There is a highly over-looked, gender specific, social norm that I protest with a gusto, even though to call it minuscule is an understatement (you have to start somewhere).
It's all this gosh-dang, "Darling Husband" bullshit. When women refer to their husbands in blogs, posts, or anywhere else as "The DH" I quit reading. I don't care if I am reading a highly coveted article about how to build Frosty the Snowman so that he actually dances around the yard entertaining my children for hours before ushering them through a dangerous intersection and breaking their hearts when the weather turns warm,—making them sun-hating recluses for the rest of their lives—if during the tutorial the writer refers to a "DH"—I BOUNCE (and contemplate running through a busy intersection myself).
When I said "DH" to my husband he thought it stood for "designated hitter" and I almost fell off the porch swing, laughing.
The problem is that, although the "D" stands for "darling,"—and therefore attempts to be a positive attribute—"DH" has the same dehumanizing qualities as the other commonly used, impersonal, spousal spewings, like "The Old Lady," and "Ball and Chain." Thus, making "DH" nauseatingly passive aggressive. The "darling" makes it sugary sweet and innocently ignorant to the fact that it is utterly degrading. Hack. Vomit. Spew.
Also--and this really ought to be pointed out--this DH BS is deathly prosaic. Grow just one creative bone in those bodies ladies! Give your LH (the alternate and equally disturbing, "Loving Husband") a nickname all his own. Who cares if one year down the road strangers are only beginning to read your blog and aren't yet privy to the background information. It won't take them long to figure out who "ButterBalls," "PapaBear," or "StripSteak" is. Trust me.
Not to mention(though I am mentioning it now), you won't even have to give up your imaginary girl power points. You can still make yourself look just as stupid with sexist generalizations like, "you know men," and "boys will be boys," contributing to the already ridiculous idea that behavior is predetermined by genitals, without completely eliminating the spunk and creativity of a genuine crest of affection. Now, doesn't that sound nice?
Okay. So, I'll go first. From now on, I will refer to CopperPot with a nickname all his own. In fact, I may change it in every blog that I talk about ole' CopperPot, just to prove that it is completely possible. If you get confused, I'm not sorry. Remember, you are only one in a very few that I don't give two shits about. ;) And I do hope you have a blissfully lovely day!
XO!
Monday, June 30, 2014
Sunday, June 22, 2014
It's My Freak Flag and I'll Fly if I Want To!
Well, I'm back!
Sort of.
It recently occurred to me that the only thing I do with any consistency is reject social norms. If an opinion has been generalized and agreed upon by the mass ignorant majority, I shoot myself out of a cannon aimed for the opposing side. For instance, why do people always expect mothers to be good with children, or completely satisfied with being mothers? The pure act of having one's own children negates the ability to see any other children through the same perfection goggles that we wear for our own, and let's be honest, kids are annoying. Just because I have two perfect angels of my own, doesn't mean I give a rat's ass about that guy's honor student. Nor do I worship the ground my angels float above when they are acting as defiant towards me as I do towards the rest of society (there's a theme here).
But, for all intents and purposes, I've figured something out about myself. I love to protest. I protest so much that I'm practically a protestant, but organized religion is also something I (quietly) despute. And I protest much more than religious persecution. I just don't always have the time to make a sign and paint flowers on my VW camper van for a trip to DC. The fact that I sold the thing a few years before having kids means nothing. I must defy! So I do it in life. I change the aspects in my life that contribute to the societal foibles that I dislike the most. Sometimes it takes years, like hanging laundry to save energy (getting the necessary equipment and such), and sometimes it happens in a day, like shaving my head to protest gender norms. But changes are made and protests are lived.
Now, of course, I have a family. So, all of the ways that I bring my protests to life, must be done in a way that does not reduce my children's quality of life. It's tricky, no lie. Deep down there's a 50's mom bursting to make a Alien-like appearance wearing a pretty little apron and dancing delightedly with a roasting pan. But, while my husband would follow me on a crusade to the end of the world as long as he could bring his work laptop, we have always agreed that our children's health and security come first. So, my protests, be them radical to some, must be family friendly. No throwing water filled condoms at abortion clinic protesters for us! (Not yet, at least.)
We live dangerously outside of societies preconceived notions, but we keep ourselves cleverly disguised. You wouldn't know us from the Jesus-freaks next door, unless you read this blog where I will apparently be waving our unique form of freak flag.
I'm not sure how you should feel about this, but I need to do the dishes now, so you're on your own.
Sort of.
It recently occurred to me that the only thing I do with any consistency is reject social norms. If an opinion has been generalized and agreed upon by the mass ignorant majority, I shoot myself out of a cannon aimed for the opposing side. For instance, why do people always expect mothers to be good with children, or completely satisfied with being mothers? The pure act of having one's own children negates the ability to see any other children through the same perfection goggles that we wear for our own, and let's be honest, kids are annoying. Just because I have two perfect angels of my own, doesn't mean I give a rat's ass about that guy's honor student. Nor do I worship the ground my angels float above when they are acting as defiant towards me as I do towards the rest of society (there's a theme here).
But, for all intents and purposes, I've figured something out about myself. I love to protest. I protest so much that I'm practically a protestant, but organized religion is also something I (quietly) despute. And I protest much more than religious persecution. I just don't always have the time to make a sign and paint flowers on my VW camper van for a trip to DC. The fact that I sold the thing a few years before having kids means nothing. I must defy! So I do it in life. I change the aspects in my life that contribute to the societal foibles that I dislike the most. Sometimes it takes years, like hanging laundry to save energy (getting the necessary equipment and such), and sometimes it happens in a day, like shaving my head to protest gender norms. But changes are made and protests are lived.
Now, of course, I have a family. So, all of the ways that I bring my protests to life, must be done in a way that does not reduce my children's quality of life. It's tricky, no lie. Deep down there's a 50's mom bursting to make a Alien-like appearance wearing a pretty little apron and dancing delightedly with a roasting pan. But, while my husband would follow me on a crusade to the end of the world as long as he could bring his work laptop, we have always agreed that our children's health and security come first. So, my protests, be them radical to some, must be family friendly. No throwing water filled condoms at abortion clinic protesters for us! (Not yet, at least.)
We live dangerously outside of societies preconceived notions, but we keep ourselves cleverly disguised. You wouldn't know us from the Jesus-freaks next door, unless you read this blog where I will apparently be waving our unique form of freak flag.
I'm not sure how you should feel about this, but I need to do the dishes now, so you're on your own.
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