The Sum of Weeks

Ahhh, let's see. 

In the past few weeks.

Dahlia got a very big haircut. She said it was one of the happiest moments of her life. I've never felt strongly about a haircut, myself, but I understand why she does. ♥️

Escher completed his first jigsaw puzzle and wrote his full name.

Fireworks were blown off. Good times were had! 

Spore Printing Mushrooms

This past week we've seen some mushrooms popping up in the garden. Rick suggested we do a spore print, so Escher and I got the paper and we made one. 

When it came time to use that information to identify the sort of mushroom we did... not so helpful. There seems to be a discrepancy between what I'm supposed to see and what I actually see? 😂 Oh well. More education necessary. 

Escher's Spore Printing

Putting together robots: Escher version

Escher and I built a robot together from a little robotics kit from 5 Below. Because he's both engineering AND sweet / sentimental, he give his robot a kiss and sleeps next to him during naps. 😑

He got off track a lot but for his first foray into building a machine with moving parts he did a pretty good job.

Here's a video of the finished project. I finally figured out how to orient the phone so it would take video correctly, so that's what *I've* learned this week. 

Escher's Robot!

Eschie got a bug bite!

At 2:30am he dragged his favorite blanket in and climbed into our bed. He seemed fine, other than climbing in with us, which he doesn't really do anymore. This morning, he looked like a boxer! 

Poor babe! I gave him topical Benedryl gel and chewable diphenhydramine. He doesn't have a fever, chills, clammy skin, or any behavior changes. But there is a tiny puncture wound so I suspect that's where the bite occurred. My husband agrees. 

So it sounds like we need to have an easy day and give him ample time to rest. It was scary that I couldn't figure out the origin of the swell, but he's fine and cuddling his favorite blanket now. 

We're going to grow 🌽

At some point we decided that we wanted to grow corn. We also researched about sister plants when we were in Chicago (before COVID hit). That means we are going to grow corn, beans, and squash!

First we had to carve out a place for the corn to grow. There was an overgrown area covered in vines, which we raked, removed sticks from, and weed whacked out.

Second up we had to use a rototiller. Here's an action shot:

Eventually the entire area is going to be leveled and corn seeds will be planted along with beans and squash. All three of these plants will grow together and aid each other in various ways. Some will provide nitrogen, some will provide insect repellent, and all will provide nutrition to our family! We will keep you posted. :-)

Baby Bunny: Fred!

So. While visiting the great-grandparents part of the homestead, Micah (the dog) got a hold of a baby bunny. We assumed the bunny was dead. It wasn't! Dahlia and Escher named the baby bunny Fred. We looked up care for bunnies (having heard humans can't touch baby bunnies without the scent driving the Mama bunny to kill the baby). We learned that wild bunnies are not good pets because they get so stressed they can die. Wow!

Eventually, Fred was released into the nest hole from whence he came. He jumped out, as it was probably abandoned. He ran for the fence and stopped to rest a few times. Eventually he made it past the fence!

Bon voyage, Fred! 

Esch Gardens on YouTube

In addition to the distance learning, Escher is also learning to homestead. He's seen his family cut down giant trees which led to him helping collect sticks and stack wood. Because he loves kids who have videos on YouTube, I figured he'd enjoy seeing himself on our big TV. He does! Feel free to subscribe to his channel!

He's continuing his alphabet, writing, and reading in addition to his regular distance CPS assignments and activities.

He's continuing his yoga series, and still loves Jamie from Cosmic Kids. I think we all love her because she's capable of keeping Escher focused on one activity for 20 whole minutes. 😂

Both kids have gotten air plants! The black one with the crazy "hair" is Robert Smith. Yes, like THAT Robert Smith.

Dahlia has gotten a Dahlia plant for the yard. 

She learned how to ride a bike VERY well, with the help of 5 separate adults. 😂 Her legs got pretty beaten up from all the diving off the bike, and falling with the bike. We all encouraged her to keep trying and never give up. She did it!

Why didn't she learn earlier? Well, she was legally blind in one eye so she didn't have much depth perception - which made it too hard for her to balance on a bicycle. Her Dad and I did patch therapy with her (lots of frustrated tears and meltdowns), and also she would try to recreationally use the weak eye to focus. Now she's no longer legally blind and she is able to ride a bike! Next up, 3D movies! 😁

Beginning CPS Distance Learning

We began by identifying the date (with day of week, month, and year as well). We put a weather sticker on to indicate it was cloudy. We spelled cloudy. We began discussing birds.

Then we did the distance learning lesson from his usual Pre-K teacher, Ms. K.

He went around the house and identified lots of items that began with the letter B. I asked him to spell bird first, without help. He spelled B-E-T. After we saw the words a few times, he spelled B-I-D. I asked which sound he forgot. He said R, and spelled it correctly. Being a distributed proofreader for Project Gutenberg, I only cried a little. Hahahaha!

