fascinating topic that will take the sparkle out of your diamond rather quickly), Little House on the Prairie, weiner dogs, and Thanksgiving plans. She drank a beer and I ate a chicken leg.

Our sex conversation went something like this:

The church (of the Judeo-Christian tradition) is silent on the topic of sexuality for single men and women. Well, they are not silent. They just say, "don't do it." Then most people who fit the category of being single and church going are pushed into a shameful lonely corner of publicly justifying their non married singledom as a cross to bare in the name of the Lord, while also pretending that they are not sexual creatures. Sucks. What to do with sexual urges or arousal? Silence. Masturbation? Silence (or condemnation). Is there a difference between promiscuity and premarital sex? Silence. And with silence comes shame and with shame comes loneliness. Loneliness in a world and community that worships a God who is not only all knowing but created male and female and their sexuality and called it GOOD.


I don't believe the church and its goers should have all the answers. But when the topic arises they should (at least) be as warm as a good friend, a rocking chair, a beer and a chicken leg. Just sayin'.

Thought For Today

(Most)Depressed people are kinder and more perceptive than the average person. They are braver too.

Let's Talk About Sex

I have decided that on Fridays I am going to write about sex. If you want to read about some nook and crannie of the topic, this Granny will deliver. On Fridays.


The day I started my period was a really good day. I was playing at my best friend's house at the end of my eighth grade year when I first discovered Aunt Ruby had finally decided to pay me a visit. This late bloomer was thrilled for some trace of evidence that she would not be left in the bosom-less awkward dust for too much longer. After excitedly and nervously reporting to my bestie that "I started," I called my Mom, who squealed in delight on the other end of the phone and then came to retrieve me for our first shopping trip down the feminine hygiene aisle followed by a celebration dinner at my favorite restaurant.


Over the years, I realized that I am in the vast minority of girls who celebrated the onset of her period. In a culture where that event typically evokes shame, embarrassment, teasing and confusion; and in a world where a menstrual cycle symbolizes the end of childhood, the beginning of sexual exploitation, and the covering of one's face for countless girls, I can almost feel guilty as I think about my Mom's kind and hyper face peering over my basket of chicken fingers at Ruby Tuesdays, while we talked about my first period.

Instead, though, I resolve to create the same pride in my daughters' femininity that my Mom did for me. Beginning with an adherence to these guidelines (I encourage women of all ages to use them):


1. A girl's vagina is a vagina. It is not a hoo hoo or a ha-ha. Name it what you want but be sure the word vagina can be spoken with no shame and with accuracy. Even toddlers.

2. Menstrual Cycles are a mark of our unique-ness as women. They are a symbol of our ability to create and sustain life for another human being.

3. Do not hand children a book about puberty and then go mute. (Because that teaches them that the topic is bad and secretive and shameful to speak about.)

4. Become an expert on the workings of the Female Body.

5. If you have daughters, make it your job to ensure they are proud of their growing body.

6. How you reference and teach young children about their private parts matters. MATTERS A LOT.

Ok..I'm satisfied with this level of pot stirring.

For those of you curious, wanting or struggling with All Things the Female Body and Sexuality.... I highly recommend this book: Women's Bodies, Women's Wisdom by Christiane Northrup, MD. Order it here:
http://www.amazon.com/Womens-Bodies-Wisdom-Revised-Emotional/dp/0553386735/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1319814860&sr=1-1

Or, I can loan you my Mom for a day or so.

Cheers,
Granny

Husbands and Best Friends

My husband gave a card to me (many years ago) that reads, “Happiness is being married to your best friend.” It’s on my fridge and makes me smile every time I go for ice or ice cream or gogurts or popsicles or frozen peas. Happiness is being married to my husband. Seems as though, happiness for him is being married to me. (Unless, we are in the midst of a knock down drag out where I really want to knock and drag him out …and throw the frozen peas at him). The husband is rather adept at building a meaningful life with this ol’ frozen peas throwing granny. And because of those mad skills, I’ll be happy till the day I die.

I did not throw any peas last night or any variation thereof. I'm not mad at him either. But, today, I don’t want him to be my best friend. I want the feminine flavor. The one that shaves her legs and lives in Georgia. When we visit we lie awake at night and giggle like we are 12 years old. And then, we wake up and drink coffee and never run out of things to talk about or dream about. And then, we like to shop and walk and talk and think about decorating things and what’s cute and what’s not and then we drink wine and giggle and sometimes cry and sometimes laugh and then we do it all again the next day. And the next. I have never wanted to throw peas at her and she doesn’t leave her whiskers near my toothbrush.

Grief

My chin is most comfortable resting on my knee. Staring out the window while the baby sleeps, helps. Sort of. Patty Griffin and Pandora soften the intensity. I am sad and want to hear her laugh. Just one more time. I want to see her face when I hear it. But I can’t.