The Child/Whore Complex.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

The times, they are a-busying!

 

I haven’t mentioned this before, but I am starting up a soap business with my husband. An unshakable creative beast, I am constantly trying to force Rick to try new things. New foods, new music, new art projects, new shows, new books, new facial hair, new everything. I take his staunch perpetually-the-same mountain and chip away at it until he agrees to try whatever I think he should experience. Sometimes this is a beautiful bonding experience, and sometimes it gives him a nightmare or two. On rare occasion, he’s been greatly upset and taken the indignant “how could you do that to me?!” stance.

You see, he has difficulty with the “looking stupid” aspect of newly honing a skill. Whereas I don’t generally care how moronic I sound for asking 7,367,231,846 questions, or doing rather goofy shit while I’m getting my feet wet… my husband? Not so much. Rick wants to know, he wants to know NOW, and he wants to have been expert level approximately fifteen years ago. I dance around and occasionally sing in public. Rick would rather die. He’s getting better, though. Nowhere to go from rock bottom… except up!

So there was a moment when we were in Michael’s and I suggested that I’d teach Rick how to make soaps. I started checking out the inventory of melt-and-pour kits, Dahlia quietly (but passionately) singing to herself, and offered my knowledge of the aesthetic approach, rather than the technical aspect. I wasn’t so much interested in making SOAPS, so much as I wanted to convince my unwashed husband to make something pretty that would also be handy when scrubbing a layer of crud and cheese off of his underberries and other assorted limb-y, appendage-y things. Something he could be proud of, that would also make him potentially smell dandy.

I was shocked at his response: “this is ridiculous. A waste of money. I bet we could make soap for much cheaper than this melt-and-pour shit. This is CHEATING!” I cocked my head, volunteered that I had no knowledge of how to make soap from scratch, and I even sort of vaguely-yet-noncommittally noted that because I had no idea, it was probably the sort of thing better left to factories. Factories that produced melt-and-pour soap, duh. No human has ever made soap with their HANDS. What is this? The paleolithic era? Do we have to start washing our loincloths by the Euphrates? Husband, are you drunk?

But then he used the Almighty Google Machine (even with a bad signal, because Michaels is a signal-sucking vortex for some reason, get WIFI already!) and found a recipe. He announced that it only took a few ingredients, and that we could do it. Fine. Go ahead. Try to get all socialist-uprising and try to take back the production/manufacturing world better left to machines! GO AHEAD, DURRUTI. Rebuild your pile of ashes, with the help of pure, unadulterated spite. So I conceded (simply because he challenged me, and you should know I turn into a monster when challenged) we began to buy all the things, and embarked on the beginning of quite a journey.

And I’m serious when I call it a journey. At this point, we’re only a month and a half into making soap, and we’re already laying the groundwork for a great business. We’ve found out all kinds of neat/horrifying/crazy/anomalous information about cosmetics and detergents, from carcinogens in hand soap to shea butter’s weird anti-aging properties. Did you know coconut oil gets rid of lice? I mean, really, doesn’t it have better things to do with its time? We’ve discovered that everyone we know (only 15% exaggeration) has skin ailments, afflictions, and conditions. Today we met an herbalist named “Shoebocks” (pronounced “shoebox”). My husband’s pored over legal codes and policies for retailers and I’ve decided to re-teach myself ACCOUNTING. Now, I’m by no means an idiot, but I can’t keep the numbers 4 and 7 straight, so I would like to say, again – into the microphone – this is quite an interesting journey.

And it keeps getting cooler, and more (eu)stressful, and it’s really fun to watch it develop.

If you want to buy some, check out our blog, follow us on Twitter, or like us on Facebook, here’s the information!

marquisdesoap.blogspot.com
marquisdesoap.etsy.com
@marquisdesoap
facebook.com/marquisdesoap

Three points of congratulation if you can possibly guess what our business is called…
(I know it will be very difficult to do so.)

Maybe My Grandkids Will Appreciate Me!

WARNING: This may sound judgmental, but that's because I'm a bit miffed about it.

If you've ever felt like an outcast in a mommy circle, welcome to my life. Here's where I am situated in an outdoor picnic gathering: I make the rounds, saying hello and introducing myself, noticing that half of the moms are either staring at my nose ring, or trying to fathom my eclectically bohemian-inspired fashion choices. The ones who aren't, are being helpful and offering my daughter a burger, to which she loudly inquires "IS THAT REAL MEAT? I'M A VEGETARIAN!" and proceeds to stare down all the omnivores with the fervent judging eyes of a PETA volunteer (which I maintain isn't my fault, since I don't do that!). Between glares, my darling progeny is forcibly introducing herself to the inevitably shy children with whom she shares toys. It's mandatory that they report their names or Officer Dahlia will find ways of making them talk. I encourage her to give them personal space.