He was tasked with making a nest out of household items. Yesterday was Easter (we're mostly atheists in this family, but we still celebrate all holidays - especially at our UU church), so that was pretty effective.

Speaking of Easter, here's some tiny snapshots:

The kids got 4 baskets (2 from us, 2 from their grandparents), super soakers from their great grandparents, and I made "carrots" (croissant type things stuffed with egg salad). There was zero Jesus talk, which was delightful. We all colored eggs on Saturday night (glitter unicorn & foam swirl & regular). There was an egg hunt arranged by their grandma the next morning! I made sweet cheese crepes with raspberry sauce for breakfast.

Rick made special grilled zucchini and spinach lasagna with bechamel! Great-grandparents were celebrating with us and a lovely time was had by all.

Monday's school exercise time was the Ryan's World Exercise Dance Party video. 

There will also be lots of outdoor time today.

Quarantine - Homeschool: Redux.

Due to the COVID-19 executive orders and recommended guidelines of the CDC and WHO, we are sheltering in place.

 What place? Tennessee! With our loved ones and grandparents aplenty. :)

 There are all kinds of differences and challenges here, but I'm so glad we're with our big extended family. We totally miss Beer & Chocolate Tuesdays with our friends, as well as the kids' friends, and our preferred places in Chicago. But the clean air, no confirmed COVID-19 cases around us, wide open spaces, and our ability to expansively garden on acreage are a great thing for us. So far we have onions, garlic, and seeds we'll be planting shortly (radishes, russian kale, leeks, etc). Escher is starting to identify more plants & get more outdoor time than in Chicago. Dahlia is much less depressed than she was in December. She's still struggling a little bit with anxiety, but she's managing well with her therapist's help.

And onto the subject of them being out of school. Since I have more time on my hands than usual, I decided to do an easy homeschool routine with Escher. We do a journal page where he writes the date, then draws four quadrants. Each of the quadrants contains some information about what he's doing, how he's feeling (so I can keep up with his emotional state), something he'd like to do someday, and a fun activity (which allows him to consider what to do if he gets bored). Here's the first day's journal page:

Teaching him to read and write has been on my agenda for a long time (Dahlia could do both by the time she was 3-4 so even though I'm not supposed to compare them for milestones, I kind of do). But I was working full time, hosting a weekly get-together, doing volunteer stuff as needed, tending to Dahlia's emotional & psychological well-being, and other important things - so I was too tired. But now:

He's still getting homework assignments from his regular school, so he's doing those as well. 

Eventually I got a Melissa & Doug school set from the Amish store by us. He seems to love it, particularly because it has a bell, a timer, and a pointer with a fake crayon at the end. 

It bears mentioning that I also have him doing yoga three times per week, gardening with me and his grandma, and he has online meetings with his church friends. He will also start doing distance learning with his regular teacher from Pre-K soon. Which technically means this is supplemental. I think it's important. :) 

Dahlia has started doing Khan Academy & will be expected to continue her school's online learning curriculum. She's been recreationally reading, compiling recipes, being an adorable teenager, and having Zoom meetings with our church's youth group (and BCT in Absentia). I think she and I may start running together soon. 

Rick and I have been doing our best to keep up a nice routine for them (although Escher likes to hang out with his grandma in the early morn - which makes us perfectly happy to sleep in sometimes since we don't ever get that luxury in Chicago). We're organizing our stuff, settling us in, and figuring out our new temporary normal. My resting heart rate has decreased pretty drastically for the past few weeks, which is weird because I was very upset that my life was turned upside down by my regular career's abrupt shutdown. All is well so far. :) 

The Messy Business of Gender and Our Kids

If you're like "lol caitlyn is bruce still because birth" you should probably read this - I took the time to write it and everyone can use some interesting science knowledge that's written so simply Dahlia could teach it to Escher. And it's pretty hilarious in parts, so that's the hook.

ALLLLL RIIIIIIGHT.

Let's have a talk about sex determination. In mammals (that's us, dudes), there are two processes (sequential in nature) that determine the overall sex/gender of a developing fetus. Primary sex determination starts vaguely happening after approximately four weeks of fetal development. Rudimentary structures that will form gonads start to form. At week 7 of fetal development, XYs start to sprout two different sex parts: the testicular cord and interstitial region. XXs don't develop distinguished ladyjunk until later. This shit is all determined by genes, though the introduction of serious doses of endocrine disruptors can totally override the sequence of events that make Boys and Girls, per se. So that's one step, and it can be altered. There are things OTHER than XX ("girl") and XY ("boy"). In fact, there's XXX, XXXX, XXXXX, XXXXY, XXY (Klinefelter), Non-Klinefelter XXY, Turner syndrome (X without Y, but considered female), XX male syndrome (considered male but very small significance of male sex characteristics), XXXY, XXYY, XYY, and Y chromosome microdeletion.

