Schmutzie All-In-One

169/365: Like Swine to the Sea

2013-06-18T23:01:45-00:00

Say it because it is obvious.
Do it because, of course, there is no other way for you.
Write it down, paint it,
tap it into code that builds the framework that contains it.
Make it.
Say it because it is obvious.
Let them hate you for it,
because you don't have to live in their ugly skin.
It is like driving demon swine into the sea.
All the loud and terrifying noise doesn't matter anymore
once they've gone over the cliff. *

----------------------------

* This is a reference to a story in the Bible in which Jesus casts demon spirits into a large number of pigs, who then throw themselves into a body of water.

168/365: Peeling Paint

2013-06-18T05:18:00-00:00

Falling asleep in my chair
to the tick of the radiator
feels safe here.
I waiver between consciousnesses,
list the things I have to paint,
pretend that I will create a tidy home,
but, secretly, I like the peeling.

When I am old
and being wedged out of my apartment,
some younger person will point at my windows
as proof of my inability to care for myself.
They will not know
that I curated them like artifacts,
like art,
that I ran my fingertips over the rising flakes,
watched colours peel away in layers,
and imagined who painted that layer,
who picked that colour,
what furniture it matched.
Did the person who painted the frame
keep the doors closed
to hem in the delicious fumes a little longer?
Did they argue with a partner
about a particular shade of yellow?
Aidan and I went on for some time
about shades of bird's egg.

I list how many cans and what kinds of brushes,
I decide on a warm shade of cream, maybe two,
and I tie a tea towel around a dripping pipe.
I've already written this story.

How's Your Blog Doing?

2013-06-17T17:26:37Z

When it comes to you and your presence on the internet, it's a common urge to phrase your answer to this question relative to how you perceive other people in your niche are doing on the internet.

Dooce has 1,548,465 followers on Twitter and The Pioneer Woman scored a cooking show on television. All I've got is a couple thousand followers and a poem in the church newsletter.

These are the walls in a room in William Faulkner's house, which I visited in December 2011.

If your kneejerk response is to find people you perceive to be more successful than yourself to overshadow the force of your own accomplishments, STOP IT.

The internet is full of people who are more popular than you and have nicer skin and have more diverse talents and know better how to match paint chips to that vintage Eames rocking chair in that reading nook in their house that is big enough to have a reading nook.

Those peope are not you who shook so hard she spilled her coffee trying to hit send when she submitted that first poem to the Church Chatter. That photographer with the amazing online classes isn't you who saved all her change from grocery shopping and the drug store until she could afford her first real DSLR camera to shoot her brother's wedding.

Not to denigrate any of the skills and accomplishments of those who we deem successful, because they worked hard to be where they are, too, but they are not you. You are the person who has faced fear and adversity in your life and done it anyway. You maybe haven't stepped up to the plate every single time, but you are still the one who's done it. When it comes to the things about which you are passionate, the things that you love, you have set a standard for hard work and success, and, if you haven't, you can set that standard now.

You might not yet have been sprinkled with fairy dust or hit upon that perfect combination of your specific skill set and content and social networking that brings hundreds of thousands of internet admirers to your yard — maybe your blog is secretly acting as a springboard into something that's not even blog-related — but you likely have the possibility of success written into the threads of what you are passionate about creating.

You don't have to be the picture of your success right now to be in a great position to foster its possibility.

Your own, actual, present success is your best guide to tell you how you are doing, and the best part? Success is not a stagnant pond. It begets itself, even in its smallest pieces, and sometimes all it takes is for you to recognize your success where you have already created it.

So, on your own terms, how's your blog doing now?

The above entry has been republished from my now-defunct domain, Ninjamatics.com. It was originally published in April 2011 and has been edited slightly for currency.

]]>

167/365: Knitted Continuity

2013-06-17T01:58:03-00:00

I wonder what it is like up there
in a mind that forgets.
I wonder if it knits together continuity
out of all the dropped threads
just as ours do,
looping narrative through the scenes
to keep us moving left to right
along the line and out the door.

Shame and a Haircut, Two Bits *

2013-06-16T04:13:17Z

I got a real haircut after years of doing it myself with clippers, because I am a grownup, and I want to look like I don't cut my own hair. It turned out to be a good decision, because I loved my new haircut.

It grew out really fast, though, and so I made an appointment with my new fabulous hairdresser, for she truly was fabulous, but I missed that appointment, because I had a terrible cold. She said that she would definitely be available to cut my hair before I spoke at Mom 2.0 Summit and to call when I was feeling better, but when I called, she didn't call back.

And then I called again, but she didn't call back again.

And then I called a third time, and I left a message that said: "I know this is, like, the third call in six hours, but I'm really nervous about this conference, and I love what you did with my hair."

And then I called a fourth time, and I left a message that said: "Hi, I'm that person who called three times yesterday. I swear I'm not crazy. I just really like you and what you did with my hair. And you said you'd cut it before I left."

And then I called a fifth time, and I left a message that said: "So, yeah, it's me again. At this point, I am that crazy client you are trying to avoid. I get that. But would you still cut my hair? I'm really nervous about this conference. Did I tell you that I'm really nervous about this conference? Because I'm really nervous about this conference."

And then I called a sixth time, and I left a message that said: "Wow, six messages in only two days. This is some kind of record. Call me!"

At this point, I was wishing I could break up with me as a client.

Cue day three.

I called a seventh time, and I left a message in this faux-breezy, we're-nearly-best-friends, familiar voice that said: "Wow! Crazy, huh? It's me again. I leave for my conference tomorrow, so if you can fit me in at all, that'd be great. I swear I'm not a stalker. Or weird. Okay, I might be weird, but I'm not stalking you, I swear it. I really swear it. Later!"

And then, I walked down to the hair salon to see if she was there, because that's totally what non-stalkers do.

Thankfully, she wasn't there, and thankfully she had been away for a few days, which explained the lack of returned calls, and probably the lack of a restraining order, so I got my hair cut by someone else who had a chair free at the salon. The cut wasn't really what the first hairdresser had done, but it sufficed for my trip.

It has now been more than a month since then, and my hair was really showing it this morning.

I knew I had to get it cut, but the only person who cuts it the way I like probably thinks I am a giant freak of a client who must be avoided at all costs, so I didn't want to try calling her again. What to do? What to do?

Clippers!

I used to do this kind of thing all the time, remember?

Plus, it's totally a normal thing to harrass a hairdresser through a series of phone calls in which you claim to be sane and also not stalking her, and then to decide to shave off all of your hair with clippers rather than face her again so you can have cool hair.

I chose the thickest attachment I could find in our clippers box, threw the switch, and buzzed all of my old cool haircut off.

I ended up clippering off a lot of hair, and I didn't resolve my shame issues, and they probably have a picture of me up at the salon as a warning to the other hairdressers, but I think everything turned out surprisingly alright. At least, I think I can leave the house without looking all shaggy and dishevelled.

