6.21.2015

Why we need feminists

Maya Angelou said, “I’m a feminist. I’ve been a female for a long time now. It’d be stupid not to be on my own side.”

Can I get an A-freaking-MEN?

The year is 2015, friends, and yet, we’ve still got famous women and men out their spilling some insipid garbage about what it is to be a feminist and how they’re not? (I’m looking at you, Lady Gaga, with your and I quote “I’m not a feminist, I hail men. I love men. I celebrate American male culture – beer, bars and muscle cars.”) Look, I’m not saying there aren’t certain stereotypes that don’t ring true, but let me just get this out of the way right now:
 
Being a feminist is:
• Equality

Being a feminist is not (although, you could do these things and still be a feminist, it’s just not required):
• Hating men
• Growing your armpit hair out
• Hating men
• Burning your bra (or not even wearing one)
• Hating men
• Wanting special treatment
• Being angry
• Hating men
• Being unattractive
• Hating men
• Hating sex
• Dating only women
• Hating men
• Shunning motherhood

Did I mention, in order to be a feminist, you DON’T HAVE TO HATE MEN? It’s quite the opposite really. As a feminist, I don’t need to hate men; I fully realize we are equal to men – I’m just waiting for the rest of the world to catch up with those views. So for someone like Lady Gaga with all that prowess and power to sculpt minds to say she’s not a feminist because she loves men, is exactly what’s holding us back. Guess what? I AM a feminist and I love men, I adore my husband, I like beer, I love bars and while I don’t really love muscle cars, that’s not because I believe in equality for all genders, it’s because I think cars are boring.

And let’s not forget Carrie Underwood’s snafu of “I wouldn’t go so far as to say I am a feminist, that can come off as a negative connotation. But I am a strong female.”

Look, I’m not saying you have to be a feminist. I mean, while it’s hard for me to grasp a female not being a feminist, I respect everyone’s decision to choose their belief system. But to say you’re not a feminist because it carries a negative connotation is the coward’s way out. Rather than identifying as a feminist and doing positive things to repair the negative stereotypes, you’ll just keep contributing to them by selling the same bullshit you don’t want to be associated with. 

Not cool, Carrie, not cool.

Yep, we’ve come a terribly long way, and I’m more than thankful the battle that lies ahead for my daughter or myself is far less treacherous than the one previously trekked by the likes of Susan B. Anthony and Gloria Steinem.

But guess what, we’ve still got a hell of a long way to go.

A few weeks back EA announced they’d be including women’s teams in FIFA 16. When I read this news my heart smiled a little. Sure, I don’t really follow soccer or even like it, but adding the female stars representing today’s teams means little girls who do like soccer will get to actually play their idols. Seems pretty cool, right?

Well it did, until a bunch of random bitter peeps decided to use social media to air their concerns, which would be fine, if they weren’t completely sexist and pardon my language, fucking stupid. Didn’t see it for yourself? Peruse this nice screenshot I have:



Gems like: “Who cares about Women?” (oh you know, just humans who were born to women, which consequently, is everyone in the entire world. And thanks for the completely incorrect capitalization of the word ‘women,’ I don’t need to be a feminist to tell you that’s grammatically STUPID.”)

Or my personal favorite: “Lets hope EA haven’t gone to far an added periods,” (Seriously, where to even begin with that garbage. Periods. Haha. Haha. That’s funny. Let’s hope for your sake, sir, that EA didn’t add periods because I’m willing to be you’ve never had a girlfriend if you still think periods are funny. ASSHAT. And let's hope EA hasn't raised the vocab level above, what, second grade, because you're clearly still struggling with things like past tense and the word AND.)

I mean, for reals, society? Feminist or not, if you have a mother, sister, daughter, girlfriend, female in your life that you don’t hate, these people are making the rest of us look pathetic. I mean, really, they add female teams to a video game for the first time in like ever and the best you can come up with are some pathetic jokes about periods and not being able to park a bus. Wow. If that’s the best you’ve got then I suggest you surrender now, because we’re definitely smarter, we’re stronger and we’re not going away.

I am a feminist and I’m proud of it. I hope to influence others in my life to have the same strength. I hope by bringing to light what a feminist can be (as opposed to what everyone else thinks it is), it will put a tiny dent in the negative connotation that scares people off.

I’m a feminist, and I like: dresses, high heels, my husband, being a mother, coaching softball, baking cupcakes, writing, reading, whisky, country music, scrapbooking and yoga.

What kind of feminist are you?

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6.17.2015

Foo foos, pee pee and mommy guilt

His name is Braeburn and he has a problem.

He's two and a half years old and he needs a foo foo (binky, paci) to go to sleep. 

And not only that. But he's also ... not potty trained. 