Secondary sex determination is a far more messy experience: Early in development, the effects of testosterone and AMH (a hormone) cause Wolffian ducts to develop into a vas deferens and other boyparts. If there isn't a whole lotta testosterone or AMH, the Wolffian ducts shrivel up, causing Müllerian ducts to develop into the female fallopian tubes, uterus, cervix, and upper vagina. But as we all should know from taking ANY SCIENCE WHATSOEVER, that doesn't always happen perfectly. Some males lack a pee-tube, balls, or sperm creation. Some females lack any one of the ladyparts required for babymaking. Some have both. Some have neither. COMPLETELY FUCKING SEPARATE FROM THIS, there is the idea of gender identity. No matter how supremely uncomfortable it may make you... every individual - because we're living in 20-fucking-15, has the ability to shape and put forth their own goddamn gender identity. At birth we are not granted a special crown that tells us For The Rest of Your Life, You Have to do All Boy Things (or All Girl Things). We all have intersex brains, most of us produce BOTH estrogen and testosterone (unless you have a genetic mutation that prevents it), and we are all capable of doing everything each other does, in the physical realm (except baby things, but not everyone has kids anyway). We can even fashion new genitals with surgery. So to sit there and say SEX IS STATIC CHROMOSOMES DETERMINE IT THE END is like saying "okay everyone named Kristi has to be a stripper and can do nothing else in life. Everyone named Ashley has to..." blah blah blah. It's archaic, shortsighted, ridiculous, and it should probably bring shame on your family.

So how does this relate to the upbringing of children? Entirely. No child should be forced to fit in a gender box, especially when it's the last thing they want. Phrases like "ugh, you're such a tomboy, can't you be more girlie?" and "stop being a girl and crying so much, be a man, son!" have NO place in raising children. People who use religion to uphold these ridiculous ideals are hugely at fault for many problems foisted unnecessarily on young people navigating puberty. In an already difficult and ever-changing world, let your child develop without gender expectations. They will fully realize their own gender at some point in their life, and respect their decision. I saw the show Sense8 the other day, and the character Nomi (who is trans) was repeatedly berated and called Michael against her wishes by her overbearing and frankly SHITTY mother. Don't be that person. If you need help, ask. I am personally living with the same gender identity as my corresponding sex at birth - but I have plenty of friends who aren't, and that's okay. For the most part, though I cannot speak for the entire community as I am not a member, trans people are sick of the concept that they should be treated as lesser-than by the morally superior (in their mind) segment of society that believes you cannot change your sex or gender - so forcing the idea won't make it more comfortable or lovely for us to all coexist peacefully and respectfully.

If you rape a prostitute, is it just shoplifting?

Original Sun Times article here.

Mary Mitchell, who seems like she would be my archnemesis, from some of the more uninspired and alarmist soccer mom tweets and articles she puts forth into the world (e.g. her gem of a tweet on July 15, 2015: ow.ly/PFaY7 I like to enjoy art, not be shocked by it.), wrote an opinion piece which posited that a sex worker who was raped at gunpoint shouldn't have been considered a rape victim, at least not on par with a girl who was raped during a home invasion, because she was asking for it. As if there weren't a shortage of cheap-shot jokes about "dead hookers" and shoplifting rape. I attempted to go to the comments to write a response, but there wasn't a field for it.

So, I'll post what I would have written, here:

First, what you MEAN is - Tom Dart waged a war on business transactions that should, for every reason, be perfectly legal. If you can sell your hair and plasma, and rent the space in your uterus for nine months - all legally - there's absolutely no reason someone who may give away sex for free should be banned from the sale of it. This is 2015, the Draconian laws on sex should start reflecting that. Ridiculous.

Second, your analogy fails. If a boxer goes to meet a fellow fighter and that other person ambushes him and beats him to death, you wouldn't suggest that his death is "lesser than" someone who was beaten to death who had never been in a fight. You wouldn't say a firefighter that stepped in to help put out a fire in a restaurant that resulted in something falling from the ceiling and killing him "lesser than" someone who died in a fire in their sleep.

This sort of divisive writing is spurious; it's ACTUALLY a joke. The punchline to rape apologist frat boy jokes ("is it shoplifting if you rape a hooker" hur hur hur). Lazy journalism. Furthermore, Tom Dart and his sex worker war are as pathetic as this piece. Get over it, Chicago. If someone can legally meet someone, have dinner bought for them, receive flowers, and then have sex with their admirer - there's zero reason they can't have a more direct cash transaction and skip the nonsense. Especially WOMEN who denigrate other women who engage in sex for pay seem like they're jealous they've had to give sex away all these years. Must be because I have no interest in it that my attitude is "treat all sex workers as people, perhaps they'll be seen as such by society, and they'll stop ending up face-down in ditches with bullet holes in their heads."