The downside of this clippers decision, though, is that I was all hyped to be the kind of person who looked like she paid for her haircuts again, and now I've reverted to home-jobby buzzcuts.

Anyone know how to convince a person who hardly knows you that you are, in fact, totally sane, despite all evidence to the contrary?

* The title of this entry is a play on the seven-note musical couplet shave and a haircut, two bits! ]]>

166/365: Saturday Home Comfort

2013-06-16T01:34:00-00:00

Our house smells of laundry and smoke,
a mixture of chores and our neighbour's supper,
and the sink is again the soft white of new adult teeth,
scrubbed so with a sponge after Sunday's news.
It's a circle of regularity and warmth,
rhythm and solidity,
that pulls us inside itself
like a drawstring purse.
I like it here
and wish it were a place rather than a time
where I could visit at will
and bring friends who need the comfort.

165/365: Fullness

2013-06-14T20:11:00-00:00

We've eaten it all:
the sausage and the sauces,
the bowls of ice cream.
Now we talk about our lives
and commiserate warmly.

----------------------------

The above poem is based on the Japanese tanka.

Five Star Friday's 242nd Edition Is Brought to You By Javier Marías

2013-06-14T17:39:10-00:00

This week's Five Star Friday is brought to you by love for a father over the years, parenting through childhood mental illness, accepting truth of your emotional needs, a car accident, a history with phone tapping, using your time to do greater things, loving simply, food and recovery, the joy in amateur passions, and Javier Marías:

photo credit: Carmen Alonso Suarez

To think of posterity nowadays is ludicrous because things do not last. Books seem to last more than films or records but even they do not last very long. Now more than ever, we depend on the mercy of the living.

— Javier Marías, in "Javier Marias, The Art of Fiction No. 190", interviewed by Sarah Fay in The Paris Review

Happy Friday!

"A Father's Frown" by David Leite at Leite's Culinaria:

At that moment, I no longer cared what he had done or said years ago. All that mattered was that he loved me and I loved him. There wasn't time for tears, though. I had work to finish. Because I knew that when I put a plate of blintzes before my father and he took his first bite, we'd show our love in our old familiar way.

"How to Keep It Together When Your Child Is In Crisis — Or Not" by Amanda Jette Knox at The Maven of Mayhem:

He's a superhero, that one. His cape might be a little tattered at the moment, but I can't wait to watch him fly again.

"You're Not Needy. You're Starving" by Rachel W. Cole at RachelWCole.com:

So you're starving. That's okay.

You can begin there. Begin bit by bit. or bite by bite.

Begin by renaming this 'neediness' with a more accurate term: hunger.

"The Bruising Will Come Later" by enderFP at The Red Monkey Blog:

The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things that you get ashamed of because words diminish them — words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size they they're brought out.

"Tapped Out: Phone Monitoring, Young Love, and Me" by Dan Sinker at DanSinker.com:

I wish I could say I was outraged by the NSA PRISM project, by the collection of cellphone metadata, by any of it. I am disturbed by all of it, disappointed for sure, but outrage would imply that my worldview was shattered. But the world I've lived in for a long time is the world we've all been plunged into with the revelations this week.

"Part 5: Thousands of "Wrong!"s Do Make a Right, After All." by Jennifer Gilbert at The Trephine:

If you regret something, you should fix it if you can, even if it will take a while. I’m with my mom on this one: That time is going to go by anyway.

"Six Words You Should Say Today" by Rachel at Hands Free Mama:

When simply watching someone makes your heart feel as if it could explode right out of your chest, you really should let that person know.

It is as simple and lovely as that.

"Life Without an Oven" by Elissa Altman at Poor Man's Feast:

In the coming months — eighteen of them, before I moved back to Manhattan to get on with the business of my life — my grandmother's ancient aluminum pots clattered on the stovetop, their bottoms rounded and dimpled with age. I chopped with my great-grandmother's hockmesser — the four pound, wood-handled cleaver she carried over from Romania; I steamed what needed steaming in a white enameled colander set over a pot of boiling water; I wine-braised spatch-cocked pigeon in an old Teflon fry pan covered with a warped cookie sheet; I dredged Branzino in seasoned egg and flour and slid it into a hot, butter-coated 1930s oval metal casserole that had baked decades of kugel; I drank cheap red wine out of the tiny four-ounce milk glasses of my childhood Sunday afternoons; I drizzled warm, sectioned figs with the dregs of my grandfather's Slivovitz that I found in the depths of the hall closet, buried behind torn shopping bags bursting with the fading letters that my father had written to his parents from the Pacific during World War II when he was nineteen.

"For the Love" by Kent Lassman at Radical Immersion:

I believe we are all amateurs. Learning, striving, improving, and critically, competing. All of us get paid when we do well. The means of payment vary and the measure of a good performance is highly personal, but we all get back as much or more than what we put into the sport. That is how love works in other aspects of life too. When you give it freely, it multiplies, enriches and is paid back.

Please come back and share good writing with us over the coming week to be featured on the next Five Star Friday. Submit it by Thursday at midnight CST to have it featured on Five Star Friday.

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Slow, Grey Morning

2013-06-14T15:57:23-00:00

taken with Phototastic using a Nokia Lumia 920 Windows phone

I am taking part in the Microsoft Canada #SummerSwitch program, which means that I am test-driving a Nokia Lumia 920 Windows phone for 30 days throughout June and early July. The first thing I did was ferret out some camera apps, because I am nothing if not a phone camera enthusiast. So far, so good.

164/365: The Math of the Staircase

2013-06-13T17:54:00-00:00

At five,
I lined up toys along the sides of the staircase,
each one a step in my chronology,
my brother's hand-me-downs at the top,
followed by my baby toys,
followed by my fingerpaints and wooden cards box,
and then me at the bottom with my blankie,
the finished one,
the one issued from the math of the staircase.
My future stairs
pushed up and away to the landing,
growing me tall.

163/365: Safety In Watching

2013-06-12T19:25:00-00:00

One whispered while the other sucked the end of her braid,
smiling, eyes sideways.
What passed for friendship was conspiracy.
I watched and drew maps in my mind,
drew lines with my eyes that ran from her to her to that child over there,
lines that described a plane I did not traverse,
and I felt safe.

Spread

2013-06-12T07:30:02-00:00

taken with Hipstamatic, and then run through Camera+

The Palinode and I spent the evening of our 12th wedding anniversary visiting with good friends over piles of food. It felt warm and affirming, and, yes, I would do this all again. I really would.

162/365: Waiting for the Last Day

2013-06-12T05:21:00-00:00

I stayed with my grandmother for a week that summer,
and the light upstairs cast off orange from the wallpaper
in a warm glow that coloured my skin and the dusty air.
I read all of my aunt's old 1970s fashion magazines
and threaded the models' faces into a blue typewriter
to tap out sad messages on their skin.