That's right. My son is over the age of two and when he lays his sweet baby head down to sleep he wants a pacifier. And forget sitting him on one of those tiny toilets. He is completely and utterly freaked out about that entire concept and I just can't bring myself to toilet traumatize his darling little baby bum yet. 

And it basically makes me a shameful, neglectful, irresponsible mother according all to the perfect internet Leave-it-to-Beaveresque mamas out there. Which are a lot, by the way.

I'm losing sleep, fingernails and probably growing some grey hairs over Braeburn's paci habit. When it was time for Pear Bear to give up her binkies, it didn't really phase her. She never really used them anyhow, she just liked to hold them in her tiny baby fists. So when we took her to Build-a-Bear and let her build her very own binky bunny, she went to sleep that night still clutching her precious foo foos -- in the foot of her new stuffed accomplice. 

It was easy, breezy and happened long before she passed 24 months of age. 

Braeburn, however, isn't the same. He adores his foo foos, he's cutting all four of his two-year molars and the poor thing is just so damn angelic when he asks for it I would probably buy him 50 more if it were possible for him to use them. 

Do I know he needs to give up his paci habbit, yes. Do I know the long-term impacts of using a binky on a child? Yes. 

But I also know what my baby needs. And I know what our family doctor says. AND our pediatric dentist. And all are in agreement that by limiting his use of it to naps and nighttime and by weening him off of it by the age of three, will result in him speaking just fine and with no more damage to his mouth than if I pull them from him right.this.second. 

If you make the mistake of googling "when to get rid of the paci," you're going to pull up about a million results of crap. You'll find a few legitimate sources (which still shouldn't replace the opinion of your family doc and dentists), but ultimately, you're going to find a zillion posts from all those momvice sites (see what I did there, I combined mom with advice, because that's what those sites are). Well-intentioned mamas post their questions "my son is seven months old, when should I get rid of his pacifier?" And while there are a few heartfelt responses here and there, for the most part, this is the type of advice these women are getting:

"Never offer one. Then you won't have to get rid of them."
Gee, thanks for that piece of advice. That's terribly helpful considering the mom already let her child use one. Thanks. Now I'm going to go beat myself up over the last seven months of usage. ASSHAT.

"Allowing children to use pacifiers and bottles past the age of 1 is ridiculous."
 Wow, that's quite a gem there, isn't it. Thank you, internet dad, for calling me ridiculous and not actually using facts or anything else to back up your claim. Just straight up ridiculous. ASSHAT

"I don't recall that any of my kids used a pacifier. It's a substitute for good parenting."
Oh, OK. Well I did carry this baby in MY uterus for 40 weeks and eight days, so naturally once I popped his giant ten-pound body out of mine I decided to be a shitty parent. ASSHAT.

"6 months. But there is a point where kids try to get rid of them on their own. It's the parents most often that continue to plug them in."
Yep, you caught me! I do continue to plug them in his mouth ... after he shrieks for 20 minutes asking for his foo foo and chewing on his hands because his teeth are hurting him so damn bad. Thanks for the recommendation of six months, too. WITH NO FACTS. JUST SIX MONTHS. ASSHAT.

Look, here's the thing about trying to "guilt" moms into feeling bad for their parenting decisions. The ones you really impact, the ones who really give your advice a second thought, are usually the ones who are already beating themselves up. So instead of being helpful, instead of offering them genuine advice for them to consider, you just find a way to make them question themselves more, beat themselves up more, and ultimately, what -- make yourself feel better because you were able to belittle a mama 20 states away? That makes you an ASSHAT.

Heaven forbid we support each other. Heaven forbid we think about other mamas' feelings. Heaven forbid we try to be helpful and not hurtful.

Of course I know not EVERY mother is looking to bully others. It just seems like they're so much louder than the friendly ones, the ones who really want to lend an ear and offer help. 

So what did we decide about his foo foo and potty habbits? Well, we're taking it day by day and giving him until the age of three. Right now, he has his foo foo during nap and nighttime. And while not every mama, doctor or dentist may agree with that, this one and ours do, so that's good enough for me. Does that make me right? Of course not. But if I've done the research and asked the questions and found the answers, it's right for me. It's right for Braeburn. 

Am I worried about his speech? Not really. There have been OODLES of studies done and the results are very inconclusive when it comes to using a pacifier until the age of three and impact on speech. He already uses bigger words than some of Pearyn's friends. I understand him. Strangers understand him. There have been no delays or inconsistencies found by the professionals at his school, so we're going to keep on keeping on. 

And just like his sissy, we're going to encourage him to like the potty, to sit on it, to get comfortable with it, but we're not going to force it. I stressed and worried so much over Pearyn being potty trained (because she was a girl afterall and she was supposed to be potty trained much easier and earlier than boys, right!?) that I made us both miserable. So on her third birthday she decided she wanted big girl princess panties and she got them, and never looked back. 