You're GRATEFUL that he wasn't charged with "snatching" an "innocent" woman off the street? How sick are you? This woman was RAPED at GUNPOINT and you're reserving judgment of HER rather than her attacker? It's at this point that the phrase "rape culture" seems especially poignant when you'd rather demonize a VICTIM than her ATTACKER. Get some psychological help re: your unresolved issues with women being able to turn a profit on sex. And until then, do yourself and everyone else a favor and don't write about it. Embarrassing.  

Hopefully I'll live to see an age where sex workers can engage in legal business enterprise in Chicago. If you look at it neutrally, their service is ONLY beneficial. It isn't even akin to drugs, where one can make the argument that their usage is harmful and addiction is crippling. It's sex. When paid for, at least it's satisfying. At most, it's therapeutic. That women are legally compelled to give all sex away for free that they engage in, is borderline fascism. It's bad enough they aren't allowed full reproductive freedom, at least legalize the commercial utility of their vagina.

And I'm going to say something, now. By the end of the article, the reader is propositioned FOUR TIMES to "follow" Mary Mitchell.

Would it really be stalking if someone followed you to your house and pointed a gun in your face?

I mean, you were asking for it.

Lepidopteraphobia

Discrimination - Kenneth Rexroth

I don’t mind the human race.
I’ve got pretty used to them
In these past twenty-five years.
I don’t mind if they sit next
To me on streetcars, or eat
In the same restaurants, if
It’s not at the same table.
However, I don’t approve
Of a woman I respect
Dancing with one of them. I’ve
Tried asking them to my home
Without success. I shouldn’t
Care to see my own sister
Marry one. Even if she
Loved him, think of the children.
Their art is interesting,
But certainly barbarous.
I’m sure, if given a chance,
They’d kill us all in our beds.
And you must admit, they smell.

** Kenneth Rexroth is my spirit animal.

Birth Announcement for Escher! (uhm, only 9 days late, no big deal).

Escher Aemilius Keorkunian-Rivers burst forth (quite literally) from my body at 7:46AM on November 2nd, 2014. He weighed 6lbs 14oz, and was 21" long. He was purple, covered in vernix (goop), and silent. This caused his normally very stoic father to damn near panic, as he considered the possibility Escher didn't make it through the birth process. I forgot to mention to him that babies are sometimes a cute little lilac color when they come out, and they don't immediately scream, as he wasn't present for Dahlia's actual birth.

The birth process started at Midnight on Halloween - well, actually, I had my membrane stripped a few days prior to birth, so that allegedly started the process, but for the purpose of inducing me, that started at 12AM on 10/31. I was sure we were going to have a Halloween baby on our hands, but he decided to wait 57 hours to be officially born. At 1:30AM on Day 1, I had a cervical softener (prostaglandin) put in place. After waiting 12 hours with no discernible progress, they inserted a cervical squeezer (one balloon full of saline in my uterus, one balloon full of saline outside of my cervix) to try to dilate me further. That started the contractions, but did not do much to dilate. Pitocin was added at this point, which made the contractions even stronger. Somewhere between 24 and 48 hours in, I caved and got an epidural (95% because Escher's heart rate was getting in the danger-zone every time I got a contraction, and 5% because the contractions were exhausting and seemed like they would never yield a higher dilation, only tiring pain). Ironically, this was the most painful part of the delivery, and in fact, I ended up crying, which is incredibly unlike me, as I am usually the bared-teeth warrior birther - but... I felt the needle scraping against my spine as it went in. The local anasthetic wasn't very helpful (or maybe it would have been even worse?). Apparently I was sitting crooked, which didn't make the process any easier. I joke the the worst part of birth is the IV and epidural, but, uhh, it's really not that much of a joke. I fucking hate IVs, and the actual procedure of being epidural'd. Contractions are bad, but if they weren't so long-lasting and exhausting to the point of not being able to push properly, I'd do birth au naturelle. I did get a catheter, though, which I love. Having to pee in a hospital is no easy task, dragging long IV carts along to the bathroom, navigating around wires and whatnot... it's all obnoxious and fragile. Not to mention the possibility of banging my IV port on random crap on the way to the water closet, which I did twice. Even recalling the IV-banging incident NOW is enough to make me shudder. I cannot express enough how much I hate IVs.

As I got closer to the birth point, they popped my water. There wasn't much to report, but I was in a haze and Rick was getting food so I don't recall exactly what they said about it. The epidural started to get weaker, and I started to feel every contraction again, which caused Escher's heart rate to become dangerously high - so they started to check my progress more carefully at the end. I was also fitted with an oxygen mask, which ironically made me feel like I was being very slowly suffocated. Since I had been in labor for a long time, they felt the need to add more water to my uterus, as I had gotten another dose of epidural fluid, so Escher's heart rate started to dip into the 90s. They figured the added fluid would help him (which it seemed to). The only problem with it, was that the fluid never leaked out of the catheter tube, so it just pooled in my uterus, on the bottom left side, and felt so intensely painful that I was sure my uterus was doomed to rupture.