Late at night,
I pretended I was an artist
in a town where no one knew me at all,
and when the moon was out and the air prickled my skin,
I walked barefoot through people's gardens
and crawled to smell their vegetables
and pet the stray cats the farmers had dropped off in town
for all the old ladies to feed by their back doors.

When I returned, no one asked where I had been.
We snapped peas at the table
while my grandmother talked about church meetings,
and I knew that it was my last summer
in the same way that one knows the fact of their being.
I had somehow been erased by the dark
as I slipped through the nights
on white feet over cool stones
down back alleys
under an anonymous moon.
It was a knowledge that felt honest and quiet,
and I relished the current of time
as it washed over my skin
while I waited
for the last day.

Stop Working For Free Online And Show Them What You're Worth

2013-06-11T17:04:37Z

The following entry is republished from my now-defunct domain, Ninjamatics.com.

This is Utah Phillips. I just stuck my photo of him up here because he was an activist, and I'm pretending that he would nod along and agree with me.

There is truth behind the statement that you teach people how to treat you, which is why it chaps my now raw butt that bloggers at any level of popularity would work for companies for free.

I have read articles that talk about the importance of personal choice and how those who would write articles and do giveaways without pay should be free to do so. I agree. They should be free to do so. That doesn't stop them from also chapping my butt when they do, though, and, I think, for good reason.

There are exceptions to every rule. There are book reviews done as favours to friends and the receipt of a product whose value more than makes up for the work you put into a giveaway. Yay for friends with books and getting expensive boots you could never afford!

However, sometimes (read: more often than not) a large or mid-sized company (or any company, really) asks a blogger to:

spend time writing for them, and maybe also
go out to get a product on their own or visit an establishment, and maybe also
run a giveaway, and possibly also, by extension,
be given access to all of the blogger's followers on Twitter and friends on Facebook and the readers of their weblog, which are all relationships they've cultivated and probably value, and then the company has the gall to also
ask that the blogger to do it for free or for a coupon that is not even near worth the investment of their time, hard work, skills, and personal relationships.

This is what a company tells a blogger by suggesting this sort of relationship:

A company that asks a blogger to work without proper compensation is telling that blogger that it does not value them or their work.

And this is what we tell a company when we willingly enter into this kind of relationship:

Bloggers who give away their time, hard work, skills, and access to their personal relationships for nothing or next to nothing are telling that company that the company's valuation of them and subsequent treatment is appropriate.

I've been approached by Big Important Companies, and it feels flattering that they noticed me and thought enough of what I do to tap me for an article and a giveaway to my readers, but I can guarantee that, in most cases, Big Important Company was not getting the same warm fuzzy feeling for me. They were hoping to get work out of me on the free side of cheap.

The proof of a company's valuation of you is in the pudding, though. Either they compensate you or they don't, and, if not, I'm just not feeling the love.

You represent free outreach that they didn't have to do themselves plus maybe a $25 coupon for their own company's product, which really amounts to them spending $5 plus postage to use you for your skills and the extended reach you've cultivated. And you? You just gave away – and, yes, I'm going to list it again – your time, hard work, skills, and personal relationships for a couple of bars of soap or a few free cups of coffee. It's your prerogative to do so, but know that you are, in effect, not only working for free but also transmitting the idea that it is okay for them to expect it not only of you but also of others.

To put it in perspective, if a business in your city asked if you would reach out to potential customers using contact lists that you have personally cultivated over several years, write engaging copy for them, and also manage a giveaway campaign for the super fantastic low, low offer of a $25 coupon that you can only use in their company store, you'd probably hold out for the next job offer, wouldn't you?

I know I would.

----------------------------

ADDITIONALLY: There is an argument that writers in magazines are not compensated directly by companies when they are given products to review, because direct payment for reviews will be seen as payment for positive reviews. This argument is invalid on two counts:

It equates the blogger's work situation with the magazine writer's situation, and they are not usually the same. A blogger is often not employed by anyone who is going to put forth any compensation whatsoever for their work if it does not come directly from the advertiser, whereas the magazine's writer is rightfully going to be paid for their work whether it is from the advertiser or not.

No one assumes that the magazine writer should be happy not getting paid at all because they got free eye shadow. Although, maybe magazine writers do have their pay cut off for the hours they spend trying out and writing about shampoo samples. Correct me if I'm wrong.
Receiving free products to review is just as likely to be seen as a brand's attempt to influence positive articles about their product as receiving payment for reviews is. Not everyone will write positive reviews about free products that they don't like very much, but many will in an attempt to gain favour with a company, especially if that company has other products which the blogger will like better and might want free access to, or if that blogger is trying to make a name for themselves and create an impression.

It's my guess that any blogger who would falsely write a more positive review for money would also falsely write a more positive review for a free pair of shoes.

Not paying for a blogger's work to advertise your product does little to ensure an unbiased review, but taking a supposedly ethical stance against paid reviews and falsely equating staff/contracted writers with self-employed bloggers definitely ensures that a company gets a hell of a lot of free advertising. ]]>

161/365: Unwinnable

2013-06-10T23:30:00-00:00

So, then,
this will be it.
We will walk away now,
thinking we have won the war.
Know, though:
the war was unwinnable.
There was no war.
Breathe deep.

----------------------------

The above poem is a butterfly cinquain, which is a nine-line syllabic verse that follows the pattern 2 / 4 / 6 / 8 / 2 / 8 / 6 / 4 / 2.

Grace in Small Things: Sunday Edition #137, aka Happy 12th Anniversary to the Palinode and I

2013-06-10T05:15:00Z

1. I got the brilliant chance to marry the Palinode 12 years ago.

2. And I still like having breakfast with him today.

3. And I can't imagine going places without him.

4. And he still likes to look at me.

5. And he at least pretends to find my early onset old lady habits (like hiding condiment packets in my purse) adorable.

Happy 12th anniversary to us!

Wage a battle against embitterment and take part in Grace in Small Things. ]]>

160/365: Consumption

2013-06-10T00:03:00-00:00

It's strange to watch him
as he moves across the lot
like a far stranger.
I think of life without him
and am consumed by the void.

----------------------------

The above poem is based on the Japanese tanka.

Five Reasons Why Auto DMs On Twitter Are Bad and What They Tell Me About You

2013-06-08T18:11:27Z

I'm going to be republishing some old posts from my now-defunct domain, Ninjamatics.com. Please enjoy! Unless you don't.
On Twitter, I tend to follow back just about anyone who follows me. Whether I continue to follow them, though, is up to them.

It only takes one wrong move to completely lose a follower or to find yourself blocked and reported for spam, and that wrong move is frequently an auto DM. An auto DM is a direct message that is instantly sent to your new followers, and, for a variety of reasons, it is a good rule of thumb to avoid using them.

