Historically the Sci-Fi channel has not had much street cred with me. I haven't seen almost anything I can recall beyond the Stargate series that has made me actively search out a show. The change to the "SyFy" moniker hasn't helped matters. (Seriously, who thought that was a good name?) That has changed as of now.
The Expanse is amazing storytelling. I've only watched the first episode as of this post, so there is still plenty of early shark-jumping potential. However, everything I saw in that first episode points to a well-plotted out story arc that is known and planned out in advance. Episode 1 was some serious gound-laying and I loved it. Interesting visuals juxtaposed with characterization details in a way that made the world of the story feel very organic and alive. The acting is universally strong so far, but the plot is the real draw here. This is obviously a story with legs. Personally, I can't wait to see where it takes me.
I haven't yet read the books on which the show is based, but I sure want to now.
Saturday, May 7, 2016
I want not to be a mother.
This doesn't mean that I regret being a mother or that I'm unhappy. It just means that I need a little absence from the position to make my heart grow fonder.
I want to wake up and find my house completely clean. Not just tidy. Not just mopped. I want it so clean that it looks like it was never lived in. So clean you could lick the baseboards. So clean it doesn't even smell like my house anymore.
And I don't want to have done any of it or have had to tell anybody how to do it right. It will just be that way, magically, when I wake up.
And there would be nobody else in the house. No husband. No kids. No dogs. No garbage truck or school bus or chirping birds to wake me up in the morning. Just absolute silence...
...in a bed with freshly laundered high-thread-count sheets that smell amazing. In a bedroom where there is no laundry on the floor. All of the clothes are folded and ironed and put away in their proper drawers. Oh, and all of the clothes fit too and none of them have stains on them.
To wake up, completely alone, naturally, in absolute clean silence.
That would be the first part of my Mother's Day Fantasy.
And then I would binge-watch Netflix for hours without being interrupted once. While eating everything I shouldn't eat. Twice.
Yet still my clothes magically fit because salt doesn't retain water on a Mother's Day Fantasy. Nope. My body is lithe like I haven't eaten a thing all day. Because I'm going to need to look fierce tonight.
When evening falls I'm not tired. I'm not longing to go to sleep because I never get to sleep. No, I have tons of energy. I'm ready to party.
I go out and nothing about my clothes or my hair or my carriage says that I'm a mother. I turn heads not because I have baby puke on my shoulder, or because people are pitying the hot mess that I am. No, they're looking at me because I am emanating confidence, power, femininity, strength, and fun. They see me and think, "There's a woman who sleeps in, always does whatever the hell she wants, and obviously has no responsibilities. I hate her. I wish I could have her life."
I would go places where no one knows me. I would get carded everywhere because I couldn't possibly have children or be over 21 wearing THAT outfit with THAT hair in THOSE heels. Wouldn't mind throwing in THOSE piercings or THOSE tattoos.
I rebel, I disrespect, I objectify and am objectified. I personify all that is antithetical to society's definition of "mother." I am exactly the woman that you don't want as a role model for your children.
In a single day I back-pack across Europe, buy a motorcycle, crash a wedding, lose my shoes, hitch a ride with a complete stranger because I trashed the motorcycle, and have tapas in Spain for dinner. I fill my day with a lifetime of memories that I don't choose to pursue on a daily basis because I am a mother. I chose to be a mother and yes, that comes with sacrifices. Sacrifices that I chose and still choose, but sacrifices nonetheless.
And then at the end of that Mother's Day Fantasy, I get to crawl into bed besides my amazing and loving husband, in sheets that smell like us, and I get to wake up the next morning to dogs barking, babies crying, a million questions from my oldest, and birds chirping in the trees of the yard that we worked our asses off to afford. And I will smile and hug my husband and kiss my children and thank the gods that it was all just a fantasy and that I get to be a mother again. A better mother because I took the time to honor everything else about myself that has nothing to do with motherhood.
Sunday, December 28, 2014
For our 2014 Holiday eCard we shot a music video of Emma singing "Let It Go" from Disney's Frozen. We wanted this year's video to be all about her since this will be her last year as an only child. Enjoy our very talented 6-year-old and Happy Holidays from our family to yours!
Thursday, November 20, 2014
When we had our first child, we didn't reveal her sex ahead of time. We had no idea what we were having and decided to leave it up as a surprise. Our baby shower wasn't pink or blue. We didn't know ahead of time what to call her and all of our gifts arrived in shades of green and yellow. Emma's name in utero was Fidget since my only clue to her personality was her inability to lie still while I was trying to sleep. She was a blank slate and everyone's dreams for her ranged from becoming President to prima ballerina.