So this time, I'm going to trust myself a lot more and all that googling a lot less. 

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5.25.2015

Time is an asshole

OK, so I’ll be honest. When my daughter was a baby, there may or may not have been several nights where I prayed to any and every God that she would hurry up and be like, five years old. At least then she could tell me what was causing her to shriek like someone was tweezing her tiny baby eyebrows; I wouldn’t be changing diapers 24/7; I wouldn’t be up rocking her all hours of the night simply because she felt like staring at my face for three-and-a-half hours.

Everything would get just a littttttle bit easier when she got just a litttttttle bit older, right?

Right?

Well, sort of.

I mean, she IS able to tell me what’s wrong with her, she’s been out of diapers for years and I don’t have to rock her anymore … but … I kind of wish she was a baby again.

Don’t get me wrong. I haven’t forgotten the long, miserable nights where sleep was something I fanaticized about.  I don’t actually miss changing her diapers and I get more than my fill of rocking babies while coaxing Braeburn to sleep.

However, it’s more than that. I don’t simply miss babies; I miss HER being my baby. It’s probably because she was my first. She’s the little doll who MADE me a mother. She’s the first person to prove to me love at first sight DOES exist and she’s continued to make every other tired cliché about motherhood true, time and time again.

And now, she’s five. She’s five and I’m sitting at her kindergarten screening and finally starting to absorb what this means for her, for our family.

Sure, it’s only five half-days a week; and sure, she still has a week of preschool left, but those things don’t matter. What matters is my daughter is about to REALLY start her education; my daughter is about to go to an entirely new school, make entirely new friends and have entirely new experiences – without me.

I know, I know, it’s important for her to spread her wings and all that fluffy, mature junk, but it doesn’t mean it’s easy to accept as a parent. It doesn’t mean I’m READY for her to, even if she’s COMPLETELY ready for this next step.

The more my children age, the more I start to empathize with all those annoying people who tell you to “soak up every minute” your children are tiny, whether they’re throwing tantrums or resisting sleep – one day, you’re going to miss this. Maybe where people make the mistake, however, is what they’re implying you’re going to miss. Of course you’re not going to miss the sleepless nights. You ARE going to miss your baby’s sweet little face as they stare at yours for the seventh hour (even if it means no sleep). You’re going to miss the wondrous way they drink in every aspect of your face, smiling, cooing and giggling at even the slightest flinch of your mouth. Of course you’re not going to miss the tantrums. You ARE going to miss them being so absolutely enthralled with you, so determined to get your attention, that they’ll do anything it takes – whether it’s a sweet, sneaky snuggle or an outright, body-stiff-as-a-board, red-faced, breakdown.

One day, you won’t be the center of their world and that’s OK. That’s exactly what’s supposed to happen. But it doesn’t mean you won’t miss those days when you were. It doesn’t mean you won’t long for their neediness. And it doesn’t mean you don’t want your child to spread their wings.

Ultimately, it just means you want your past-self to appreciate all those things you found so damn annoying. It means you become nostalgic as you check AM or PM for your daughter’s kindergarten; it means you become defensive, mama-bear when you think of people “evaluating” her readiness for school; it means you’re REALLY grasping for the first time that your children won’t need you so much one day.

And that might be the absolute hardest thing to truly grasp.


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4.25.2015

Is your #PlateProud?

Let’s face it. In this day and age, knowing where your food comes from can be pretty important when it comes to knowing what the heck is in it. With misleading “titles” that don’t really mean anything (I’m looking at you “cage free”), it can seem really overwhelming to find good ingredients.

And that’s what makes Green BEAN Delivery so flipping awesome. If you’re not familiar with Green BEAN, it’s a membership-based subscription service (with no sign-up fees) that provides you super delicious, super organic, super healthy groceries right to your DOOR. Yep. YOUR FRONT DOOR.

The best part about this service? The power is in YOUR hands! You get to decide how frequently you want to order, WHAT you want to order and when the heck you want these awesome groceries delivered! There’s a variety of bin options, all loaded with certified-organic produce and there are plenty of awesome healthy add-ons too, like gluten-free chocolate chip cookies and MORE!

And because Green BEAN likes to encourage healthy, delicious meals, they’re currently running a pretty sweet recipe content called #PlateProud. With over $1,200 in prizes being given away AND five different categories you can enter, Green BEAN wants to find out what’s on your plate! With a deadline of May 22, you have just under a month to enter your original, tasty recipes (one per category). Five winners and five runners up will be chosen and announced on June 15. The recipes must be original and no longer than 400 words, and a photo is required. This is open to U.S. residents only and winning recipes will be highlighted on Green BEAN’s website! Holler!

