Over at Feministe, Lauren wrote about the tendency of some (important word that is, “some”) child-free/childless feminists to look down their noses at parents, specifically at mothers.

A few good sound-bytes:

My identity is not defined by my parenthood, but my life is. Without a child I wouldn’t feel as obligated to work as much as I do, to avoid such debt, to secure meaningful assets, or to better myself or the world. I’m naturally one selfish wench who would rather not be bothered by real world ephemera, and I recognize that having my little one in my life makes me a better person even if he isn’t the only thing I strive for. As for other adults in my world, I hope that they have the decency to well-wish my child even if they don’t care for or love him. My parenting theory does not obligate a random adult to a stranger’s child, just hopes that they recognize that children are indeed little people who haven’t yet grown up and thus continue to make bad decisions.**

Not that I’ve turned into a philanthrope, mind you. I reserve the right to hate stupid adults.

Emphasis added. While a few commenters have taken exception to this phrase, I believe that I know where Lauren comes from here. Having a child in no way makes me morally superior to a person/woman/feminist who doesn’t have kids. In my life, having a child made me a better person. YMMV. I’ve said before that having a daughter has also made me a feminist at all — not “just” a “better” one.

In a nutshell, my theory of parenting is as follows.

Children: Little people making bad decisions.

Adults: Helping little people make less bad decisions.

Parents: Obligated to help, to the best of their ability, their little people make the best decisions they can.

This description is, IMO, worth typing up and framing. Or, if I were into that sort of thing, cross-stitching and surrounding with hearts and flowers to hang in the kitchen. (But that’s not my bag, baby.) I’m fond or telling people often, “I don’t see my responsibility as being to raise a well-behaved child. My job is to raise a highly-functional, emotionally healthy adult.” That just leads back to the same point: a parent’s job is to help a child learn to make good decisions (as the child is able and it’s age-appropriate), so that the child can make good decisions solo in the future.

Anyway, here’s the post: Little People with Poor Deduction Skills.

Take a look at the comments. They get a bit heated at times, but I largely find myself unoffended by them, more just informed to others’ perspectives. To the comment thread, I add my thoughts about assuming kids to be brats based on prior experience. (ZuZu talked about this one, and I don’t blame her at all. Besides, even if I did, that doesn’t change the fact that she’s completely entitled to an opinion!)

As a single parent, I take my daughter with me to many more places than most parents typically would. Simple example: I like to eat out. If I want to eat out, that usually means that Maya goes with me. Teaching her (and modeling for her) proper behavior in a public place has meant that now I can take her out even more than I used to. It’s not uncommon for one of those who glared as we entered to later approach and tell me how well-behaved she is in a restaurant. Reasons for this:

• Restaurants (or other “grown-up” places) are not strange to her, so it doesn’t seem odd to her to behave differently in a bistro than, say, McDonald’s.
• I don’t allow her to run around. Trust me, she would LOVE to do so. When we’re in an appropriate setting, I love nothing more than to let Maya wander freely and explore her surroundings. A restaurant is not that setting, and the rule has been, while people are eating, she remains in her seat. This isn’t negotiable, and she’s come to accept it. It’s also meant that a few times when I’ve wanted longer for dinner (and her patience has run thin), we’ve ordered dessert so I could finish my wine, damnit.

Expectations are the name of the game, folks. When/if we hit the point where Maya cannot/will not behave in an “adult” setting, she won’t go. But I feel pretty safe that she gets the basic idea so far.

Speaking of expectations, I’ll sometimes run into the grumpy kids-are-by-nature-a-pain-in-the-ass types of people while we’re out and about. Sample conversation:

Grumpy makes eye-contact with Maya, then me.

I smile. It’s a habit. I’m extroverted that way.

Grumpy: How old is she?

Me: (gives age)

Grumpy: She must be a handful for you.
(Implication: kids are, and therefore your kid is, a total pain in the ass)

Me: Oh, she’s a blast. We really enjoy each other’s company, and I’m lucky to have her.

Grumpy wanders off muttering something to the effect of “just you wait.”

