o pioneers

This is potentially going to be a really passive-aggressive post. Just thought you should be fore-warned. How passive aggressive it actually turns out to be remains to be seen, as the post-Ladyfest hashing-shit-out meeting is tonight.
Without further ado, here is my favorite moment from Ladyfest Bellingham 2010:

In case you can't make out what is happening, a mama deer and her two babies appeared and trotted across Holly Street. I ran across the parking lot to take thier photo. That's right; my favorite moment had nothing to do with Ladyfest. Kimya's performance was a close second; as I described, it was awesome. But that was because of Kimya, not Ladyfest.
I had really high hopes for this festival. I LOVE Ladyfest -- the Olympia one -- and I love feminism. I love groups of women doing things together. I love influencing change, or trying my damnedest. But this was not any of those things unless you use the most liberal definitions. Yes, women were together in various spaces. They may have been individually feminist. But what I so hoped would happen: the enfranchisement of DIFFERENT women, discussion of the dire, dire, omg life-and-death issues that affect women (especially in our community, which is seeing the highest and most terrifying domestic violence statistics of all time), help for those of us who need it, celebration of the EXPERT, not the casual hobbyist or recent convert...none, or very little, of it happened.
I did my best to bring other types of women to this festival. I'm proud that I was able to work in a frank discussion of childbirth with birth professionals, though so few people came. I'm also disappointed in myself, despite my own baby-related time and schedule limitations, that I didn't push for more involvement and change. So, Ladyfest ladies, if you read this: I blame myself as much, if not more, than I blame you.
My hope for next year (because I am hereby swearing to do next year what I didn't this year) is that we will focus more on real, live ladies. The ones that need our help. The ones that don't feel cool enough to come to punk shows, the ones who don't have babysitters. The ones that are REALLY REALLY good at something, who have tried to make themselves a living, however meager or plentiful (because wealth is not a disqualifier), and could use our free support. My hope is that next year, we won't shoot ourselves in the feet so many times with (yes) bad jokes and frivolity. That we won't lob the local, strangely anti-Ladyfest press so. Many. Softballs.
I don't want to despair at the state of young feminism in this country. I don't think I need to, rather I should probably just despair at the state of youth in general. But these ladies have so much spark and smarts and potential that I'd hate to see waste away in Bellingham's myriad dive bars. May they stay long enough to grow into their intelligence and help this town out of its rut. I'll be here to do my part.

fathers' day

Yesterday was Nathan's first Fathers' Day. It didn't go exactly according to plan, but that aligns pretty well with what it means to be a parent.


We went to the Mariners game, which seemed endlessly intriguing to George. He got overwhelmed a few times, but was really into the million different television-like screens that surrounded us, and the fact that mama and papa couldn't keep him from looking at them.



Before we left, I took great pleasure in exposing myself to an emptying stadium.



I heard and read a lot of negative energy and rhetoric being bandied about right before and on Fathers' Day. I completely understand people's distate for Hallmark holidays, but for those who forego celebrating them in favor of complaining: I really hope you do an amazing job of expressing your gratitude and love EVERY SINGLE other day of the year. I, for one, regrettably do not, and so Nathan, I hope this rainy, rushing Fathers' Day made you feel even one iota of the love and gratitude we have for you. We're a couple of lucky ducks. Chickens. Turduckens.

bobby-o

Ladyfest is this weekend. I’ve been involved in the planning. To say that it differs from my expectations when I first got involved would be an understatement. But I’m helping, I’m meeting some new people, making friends with some girls that make me feel really, really old sometimes and still young, others. I’m trying to let go of my view of what an ideal Ladyfest might be and just be grateful that we’ve created a space wherein some women and girls can feel that their contributions are valuable.
So far, the biggest payoff has been sitting in a park, on the first sunny evening in what seems like years, singing along with Kimya Dawson and feeling a sense of community, not just with the women around me who were a hodgepodge of new friends, former roommates, old friends and strangers, but with everyone, kind of. There were people — notably, dudes — pedaling the bike that powered the show. There was an amazing lady floating seamlessly between potty jokes and riveting, crushing honesty.

There was a leveled audience sitting cross-legged in front of her. And, of course, there was my baby, charming the pants off of everyone.

I’m lucky to have a feminist family. Happy Summer, you guys.

judgment

Full disclosure: I am a really judgmental person. I always have been. As previously stated, I am very decisive (unless we're talking about dinner, in which case I just want it to magically appear in front of my face). If I find something I haven't already made up my mind about, I research it within an inch of its life and make a decision quickly. I like to be well-informed because I like to argue but hate to be wrong. LET'S BE FRIENDS!

I can -- because I've had to -- often (obviously, not always) separate the person from his or her decisions. Just because you circumsized your son doesn't mean I think you're a bad person (though I most definitely think it was a really, really regrettable choice). Maybe you scheduled a c-section or didn't breastfeed and you plop your kid in an exersaucer for two hours at a time. We can still squeal together over how cute our babies are. I try. I try SO HARD, you guys, to be nice. Sometimes I even feel a little shameful about the path we're on. Example: At Temple, some people asked George's Hebrew name. He doesn't have one; he didn't have a bris. Would I love for him to have a naming ceremony that didn't include genital mutilation? YES. Is that available in this community? Not that I can find. So, I hemmed and hawed and finally offered up his middle name as some kind of consolation to these strangers who have no vested interest in my son's privates.
please don
My best friend in all the world told me shortly after George was born that the few months after her eldest daughter's birth was a terribly lonely time for her. Her gut told her one thing and everyone else told her others. When she finally started following her gut, she found that the world opened up to her: resources appeared and validated the choices she made with love, not herd mentality or selfishness (the desire for more sleep, more time to ourselves, unencumbered life-in-general). I was lucky to have been given that bit of wisdom so early on, and the freedom to be a loving, intentional parent has made my decisions a lot easier.

a very merry half-birthday

Yesterday, George turned six months old. A whole half year. The other day, a friend summed up life with an infant perfectly: the days are interminable and the months go by fast as lightning. One minute you are holding a peely, puffy-eyed newborn and the next, he is sitting up and jamming the spoon of sweet potatoes into his own mouth, grinning. If someone had told me that my baby would refuse to sleep alone (or at all, in the beginning), be a constant nurser for the first 3 months of his life, never nap, get teeth at four months or generally be as assertive as George has proven himself, I may have rethought pregnancy. What a terrible mistake that would've been.


Those are precisely the reasons that I love my son. He knows what he wants. He comes by his particularity honestly; I am easily the most decisive and opinionated person I know. He makes his needs known. His boundaries are firm. These are the qualities I most prize in my best-loved friends and family. He wants to be close to those who love him. He is hungry often and lets me soothe him with food, like the Italian and Polish mama in me wants to do. When he's happy, which he mostly is, it's unbridled, honest, without affectation. He has a lot more to teach me.