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  • In Your Mother’s Arms

    The first home you ever had was inside your mother. Of course, she eventually evicted you, but her uterus was your apartment – complete with psychedelic posters and tapestries.

    After you were birthed into to this cold dark world, her arms then became your home (assuming your mom stayed in your life). It was there that you felt safest. As a child we run into our mother’s arms for comfort, we collapse inside her hug for security. To experience this kind of embrace with your child is profound. It makes up for all the complexity of pregnancy, birth, breastfeeding, and the unique pressure women face of living up to the role as “MOTHER.” That moment when your kid melts into for solace is truly priceless.

    Yet eventually your child gets to know you more, and realizes how you damaged them in one way or another. Then the arms of the mother are no longer their salvation. There is this thing between you – the mistakes, arguments, resentment, and annoyance that your Mom is always yelling at you about using the last of the toilet paper. The purity you once felt for your mom eventually gets clouded. She is not the goddess you once perceived her to be that was the answer to all your problems, but a flawed person who is doing her best… most of the time.

    As a child you want your mom to be a function of you. You assume that she was born onto this planet solely to be there for you. But as an adult understanding motherhood I have to admit that even though The Munch is a priority – she’s not my ONLY priority. Sometimes other things are more important than her. Like wanting to dance, or be with my friends, or work, or be creative, or eating the last cookie I know she was saving.

    The relationship we have to the MOTHER is as much personal as much as it is societal. There is an image of THE MOTHER that we are all conditioned to expect from media/stories. We have a tendency to compare our mothers to the narratives we are given. When I was a kid, all I wanted was a suburban stay at home mom. They kind who knitted, did crafts, and baked cupcakes. Instead, the mother I got was ambitious, anti-conventional, and would threaten to pick me up at school wearing her Magnum Condom T-shirt.

    Even though my mom wasn’t my ideal, as a grown up I very much like her as a human. She is way more fun than the Joan Cleaver of my childhood fantasies.

    Last night my mom came to New Hampshire because her mom has been really sick. There was a scare, and we all thought that this could be the end… but as soon as my grandmother heard everyone was coming, she perked right up and went downstairs to have a roast beef sandwich. My mom and I got into bed with my grandmother that night to keep her company as she slept.

    So there we were, 3 generations of mothers all entangled in each other’s arms as my mom and whispered to each other about mothering while my grandmother snored.

    My Mom: I know I wasn’t the mother that you wanted, but I was exactly the mother that I wanted!

    Toni: Well even though there were these ways you parented that felt traumatizing in the moment, I also think those very same things I wished were different made me a stronger person. I felt abandoned as a kid because you gave me so much independence, but now I’m a really emotionally independent person – and I like that about myself. Even though I may have wished that I were coddled more, I am glad I wasn’t.

    We all tend to parent in reaction to our parenting. We become the parents we wish we had rather than the parent our kid necessarily wants.

    There are a lot of similarities in the way I parent Munch and the way I was parented by my mom, and there is a lot I do that’s in direct reaction against the way I was parented. I have to constantly remind myself that Munch is not my inner child wanting to be healed, but her own person. I have to constantly observe and adjust my approach to her, and not get lost in trying to re-imagine my past.

    I will never the exact parent Munch wants me to be, but I can at least be open to her feedback. I want to build the kind of trust where she always feels at home in my arms, and comforted by my embrace. That way I can be sure that when I am super old she will jump into my bed with her daughter and talk about me behind my back while I sleep.

    toni munch painting

    May 19, 2016 • Family Drama, Mommyhood, Parenting, Relationships • Views: 1050

  • What if Caitlyn Jenner Became the Anti-Kardashian?

    I am not proud to admit this, but Facebook is my news. It’s where I get alerted to the conversations of the public lexicon. Without my friends telling me what to pay attention to, I tend to stare deep into the abyss of my navel as if my consciousness is eating it’s own tail.

    I have been so wrapped up in a state of manic narcissism mixed with workaholic frenzy that I seriously have no idea what is going on in the world. I get broad strokes of what’s happening – people are still racist as fuck, the prison industrial complex is alive and well, and WW3 might happen tomorrow, but it might not.