About an hour and a half before Escher catapulted out of my vagina, I was asked to start pushing, just to see if I'd get further dilated from 8 to 10. Not much happened, so the doctor briefly left. She came back half an hour later, and announced I should start pushing. So, I did. Ten seconds of pushing, one intake breath, ten more seconds of pushing, one intake breath, ten final seconds of pushing. I had to remove the oxygen mask at one point, because I literally could not get enough breath to sustain my consciousness (the O2 wasn't being pumped into the mask fast enough for how I was breathing). For about twenty minutes, I had my legs up in the stirrups, but then my doctor informed me that I should drop my legs down and lay on my side. So I actually gave birth out of stirrups, keeled over to the left. Nurses held my legs, Rick held my hand, and Dr. Bernardo held my baby. An hour after the pushing began, Escher exploded out of me in a gush of amniotic replacement fluid, blood, and general gross. I pushed out the placenta shortly after, while he was receiving an APGAR score, and I was informed that I was one of the best, most patient patients ever. I'd never seen my husband look so afraid, but once it was established that the baby was healthy and fine, he was quite relieved.

And with that, Escher was born!

Running Away to a Commune!

Okay, that was a joke title. More like "diligently researching and carefully selecting what will hopefully be an appropriate commune."

You see, my son will be born soon. I want him to grow up in an atmosphere that I've always wanted to be a part of, growing up; people and children co-existing and interacting in a loving, supportive environment. I've always wished for a place to belong. A sense of community - family. A place of peace and comfort. Where communication is abundant and screaming is rare. Knowing and negotiating expectations, mitigating disappointments. A place of dancing, musicality, and joy. Where people don't feel excessively bound to cultural norms to the point of sacrificing their own dreams or desires to do what's merely expected of them, but they can flourish. I hope it is a growing experience for me, and I know my husband will learn quite a bit. Dahlia has been in a basic state of pure excitement, more or less, since I told her I was pregnant. Since she's 7, and happy about new things, I'm sure the transition will be much easier than some of the other ones we've been through, and there will be kids on the other side of this one. I have favored communal living since I was a child, and in fact, I've lived in a couple of them along the way (either hackerspace-type anarchist communes in Chicago - with the likes of Jeremy Hammond and his twin, Jason, or in the shared estates/homes of relatives). Always temporarily, as I was just "too busy" to make the commitment to moving there for a longer stay. I like the idea of working in a collective - doing new and strange, difficult and bizarre things.  I've always just joined up in things and made stuff happen, rather than swimming through the bureaucracy of the corporate world in its current iteration - and then left when the projects ended. But I'm ready for the longer haul, now. And more than willing.

I don't consider myself a hippie, at all. Despite this, I am hopelessly in love with drum circles, festivals, being barefoot, incense, tie-dye, henna, hemp products as viable building materials, being a vegetarian for the love of animals, making jewelry, moon cups, camping, homeschooling, essential oils (especially coconut, which is in all of my company's products!), occult stores, DIY-ing as much as possible, basically everything except free love and pot - but if you engage in that, cool. I'm not bothered; it's just not my thing.

Probably the main reason I cannot, in good conscience, give myself a title from Hippiedom, is because of my political alignment. I'm an anarchist, right, but not that kind. I'm the free market variety - the black sheep of the anarchist movement. I think monetary exchange for both the management and production of goods and services, as well as the purchasing of those products by consumers as a pretty cool option. I'm not saying it always works perfectly, or that it's The Best System Forever, but I'm just saying I support the idea (in a stateless society, of course!). But, before you start making assumptions, I would like to inform you of three things about myself, all of which are true:

• 1. I do not support Ayn Rand, Ron Paul, or anything Tea Party related. 
• 2. I do not believe in a system that supports the eradication of any type of anarchist (or other system of choice), anarcho-communists or -syndicalists, -socialists or anything of the sort. However, I've heard other sorts of anarchists wishing they could ban my ideology, which kind of hurts my feelings, actually. I believe in the freedom to choose your own community, based on your desires and shared ideals, if that is what you want, regardless of setup. People should be free to make their own choices, even "bad" ones.
• 3. While I am fine with libertarian brutalists (though not a fan), I would not personally practice or adhere to basically anything they believe, in a "versus humanitarian libertarian" way. 

So how can a proponent of capitalism or similar adjacent system possibly be okay within a socialist commune? Easy. I like sharing, and finding common ground. My common ground is that I like to live among people, I love farming and/or gardening, production, business, sustainability, and creating good times. So do the socialists of the communes. As long as we're not quibbling over possible details of a far-off stateless society, we'll get along brilliantly. I don't usually like to quibble. The only brand I enjoy is gentle volleying with my ulra-utilitarian husband over the merits and importance of aesthetic beauty and art in the lives of every human being. He's science. I'm art. Sometimes, like over MC Escher, we meet in the middle!