Five Reasons Why Auto DMs On Twitter Are Bad and What They Tell Me About You

Auto DMs are spam. Your auto DM is untargeted and impersonal, which tells me that you would rather drop commercial spam on the down-low than actually converse with me as an individual.

Auto DMs alienate you from your followers. People can smell a robot a mile away on Twitter, and your automatic welcome message or push to buy your product will unplug a follower from your message within seconds. Your lack of interest in personal engagement will translate into your followers' lack of interest in you.

Auto DMs destroy your credibility. Your auto DM will come off as a sales pitch, whether it is one or not. Throwing a sales pitch at a follower before you have built more of a relationship with them makes you look untrustworthy.

Auto DMs increase your risk of being unfollowed. Your auto DM, being as alienating and sales-pitchy as it is, will irritate your followers, because it is pushy, impersonal, and makes them feel devalued. It will inspire them to unfollow you rather than stick around to find out what you have to offer them.

Auto DMs can result in the suspension of your Twitter account. Many people block and report as spam any accounts that auto DM them with useless information, so, along with losing followers, you might lose your Twitter account altogether.

Twitter is social media, and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that social media is about social engagement, so imagine, if you will, that your Twitter followers are fellow guests at a dinner party to which you have been invited. When it comes time to introduce yourself to your fellow dinner guests, do you send a robot in to shove a few sales flyers into their breast pockets before you even say hello?

No, of course not. First, that would be ridiculous. Second, it would be rude and offputting. Third, that kind of behaviour might just get you ejected not only from that particular dinner party but also from any future dinner party, as well. And the icing on the cake? No one would be sad to see you go.

The auto DM is usually a dead end communication-wise. Instead, take the time to engage in conversation with your followers on Twitter. Connect with people. Talk with them, not at them. Listen to what they have to say and share. You'll find that a few dedicated followers are worth far more than a large number of followers who no longer want to hear what you have to say.

PS. Also check out "10 Things That Make You Look Like Spam On Twitter, Even If You're Not". ]]>

159/365: Slow Swing

2013-06-08T15:18:00-00:00

My older brother was calmed by repetition.
He kicked his bed with heavy thumps,
swayed to the rhythm of his own way way way,
and beat out time during tantrums,
his head slamming against walls
until we could hear his teeth.
When my parents would leave,
and the house was quiet,
I would start the metronome
with a slow swing
on the back of the electric organ,
so slow that we anticipated failure
and wondered if it could push over the next arc,
which it would
with a miraculous consistency,
tossing itself
behind its own momentum
over the breach.

158/365: Love Is Slow

2013-06-07T14:48:00-00:00

I praise the kittens
for lounging in the window
and bathing in sun.
We should afford ourselves this.
Life is quick, but love is slow.

----------------------------

The above poem is based on the Japanese tanka.

Five Star Friday's 241st Edition Is Brought to You By A.M. Homes

2013-06-07T06:00:48-00:00

This week's Five Star Friday is brought to you by a frank talk about sexual shame, violence in Turkey, a close-minded mother-in-law, missing a dear grandmother, feminism in Cuba, watching the end of parenthood arriving, the reality of adoption, and A.M. Homes:

photo credit: David Shankbone

I think of writing anything, whether it’s fiction or nonfiction, as almost like writing a piece of music. You have to hit the pitch correctly. Part of the very beginning of something is finding what those first sounds will be. And that helps guide you through the rest of it, whatever it is.

— A.M. Homes in "Out of the Darkness, Richard Wolinsky interviews A.M. Homes", Guernica / A Magazine of Art & Politics

Happy Friday!

"I Still Have Shame About Sex and I Hate It" by Queerie Bradshaw at QueerieBradshaw.com:

I think I am ashamed of my sexuality.

I think I am ashamed that I write about sex.

I think I am ashamed that I like sex.

How could I not be? We live in a culture that puts a price tag on women for how desirable they are, then bankrupt them for having desire.

"What Is Happening In Istanbul?" by Sumandef Hakkında at İnsanlik Hali:

I am writing to let you know what is going on in Istanbul for the last five days. I personally have to write this because at the time of my writing most of the media sources are shut down by the government and the word of mouth and the internet are the only ways left for us to explain ourselves and call for help and support.

"From Your Little Horrors" by Hannah Curious at The Ideal Wife Giveaway:

"But I am white, and I speak English!", I mock-protest at my hubby with a little amused moue every time Mom gets mentioned, because if we didn't laugh at how much this hurts then it would crush us.

"Things" by Erika at Be Gay About It:

I spend hours each day in the same light as her and, somehow, this feels more meaningful to me than any thing she wrapped for me in paper in the 34 years we had together as grandmother and granddaughter.

"From the Washtub to the Washing Machine" by Yoani Sánchez at Generation Y:

In a country where a washing machine costs an entire year's salary, we can't talk about women's emancipation.

"It's a Lot" by Lisa Marie Harvey at Empty the Well:

As soon as I confronted the limits of my role in their lives, I tried to take the world apart, to understand which forces I'd need to surround my children with. I needed to raise people who would not be eaten by the machinery of existence but who would become real contributors to their communities. I chose lessons in compassion and kindness over sight words and arithmetic. I chose free play outdoors over organized sports. I made all these choices and I second-guess them still. Of course I do.

"Just Adopt" by Harriet Fancott at See Theo Run:

There is no such thing as just adopting.

You craft a story of how you became a family, a story of love and sorrow, and you cry when you tell it: You cry for the crushing grief of the mother, and the motherland, that lost a child, a child whose smile lights up a room, whose skin glows with health and whose potential seems vast and limitless.

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157/365: Poor Consolation

2013-06-07T05:42:00-00:00

Thursday bore in,
furious and worried.
It ate through its morning
like a hungry rat.

I went for walk
to look for courage and solace,
shoved my bare feet into rubber boots
and pointed a camera at whatever didn't depress me.
I found a duck dragging its wing and thought
Fuck, the world is not a friendly element,
and I turned to point my lens
at the nearest, greenest thing.

I cannot appreciate being alive
by not being that damn duck,
and I'm tired of the consolation.

I Once Knew a Woman With a Second Chin Named "Also Svelte"

2013-06-07T02:09:26Z

"40's making me fat," I said.

"You're not fat," the Palinode said.

"Thank you, but I'm the one who's been eating all my feelings and ignoring the undone button on my pants."

He laughed.

"So, you are going to pretend I have one chin and tell me I'm svelte, okay?"

"Well, alright," he said, "but what am I supposed to say to all the other chins if they ask?"

Ba da bum.

Well played, jerk. Well played. ]]>

156/365: Dreams Grow Dreams Grow Dreams Grow Dreams

2013-06-06T03:44:00-00:00

I feel like I've been doing a lot of writing,
but it's all instrumental versions
with video overlay of pretty flowers and beaches
stolen from public Flickr photos.