It is at this point a few women start to complain about their husbands. My husband isn't someone I complain about. He's pretty rad, and there isn't an obvious gender divide between us. I spent most of my adult life identifying as a lesbian, so if I can keep the company of a man (let alone marry him, though he did partially take my last name) without smashing him like he's the embodiment of the patriarchy, he has to be pretty awesome. We have similar political ideologies, we're both fringe weirdos, we both like each other. No problem, in that regard. Then conversation will shift to the relief the mothers feel that they can get things done while the kids are in school. Where does Dahlia go to school? I manage to finish the word "homeschool" and there are either audible gasps or tentative "ohs." The quantification questions flood in a cacophonous din for ten minutes. Does my daughter know the alphabet? Actually, she can read. Does my daughter interact with other kids? She's taken all kinds of classes, from Ballet to Mandarin, and those classes happen to be populated with other miniature humans. Does it drive me crazy that she doesn't "go away" for a while? No, I like the fact that she's around me a lot, however, I don't require that she be by my side, always. By the time these evaluation questions die down, I've already felt a palpable tension about my lifestyle choices.

There will be a new issue for the moms to focus on; why Shrek is inappropriate for children under 13, how their children need a good "swat on the behind" once in a while, the latest boycott on onemillionmoms.com, and a slew of other things I inherently disagree with. Dahlia's seen Shrek. Hell, she's seen the original Batman in all its Michael Keaton glory. She liked that film, and has watched it many times since. My parents took me to the midnight showing of Bram Stoker's Dracula when I was 6 years old, and I don't have prolonged nightmares about it. As for spanking kids, I volunteer with a well known coalition dedicated to freedom of sexual expression, so where I come from, corporal punishment is only okay to use on consenting adults. I view those one million moms as one million nosy crazies who have nothing better to do than make the world unlivable, unbearable, and frankly, awful. Children will survive beyond the harrowing psychological torture imparted upon them by video games, television, and banned books. As a bonus, if you keep a sense of humor about life, your child will grow up without a damaging sensitivity bubble that keeps them from taking risks, exploring the world, and talking to strangers.

If you, dear reader, are cringing from my words, chances are you're one of the moms who will never ask to connect with me on Facebook, deliberately taking other people out of the mommy circle to get their contact information, while looking over your shoulder to check that I'm not eating your heirs. I'm the stuff your nightmares are made of, THAT MOM who only exists to serve as a warning to others (Did you hear Dahlia coslept until she was FIVE?!), but my kid is so amazingly awesome it hurts, and I'm okay with infiltrating your REM cycles.

If you're laughing, we'll be friends forever.

My Dissident Take on 4th of July: I like it!

Whereas most people I know who espouse similar beliefs to mine hate Independence Day, I think bloody revolutions of yore are exciting celebration fodder. For the same reason I love Bastille Day, I love the 4th of July! Dahlia and I adore fireworks and basically any explosion fathomable. We sit in awe, slackjawed, squealing YAY! and other ridiculousness. But we love that crazy stuff. Jack Kerouac's oft-overquoted sentiment sums it up:

So, it's obvious we love fireworks. And revolutions. But people who disagree offer the following: "well it established the State," "but this fucking country is so Imperialist," and "All this flag-waving patriotism bullshit sucks!"

True, it established the modern incarnation of the State (ish), but not /technically/ until the Articles of Confederation were ratified, in 1781, so there was a window there where there was no formal established federal government (and we didn't explode, anarchy *is* possible) - which is amazing.




Yeah the country's Imperialist, that's a result of having a State. It didn't HAVE to happen, but it did. <sarcasm> There wasn't Twitter back then, guys! </sarcasm> Wait, that’s only half-sarcastic. If we would have had technological infrastructure, we probably could have built a free society. The fact that a community of people who owned private property could still relay information about safety, dangers in products or neighborhoods, education, and other things would have been all the trappings of a capitalist-friendly society, or maybe even a communal one, and the Constitution wouldn’t have been written to “protect” us from the State. My relationship with the Constitution is a strange one, on the one hand I’m glad there’s a vague manual for What the Government Can’t Do (Other Than When We Shit on That) – and on the other hand it gives this illusion of freedom, under which pretense Americans don’t question the nature of the Authority they’re subject to.



