Write a Book or be a Unicorn: How do I Decide?

Three year olds are fickle creatures, and that’s a fact. One day something is their absolute favorite thing in the world, the next it’s the worst thing you could ever offer them. Is rice with peas their absolute favorite food? Not anymore, now it’s akin to poison as far as they’re concerned. Do they love the color purple? Wait till you buy that pretty purple rug for their room and suddenly they never liked purple and have no idea why you thought they did.

My almost four year old daughter has recently discovered the world of ‘what I want to be when I grow up’ and in true toddler fashion, what she wants to be when she grows up will change depending on her mood/the time of day/the color of her dress. Yesterday she wanted to be a magician when she grew up, the day before it was a doctor, while the day before that it was a unicorn. We’ve entertained every possible (and a fair share of impossible) things she could grow up to be, from astronaut, to detective, to witch, to princess, to tiger, so I think it’s safe to say she’s still a tad undecided.

Today though, we have apparently decided that we want to write a book. The catch? She doesn’t actually know how to write, or read for that matter. A minor problem but we found the perfect solution: mommy will write the book as dictated by Lilly while Lilly concentrates on drawing the pictures. After all, everyone knows the pictures are the only part of the book that matter, right? All I can say is, at least it’s a little bit more realistic than ‘unicorn princess’ from last week.

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Don’t be THAT Guy

Like most (sane) people in the world, I believe misogyny and sexism are wrong and are issues that need to be addressed. That’s a normal stance to have. Sometimes though, you come across that special personality that is not only anti-misogyny, but deep within the realm of look-at-me-I’m-so-NOT-misogynistic-I-totally-deserve-an-award-for-this.

Unfortunately, these people are usually men. Annoyingly know-it-all, look-at-me-I’m-so-progressive men.

You know the kind of person I mean: the king of guy who will condescendingly inform you that appreciating your husband for taking on all the housework while you were unwell is silly because it’s your husband’s JOB to do so. Or that being a stay at home mom is somehow unfair to you even if you CHOSE to stay home and no one is forcing you to do so. Or that he’s such a progressive guy just because he doesn’t dictate his wife’s clothing choices.

Um, ok, so it’s not ok for me to appreciate my husband when he’s thoughtful and considerate but it’s ok for you to smugly announce how you AREN’T a giant misogynistic ass in your best I-totally-deserve-an-award-for-this voice?

Dear mister I-am-so-not-a-misogynist,

Not being a misogynistic ass does not earn you any medals, it just means you’re a decent human being. And buddy, if you feel the need to perpetually highlight how not misogynistic you are, you probably aren’t as awesome as you want people to give you credit for.

Nor does it give you a free pass to point out all the ways in which I , as a woman, am not making the right choices/am not indignant enough about imagined slights/am not ENOUGH of a feminist. Don’t loudly insist that I’m wrong to appreciate my husband doing the dishes when I was too tired to finish up because ‘its his job to do the dishes!’ Showing appreciation when someone is considerate does not make me an oppressed female you jackass, it just makes me a normal human being. And FYI, I expect the same sort of appreciation from my husband for everything I do, even if it is my ‘job’ to do so.

Equality of the sexes doesn’t mean everyone should be doing everything all the time, it means equality of choice, equality of opportunity and equality of access. My husband and I are equal because we both respect each others choices, opinions and preferences without letting our biological sex dictate what we each ‘should’ be doing. I have the choice and opportunity to work but I choose to be a stay at home mom and am grateful we can afford such a choice.

So please, don’t tell me what I SHOULD be doing, feeling or expecting, don’t pretend to know better than me what I want or prefer, and for god’s sake stop pretending that you’re doing women everywhere a favor by NOT being a misogynistic ass (which, by the way, you’re just lying to yourself about: you are a complete misogynistic ass).

End rant.

The Perfect Number

When I was younger, I always said I wanted a large family, with at least 6 kids. Needless to say everyone either thought I was crazy or that I’d come to my senses after I actually went through the process of having a baby.

As I matured, I decided maybe 6 kids really were too many to handle and I needed to lower the number of members in my imaginary family. So I decided 4 was a much more reasonable number and congratulated myself on being so sensible.

When I got married and had my first child at the age of 28, I finally understood why everyone kept telling me that having babies (and raising babies) wasn’t exactly easy. So I reevaluated my life plan a little and conceded that maybe aiming for 3 kids was a much more realistic goal.

Fast forward to today: as I sit here at 1:36am, massaging my aching back and trying to will away my pregnancy insomnia, I’m starting to think that maybe, just maybe, 2 really is the perfect number after all.

The Urge

Every few months or so I get the urge to buy a new laptop and for a few days, it's all I can think about. I obsess over it, research it, even make a trip to the local Apple Store to drool over the latest MacBook. I'll make lists, meticulously go over different models, specs and deals and drive myself to a minor existential crisis trying to answer the eternal question of 'how much memory do I really need?'

laptop

After a week or so of battling the urge, I'll start to feel guilty over just how expensive my chosen laptop is, and slowly but surely, I'll talk myself out of actually buying it.

My current laptop isn't that old, I'll tell myself, it's just seasoned. It's not slow, I'll reason, it's just got personality. I'm sure this old thing will last me a few more years, I'll reassure myself, and slowly, the urge will go back into hibernation.

Until next time it'll say, curling up tight in a corner of my mind, I'll definitely get the best of you next time.