So I'm checking out a bunch of communes now, mostly in Missouri (though I haven't discounted other places), and hopefully I'll be able to find one that's great for our family. I'm kind of nervous about the embarkation process, but I'm starting to view it as a similar sort of thing my ancestors went through in coming to America from Jordan/Jerusalem/Czechoslovakia/Moravia/Austria (depending on the line). A whole new world, a whole new life. That sort of thing. Cross your fingers for us!

Hookin' Ain't Easy.

At 19:56, Thaddeus Russell starts discussing prostitutes. Here I begin to realize something: it strikes me as strange that sex workers are considered "lower class" by most american women, either as a "last resort" profession, or a "pre-med profession" - either way at the expense of (or a prelude to) doing something "more worthwhile"... but historically prostitutes and brothel-owning women were walking firecrackers who would kick anyone's ass that tried to hold them to an unfair moral standard. The idea that a woman who owned herself and her body could make a profit from the products or services involving it was revolutionary. These brave women endured such hardship and turmoil, and now people have the audacity to trivialize their role in the turn of history in favor of women. I find it supremely ironic when women who dress in a revealing fashion (cleavage everywhere and short everything) will complain about prostitutes taking the "easy" job - and they're being "just whores." These hypocritical ladies, too, capitalize on their body's attributes - but do not charge a premium for it, and then dog the wise ladies who do make such a decision. I am not personally a prostitute, if you're wondering, I choose to be in a monogamous relationship with my husband - but I come from two generations of "street-walkers" on one side of my family and never understood the stigma. I've worked for and been involved with both the NCSF and SWOP-Chicago. I have written scathing articles about the johns registry in Chicago, and I've worked extensively with sex workers to try to ease up some of the unfair treatment they suffer at the hands of "well-meaning" law enforcement (who do more harm than good). In the end, if you are a consenting adult and someone wishes to buy a sexual experience from you, that is nobody's business but the two people in the transaction, and nobody should say anything about it. Period!

Rape Culture is REAL: except as how it's portrayed.

The thing I've been hearing lately is the debate over whether or not Rape Culture is actually a thing. I contend that it IS a thing, just not in the way it's being portrayed. When reading an article on the American Humanist Association's website (found here), I happened upon a few comments underneath, most of which were rebuttals of the existence of rape culture in its current iteration. And with some of the comments, I agree... the AHA's article was entirely one-sided and left out an ENTIRE GENDER'S WORTH of people who experience rape. I was awestruck how terribly narrow the feminist scope of rape culture was. My comment was the following:

"Rape culture DOES exist, but this article systematically leaves out an ENTIRE gender that experiences rape - and it's just as trivialized, just as acceptable, just as yuk-yuk-yuk worthy. If my husband went into a police station and told them I raped him, he wouldn't be asked what he was wearing, because it wouldn't get that far; he'd be laughed out of the police station. THAT is rape culture.  

The fact that BOTH SEXES, all gender expressions, and all accounts of rape are so thoroughly scrutinized (or ignored entirely, depending on the plumbing of the victim), and the abusers are excused for their crimes is insane. 

If my house was broken into, and I was asked why there wasn't a forced entry - so I admitted to having left the door unlocked, the assailant wouldn't be denied criminal charges. They would still be convicted. Because that's a question of invitation, someone enters the threshold of my home, uninvited - they are automatically charged with a crime. If they enter the threshold of my vagina, uninvited, they are charged with a crime only under certain conditions. Invitation, not access, is the "consent" of both situations - but in practice, this is not true for rape. THAT is rape culture.

This is NOT and SHOULD NOT BE an issue for feminists, it should be an issue for ALL proponents of a peaceful society wherein sexual crimes are held in seriousness, as they would a home invasion, regardless of sex, gender expression, orientation, anything. If you don't have a right to bodily autonomy, under all circumstances, you don't have any freedom whatsoever."

And I absolutely stand by my comment. Male on male rape is another example, the "trope" of altar boy jokes and other sorts of justifications, excuses, and minimizing of the magnitude of sex crimes is rampant. Sex is almost never a crime unless it's a man in the bushes hiding to get a woman. But is it a crime when it's a sexually repressed priest entrusted with the care of young boys, or an angry housewife manually stimulating her husband's genitals against his will? What if the female teacher is hot? What if the lady was just baby-crazy? How often is rape downplayed as an inevitable result of the culmination of factors, rather than met with horror and punishment? THAT is rape culture, ladies and gentleman.