I want to be the best thing that ever happened.
I want street cred.
I want a death bed quote everyone knows.
I want people I barely know
to point me out in black and white photos
and explain what it was like to know me twenty years ago.
I want to be cooler than Frank Black
when he sings "grope for luna" in Subbacultcha.
I want bookstores to stop selling my books
because they're always stolen.

It's okay to be a dreamer.
It's okay to want things we don't actively seek.
I'm also going to be a hermit in the woods,
and I'm going to be independently wealthy,
and I'm going to move to the east coast,
and I'm going to go barefoot for an entire year,
and I'm going to publish ten books of poetry,
and I'm going to establish myself as an artist,
and I'm going to have my own private island
with its own postage stamp,
and and and.

Dreams grow dreams grow dreams grow dreams.
I'm a put that on a t-shirt.

Morning Kitties

2013-06-05T15:22:48-00:00

taken with Hipstamatic, and then run through Afterlight

When two cats decide everyone needs snuggles, it's okay to be late. It's an unwritten rule.

155/365: The Terrible Scientist

2013-06-05T01:38:00-00:00

When I was nine,
I was a secret scientist.
I stole flowers from my mother's container gardens
and planted them in tiny pots
that I hid behind my bedroom curtains.
I watered them with
saltwater, sugarwater, cold water, and hot water.
I collected my spit in a cup
to supplement their diets.
Out of guilt for perpetrating such acts
against helpless lives,
I prayed for their wellbeing
and wrapped them in tissues at night
that I had asked the holy spirit
to imbue with its lifegiving divine essence.
Their stalks grew soft, though,
until they slumped over like elderly men,
and then they died.
In my science journal I wrote
Don't name plants after dead people,
because I blamed their deaths on the fact
that I'd named them all after deceased relatives.
I was a terrible scientist.

154/365: Tadpole

2013-06-04T04:19:00-00:00

How I'll move from here,
this precipice I shift on,
I am at a loss.
I am both great as all things
and a soft-bodied tadpole.

----------------------------

The above poem is based on the Japanese tanka.

153/365: Lashing Out

2013-06-03T05:07:00-00:00

Even natural things,
left to spontaneous brush,
I will criticize.
I lash out at lack of art
as though naturalness lacks.

----------------------------

The above poem is based on the Japanese tanka.

Grace in Small Things: Sunday Edition #136

2013-06-03T01:05:59Z

1. Captain Anarchy, who makes an appearance at every Cathedral Village Arts Festival

2. A salad so good that I forgot to take a photo of it before eating it

3. My new ladder desks, which I never knew would be my perfect workspace solution, but they are

4. Happy, fat kitten belly

5. The new Ninja blender that the Palinode brought home as an early anniversary present

Wage a battle against embitterment and take part in Grace in Small Things. ]]>

152/365: Editing Is Love

2013-06-01T17:50:00-00:00

In the middle of the night,
I hatch plans.
I will teach everyone how to edit
and say what they mean,
and I will hand out dictionaries
like those red copies of the New Testament
that the Gideons used to hand out
during school assemblies.
I will have t-shirts made that say
Editing Is Love.
I will become the Mother Teresa*
of ideas left to starve in sentences
with poor grammar and comma droughts.
I will sing it,
and you will learn with the devotion of a novice
the ways of the apostrophe.
In the middle of the night,
I can dream I am a demi-god, a saviour,
who commits no semicolonic sin.

----------------------------

* When originally published, this read "Theresa" with an H, which makes this entire poem even more ridiculous. Face, palm.

151/365: Wrinkling Lady In a Space Helmet

2013-05-31T18:50:00-00:00

In those days,
we prognosticated the Future
through foreign bodies we had not yet held.
Americans looked to Nippon
like a post-war phoenix,
and Bladerunner borrowed from them
to create the Future's future vintage slums,
and tech companies named themselves Japanese names,
and we pretended it was the Future
like we were children in the 50s
flying rocket ships made out of appliance boxes.

Most telling of my age, perhaps,
is that I still want to be an astronaut,
a wrinkling lady in a space helmet
heading for the beyond,
as though anyone looks ahead
at the wonder of plastics
anymore
and footprints on the moon.

Walking Like Swimming

2013-05-31T06:37:05-00:00

taken with Camera, and then run through Snapseed

Five Star Friday's 240th Edition Is Brought to You By Philip Pullman

2013-05-31T06:00:49-00:00

This week's Five Star Friday is brought to you by the crazy shit that doesn't kill us, feedback gut punches that work, being really kick ass at something weird and cool, figuring out how to find your ice cream, becoming greater than they knew, the preservation of integrity, opening up to a new way of seeing things, and Philip Pullman:

photo credit: Adrian Hon

After nourishment, shelter and companionship, stories are the thing we need most in the world.

— Philip Pullman

Happy Friday!

"Catastrophe" by Keply Pentland at Carpe Whatever:

I've been thinking a lot about catastrophes. I've been thinking about controlled burns, about smashing mirrors, about broken systems. I've been thinking about that moment when everything is smoking rubble around your feet.

"The Fight Club Method to Feedback" by Demian Farnworth at The CopyBot:

Listen, this fantasy has nothing to do with a lack of self-respect, but a preferable aura of brutality in writing, in everything. A sadistic attitude towards productivity. In other words, you don’t truly create unless you suffer.

It's an entirely romantic vision I confess. But think of it as the Fight Club method to feedback.

"How to Be Legendary" by Andrea Scher at Superhero Journal:

They love him.

And my guess is that they love him because he was brave.
They love him because he was human.
He was afraid and he went for it anyway.

"‘Think Light’ to Get the Most Out of Your Time on the Mat" by Gail Rice at Pramoda Yoga:

The idea of placing my forearms on the mat, kicking up and finding balance without using a wall has, to this point, been an idea of unattainable grandeur.

A few nights ago, however, my teacher Alyson D’Souza threw us a curveball and instead of having our palms face down on the mat like usual, she asked us to spin our palms face up. This totally new change (however minor it may appear) set my expectation meter back to zero.

"This Week In Gratitude" by Mr Lady at Shannonigans:

In second grade I learned that adults can be very cruel, and I am grateful for that, and for her, because in so many ways she taught me exactly would grow up not to be.

"In the End Was the Word and the Word Was the Sponsor's" by Jeff Jarvis at Medium:

If we're doing what we do to fool the public, to sell them crappy content or a shill's swill, to prioritize paying customers' interests over readers', then we will cannibalize whatever credibility, trust, and value our brands have until they dry up.

"Unlearning How To Be Strong" by Linda at Outrunning the Storm:

When I was in middle school, I came home from a sleepover one Saturday morning to find an empty house. On my bed was a note scribbled in black marker in my mother’s familiar gently looping handwriting that read simply.