Which brings me to my next point, the flag-waving patriotism and nationalism of "God Bless Our Divinely Mandated Country" is ridiculous. Throw away your flags, burn them, do whatever you need to do. In fact, my sentiment is summed up beautifully by none other than Howard Zinn: https://www.commondreams.org/view/2010/07/02-11. But there's no accounting for taste, it’s not the bloody revolution’s fault that the majority of mouthy Murican patriots are flag-waving idiots who couldn’t identify political theory if it bit them in their (m)asses. Who support mass murder, imperialism, oppression, violence, and all kinds of nonsense. Patriotism?


The actual act of revolution, how beautiful a concept, to overthrow an established order. ♥
And it’s always fun to blow shit up. Practice your Molotov cocktails. Prepare for another revolution!
You never know when you’ll be faced with freedom. 

My Daughter is Scary.

Last week, I received this message from my friend Patrick, on Facebook:

I've never met your daughter but she terrifies me, she's more motivated and ambitious than I ever was. Hell, she's probably smarter than me too

So, naturally, I laughed and made a witty retort about how sometimes she scares me a little, too:

[She] just corrected me, when I posited "when you think of the solar system, you tend to 

envision the planets in a line all the time, and then they just knocked off Pluto, what the 

hell," and she said "yeah, but the planets couldn't all be in a line, because then the Earth 

wouldn't get sun and we would all die."

If it helps, she scares me sometimes, too. Hahahaha.

Dahlia is terrifying sometimes.

I was kidding, but only marginally. I'm not afraid of her ability to absorb a ridiculous amount of information, on some irrational basis, like, she'll morph into some evil genius bent on creating a fascist dictatorship. But I am sometimes afraid that she's going to be so steadfast in her decisions that she will stop questioning the validity of her own opinions. How often will she ask "could I be wrong about this?" Will she grow up to be one of those know-it-all people who are sad recipients of a large dose of the Dunning-Kruger Effect? Will her illusory "rightness," when called into question be met with copious rage and a how-DARE-you volatility? Is it possible that her refusal to be proven wrong culminate in grievous bodily harm, or worse?! I hope not!

My wish for her is that she'll be able to logically and soundly meet opposition with maturity, stand on her own two feet, not be nerve-wracked and insecure, but also able to admit when she's just plain wrong. She's only six now, and being headstrong is a quintessentially six-year-old trait, however, I can't help but wonder how much smartassery she'll take with her into adulthood. Hopefully not as much as her Mother. ;) 

I've been known to be a smartass even with a powdered donut.

My husband fell in love with this smartass, years ago.

I should look on the bright side: she's teaching herself Spanish with Rosetta Stone, tearing through books, schooling drunk teenagers on the origins of the Earth, trying like hell to assert her independence through learning how to cook and perform other menial tasks of living, and she's basically hilarious. So everything should fall into place. I hope!

Birthing a Radical: Anarchy and Parenting.

Occasionally, I feel the word "different" was invented to describe me. Even within typical outsider circles, I don't feel like I belong. Despite the fact that I've never really fit in neatly anywhere, I never bothered to be bothered by this fact.

Until my daughter was born. Then all the weirdness and unorthodoxy and eccentricity seemed to pile up and crush me under their combined weight.

I've been a vegetarian since I was a teenager. This never caused me any grief, but when it came time to start raising my daughter, I was bombarded with alarmist reactivity regarding the idea that I would DEPRIVE my DARLING DAUGHTER of the infinite meat-eating possibilities of life. Because of me, she would only grow to half-size, her IQ would be so low you couldn't register it on a chart, and she'd immediately vomit upon her first taste of rebelliously-procured meat products (in puberty). And how dare I do that to her? Easily. I sleep well at night knowing I'm such an awful person that I'd opt out of the factory farmed, antibiotic-laden, hormone-infested, carcinogenic junk-trap that is omnivorous food consumption. Not to mention the many animals whose demand for death was not made by my family. I'm pretty cool with that.