Where women may feel as if they're weighed down by a barrage of body-image issues thrown at us from every conceivable direction, objectified, and treated as sex toys - men may also feel compelled to be emotionless tools for society to use. For every "she could lose some weight" you hear "he sucks at oral sex" - and for every "god, what a slut" you hear "be a man and do it." Men are not easily allowed the ability to be creatures of empathy, vulnerability, compassion, communication. They are told at every turn to "man up" and "deal with it" and that their emotions will scare women off because they will hate the idea of "mothering" their boyfriend. Despite the fact that they are also expected to listen to a battery of feelings from their girlfriends, conveniently without that idiotic "fathering" counterpart. Men are disposable army guys, stoic heroes, protectors of everyone who isn't male - and they can't ask for help. If a man is ever raped, the question of whether or not you can rape someone who is "always willing" comes up. Men are PURELY sexual creatures, right? Always wanting sex from everything, even apple pies! Uhh, if that's not rape culture, nothing is.

So, in essence, you cannot view rape simply in the scope of male-on-female-at-gunpoint, complaining about misogyny and objectification, without taking into account that this sort of thing happens to men as well - otherwise you're just pitting the sexes against each other. You're saying "YOU MEN ARE AT FAULT, AND WOMEN COULD NEVER RAPE," and that isn't helping anyone. Rape culture is not blind to genitals, and that is the problem. If we could all work together for a more gentle society, wherein rape is looked at as a heinous crime NO MATTER THE TERMS (other than lack of consent), perhaps rape culture could become a thing of the past.

 

On the Up and Upskirt.

As you can probably surmise, I have a daughter. I try to teach her to be tough and self-assured, independent and fierce when necessary. I don't frequently berate her or constantly tell her to be silent, though I do admit I overuse the phrase "good girl" - it's a habit I'm trying to break. I don't want her to feel that she has to quiet her voice to make room for "more worthy" voices. "Good life decisions" is a major mantra in her life. Sure, everyone makes bad decisions from time to time, but focusing on the good seems pertinent, here.

In the news lately, there has been an article circulating about a man who took at least one upskirt picture of a woman, was arrested and tried, but it was ruled legal that he had "violated" that woman's right to privacy. An outcry followed, people speaking vehemently about past experiences, train groping, etc. THESE MONSTERS, they declare, ARE EVERYWHERE! Now there's even a law banning the photography of "sexual" areas without a woman's knowledge. But even the official prepared statements about it are idiotic: "The legislation makes the secret photographing, videotaping, or electronically surveiling of another person's sexual or other intimate parts, whether under or around a person's clothing or when a reasonable person would believe that the person's intimate parts would not be visible to the public, a crime."

But who are these monsters? And what makes them monstrous? Are they violent predators who ram their be-camera'd fists up the skirts of women in order to procure illicit footage of their undergarments (or lack thereof?) - Mostly? No. They're people who *do* take pictures of boobs and butts, occasionally undies, but most of them don't go within a few-foot radius to get such pictures. Here's where my view gets unpopular: if it's in public, it should be fair game to photograph. I shouldn't have to potentially suffer from a law that says some lady's cleavage in my picture is punishable by law, especially if I realized it thereafter and attempted to conceal the picture (also written into the law). The fact that you wore something in public that you'd be ashamed was documented (from any angle, really) is an issue. Clothers' remorse isn't and shouldn't be a valid thing. If you're really that hysterical about your body being photographed, wear more clothing. That you wore a certain style of dress is okay - - until there's picture proof of it - - is questionable/sketchy at best. At worst it's hampering the creative expression of someone who wants to take a normal picture, but your buttcheeks ruin it. In the middle it's a creepy dude taking a physical snapshot (rather than a mental one, which shouldn't really be a surprise) - and you're upset about it.

All the maelstrom of venom spouted by women who purport "I DON'T WEAR THIS CLOTHING FOR YOU OR MEN OR ANYONE!" are not automatically allowed to dictate who can and cannot look at them, or for that matter, photograph their presence. There's not some holy magic force-field that they can shimmy up when they walk out into common areas of public, so if they're not comfortable being surreptitiously photographed by every conceivable angle for the purpose of "safety" and/or surveillance, but they ARE upset at potentially being jerkfodder for random internet trolls - perhaps they should change priorities, or maybe wear giant garbage bags and parachute pants with super-sexy ass-floss underneath; because after all, if you aren't doing it for anyone else, why does it matter if anyone else sees it, right? That you don't dress for me or men or whatever, doesn't mean we don't have to see you or interact with you. That doesn't mean we are banned from looking at you. So why does a camera's eye violate that space, but a human eye does not? Silly.

So I tell my child: if you don't want a record of something happening - don't do it! If you don't want a creeper taking pictures of you in weird angles and posting it online because it's embarrassing - don't wear such clothing. If these women walked around topless, would everyone have to avoid photographing anything with them in it, because they chose to foist themselves into non-nude society - for fear of "manufacturing pornography" charges? How narcissistic do you have to be to believe that someone doesn't have a right to take a picture with you in it, just because you exist and decided to be somewhere at a given time? Seriously?