I just can’t take it anymore. I loved you.

Please come back and share good writing with us over the coming week to be featured on the next Five Star Friday. If you have read a really good piece on someone else's weblog, submit it by Thursday at midnight CST to have it featured on Five Star Friday.

And because you are a fan of finding good new writing on the internet:

Subscribe — Subscribe to this website to keep up with us every week.
Show your pride — Take one of our badges for your website and spread the word.

150/365: Evening Hour

2013-05-31T05:38:00-00:00

The sun shone down long
through the evening hour.
His hand traced my toes.
This is why we're here, I thought,
and breathed along through the light.

----------------------------

The above poem is based on the Japanese tanka.

149/365: Words Are Like an Autopsy

2013-05-30T02:23:59-00:00

There was this book.
I had heard it was good,
that it would be like a good meal,
and I tried,
but twenty-seven pages in
I felt my face cave in,
and I fell over sideways in the back of the car
like a child who had had too much, too much.
How is the book? the driver asked.
It's destroying me, I said.
Other people's hearts are too much for my heart.
Mmm, sounds like quite a read, the driver said.
I haven't read another word since,
aside from menus and the weather report.
Words are like an autopsy on the waking dead,
and I can't do anything for them.

Golden Hours

2013-05-29T03:55:12-00:00

taken with Hipstamatic, and then run through Camera+

It was one of those perfect evenings when everything is bathed in golden light and everyone is happy and gentle and kittens lap it all up.

148/365: Parker Posey Girlfriend Photo

2013-05-29T00:40:00-00:00

I used to know a man
who carried a picture of an actress
in his wallet.

I wanted that photo and plotted to steal it,
carefully watched his wallet move from hand to pocket,
and waited for him to slip up.

I wanted to know what it felt like
to hold the picture without the plastic sleeve,
to feel the crease that ran soft through her hair.

147/365: The Internet Late At Night

2013-05-28T05:33:00-00:00

Melatonin's tucked,
a sweet mint under my tongue,
to make way for sleep.
Before, though, the doorway calls
to minor gods' number dreams.

----------------------------

The above poem is based on the Japanese tanka.

Grace in Small Things: Sunday Edition #135

2013-05-27T03:44:11Z

Finding out about a great dim sum place called Four Seas
A fantastic, hours-long chat on Twitter largely based out of empathy and compassion about the difficulties that can arise when blogging negatively affects our social and family lives
A long-distance phone call with a dear, old friend that made me remember the real power of connection
Getting a taste of some quality, deep sleep after along drought
Cuddling with a little puppy who suckled momentarily on my chin

Wage a battle against embitterment and take part in Grace in Small Things. ]]>

146/365: Imaginary Boundaries

2013-05-26T06:47:00-00:00

I think about a girl sixteen years ago
and how all the skin and hair on her
that I touched and loved and smelled
is now gone.
It has all fallen off her along the way,
every piece of her that I saw then,
and it is strange to think
that she is still alive somewhere
while all of the pieces I touched and knew
have become dust upon the earth.

We are not so different from the walking dead, then,
shedding our bodies as we go.
We trace ourselves within imaginary boundaries,
circling back a line of history,
so we can say,
Here is where I am.
I have been here all along.

The Ladies of Patience

2013-05-26T03:15:12-00:00

taken with Camera, and then run through Cameramatic

These are the women who were serving up my favourite African food at the Patience food tent at the Cathedral Village Arts Festival this afternoon. The Palinode and I hit them up at the festivals in Regina every summer, because they don't have a permanent restaurant.

This is me putting it out there to the universe that Patience needs to have its own restaurant, pretty please.

A Late May Saturday Morning In Pictures

2013-05-25T16:45:49Z

Cats require ear scratches:

Nails need cutting:

Dudes be stinky:

Man sleeps in:

Morning hair ain't pretty:

Morning sun does good work:

Water needs drinking:

Coffee needs brewing:

Showers need having:

]]>

145/365: Like a Waking Fever Dream

2013-05-25T14:23:00-00:00

We were walking behind these people,
and they held hands and chatted
while they ate festival donuts,
and I followed along, thinking
We are so young here.
Look at our lean legs,
and listen to how smooth our voices are.
Then, a man with a cart nearly ran into me,
and I woke up.
I saw that they were not us at all.
I had watched them
like a waking fever dream,
striding thoughtlessly through a crowd.

144/365: Low Breeze

2013-05-25T05:22:00-00:00

We sit in the grey rain light,
the milky late-day
filtering through dust motes,
washing the windowsill out
to the colour of a dull barn.

I am struck with the memory of that summer
when she lay on top of my bed,
all naked goosebumped skin and soft hair
to beat the heat
under the breeze
from my low window.
It is as though she were there
every afternoon.
I am sure of that now,
although it may have happened only once,
or possibly twice.
Sometimes that's all it takes
when it comes to naked girls lounging
with nothing to do.

Man's Foot and a Cat

2013-05-25T04:35:04-00:00

taken with Afterlight, and then run through Camera+

My latest photography trick is to make sure that everyone's heads are either cut off or turned away from the camera.

Five Star Friday's 239th Edition Is Brought to You By Barbara Ehrenreich

2013-05-24T17:44:49-00:00

This week's Five Star Friday is brought to you by the passing of a beautiful grandmother, a good dog and her ability to steal cheese, an absolute paradise of an apartment building, finding the joy in reading, the practice of mindfulness, strangers becoming some of the most meaningful people in our lives, and Barbara Ehrenreich:

photo credit: David Shankbone

The secret of the truly successful, I believe, is that they learned very early in life how not to be busy. They saw through that adage, repeated to me so often in childhood, that anything worth doing is worth doing well.

— Barbara Ehrenreich

Happy Friday!

"In Which I Am a Drag" by Polly Tropos at Irretrievably Broken:

Her nose ran, sometimes. She was grumpy when she was in pain, or just when she had had enough. I have taken care of children, and I know that a runny nose is not the end of the world, but it alarmed me and I was squeamish about the spectacle of my grandmother drooling or spilling her food or failing to wipe her nose. I felt guilty for being afraid and disgusted. And then, this last visit, that fear and shameful recoiling were gone.

"Chanterelle, White Bean & Cheesy Roasted Kabocha Tacos" by Kristy Turner at Keepin' It Kind:

When I found her in a shelter in northern California, I fell in love with her as soon as she tried to crawl inside my coat. I knew right then that she was the friend I had been looking for.

"One Apartment Building, Five Stories" by Marika Malaea at The Hamazon:

Over the next year, random items appear like a nightmarish, neverending Hanukkah: dog poop, compost, chemical spills, urine, car oil, nail polish, rotten milkshakes, diapers, passed-out hookers, meat on a stick, and rancid clam chowder.