I've been an anarchist for most of my life. Now, possible misconceptions of anarchism aside, I've been through a very real schism from the rest of this community. Most anarchists identify as libertarian socialists or anarcho-communists. Ideologically, these kinds of anarchists intentionally separate themselves from anarcho-capitalists, whom they say are not "really" anarchists because they support the power structure dynamics of a hierarchical system. How dare they! Well, guess who thinks currency and jobs and companies and the free market and civil liberties and autonomy are awesome? Me. That makes me an anarcho-capitalist. Even in the subset to which I belong, I still disagree with many of the proponents. For example, I would probably enjoy bitchslapping Ron Paul. I think "can't stand" and Ayn Rand rhyme for valid reasons. Beyond this disagreement, many anarchists hate the fact that I've procreated. As if perpetuating the species with a child that has a higher-than-average chance of being an anarchist, I've somehow betrayed the most integral tenet of anarchism. I believe that parenting my daughter in such a way that teaches her the responsibility of autonomy and self-efficacy will be the thing that defines her life as she makes her way toward adulthood. She's only six now, but it's never too early to start.

Which brings me to my next problem. Er, point. Yeah, my next point. So, I teach my daughter autonomy and making responsible decisions. This means that I enable her to do things that would give most parents of similar-aged kids a heart attack. She uses the stove, cuts with santoku knives, plays barefoot outside if she wants, snacks if she's hungry, and she is a huge player in her own educational decisions. How do I manage these? Easily. I taught her how to use the stove responsibly, and I supervise when she uses it (for now). I taught her how to use a santoku knife (and scissors and lighters) so that she doesn't have to wonder about it, and I don't stress about her being barefoot or eating between meals. She's average height, on the thin side, and is so energetic I constantly joke with strangers that she's "powered by vegetables." I homeschool her, and she weighs in on how her lesson plans go.

Oh, I homeschool her! I must be religious, right?! Nope. All atheist, all the time. Which brings me to another issue: even within the minority homeschool community, I am still a black sheep. Foregoing the Bible in favor of Cosmos is seen as a Hellfire and brimstone transgression to many of the homeschoolers in my country. But, here's the thing... I don't homeschool my daughter to shelter her, I homeschool her to help her learn to think for herself. I don't want her to go through school with a blindly-patriotic, pro-'MURICAN slant. I want her to learn "just the facts, ma'am" and she can come to her own conclusions about them. P.S. If you think this isn't a problem, think of the way you learned about Thanksgiving in elementary school. Was there a table of brotherhood? A nicey-nice sit down meal where they all thanked the same Christian god? Cough. Many of the things we learn as children, we have to re-learn REALISTICALLY when we hit college (or HS if we're lucky).

So, that's a portion of me in a nutshell. And what I've told you isn't even the "worst" of it. But instead of these things making me feel angry or divided from humanity, I use it as an object lesson to teach my daughter all about the beauty, diversity, and infinite wonder of the world. I am allowed to have these differences and they won't be the death of me, as they may be in some other places. I can speak out against perceived injustice and I won't be immediately executed. She can live comfortably as a vegetarian without starving to death. My husband can pursue his medical school studies without being denied entrance due to caste issues. Because of our differences, she can experience an amazing variety of things, in life. The majority of her dinners are borrowed from another culture. I have major wanderlust so we travel across the country fairly regularly. She gets to see how all kinds of people live, and she is always a part of their festivals and events. We watch strange independent films about clowns and fairies, funky documentaries about spirituality, listen to oud and gamelan music, read stories from greco-roman mythology and amazing old classics, she has frequent exposure to all kinds of international art history. She's diversity-sensitive because she grew up with a throng of drag queens, queer artists, transsexual activists, performers, and strange birds. She's always curious, and I'm always willing to teach her more or help her find information. I named her after Salvador Dali and Roald Dahl. Her name is Dahlia. She's going to end up a name in your household someday. She is love.

Am I Ruining My Child? Education on Its Ass.

On a typical field trip in an average grade school, a student will encounter a "guide" or expert with specialized knowledge, who may train for years in a certain field. These people are either very enthusiastic volunteers, or they are paid to give 10-30 (ish) students access to the intimate knowledge they have on a particular subject. If they are avid information-sharers off the clock, they may join a like-minded group in their spare time. As a fervent volunteer, I have seen firsthand the large numbers of people who put in a great amount of effort to make the world around them a better place. We all have a special hobby, interest, or expertise that we take great pains to hone. An interest begins as a large but empty tank, and we fill it as a labor of love, an homage (or "a homage" depending on your pronunciation) to our reverence for a subject. We seek information to parse as true or false and cherry-pick the most consistent and logically sound pieces, filling our tank with the best parts. That said, if we walk around, full, without sharing or using the knowledge, that tank gets buried with our bodies (or scattered atop a mountain, or "promessed" if we're acutely aware of the unsustainable system of cemeteries). That information is gone, forever. Part of our drive toward the perpetuation of our species includes the urge to make a lasting contribution that will outlive our moment of death.