    So admittedly, I am behind in my ability to be interesting at a cocktail party, unless you think queef jokes are funny, in which case, I am a blast. Get it?

    With the Caitlyn Jenner story, I get how revolutionary this is for culture. I don’t question the vast social impact it has for the transgender community, and how Caitlyn has ignited a national conversation of vast importance. Yet during a late night stoned conversation, my friend made a point that I just can’t let go of. She said, “It’s not that interesting to me that Bruce Jenner decided to become a woman. I can understand how one would dis-identify with their gender. What I find most compelling is the kind of woman he chose to become.”

    Okay granted, I was pretty high, but I was like “holy shit.” Caitlyn is very much like a Kardashian in her physical presentation – the body type, attention towards fashion, the excessive make up. There is a “Real Housewives of Where Ever the fuck,” vibe. These fancy rich women who hold onto beauty standards, glorification of youth, and will go to vast extremes to maintain a certain look.

    Sure it’s fun to get dressed up, look sexy, and play around with clothes and lipstick. There is nothing wrong with that. Yet when the exterior of your feminine form comes to define your interior, it does make me take pause. I wish being feminine wasn’t about looking feminine, but rather glorifying empathy, nurturing, emotional expression and all these other “feminine traits.”

    The female experience is so much deeper than the packaged façade the media insists it is. The cultural pressure to wax, pluck, tuck, and preen our bodies into smooth Barbie body parts has nothing to do with what it actually means to be a woman. Part of me wishes that the kind of woman Caitlyn became was a super feminist hippy earth mother goddess. That she wore flowing organic fabrics, challenged all convention, and wanted to blast open the patriarchy.

    Now that she has her TV show, what if Caitlyn became the anti-Kardashian? What if she rejected the commercialized approach to reality TV and created a whole new approach that was rooted in rawness and truth? Wouldn’t it be cool if she was like the ultimate Mother Gaia incarnate who was able to embody the true harmony of the masculine and feminine energies?

    Okay fine that’s a lot of pressure on one person, but if we are going to obliterate gender, that would be a kind of bad ass start.

    caitlyn-blog-(i)

    July 27, 2015 • Current Events, Musings, Vagina Stuff, Women's Business • Views: 1187

  • Feminism in Not A Plot Against Penises

    If you have a vulva, you not only have to learn the ins and outs of tampon usage, but you are also expected to stand on one side of the feminism fence or the other. You cannot straddle the middle – that would be not only unladylike, but also quite uncomfortable. Yet is perpetuating the idea of feminism helpful, or just further creating a chasm in the gender divide?

    While the majority of women promoting a feminist agenda are not man-hating amazons frothing at the mouth to castrate males with their teeth, this remains the dominant stereotype. Men’s Rights activists are the fastest growing civil rights group in the western world, and are gaining many women supporters along the way. Recently a campaign was launched promoting women who don’t believe they need feminism, which was followed up by a Tumbler blog where kitty cats agreed. If women don’t have the pussies on their side, we have serious problems!

    The definition of feminism is “equal rights for women.” Yet there is a difference between actual definitions of words, and cultural concepts. What does “equal rights” mean for women in America when feminism is no longer addressing constitutional amendments? On paper, men and women do have equal rights. The modern challenge of feminism is much more nuanced than in the past. There are still wage gaps, abortion rights threatened, and absurd policies when it comes to maternity leave – but the current most persistent battle against women is that of public perception. Yet how do we demand equality within the more subtle context of psychology? Feminism is not just about addressing public policy, but the role of femininity within society.

    Femininity is devalued across the spectrum, seen as more of a weakness than an asset, and considered fundamentally irrational. This ethos is deeply engrained, as being feminine is thought of as “less than,” or an insult. This is a corrosive consequence of systemic sexism. Yet we are becoming hypersensitive to a point of PC blandness. Parents are petrified of anything that will contribute to potential gender stereotypes and are in a constant state of panic to impose on their children. Yet just because a little girl wears pink and likes princesses doesn’t mean she will grow up to dot her i’s with hearts, or become a stripper in Tampa. I don’t think the answer is to blend the sexes completely to breed omni-gender babies with Barbie crotches – although that would be advantageous when it comes to changing diapers.