These sorts of conversations seem meaningless on the surface, but I consider them important for two reasons:

1. I just might open Grumpy to the idea that not all kids are pains. I might not, but at least Grumpy learns not to diss my kid to me.
2. More importantly — MUCH more importantly — Maya starts hearing from a very young age that I like her. It’s one thing for a child to know her parents love her. That’s expected, so it’s really not a heroic feat. It’s more powerful for her to realize that I not only love her, but I like and enjoy her.

We will continue to wander in public places, and I’ll eternally learn what behavior is or isn’t appropriate in different places, often by trial and error. But, at least we try, and we’re not shut-ins.

This one arrived today, in 30-point typeface. I love, love, love the woman who sent it. I hate the email. It’s supposed to be cute. It’s not. It manages to insult both men and women, then expect that we should laugh at it. Yuck, yuck, yuck.

Men Are Just Happier People– What do you expect from such simple creatures? Your last name stays put. The garage is all yours. Wedding plans take care of themselves. Chocolate is just another snack. You can be President.

Screeeeeech! Brakes! A woman can be President. Just because one hasn’t, that doesn’t mean we can’t be. On the less-irritating front, the garage IS MINE. Of course, I live alone, but even if I didn’t, I’d expect equal rights. And he’d get equal rights to the kitchen.

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Go Fug Yourself is one of my favorite guilty pleasures. I mean, c’mon…I’m not a fashionista (although I tried really hard in high school, as some highly-embarassing 1980s-era photos will attest), but some of GFY’s photos show people who beg to be mocked. I’m not above a little mockery. So sue me.

Hugo recently posted about the LA Times’ article on the “Sausage-Casing Girls” (ie, “what was she thinking?!?”). Many of us opined what drives women to criticize and critique others’ clothing choices (and whether it’s acceptable for us to do so — isn’t feminism about choice, after all?). Today, at GFY, Jessica gave one pretty plausible explanation: for the love of god, people…stop making us uncomfortable!

In fact, it reminds me of something I once read on the subject of etiquette, which was that rules for social behavior don’t exist to control people, but rather to make everyone feel comfortable. I think we’ve all been in a situation where, say, you’re eating a cheeseburger at Hamburger Habit and the sun is shining and the birds are singing and the boy you like called you and your skinny jeans fit and all is right in the world. And you look at the table across from you, and a woman is sitting there in too tight low-rise jeans and SERIOUSLY? You can see her entire butt and thong. And I guarantee you what happens next: every girl at your table reaches back to make sure that her own derriere hasn’t made a break for it, everyone then quietly wonders if she can’t feel the draft, and then everyone can’t stop looking at her thong, but not in a hot way. In, like, a “should I TELL her that her thong is hanging out, or is she doing that on purpose?” kind of way. And then she leaves and everyone is relived.

So save us some social angst, ladies who like to flash your panties on purpose, and cut it out. Because of you, none of us know whether or not the girl at Hamburger Habit is thonging it up on purpose or not, and therefore, we are unable to decide if it would be sisterly to hand her a sweater to tie around her waist, or if that would insult her. And all we really wanted was a cheeseburger.

On a side note, the “British Pakistani Celebrity” in question is absolutely stunning, fashion choices aside. But seriously, if she really had to wear that dress, why put white panties on under it? Red for contrast, perhaps. Black for a nice blend. Nude to evoke the “does she, or doesn’t she?” question. But white? I’m perplexed.

As if I needed justification? Conveniently, I already had a mom-date on the books for tonight with a group of local gals whom I really like — smart, funny, and educated! If I weren’t working, I’d see them more often…but damn it all…

One gal sent this article with the email titled, “Proof that moms’ nights out are medically necessary:”

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In at least one anti-feminist post, I’ve read people posit that they “used to be feminist, but then [they] had kids.”

What.Ever.

Having a daughter has been an eye-opening experience about gender roles in our society. While I might have some left over baggage from the messages I’ve heard all my life, you’d better damned well know I will fight like crazy to ensure my daughter doesn’t hear the same. Maya has inspired me to learn more about (and embrace) feminism.

I’ve always loved Disney animated movies. My senior year in high school, I wrote an essay for English that looked at their place in movie culture and beginnings with Snow White. These days, however, I see them very differently as I look at the messages about gender roles that they may deliver to my toddler’s spongelike psyche.