We eventually name it The Stairway to Hell.

"How I Learned to Read" by Jane Vandenburgh at HuffPost Books:

I was working at an art-film moviehouse, couldn't afford a coat, but was buying books because this was now expected of me. Wright Morris told us in a seminar that the act of buying books was the only sacrament in the religion in which we hoped to become communicants, so if we were serious as writers we'd tithe.

"You Are Some Body" by Sady Doyle at Rookie:

I was locking myself out of my own body, denying myself most of the pleasure of actually being in it. And I kept doing it for years, no matter how much I told the world about my feminist principles. You can know everything about the politics of beauty standards, genetics, and the millions of dollars spent each year making sure every female alive hates some part of herself so much that she will pay a major corporation to help her hide or change it—but then you look in the mirror and talk to yourself like the enemy anyway.

"The Random Placement of People" by Molly at A Day In Mollywood:

The three hours that we spent in the hospital didn’t seem so long. The infant hospital gown didn’t seem so depressing when looking at my peacefully sleeping baby in his monkey pajamas. The swelling in Landon’s foot didn’t seem like the end of the world.

All because a stranger who sat one seat away from me at the pharmacy down the street told me his story. It got me thinking about the random placement of people in our lives.

Subscribe — Subscribe to this website to keep up with us every week.
Show your pride — Take one of our badges for your website and spread the word.

143/365: That My Heart Might Feel

2013-05-23T21:32:00-00:00

The flowers were out,
orange waving bright on stalks
over dark brown soil.
I looked for a hopefulness.
I thought my heart might feel them.

----------------------------

The above poem is based on the Japanese tanka.

17 Untruths Parents Believe About Non-Parents [updated]

2013-05-23T18:28:03Z

The Palinode with one of our friends' children in 2007 or 2008

1. Non-parents get to go to bed late and sleep in like parents used to before they had children.

I do wish this were true, but it's not. Age, stress, and ill health are sleep-stealers, too, and I am lucky if I get four or five uninterrupted hours of sleep on any given night. In fact, I can't remember when I last did that.

2. Non-parents have the better and more plentiful sex that parents might once have had before they had children.

Sometimes non-parents do have better and more sex, but that is only true for those of us who are not stressed out or experiencing physical or emotional difficulties related to health or past history or ageing. I find that I am naturally less of a hedonist as I get older. Or maybe that's my ongoing insomnia.

All I know is this: whether parents or not, pretty much everyone thinks they are being robbed of better or a different amount of sex, and we all have conditions to which we can point and squarely lay the blame. Mine is a combination of age, body dysmorphia, depression and anxiety, and possibly that hysterectomy I had as a result of cervical cancer.

3. Non-parents eat better and more interesting food.

This is true only if you, unlike me, like to cook, have money to eat out every day, or haven't lost your taste for chicken nuggets and fish sticks. Maybe having had regular high-brow gastronomic experiences is peculiar to would-be parents, though, because it's not been my experience, at least not on a regular enough basis to make it a fact of my lifestyle.

4. Non-parents get to do whatever they want.

Oh, yeah. All the time, baby, except that I can't afford that southern vacation, I have work and family responsibilities to take care of, this damn mortgage doesn't pay itself, and my husband might not be so crazy about my dream to drop out of society and hole up in a cabin in the woods for the next two years.

No one is an island, even if they haven't made babies. Imagine that?

Me with a copy of Let's Panic About Babies! by Eden Kennedy and Alice Bradley

5. Non-parents have much more disposable income than parents do.

If only this were true, except that it's not true based on being parents or not, because of something we call "logic".

This would only hold true if each household, regardless of children, made the exact same amount of money, because then the addition of children would mean that your household would have less money relative to my household. This is not how our society works, though.

I know many families who are wealthier than I am, even after they factor in children and holidays and a house three times larger than my condo. It's because they make more money than I do, and children do not magically suck all the power out of the dollar bills in your bank account.

6. Non-parents don't know the true depth of human love.

Bleep blorp. My baby-less heart only knows carnal and romantic love. Boop bip.

Believe it or not, I have heard throughout my life, and I know a lot of you have, too. Non-parents are not like the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz, and children aren't our journey to get real hearts [click to tweet]. This line of reasoning is an insult that undermines the value of our relationships and human experience.

If you actually believe this fallacy, do not argue your position out loud. You will sound like a racist explaining the heirarchy of genetic differences. Please stop talking now.

7. Non-parents are not very busy and have time for all kinds of frivolous activity.

This is true for some people, parents or not, but this is also not true for most of the people I know, parents or not.

Strangely, people who are not parents sometimes have demanding careers or take on serious community work or go back to school or take care of other family members or spend their non-job time working on a skill to launch them into a career that means they can both eat and have a place to live. Non-parents spend their non-work time doing things that are more vitally important than shoe-shopping, experimentation with Arzak eggs, and going out dancing, and they have to fight for space to do these things, too.

Passionate and engaged living happens. It's not just for parents!

8. Non-parents get to bathe, and parents never do.

I am sometimes so busy that I don't get to shower, either, and also? You are a liar. I've smelled you, and you do not have the stench of someone who hasn't seen running water since your firstborn was in utero.

I do get that you cannot take long showers like you used to, and that you maybe don't often get to take a shower or bathe alone, and for this I truly feel sympathy, but don't tell me that you miss bathing altogether. I will demand proof of grossness.

Bon Stewart being a giant baby

9. Non-parents get to drink alcohol whenever they want.

No, we don't. Some of us have jobs. Some of us have family obligations outside our own homes. Some of us, like me, are alcoholics who have to actively abstain and work at not doing that very thing every day. And some of us just aren't fond of the stuff.

10. Non-parents don't have to deal with gross bodily fluids.

This is planet earth, and we are human beings. The gross bodily functions of others affect a good number of us, whether we birthed the person experiencing them or not.

I grew up with an older brother with multiple special needs, and my mother also ran a daycare out of our home. I have dealt with the urine, poop, vomit, and semen (yes, even that) of more people both related to me and not than most parents I know. You can't hold this one over me.

11. Non-parents own nicer things than parents do.

This hearkens back to the old Non-Parents Have More Disposable Income argument, which is patently false.

All of my lovely chairs and sofas are draped in covers I bought through Amazon to hide coffee stains, cat puke, and previous ownership markings. My living room's a flea market waiting to happen.

12. Non-parents get to keep the friends that parents lose after they have children.

I hate to break it to you, but major life shifts change friendships whether they involve children or not. Try suddenly making a lot less or more money, moving to a new city or country, getting married, or, in my case, quitting drinking. All of these things can change the dynamics of your friendships and even lose you a whole social circle.

Friendship loss after a major life shift is not confined to those who procreate.

Those were the days.