    We can’t obliterate gender completely, yet to deprogram the socialization of thousands of years is proving to be an almost endless challenge. How do we inspire people to “think different” and why didn’t Apple address this issue with the iPhone 6? We can’t force people to change their opinions by saying “Hey sexist men – respect and honor women now or I will shove my lady-gun up your pee hole.” Or “Hey sweetie who doesn’t think you need feminism – your opinion about not needing feminism is only valid because of feminize so…” We don’t live in a post racial or post sexist world because our minds are still holding on to the sentiments that have shaped our history – even when officially the structure has evolved.

    Many men and women are still attached to past paradigms when it comes to gender roles. I don’t think they consider that their definitions of masculinity and femininity are ultimately constructs that have been created through centuries of conditioning. I am pretty sure they assume this is the way things are because this is they way they are supposed to be. Convincing someone to reevaluate their understanding of the world is complex. Once someone has a conviction, it takes a lot to open minds and hearts.

    Even though feminism is not trying to take over the world to create a matriarchy where men are subordinate to women as we spend the days flicking their balls and making them carry heavy bags – a lot of people are scared of change. They don’t know what it will mean for them personally, and fear the effects will be negative. These aren’t evil people, but they are unconsciously afraid that within this this ever-changing landscape they will lose their identity.

    Feminism can paint the picture of what the world will look like within this new frame. The conversation shouldn’t just be about what we are against, but what we are for. A feminist future is not an apocalyptic crisis where the family unit is destroyed as women pillage the earth for the remaining cotton for their ever-flowing menstruation. It is one where both genders have the freedom to pursue their true essence in an authentic way. The pressure for men to be one way and women to be another is oppressive. Rather than living our lives as we are supposed to, we can start conducting them as we choose to. Feminism is not a plot against penises, but rather an opportunity for a cultural episiotomy to sew up the tear between the genders so we can collectively evolve.

    And now my present to you… a picture of the penis snake.

    penis-plot-blog-(i)

    November 3, 2014 • Current Events, Musings, Vagina Stuff, Women's Business • Views: 3699

  • Lady Farts

    As a lady, one thing I am not supposed to talk about is farts. I am not sure why they are so taboo for a lady to do. Maybe because one has to picture a lady sphincter opening up to release a noxious, feces scented, vapor. This is hard for the human mind to conceive, because one also does not enjoy envisioning a lady depositing waste from her anus. As far as civilization is concerned, things should only be going in a woman’s derrière, not out.

    Let me take a moment to apologize for the female gender, and admit that despite how tight we might clench, eventually substances of a variety of forms may exit our rumps. We will go through great lengths to do such things in private, so as not to violate the lady code, but there may be a moment of weakness when the gluteus Maximus is not quite strong enough to withstand the impending pressure of biology. It is never our intention to assault one’s perception of ladyness with the disgrace of our physical ecosystem, yet I hope that you, my gracious reader, can excuse the inevitable need to momentarily prioritize anatomy over convention.

    Even I, your humble servant, am committed to proper ladylike conduct and rarely expose an audience to my fumes. If such an event were to occur, I would of course blame it on my canine Mona to maintain integrity. I also make sure to eat a steady organic diet that does not vary in texture or flavor to ensure such a ghastly event would rarely take place. A lady of course considers the consequences of her digestion before the indulgence of ingestion.

    Yet over the weekend I was frequenting a variety of engagements that impacted my normal régime. The consequences of my actions were dire, and that evening while I was putting my sweet child to bed, I had what one might quantify as “the farts.” I was trying to be discreet, but The Munch was sitting on my lap, and I felt one coming on.

    Toni: Munch, go do potty so we can brush your teeth and go to bed.
    Munch: But I don’t want to do potty… I want you to tickle me first.
    Toni: First potty, then I will tickle you… Go now Munch – I mean it.