We planned a 6-mile hike this morning, but the weather didn’t cooperate. It’s Saturday morning at the movies instead, and The Little Mermaid is on display. I’ve avoided picking up some of the older Disney “princess” movies, but it’s time to shelf this one too, as much as I’ve loved it. Here’s my take on the messages this movie imparts:

1. A girl *needs* a guy to be complete.
2. Girls are empty-headed and care about nothing more than catching the cute prince’s attention.
3. Girls should throw away their talents in order to get the guy.
4. If a woman is powerful, she is an evil bitch.
5. If a woman is powerful, she is ugly and undesirable.
6. The fat girl won’t get the guy. (song: Poor Unfortunate Souls)
7. The scrawny guy won’t get the girl.
8. Being thin (female) or muscular (male) and coupled up = happiness.
9. Even when you’ve thrown your life down the toilet, it’s okay. Daddy will step in to save you. (Let’s not analyze this one too closely, shall we?)
10. It’s okay to marry at 16, before you’ve even come close to developing a concept of self. After all, the (equally empty-headed) Prince will look after you.

Don’t even get me started on the concept of happily-ever-after. Life is real, and marriage is just the beginning of a new part of your life, not a happy ending. Anyone who thinks otherwise is begging for misery (and lots of marriage counseling and/or divorce) farther down the road.

I’m sure there’s more, but that’s what comes to me off the top of my head. This makes me very happy that Maya’s favorite movies are Toy Story 1 and 2. While they are significantly lacking in female characters, at least their entire story isn’t rooted in patriarchal bullshit.

The Little Mermaid is now officially shelved. Sigh.

I just finished what was a difficult session with my counselor, but one that provided insight into some ideas I believed true (deep down, if not consciously), but hadn’t even considered.

One of the biggest presenting symptoms for me with this current dip into depression is frustration with my seeming inability to get. stuff. done. It’s not that I’m incapable. It’s not that I don’t know what to do. I just don’t do it. This can be something as simple as mailing invitations for a party or as complex as applying for professional positions and/or graduate school. Through a conversation where my counselor had to pretty much pull ideas from my head with pliers (I just wasn’t getting there on my own and was really tense/anxious.), two primary aspects of my current lie-based thinking emerged:

1. No one will ever take me seriously.
   This one has appended to it, “because I’m a girl.” The very fact that this one existed in my mind is pure embarassment. Yet, there it was. The culture I grew up in contributed more than a little to this — it was the Deep South, in a backwards, redneck, good-ol-boys type of small town. While I *intellectually* reject this notion, it was still lurking in the back of my mind. I’m hopeful that calling it by name will do me some good, because it’s a ridiculous idea.

2. If I am successful, I will be alone.
   This one’s a lot more straightforward, and yet it was the embedded lie that surprised me the most — and which explains the most about my tendency to torpedo anything great I have going in my life. In that backwater town I called home from age 8 to 18, it wasn’t a particularly cool thing to be a smart kid. Especially not a female smart kid. Or a female, goody-goody smart kid. I was all three, and emblematic of that was the “trophy” that I won each and every year I attended one particular private school — a trophy for earning the best grades. I usually would come home with trophies in individual subjects, as well. Being the class brain didn’t earn me a whole lot of popularity — but it did give me a deeply-rooted sense that if I wanted to fit in, ever, I needed to dumb myself down a lot. *Especially* as a female, I needed to not showboat, be the best, and “take away” some prize that “rightfully belonged” to a boy.

   It only follows from this twisted logic, that I *can’t* let myself succeed. I mean, really, the last thing I want is to be ALONE. (To clarify this, I’m not just talking about dating here — this isn’t about being married or not. It’s about enjoying acceptance, camraderie, and a connection in my social life, whether from male or female friends.)

Interesting stuff, that. I feel lighter after pulling this tangled mess out of my head, and I’m hopeful that over the coming days and weeks, my perspectives toward myself and my gender will shift from an superficial intellectual acceptance to a deeper level.

Oh, and maybe I’ll get shit done.

Who the hell picks a username like “DominantDan” anyway?

I am looking for a strong, fiesty spirited submissive who’s willing to challenge my mind, as well as obediently serve her Master for both our needs.

Oh, that’s who. And this person send *me* a wink? Wha…?