We've all heard (or rolled our eyes at) the phrase "it takes a village to raise a child." Even a conventional upbringing involves an endless supply of teachers, mentors, relatives, babysitters, coaches, and guardians - all working together (hopefully) to foster an atmosphere of learning, safety, and growth. In choosing to give my daughter an unconventional upbringing, I have found myself almost entirely responsible for locating each of these individuals. Two considerations are driving my search: 1. Out of all my friends and family, I know and love all kinds of people with great specialized knowledge - people who harbor interesting and wonderful worldviews, people who know a great deal about something that can consequently be whittled down to a small Wikipedia article (though it would be a great injustice to the subject to do so). 2. I want these folks to impart their enthusiasm on my progeny. I want them to feed her eager mind, simultaneously, with an almost irrational exuberance AND an abiding respect for the deeper concepts of the universe. I want her to be imprinted with the understanding that people are living, breathing relics of history. Above all, I want her to know that being passionate about her eventual way of life is necessary to happiness and ACTUAL success (not as measured by net worth/income).

You may think I'm insane. "Kristi, you're nuts" is a phrase that follows me everywhere. You may say any number of things about this decision, most designed to point out the absolute worst-case scenarios. "But there are crazy people! Cult leaders! Pedophiles! (oh my!)" - and there will certainly be no end to the age old mantra "if you're too open-minded, your brain may fall out." Well, let me be the first to tell you that I don't homeschool my daughter to shelter her. I homeschool her so that she can learn to think for herself. Does that sound contradictory? Can you TEACH someone to think for themselves? I assert that you can. My method thus far has involved teaching her a myriad of things, being honest when there are "science doesn't know why" answers, and I CAN and WILL say "gee, darling, I don't know - let's look it up together!" I believe there is no shame in asking questions. There isn't very much we are unable to learn, just things we haven't invested in learning, YET. I extend this practice into Open Source Learning: of course I wouldn't let a throng of bepitchforked strangers drag her off into the woods for a "swimming" lesson, but even if someone teaches her something outright WRONG, she'll have the same "relearning" experience most of us have during the transition between K12 and college. The difference between ours and hers will be that she will know this will happen, so she will prioritize the investigation of truth in her education. She will KNOW she is responsible for figuring out the credibility of the information she's receiving, rather than being surprised by having been taught incorrect information in the first place. Rather than blindly accepting all of the teachings of authority figures she hears, she will realize the importance of questioning information. 

I call this Open Source Learning because I am essentially positing that this method encompasses elements of peer production, opening the formerly proprietary nature of information as contained in textbooks (which has widely already been done by the Internet and universities across the country), as well as enabling Dahlia (and any child who wishes to be taught this way) to be self-enhancing through the variety of communication/models/information at her (or their) disposal. Technology has exploded, and it's time education took full advantage of this.

Without further ado, here are a few guidelines if you'd like to participate in the enrichment of Dahlia Violet:

1. For now, please keep each session to one hour or less. More than one session to teach a complicated subject is perfectly fine, but I think the longest she's able to give 100% of her focus to something is about an hour. She's six, and her attention span is pretty good, but all the same, she's six.

2. If you're teaching something extremely complicated, please reduce it to basics. This includes a vocab lesson if there's jargon, some deductive techniques, and probably talking to her like she's new. She just came out of me six years ago... she literally IS pretty new. Ask questions to determine whether or not she's understanding the material. She'll probably do the same.

3. Be okay with my presence. I may seem crazy, but I'm not crazy enough to hand off my kid to anyone without figuring out who they are on a deep personal level. Sorry. Many of these things can take place on Skype, at your house, in a classroom, in the woods, in a library meeting room, on a train, in the rain, on a boat, in a moat. We like it all, Sam I Am.

4. I am okay with all kinds of subject matter, but please check the logic involved when approaching her. Faith-based stuff, pseudoscience, supernatural fluff, metaphysics, and the like... not so great. If you're adamant, go ahead, but just know that you're filling the head of a very rational, intellectually honest kid. She'll tell you you're bullshitting her, if you are.

5. Think of the easiest way for a very visual learner to acquire information. That will be the greatest way she will learn. She's also very good with deductive reasoning. She reads a lot, but her ability to visualize complex systems (that aren't out of HER imagination) is questionable. Have some pictures handy, if you can.

So, that's about that. I believe in this project wholeheartedly, and I think if it works it could potentially revolutionize a lot of the way education is executed. Thanks in advance to the participants. Your contribution is priceless to making Dahlia the greatest person she can become. :)