    The Munch started sliding off my lap, yet not at a speed fast enough to compete with the processing of my intestines. Her slither off my legs was not only ill timed, but also ill placed – and I ended up farting on her head.

    Munch: Ew. What is that smell? It smells like Mona farted, but she is downstairs.
    Toni: I farted.
    Munch: MOM! WHY DID YOU DO THAT! I CAN’T DO POTTY IN HERE OR BRUSH MY TEETH. I AM GOING TO THE BATHROOM DOWNSTAIRS.

    Although it was of course upsetting to have violated The Munch’s perception of her culturally appropriate mother, I also did become aware of the great power of my gas. After we did our night time routine of story and back tickling, it was time for me to leave and go downstairs to do what adults do in the late evening hours… sit on their computers.

    Toni: Alright Munch, sleep well. I am going downstairs.
    Munch: No! Keep cuddling… just stay and cuddle for five more minutes.
    Toni: Five minutes, and then bedtime.
    Munch: Okay… I promise.

    Five minutes later…

    Toni: That’s five minutes. I love you. Sleep well.
    Munch: No Mamma, please stay for a little longer and keep cuddling.
    Toni: Munch I have to go or else I am going to fart in your bed.
    Munch: Okay goodnight Mamma. See you in the morning.

    lady-fart-blog-(i)

  • The Hell Of High Heel Shoes

    I do not wear high heel shoes. I am already borderline freakishly tall at 5’9” – so I have never needed an extra boost to loom over people to an even more extreme degree. Even barefoot I am taller than most, so my experience with high heels is very limited. When I do try to wear them, I walk like a NBA player in drag. It is not a good look for me.

    But I get why girls like them. They make your legs look sexy, they are sassy, and they perch up your ass like a cat in heat – but the are as uncomfortable as balls in fishnets. I just don’t think they need to be the uniform of all things feminine, and wish they were more of an accent rather than a required statement of fashion. My main issue with heels is that you are so limited in your movement when you wear them. I know Beyonce can rock out her booty banging choreography in them, but you can’t climb a mountain in Manolos.

    I guess I could just be a hater because of my inexperience. When I lived in NYC my main mode of transportation was a skateboard, so I was always sweating and wearing high-tops Adidas – not the traditional chick attire. That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to fancy nightclubs and getting my groove on – I was just like a mythical creature in flat shoes surrounded by gazelles in stilettos. All these girls would be looking hot in their fuck me pumps, but I would be in sneakers, twerking without my feet hurting.

    So as the universe would have it, of course my daughter is obsessed with high heels – BECAUSE WHY THE FUCK WOULDN’T SHE BE!!!?? The Munch has these plastic Cinderella “glass” slippers that she insists on wearing every day, for every occasion. These shoes are the bane of my existence. Every normal kid activity such as running, skipping, jumping off rocks, all are done with caution now because of these goddamn mother-fucking shoes!!!!

    It makes me so depressed because more than anything I want my daughter to be a bad ass and do physical shit. So when she is restricting her abilities because of this binding foot torture, it breaks my heart. Yet The Munch is passionately committed to her heels, as well as proving me wrong that they constrain her.

    Munch: Mamma… I can’t climb up the slide!
    Toni: That is because of those forsaken shoes Munch! I keep telling you those aren’t outside shoes! They are dress up shoes!
    Munch: But I am playing dressing up and I am playing outside!
    Toni: Yeah, but those shoes are just for dressing up inside. They suck as outdoor shoes. That is why I keep buying you other shoes to wear. So you can do all the stuff you want to do.
    Munch: I can still do the stuff I want to do!!
    Toni: Munch, no you can’t if you can’t climb up this slide. Look, take your shoes off.
    Munch: I don’t want to.
    Toni: Please just trust me. Take them off for only a minute.
    Munch: Okay, I will listen to you.
    Toni: Now climb up the slide with your bare feet…. See isn’t that so much easier?
    Munch: Yes, but I can still do it with my high heels. I am going to put them back on.
    Toni: I don’t get it! You just had such an easier time climbing with your bare feet, why would you put them back on?
    Munch: Because I like them!