That said, the tables are turned if someone does violate your bodily autonomy by shoving a camera between your legs. I am a firm believer in the proper application of stand your ground laws. If someone puts their hands between your legs to take an unsolicited picture, beat them within an inch of their life, and take pictures of their mangled bodies and State IDs to out them on the internet. Post their picture everywhere. Ruin their lives. Have no mercy, show no remorse. It is NOT okay to violate someone's right to their own body and all of the contents therein: that behavior should be punished severely on an individual basis. So, no, I'm not a rape-apologist or anything of the sort. I believe in pragmatism. Don't want your boobs on the internet? Don't show your boobs near a camera, and they won't go on the internet. Don't want someone to steal your bike? Don't leave it on the curb near a trash can. Don't want someone to steal your car? Don't leave the keys in the ignition and the door wide open. Don't want to be beaten half to death by an irate lady? Don't jam your hand up my skirt. It's pretty easy, I think, and this is the sort of motherly wisdom I wish to pass down to my adorable little skirt-wearing precious pumpkin pie daughter o' mine.   

That Toddler is NOT My Daughter's Boyfriend.

One of the unexpected consequences of the structure of society is that males and females are incredibly divided over matters of behavior and relating. When my daughter was born, I counted myself lucky that I had 13 years to figure out how to address the entire males vs. females divide. I was very, very, wrong.

Each and every time there is a family party, or a social gathering of any nature, where there are male children near my child's age  - someone inevitably says "Oh, Dahlia! How's your boyfriend? He's so cute, you might just have to marry him!" To be sure, at this point I am internally trying to stifle upchucking my Thanksgiving Tofurky. There are so many problems with this, that sometimes I can't even wrap my mind around someone's mental process that brings them to the point of awkwardly disregarding her childhood (this is especially pertinent when people tell her she looks "sexy" when she wears dresses. UGH!).

First of all, I don't want her to think of male creatures around her age as her only possibilities for pair bonding. It would be incredibly screwed-up and hypocritical of me to try to train her to be heterosexual, and since kids do not have expressed sexuality, any indoctrination about her "future husband" or "babies" would be exactly that. She may grow up to be a childless lesbian, and I don't want her to feel like she's betraying my stupid expectations of her, simply by living her life honestly. I don't name brand the type of car I expect her to own, and I haven't arranged a marriage/career/living situation on her behalf... so why should I do that about her relationships or procreation? Answer: I shouldn't. I expect her to do the best she can in matters of learning and education, promptly address her own problems in a dignified manner, and to be polite/mannerly unless someone gives her a reason to do otherwise. I don't have a husband picked out for her. I haven't frozen her eggs at birth to engineer the most attractive and fertile children. I may be a little wacky by today's standards, but not like that.

Secondly, I don't want her to feel obligated to view boys as these creatures she has to be shy around, to alter her appearance for, or to feel generally disconnected from - instead of just as "other people." I want her to be friends with boys, to laugh and learn with them, to find out their inner workings, to relate to them. Basically I want her to view them the same way as she does girls. Because until she hits puberty and starts to have sexual feelings... she should! Potential friends, confidantes, partners in crime. Not just walking potential husbands. Ever since my husband convinced me that marriage partners should be friends as well as spouses, I've seen the value in that. I always sort of vaguely looked at people I was in a relationship with as begrudging add-ons, rather than my friend. It was too risky, in my estimation, to be friends with a lover. Too much to lose, I needed lots of separation. If you never have one male friend, can you start with your husband? Same with a wife!

And last. I don't want her to fall prey to the idea that men and women are totally different creatures with different "hardwired" brains who have acceptable bad behaviors because they're not able to do otherwise. It's not THEIR fault, it's not MY fault, our brains are wired differently! My husband HAS to cheat on me, and I *have* to nurture our children while he's gallivanting, because he's incapable. I cannot stop myself from taking comfort in romance novels and ignoring the sex drive of my spouse because I'm a GIRL, duh! Decisions? What are those, I can't hear you over the sound of my own vagina! In fact, I can't do anything except babysit and crochet because, you guessed it, I get my period every month. Poor husband will never stop being able to carry every heavy object in sight for me, because I need help. I'm his dainty little flower! NO ESCAPE. It's brain science. Womp womp.

So, the moral of the story is: if you see a girl and boy playing together, encourage them to find all the things they have in common. Don't pretend-marry them, don't make them feel awkward, and they're not K-I-S-S-I-N-G off in the hilly brush somewhere. They're two tiny incomplete humans who want to build a friendship, let them. Let them explore their differences instead of pushing it on them.

Boys will NOT be boys, and that's the shitty punchline for every sad joke ever told in a creepy misogynist narrative, and it needs to stop. "Oh, she's just a girl" needs to stop too. Don't alter your expectations for your children based on their genitals. That includes expecting them to date/marry/procreate with someone of the opposite sex, either. Let them live up to their own potential, not the potential you decide for them.