When Emma was born, this changed. It wasn't premeditated or malicious. All actions were born of love, but everyone (myself included since I am by no means immune to the affects of our society) started treating her differently. All of her gifts and belongings immediately shifted from green and yellow to pink. But it wasn't just about the color. It was deeper than that. It was about people's attitude toward her.
Now let's look at that little boy that is standing before you. You certainly wouldn't call him pretty or beautiful. You might call him handsome but his expected reaction to such praise would be to take the compliment gracefully and not make a big deal about it (while the little girl would be encouraged and applauded to pose and preen while everyone fawns over her). You might hug him, but not too much. Instead you might just shake his little hand so as to make him feel "like a man." You might call him a good boy but you probably wouldn't compliment his hair or choice of clothing. Having called him handsome would have been enough and further comments on his appearance would just be....odd. The assumption would also be that he had absolutely no say in what he was wearing since his mother probably picked his clothing for him. Boys have no interest in such things. And when asked what you'd dream for this little boy you might imagine him tall and strong, strappingly attractive with his pick of young women from which to marry. But he would be respectful and noble, honorable and brave. You might picture him as a lawyer, doctor, or the CEO of some big company, certainly making more money than you did and providing for his children even more than you were able to provide for him. When you imagine this little boy's future you dream of success and power.
Some of you may be vehemently shaking your heads that you don't do this. You might intrinsically see where I'm going with my heavy-handed examples, but if you're willing, really think back to how you speak to little boys and girls and the gifts you bestow upon them. While it's not 100% of the time, I'm betting that most of your comments to little girls have something to do with their appearance and most of your comments to little boys have something to do with their character. When asked most of us would defensively swear that we are all for equality of the sexes and that our children - despite their sex - are free to grow up and be whomever they want to be. But in our actions, and words, we contribute to the same gender biased crap that the media spews out every day. Partially because we too were brainwashed and partially because for many of us, we agree with the media.
Boys in pink tutus threaten us. So do aggressive women in suits. Emotional boys, girls who hate dresses and the boys who wish they could wear them. All of these images make most of us cringe because they do not fall within our definitions of girl and boy. They are other. They are wrong. They should be changed.
But that is not the truth. Pink and blue are just colors. What's wrong with orange and black? Girl and boy are just genders. People are so much more interesting and complicated than the social norms we prescribe for them. And no I'm not talking about sexual orientation. That's a whole 'nother bag of chips that I could go on and on about. I'm talking just about gender expression. Your biological sex is what you were born with, but that doesn't necessarily mean you cleanly and conveniently are team blue or team pink. Most of us are an explosive spectrum of colors and grow in to people with opinions and choices that are far more varied than the world's definition of boy or girl.
Why do we do this? Why do we tell our boys they can't cry and then wonder why they have anger management issues? Why do we constantly compliment our girls on how they look and then wonder why they garner their self respect on their body image? Why do we place the burden of "family provider" on our boys and then wonder why they crack under the pressure? Why do our highest hopes for our girls amount to their wedding day and then wonder why they're barely making over minimum wage?
So after the reveal is over, but before you run out to the store to shower us with blue or pink, just take a deep breath and think. Girls can like trains and trucks and blue. Boys can like princesses and ponies and pink. Girls can be firemen and never want children or husbands. Boys can be hair stylists and stay-at-home-dads. And the saddest part, is that even after I've done all of this writing, most of you still cringed after reading those last two sentences.
I'm not saying that people with gender expressions that happen to match their biological sex are wrong or denying their true selves in some way. With my training in the field of women's and gender studies I was fully prepared to raise a gender bending child and fight off society with a stick if they got in her way. But that's not who Emma is. Emma, despite my attempts to expose her to a plethora of choices, adores princesses and pink; ballerinas and ponies just like "most" girls. I sometimes scratch my head in wonder at how I had this obvious "girlie girl." But then I remember my research and I am reminded that people are who they are and it's up to us to let them be that. We should of course guide them to be kind, respectful, and wise. I'm not saying that a kid who shows proclivities towards becoming a bully should be encouraged to "be themselves." That's ridiculous. I'm saying that if a child is interested in becoming or doing something that may exist outside of the lines of your comfort zone - but doesn't hurt anybody - consider that it may be ok. Your children will hopefully not only thank you for it someday, but it would cut down tremendously on their therapy bills.
If you are willing, try exposing your children to all of the cultures, philosophies, and dreams that you can, regardless of their sex or your personal beliefs. Try to look at them without the filter of gender and see who they are as people - not the people society expects them to be. You might see a lot that you were missing before.
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Emma: Mom, are birds warm-blooded or cold-blooded?
Carina: Well, what does it mean to be cold-blooded?
Emma: You have to be in the sun all the time to stay warm.
Carina: Do you know of any birds that live in the winter? We learned about some last night.
Emma: Well, yeah, but if birds are warm-blooded, then why do they bother migrating for the winter?