    There I sat at the top of the slide, watching Munch struggle to climb up with her shitty plastic shoes on. They have no traction on the bottom, so she kept slipping, and slamming her knees. Yet she wouldn’t stop trying. At first we were laughing hysterically because it was so insanely hard for her. Then Munch got super angry that she couldn’t do it, and was basically proving my point. I will also add that I am sure I wasn’t helping by rubbing it in, reminding her just how right I was as she slithered down. So then she ran away, sulked for a while on the rock, and gave me dirty looks.

    Then, as if possessed by ambition, Munch came back with the determination of an OCD ox. And I will be damned she climbed the shit out of that slide.

    I guess if she is going to wear these stupid shoes, at least she is building her upper body strength.
    high-heels-blog-(i2)high-heel-blog-(i1)

  • L’eau de Snatch

    Don’t hate me because I am beautiful, but also don’t hate me because I am not beautiful enough.  You should only hate me because earlier I took your toothbrush and itched my bum with it- and I wasn’t wearing underwear.

    Beauty is a huge part of a woman’s existence.  Women feel bad about themselves when society doesn’t deem them beautiful, but they also feel sorry for themselves when they are too beautiful and prejudiced against.  Chicks are so often defined by their appearance that no matter what the circumstance, there is always something to complain about.  Beauty, or lack their of, is ultimately an objectifying force because it will forever be a descriptive to your identity.  “I am the pretty girl” or “I am not the pretty girl.”  But why can’t you just be that girl who has dope personality and a nice warm gooey vagina that men want to bury their penis in?  Is it just men who make us feel like beauty is everything, or do we also do it to ourselves?

    Where the tragedy lies is how women who don’t feel attractive enough also sometimes feel invisible to the world of men.  Dustin Hoffman who was recently interviewed about his role in the movie Tootsie, opens up about how hard it was for him to realize that plight of the woman.  He describes that when he was preparing for the role, he wanted to make sure he passed as an actual woman, so he took his costume to the streets to see how he was received.  And even through he was seen as a woman, he was not revered as beautiful.  In his heart he knew he made an interesting woman, but he also knew so many men wouldn’t get to know him/her because he wasn’t conventionally pretty.  And his own angst bled into the fact that he had to realize how many women he looked over and never approached because of his own biases and superficial impulses.  “There are too many interesting woman that I have not had the chance to know in this life because I have been brainwashed,” Hoffamn said through tears.

    Take another example of tennis player Marion Bartoli winning the Wimbledon Women’s championship and having a BBC on air presenter say “Do you think her dad told her when she was little ‘You are never going to be a looker? You’ll never be a Sharapova, so you have to be scrappy and fight.’” Okay this comment is idiotic for so many reasons.  For one, it is not like Sharapova won matches with her perky tits and flawless facial features.  She didn’t use her pout to ricochet the ball to the other end of the court.  Her ass didn’t serve, or hit volleys.  She played tennis well, just like the other lass Bartoli.  For this guy to imply that looks have anything to do with capabilities as an athlete is ridiculous, and by doing that both these woman are being subjected to the concept that their beauty either makes them better or worse as people.

    The focus on looks doesn’t only reside within the cultural standards, but also within our own heads.  And maybe that is because as women we are socialized to care about our beauty because we think that is what men want from us.  And maybe we are conditioning our men to be attracted to the beauty we find beautiful? Do men really care if a woman is conventionally beautiful from a biological primal perspective, or are they drawn to standard attractiveness because they want to be admired by other woman?  Like I am the man with the hot woman, don’t you other woman want me more as a consequence because I am so desirable?  Do woman define the beauty standards or do men?  Maybe as chicks if we had a more flexible definition so would the men.  Maybe us women are holding on just as tight to these oppressive standards?

    Okay but this is not new to you.  You all already know this bullshit.  Both men and women are totally brainwashed when it comes to beauty and the question isn’t is this happening, but what can we do about it.

