It is with great anticipation I announce this week, this very second week of March, a week in which I will join my family and friends in celebrating what I humbly call my birthday. I can't help it, I just want to raise my goblet in the air and toast another year of being alive. And I intend to do it with my whole, grateful heart.
In order to celebrate correctly however, I am forced to take this week off from blogging on this Enjoy It blog. Should you be interested, you are more than welcome to follow me and this week's daily celebratory adventures on my Provo blog. From local theater to food, we intend to revel until the week winds down. Or until I go into labor, which ever happens first.
Of course, either way I will see you back here on Monday when I resume my alias as c jane, Blogging Warrior Princess.
I just finished reading thiswell-done post on how to come to the conclusion every modern woman asks herself: Am I a feminist or am I not a feminist?
Simply put, this post explains feminism in these terms:
If you believe in, support, look fondly on, hope for, and/or work towards equality of the sexes, you are a feminist.
I am relieved I read this article. I am relieved it was so well written. It simply defined something most complicated. I can say until tonight--one hour ago--I was not educated enough to answer the question for myself.
But I think I can answer it now. Tonight. Hopefully.
I am not a feminist. Because I don't support, look fondly on, hope for and/or work towards equality. Equality, that is my hang-up.
Equality has never done any good for me. When I try to look at the world with my equalizer glasses it leaves me empty and upset. Equality presents a scale and binds you. And when I dissect my marriage, nothing makes me more anxious then the expectation that things are equal. It makes a measuring stick out of our relationship. And I don't want to spend an entire marriage judging the allowance of equality.
Speaking of my relationship, Chup will surely remind me that this is all semantics, so let me define equality (for me) : fairness.
And life is not fair. So how can it be equal?
But even if it could, I don't want to be equal to the males in my life. I just want to be me. If that means I am more, then I am more, if that means I am less, I am less. But most of the time I think I am more. And I think most women are too, but that is a post for another day.
On a personal note, I was raised with five brothers in a family where being a boy was a joy. A joy! The boys went on fishing excursions, deer hunts and summer trips to Dodger games in LA. And even though I'd rather chew on tinfoil then do any three of those chosen adventures, I often resented their opportunities. Because I was looking for "me" in all of that. Where was my adventure? Where was my harrowing experience on the ocean? My Dodger dog? (Was that a Freudian slip?)
It was the very search for equality that made me feel unimportant. I wish I would've been happy for them. Supported their celebration without hoping for reciprocal experiences. Besides, they didn't owe me their good times to make up for my losses. In the end, I didn't even have losses. I just had differences.
And I will always have differences. Even natural occurring differences. Comparing male and female body structure negates the occurrence of physical equality. He has more there, and I have a lot more there. (Talking about hair on our heads, of course.) But even more complicated than a human body are human emotions. How do you measure something immeasurable as feeling joy or heartache? How can those be equalized? A paycheck? The ability to vote? Or be hired? Yes. But the harmonious-yet-horrid hormonal experience of a monthly cycle? There is no way possible to divide those spoils evenly.
Equality to me is like elective plastic surgery. Sure you can get the desired results, but it won't guarantee certain happiness.
And days like today when a coughing fit in the final month of my pregnancy induced spontaneous vomiting which in turn released all contents of my bladder before I could make it anywhere near a toilet, I think two things:
Male and female will never be equal.
And,
I (me, personally, c jane as of right now, in my life) wouldn't want it any other way.
*photo taken by Jed Wells May 2009
On dear c jane: Yummy, yummy newborn caps.
c jane's Guide to Provo: Your Weekend Plans! Hot off the press!
Chup and I have decided to spring clean our finances. For instance, how do we feel about our hefty T-Mobile bill when in realty I don't use my phone for actual calls? Some texting, some checking email notifications but besides Time and Temp--an app on my phone now--I don't do much actual dialing.
Another bill we were thinking about cutting is our fancy 2,000 (rough estimate) channel tv package. We only really watch a couple channels, rarely use the DVR or On Demand. No doubt it has served us well during these dry, cold months but with this new warming trend I don't suppose we'll be watching as much.
Not so much to warrant a thick montly bill, anyway.
Still, The Chief likes his morning show, sippy tucked in tight to his chest, eyes taking in all the goodness of his favorite hostess, Kelly. Kelly is perky as a peony with her two pigtails and a voice tinted with flirt. Even Chup himself has developed a crush on Kelly and I can't be jealous because I see where he's coming from. Kelly wishes children a Happy Birthday, sings, dances and charms the heck out of the toddler set.
Kelly was especially cute this morning, I noted as I contemplated losing this channel to our monthly cut backs. She was talking to a dinosaur sock puppet on her hand. Even the puppet was dreamily staring at Kelly with his glued button eyes. But just as she went to wish a couple petite Pisces some birthday joy she inexplicably started to choke.
Her face went red. Her eyes started watering. And her flirty voice was nothing but gusts of desperate air.
I swear I almost lost it. I texted Chup, "Kelly is choking on live tv!"
Some quick-thinking producer switched the shot to a still photo of a birthday boy, but we could still hear the audio of Kelly choking in the background. And then it went silent.
Silent.
I held a sympathetic breath.
A few seconds later, Kelly appeared back on the screen carrying on as if nothing had happened--with the dinosaur still on her hand. But quite red-faced, with wet eyes, and a rasp in her normal buttery voice. She continued to converse as if choking while talking to a hand puppet was PERFECTLY NORMAL. Certainly nothing to request a commercial break for--much less a need to TAKE OFF THE DINOSAUR HAND PUPPET (which is really the part I can't believe, even though I saw it with my own (not button) eyes.)
Smiling, red face, wet eyes, dinosaur hand puppet, even a dead-center camera wink.
The whole thing was so disturbing to me--how emotionally attached I had become to The Chief's morning show--I decided right then and there, tv package had to go.
Today from Dearest c jane: A classic I can't get enough of.
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