The five totes awesome categories you’ll be submitting your #PlateProud recipe to (and their awesome prizes) include:
  • Grillin’ & Chillin: winner receives a premier grill set, including a plancha wok, accessories, a cookbook and a $50 Green BEAN Delivery gift card
  • Quick, Easy & Kid-Friendly: winner receives a BPA-and-phthalates-free and leakproof bento-style lunchbox, Mr & MRs. Food Face plates, food truck-shaped bowl, chalkboard placemats, training chopsticks, some simple cookbooks and a $50 Green BEAN Delivery gift card
  • Locavore: winner receives a vertical herb garden, chalkboard planter, cookbook and a $50 Green BEAN Delivery gift card
  • Veggie side: winner receives a French-made de Buyer Viper Dicing Mandolin slicer with interchangeable blades for cubes, diamond cuts, julienne, strips, sticks and rounds, a guide to cooking veggies, a cookbook and a $50 Green BEAN Delivery gift card
  • Pack-and-Go Healthy Lunch: winner receives a stainless steel bento-style PlanetBox lunch box with soft carry bag, two hinged Italian-made glass jars with airtight seals, six wooden and reusable chalkboard tags, a cookbook and a $50 Green BEAN Delivery gift card. 

All runners up will receive a $50 Green BEAN Delivery gift card.

Are you ready to enter? You can do it one of two ways: online by following this handy dandy link, or through snail mail at GREEN BEAN DELIVERY #PLATEPROUD RECIPE CONTEST, Green BEAN Delivery, PO Box 26700, Indianapolis, IN 46226 (all entries MUST be RECEIVED by May 22.)

Make sure you share all your awesome recipe ideas and outtakes on social media with the #PlateProud label!

I know which prize I’ve got my eye on (I’m coming for you, mandolin slicer!), what would you be most excited to win?

4.22.2015

I wore a bikini and the world didn’t end

You may or may not know I turned 30 last week. I’ve slowly started to embrace that this isn’t a terrible thing, but rather, a time for me to be confident in who I finally am. (Or at the very least, start to get comfortable with the idea that the person I hear in my head and see in the mirror is pretty much who I am).

You may or may not have read in the past about my struggles with body issues. Growing up I was never thin, and while I also wasn’t really what you’d consider “overweight,” I was always on the thicker side.  And in my eyes, being even slightly thick, meant I was fat. Whether it was all in my head or in my head because of media, society and marketing, I wore a bikini for three summers before forfeiting to my own body-shaming ways and wearing one pieces or tankinis.

Now, of course, nothing is wrong with one pieces and tankinis, however, the way I felt about my body and myself in ANY swimsuit WAS wrong.

I look back at photos of myself and wish I would have realized then how cute I was. And I don’t say that in a conceited way, I say it from the place of a 30-year-old mother who never wants her children to loathe themselves the way I did. When I was 14 and wore a bikini, I didn’t see the beginning of my figure forming or the ridiculously large bust size I’d recently “busted” out with (hardy har har), I saw stretch marks on my butt and breasts from growing too fast; and I saw too-wide hips that weren’t womanly, but boyish and ugly in my eyes.

I didn’t see cute freckles dotting my face, arms and legs (something people have always complimented me on my whole life), I saw ugly brown spots that formed splotches after being stuck in the sun for too long.

And before there was even a thigh gap to be gaped at, I hated the way my thighs touched, it didn’t matter that they were muscular or looked pretty in tights, I hated that they weren’t skinny.

So you see, part of me being 30 and embracing myself, largely includes me embracing my hips, my bust, thighs, freckles and all the other things I spent too many years hating and hiding.

So despite the fact that I’ve now got even MORE stretch marks on my hips and breasts, despite the fact that I’m a few pounds heavier than I was, despite the fact that I’ve got what Pearyn lovingly refers to as “my stripes” decorating my stomach, I wore a bikini again for the first time in 10 years last week. And I wore it confidently, damnit.

And guess what?

The world didn’t end. People didn’t point fingers and hush giggles, nope, none of that happened.

In fact, I’m pretty sure nobody even thought twice about me because most of the women there were busy worrying about their own bodies, the men were thinking about dunking each other and the kids were so engrossed in playing they wouldn’t have noticed if I entered the pool in a chicken suit.

And you know what? It felt great. It felt liberating. And it felt like for the first time in 10 years, I’ve started to see my body for what it is: a body. It’s not “fat” or “ugly” or “skinny” or “pretty,” it’s just me. It’s the same body that pitched tens of thousands of strikes over my lifetime, the same body that wore my wedding dress and married my husband, the same body that carried my children and the same body that has run countless 5Ks.

And even if I’m 30, even if I’ve got a few more marks and still don’t have that thigh gap, after years of loathing it I’m going to love it.


Because it’s MY body and I think it’s pretty fucking amazing.

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