    Well I think I have the solution.  According to this documentary called “The Science of Sex Appeal” a woman’s copulins has an extremely powerful effect on men.  If you are not sure what I am talking about, copulins are hormones/chemicals secreted by a woman’s vagina.  In this experiment, scientists created synthetic copulins for men to inhale while looking at pictures of women.  So just to be clear, scientists took the time to develop a scent of cootch, that they then bottled and administered through a gas mask sending the aroma of pussy directly into these guys’ noses.  Yes.  That really happened.

    But the findings were fascinating.  While these men were inhaling the fragrance of a woman’s front bottom, they were unable to distinguish between conventionally attractive women and less attractive women.  Yup.  So while guys are wafting on twat, they think all women are pretty damn sexy.

    So I am developing a fragrance called “L’eau de Snatch” for the ladies.  By smelling like muff you will be sure to attract men because ultimately all they care about is crawling into your love pocket.

    l'eau-de-snatch-blog-(i)

    July 10, 2013 • 3 years old, Current Events, Mommy Body, Mommy Mind, Musings, Women's Business • Views: 2770

  • Finding Femininity

    “Mamma, can I paint my nails?” was not a question I expected my two-year old would ask me.  Not that I have anything against nail polish, but since I never paint my nails I wondered where The Munch had been exposed to this practice.  But then I remembered how her sexy babysitter has red toes, and then realized of course The Munch wants her feet to look sassy like hers.

    The Munch is often around women.  She observes how they behave, and identifies herself as a female like them.  When I spend time with my friends and Munch, she sees herself as one of the girls.  You know, a couple of gals hanging out, just one happens to be slightly bossier than the rest and infinitely more dramatic considering The Munch is ready to cry without any shame under any circumstance.  Actually, come to think of it she fits right in.

    Munch is beginning to notice elements of femininity and wanting to apply them to her own being. But part of her fitting into this world of feminine culture means that she is enacting behavior that is way beyond her years.  For example since a few of my friends are pregnant, The Munch looks at that as an experience she should be having too.

    Munch: “Mamma, I have a baby in my tummy.”

    Toni: “You do?”

    Munch: “Yeah, it’s a teeny tiny baby.  Do you want to feel it?”

    Toni: “Sure.”

    Munch: “In my tummy, my baby has her paci, and her bottle, and her toys, and her teddy bear, and a lollipop in case she gets hungry.  Can you feel the toys in there?”

    Toni: “I sure can Munch.”

    Simone De Beauvoir talked about how we are born male or female, which determines our biology, but masculine and feminine traits are purely a socialized phenomenon.  She believed there was nothing inherently different about baby boys or baby girls, and that gender is enforced through conditioning.

    I love Simone De Beauvoir and even named my dog Mona after her, but now that I have a daughter I feel conflicted by her hypothesis.

    I don’t see myself as intentionally conditioning my daughter to have feminine traits.  I am not even sure I consider myself to be all that feminine.  It is not like I go around wearing pink talking about my period all day. I just sometimes where pink and talk about my period on the days it’s happening.  Is my womaness a genuine part of my personality, or just something I picked up as a child from other chicks who picked it up from other broads who picked it up from other skirts?

    Is this something that I should be stopping?  There is nothing overt I am doing to make Munch interested girly shit.  These are decisions she is making on her own volition.  I never pushed baby dolls in her face and demanded she play with them.  Those were the toys that she naturally gravitated towards. Maybe that is because she sees me mothering her, and in turn wants some to mother- because I am her example.

    How can I break this cycle of conditioning femininity when much of this influence is a consequence of my simply existing, and allowing her to observe other women?  Femininity isn’t something you find under a rock, but discover through being around other females you adore.  The young emulate adults the admire, and even if I am the biggest “tom boy” in the world, there will still be traits she picks up from other broads she respects.

    Kind of like The Munch being really excited that her “poe nails” are painted red just like her babysitter’s.

    finding-feminnity-blog-(i)

    finding-femininity-blog-(i2)