Intelligent Woman in a Stupid World

Dear Society,

It took me thirteen years of marriage to realize that I'm not living up to your standards, and now that I know what your standards are, I can tell you not to hold your breath. It never dawned on me before that as a wife, certain circles -- mostly older, dried up circles, out of touch with reality -- expect me to live as some sort of house slave to my family. I'm not sorry to disappoint.

But what hit me like a ton of bricks was the expectation you, society, have for wives to kowtow to their in-laws. Really?! Why? I realized recently that when I try to call my brother, his wife ends up talking to me instead. I love her. She's awesome and has a great sense of humor. In fact, we actually lived together for a short time. I will always have something to say to her. But I found it odd that she never even offers to put my brother on. In fact, I felt handled. She was handling me. Then I realized it. She handles her in-laws! I've never felt obligated to chat with my in-laws. Up until now, I had no idea that was my job. I'm furious! I'm not furious that I could be expected to perform yet another mind-numbing task, simply because I wear the vagina in the family, I'm over that. I'm furious because if society -- old, dried-up, out-of-touch, society -- was going to judge me based on it, the least they could due is let me know.

Perhaps marriage should come with a job description. Men -- keep being men. Women -- cook, keep a clean house, do the laundry, sew, take care of the finances, handle the in-laws, always look presentable, send cards and birthday gifts, plan ahead, have babies, be nurturing, make everyone else's problems your own, smile and learn to fake happiness (because after all the other bullshit, you'll need to).

But, marriage doesn't come with a job description and even if it did, I probably would have ignored it, not gotten married, or stuck my head in a freakin' oven. The funniest part about your expectations, society, is that women for centuries have just bent over and accepted the fact that once they marry a man, they become his spokesperson and primary caregiver. And it's not like it's some prestigious job in advertising. It's the number one position taking all complaints and ridicule. There's nothing positive about it, because even when women do it well, everyone admires them for superficial reasons. "Oh, she has such a clean house," "... such a sweet disposition," "... love her garden," "Aren't those children just too cute?" "How does she stay so thin?" "... impeccable taste," "What a lovely dress."

It's not for me. If people can't like me for who I am, then people just can't like me. I will never perform tricks to win them over. This isn't the circus and I'm not some damn monkey. Furthermore, I have met, am related to, or have dumped many of the men that will someday be hitched. To think that their poor wives could be expected to suck-up in anyway to their families is ridiculous. The woman, in taking that man off of their mother's hands, has done the family a favor. In a perfect world, that family should owe her a dowry and suck-up to her! Don't worry, she'll earn it.

In the mean time, I'm going to remain in my happiness, away from your expectations, and if you find yourself old, dried-up, and out of touch with reality, just think of me as a man and save yourself some judgement. It's not that I can't fit into you, it's that you can't keep up with me.

Bring the Change,
Intelligent Woman

Quickly, Quickly!

So I walk into Little Ceasar's for some "Hot 'N' Ready" pizzas and am told that I may have to wait ten minutes because they are behind on their cheese pizzas. I tell them "that's fine." Most pizza ovens take closer to 15 minutes to bake a pizza which means that my pizza was already in the oven. How could I possibly complain when they obviously predicted my arrival?! I paid and took my purse and wallet to the car so that I could easily carry the pizzas. When I returned, I sat down on a chair and waited 2 minutes at the MOST before my name was called and the guy behind the counter apologized for the wait.

IS THIS WHAT THE WORLD IS COMING TO?

I couldn't have preheated my oven in the time it took me to leave and come back with three piping-hot pizzas for my family. Next time, I'm buying frozen pizzas just so I can pretend to take life slowly.

Where Credit is Due

When I wrote my sort-of-Father's-day-ish post I had something else I wanted to add but didn't want to contaminate the message. I've been thinking a lot about something J. K. Rowling said during her Harvard Commencement speech in 2008. If you haven't seen it, check it out. 


J.K. Rowling said that she believed there was a statute of limitations on how long a person can blame their parents for the decisions they make in their life (my horrible paraphrase). I have meditated on this for many hours because, although she made the statement as both a parent and a daughter, it always seemed a bit one-sided to me. Being unable to argue it away, however, I adopted the belief as my own.

As a parent, my biggest fear is scarring my children, having some irreversible effect on them that leaves an emotional wound. It is comforting to imagine that if I do any damage, that damage will be temporary.


As a daughter I can only imagine the burden my parents would carry if I continued to cite them as an excuse for my behavior. And THAT'S when it dawned on me. What behavior could I possibly blame on anyone. I'm an adult. One of the things I learned in becoming an adult was to take responsibility for my actions. And although I can be a little mischievous at times, I'm fairly certain that the only emotion I invoke in my parents is pride. 


Ah ha!


But pride is where J.K. Rowling lost me. If parents, including myself, can call "not it" when the Blame Game starts, then shouldn't we throw in the towel on Accreditation? If we can all agree that grown men and women should begin to make their own decisions, independent of their parents' influence; then do we, as parents, have any right to take credit for their achievements once they do? You can't claim Credit if you are unwilling to adopt Blame (they're twins you know). That reminds me of a saying I heard a lot when I was a kid: "You can't have your cake and eat it too." It makes so much more sense to me now.