13. Non-parents don't have wrecked bodies like parents do after kids.

Oh, seriously now. Have you walked around out in public lately and taken a good look at humanity? We are, in general, kind of a wreck.

Also, forgive me if I snort at your insistence that it was only having children that destroyed your once gorgeous form and that non-parents don't understand what it is to have your body suddenly change. 1) You probably weren't as hot pre-baby as you thought you were, and 2) there are a number of things that wreck your body for you as life goes on. Cancer, addictions, and other health issues strike parents and non-parents alike, and they can make us all a little less bikini-confident.

The reasons behind your stretch marks and other changed parts may be different, but the outcomes aren't necessarily so unlike each other.

14. Non-parents feel so much more attractive than parents do.

Dammit. This is just another way I must be doing it wrong as a non-parent, because I have not been feeling that attractive since I had that minor bout with cancer. It kind of further destabilized what sense of body integrity I had managed to cobble together out of found string and white glue.

15. Non-parents have clean homes.

Ha! That's rich!

Oh, you cleaned your house before kids? Dammit. There I go doing it wrong, again.

16. Non-parents don't have to worry about anyone but themselves.

Ha! Again, that's rich!

We have ageing parents, nieces and nephews, dear friends, partners and spouses, pets, and other attachments, because, again, we are not like the Tin Man looking for our real hearts. We belong to entrenched communities to which we contribute deeply and meaningfully, even if that community doesn't wear a diaper and call us Mom.

17. Non-parents stay out until all hours.

While non-parents do have the greater freedom to stay out late and do things I've heard referred to as "clubbing", most of the people I know don't. Why? Because we are busy, and we have stuff to do, and we are tired, and most of us aren't 21 anymore.

If you're a parent, you might think this staying-out-all-night thing sounds like a happy idea, but, in reality, it's less adventurous and fun and more waiting to crawl into a warm bed and being irritated by drunk people.

You could do it, but, like most of us, you probably wouldn't want to most of the time, if ever. Isn't that what mommy blogging conferences are for, anyway?

From what I can tell, most parents miss the more care-free and spontaneous life of their early 20s before all the added responsibilities of adult life stepped in — related to finances, family, and ageing — to reshape and sometimes minimize their freedoms. I do, too, although, I will fully admit to the fact that I can still just step out my door right now and grab a sandwich at the shop across the street, and I love that, but I will not stand for being told that my not having children means my life is still pretty much equivalent to the chaotic and frivolous mess of some early 20-somethings.

When a parent sighs and says to a non-parent It must be so nice to be able to sleep in or I wish I could afford that thing you just got or You have no idea what my body looks like under this, [added for clarity: these are types of statements that cast judgement based on assumptions about the listener's life without children rather than simply being about the parent], it is beyond insulting. There are so many assumptions and prejudices wrapped up in such statements that unravelling them to explain just how much they have diminished a non-parent's life experience would take at least a book or two.

My usual response is to smile and say with faked humour "Well, that's what you think", because it is their choice to cut off connection with me, and I am too tired after 15 years of this to have to initiate several of these conversations a week with everyone from grocery clerks to close friends. It is their choice to tell me that I cannot fathom who they are, that my life experience cannot connect with theirs, that those who have similar outcomes due to their own major life shifts are somehow intrinsically blocked from that connection due to not having offspring. The assumption that my life is so easy that it would deny me the ability to understand another's experience tells me that the parent in question does not value my history or my experience. I am not valued or valuable.

Believe me, I sometimes wish all these assumptions about non-parents were true, because then I would be a wealthy, physically gorgeous, globe-trotting, sexual dynamo who had a clean house, great clothes, and was surrounded by all my old friends. This isn't how life goes for most of us, though, once we graduate from that magically unburdened post-high school youth we all imagine we came from. Take me, for example. I have weathered cancer, my husband's broken back, the loss of loved ones, addiction, depression and anxiety, and a few other hurdles. We all grow up, we change, and we experience things that are hard.

We may not be parents, but we are also not unburdened youth anymore, the ones we imagine as frivolous and selfish and disconnected, and I wish that the parents who make these assumptions about us would stop behaving as though we still are [click to tweet].

PS. The title has been updated from "17 Lies Parents Spread About Non-Parents" to better reflect the subject matter. I seriously misjudged the original title's inflammatory nature, and I apologize for that.

PPS. Please do not misread this blog entry, in any way, as a criticism of parenting. This is a criticism of the prejudice some parents show, yes, but not of parenting itself. I sincerely value parents and the level of work they do in their homes, their extended families, and in their communities. I mean that. This is a serious deflation of unnecessary prejudice against non-parents, but it holds no judgement against the work people do as parents.

PPPS. Also, please know that the title actually reads, in spirit, "17 Untruths SOME Parents Believe About Non-Parents", because we all know that 100% of a group of people don't all think the same thing at the same time, unless that group of people is a group of people who are a group precisely because they do all think the same thing at the same time.

PPPPS. Also, an argument that has been mentioned several times over the last 30 hours must be acknowledged. The argument states that only parents, having been both non-parents and parents, are able to see both sides of the non-parent/parent issue. This argument is entirely specious. Each parent had a non-parent experience that was unique to them, because each life is particular to the individual. To assume that any one parent's pre-parenthood life experience is equivalent to all of the lives of present non-parents, or even other parents for that matter, isn't logical.

2 adults + 1 or more children ≠ objective understanding of all life experiences available to humankind

In short, to argue, based on nothing more than one's own experience of being both non-parent and parent, that non-parents cannot speak to their own experiences of prejudice and poor treatment is galling. It simply underscores the prejudice that the experiences of non-parents are less valid without the addition of children, and, more than that, the argument goes so far as to say that our experiences are inconsequential in the face of parental experience, that it is only parents who get to say if non-parents are treated poorly.

This voice I was using to express myself? What a waste! I should have had children if I wanted it to mean anything. ]]>

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17 Untruths Parents Believe About Non-Parents [updated]

1. Non-parents get to go to bed late and sleep in like parents used to before they had children.

2. Non-parents have the better and more plentiful sex that parents might once have had before they had children.

3. Non-parents eat better and more interesting food.

4. Non-parents get to do whatever they want.

5. Non-parents have much more disposable income than parents do.

6. Non-parents don't know the true depth of human love.

7. Non-parents are not very busy and have time for all kinds of frivolous activity.

8. Non-parents get to bathe, and parents never do.

9. Non-parents get to drink alcohol whenever they want.

10. Non-parents don't have to deal with gross bodily fluids.

11. Non-parents own nicer things than parents do.

12. Non-parents get to keep the friends that parents lose after they have children.

13. Non-parents don't have wrecked bodies like parents do after kids.

14. Non-parents feel so much more attractive than parents do.

15. Non-parents have clean homes.

16. Non-parents don't have to worry about anyone but themselves.

17. Non-parents stay out until all hours.

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