And I'm back to square one. I don't know what to think. If my children grow up to be responsible adults, I am certainly planning to take my share of the credit. It isn't a secret that parenting is a difficult job, and I would be lying to say that if anything bad happened to them, I wouldn't carry the blame: I would. So when do I let go?

Obviously you can't designate adulthood by age. We have all had friends who were 24 and acted like 12-year-olds. Some of us still do. But when they do finally grow up and stop blaming their parents for everything, maybe their parents can finally take that much needed pat on the back. Hell, they should take ten. They should just keep in mind that there is a statute of limitations on the amount of credit they can give themselves. Those kids are no longer kids, the blame is no longer yours, and the credit has always gone to the one making the decisions.

Thank you Ms. Rowling. It was a good lesson to learn early in the game.

Full Disclosure?

I'm sorry I haven't written in a while World. I missed you.

Yesterday my writing energy went towards composing an email to a professor, protesting a grade. It is both an empowering and humbling experience to know that you have adequate evidence to support your opinion but that you must present it to a superior. I hope I was tactful. I believe I was.

I've started tracking my exercise and calorie intake using a little gadget called "MyFitnessPal." I absolutely love it. I was contemplating integrating it onto this blog but I wasn't sure how personal I wanted to get. I've decided to do it. I have nothing to hide and honesty is lost in our society these days.

Ok, well, that's all I have to day. So much to say, so little time to type it all out. Enjoy your day!

What's Up? Feedback!

Hey CyniSquatters! You're never gonna believe this, but I received a reply letter from Kroger about the signage in their store!

Recall it.

So, here's the response (I particularly like the quote at the bottom):

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Re:  June 4^th Letter   

Jessica, thank you for sending in your letter On June 4^th.  It’s evident by your letter that you are very loyal Dillons Shopper and we appreciate you visiting our stores on a regular basis.  We always enjoy hearing feedback from our guests and we appreciate you taking time to send in your letter in regards to our use of term feminine hygiene on our in-store signage.  All category descriptions on our signage our part of an Kroger wide industry standard that we use in all of our stores nationwide.  However, I am forwarding your comments and suggestions on to those folks that make the decision on a corporate level for their consideration.

Thanks again for your feedback.

Su-Ella McKinzie

Drug/GM Merchandiser Dillon Stores

620-669-3255 phone

620-669-3409 fax

email: su-ella.mckinzie@dillonstores.com

Quote of the Year: Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.

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Hey Daaaaaaad!

I love that my hubby derives joy from hearing "Hey Daaaaaad!" yelled through the walls of our home. I love even more that 30 seconds after he arrives at the scene, I hear laughter from our kids and heavy foot falls coming back to me. I love that my kids ask me when he'll be home and get excited seeing his vehicle pull up to the house. I even love that, most times, they choose him over me for an activity director. However, last night when my son said, "Happy Father's Day" and told him he was the "best dad ever," Hubby responded by telling him it was easy to be a good dad because he had such great kids.

It was nice of him to say, but make no mistake World, THAT IS A LIE! Not that our children aren't great, they are, but only because of hard work, time, love, patience, and commitment that Hubby and I show them everyday. I don't mind if my children are delusional about this, but adults shouldn't be. Children are encouraged to be fantastic by committed parents (who after all that commitment, sometimes feel they should be "committed").

I guess what I was trying to say when this started is "Happy Father's Day" to my Hubby and all the Dad's out there who are giving 100%. You know who you are.

Etiquette Be Damned!

Why in the world has the R.S.V.P. part of invitations gotten so popular? Twice this year my daughter was sent invitations that said R.S.V.P and were followed by an email and, in one obnoxious case, a phone call by the mother to confirm. R.S.V.P. which is an acrynym for the French Reponde si'l vous plait, translates to "respond if you'll like". Whether you take this as meaning, "respond if you want to" or "respond if you want to attend" it doesn't really specify that a "not attending" needs to do anything. But just in case I'm wrong, can we please accept two simple truths? 1. This isn't a wedding, funeral, graduation or anything you might invite a business acquaintance to, who might require special attention, and 2. A first grader can't possibly eat enough to ruin your plans.

These are birthday parties. Your child is going to turn a year older whether we show up or not, and if you make the number of friends that show up seem important, you will reduce the importance of the birthday itself and your child will notice. Here's an idea: Plan a fantastic party that anybody would love to attend, send your invitations and when the day comes have fun, with or without a bunch of sugared-up little snot-noses. As a parent, you have just as much to celebrate as your child. Not to mention your child is going to remember how much fun they had, no matter who it was with, why can't it be you? Besides, who wants to field 16 phone calls anyway? (Actually, the one chic that called me sent out 32 invitations. That woman must have been going through something.)

I can, however, accept the fact that this is my opinion only and nobody else's. I have a hang-up about this sort of thing. If you tell me I have to do something, I probably won't do it. The invitation is pushy enough in my mind, but when I already know that I don't want to talk to you for the five minutes it takes me to drop off my kid, you can sure-as-shit count on the fact that I'm not calling to chat about it. Etiquette be damned. You should focus more on your kid and less on the people around them.

This Little Woman turns six this week. She'll know how special she is long before the party.