I'm bipolar. I blog about it. I also blog about sex, theology and atheology, funny shit and sad shit, books, music, feminism, and love. Mostly love.

Friday, May 18, 2012


*Disclaimer: I feel comfortable giving my grandma this much shit because these are all things I would have (or already have) said to her. Because we love each other a lot, I can get away with making fun of her hoarding tendencies.

My grandma, like most old ladies, loves wind chimes. She loves all lawn ornaments and porcelain collectors' items that collect dust, bird shit, and that attack my face. But I’m pretty sure my grandma likes them more than the average bionic woman. Our cat, Maybeline, jumped up on my lap while I was chatting her up as she tried to ignore me so she could watch reruns of Criminal Minds (which I happen to know she’s seen every episode of because we watched them at the same time in different rooms and yelled comments to one another over the TV during commercials), and broke one of her thousands of porcelain angels. The wing fell somewhere into the chair I was sitting in, and when I found it I was all, “which trash do you want her in?” and she flipped, telling me she liked the angel to smile at her while she watched TV.

I think if an angel has a painted smile on her face, then she’s not actually smiling at anyone. Maybe she’s actually miserable inside and hates our house, but because the smile is painted there she can never express her true feelings. But Grandma doesn’t know that. She chooses to believe that the angel actually represents the person who gave it to her (whose name escapes her). SHE BELIEVES A LIE! So I just put the angel back on her Bose stereo (for her audio books. She actually asked us if it was a good one, and we were like, “No, Grandma. A Bose stereo is shitty,” and when we saw the lack of recognition on her face we said, “yes, Grandma. That’s a very, very good stereo.” She doesn’t know what to believe anymore.). Mom figured we could just put tape on the back because she only ever looks at the smiling side anyway. Only guests have to look at her ass. But we left that decision to her.

And then there are the wind chimes. They are everywhere. And they have taken over the porch and have circled the entire house. And I’ve never minded that much because, although aesthetically awkward, they do make pretty sounds and it is her house. But my sister Kayla just got her a new one. Wind chimes are kind of a fallback gift for Grandma. If you have no idea what the hell to get her for Christmas, just walk around Cracker Barrel with a blindfold on and pick something up. You’ll make her day.

So because there’s literally no more room to hang something up outside, she hung it from the fan in our living room, something she’s always done. That would be fine if the metal rods were a few inches long. But they’re not. Duh. The title can tell you that much. This particular one is long enough to hit myself in the forehead if I’m walking normally. And long enough for Jim to eat if he’s walking normally.

The other night I took Grandma’s dogs for a walk with Kyle, and because I’m a total athlete, I jogged into Mom and Jim’s room to tell them something that probably wasn’t that important, and midstride a wooden oval drove itself into my eye—or rather my eye drove itself into a wooden oval because I’m the only animate being in that scenario, but I wanted it to be the wind chime’s fault, so I flipped it around a bit. And it hurt way more than it should have. I seriously wanted to yell at grandma, but I realized that that would have been pointless.

Grandma is not going to stop liking wind chimes at this place in her life. And she’s not going to stop hoarding them. She’ll collect more and more and more and more until she dies. And at that point I’m going to cry when I pull that damn wind chime off the fan, so I decided not to complain, because she’s going to die someday? I think a better way of putting it is just like those angels mean something to her, those wind chimes have started to represent my grandma for me, and if they were gone I know she’d miss them. So I smile a little when I pass them, even if I don’t actually like them.

This afternoon I put the leashes on the dogs to take them on a walk. They always jump up on Grandma’s bed so I can reach their tiny, little necks easier. And when Millie jumped on the bed she hit her eye on a new wind chime I’d somehow missed, hanging directly over her bed, about a foot from the mattress. And Millie kind of yelped and I smiled and said to her, “If you had the cognitive ability that I did, then you would appreciate that wooden oval to the eye.”

I still hate wind chimes.

I still love my hoarder grandma.
WIND CHIMES!!!!!!!!!

The end.

So for those of you who read my fiction...

You can just mosey on over here. I'm only going to write about those characters for a while, anyway. Anything else will be kept in journals. I hope you guys like it in there. :)

Two blogs?

I'm considering having two blog. That would make me, like, a real blogger. :P

I think I would end up putting my fictional writing on a separate blog. Because my fiction and my life are two very different worlds that I'd rather not confuse. I think I may just make the Anonymous Collection a whole separate blog. I'll still work on it as I did before, without it interrupting the flow of my very separate style of writing. I also realized with my last post, that I have a different kind of writing in me. I'd like to develop that, and in the same place I write my stories it feels kind of strange.

I may have already done it by the time y'all read this.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

I busted a little kid's head today.

Okay, not really. As I mentioned, I was blessed to spend the whole day with Miss Kairyn Grace. First I made her biscuits for breakfast because Kayla had suggested it, and now that it was in Kairyn’s head, I didn’t want to say, “sorry girl, I don’t have much by way of logical thinking skills, so my anxiety says let’s eat cereal instead.”  Besides the fact she would have looked at me and said, “Dede, you’re crazy,” I couldn’t let the damn biscuits defeat me. So Kayla preheated the oven for me. That part was done and over with. One less thing to worry about. But when I put them in I forgot to change it to bake instead of preheat, so they took foreverrrrr to… (is that baking or cooking?). And I felt guilty making her wait for breakfast and allowing her mind to be poisoned by television that long. I’d already promised she could watch until breakfast was ready. And you don’t change rules when it comes to TV with these kids. I’d have had a mutiny on my hands.

Okay. So then I didn’t remember that I hadn’t actually ever turned the oven on. And I spent a panicked 5 minutes trying to figure out how to turn it off. Kairyn was patting my upper thigh because it was all she could reach in a comforting way. Finally I called Kayla to have her fix it, because heaven knows I couldn’t have done it on my own. And then I finally realized I’d never turned it on in the first place. AND in the process of trying to turn it off I’d reset the clock to be around 5 hours and 13 minutes off, and that the oven had an automatic light. It wasn’t bright because it was hot… just… because it was automatic. That was redundant, but I thought saying it again may help you realize how ridiculous of a person I am.

All that aside, I chatted with the chickie while she enjoyed the fruits of my labor (?), and she ate it with a fork. A fork? “Dede. Why did you give me a fork?” And I just looked at it for a minute, and then I looked at the biscuit. And I said, “I don’t know.” And we laughed and laughed because these may be our last minutes together that I actually remember before the brain damage from my seizure-head-injury totally wipes my memory and makes me crazy. (Looooooooooong story short, I had a seizure in dance class and got rushed to the ER because I hit my head. No broken neck, no concussion. I’m fine. But I like to blame all the stupid stuff I do on my brain damage.) That’s why I was laughing anyway. She was laughing because I gave her a fork to eat finger food.
And because it was pretty funny, I wanted to put it on Facebook, but all of a sudden, I couldn’t remember how to spell biscuit. And I wasn’t even getting close enough for Tonks (my iPhone) to give me any reasonable suggestions besides brisket. And because I talk out loud, Kairyn saw that I was struggling and frustratingly suggested I call her mother for the answer about 400 times before I finally remembered how to spell it. And then I was positive I was going to lose my mind. I’m never having a seizure and hitting my head again.

And then we were going to watch Totoro and color Disney Princesses as I’d failed to do yesterday. Damn it. But Totoro is on VCR. I’m not sure if it exists on DVD, but if it does, the person to buy it for me gets a free hug. I’d tried to watch Totoro with her the day before, but I couldn’t figure out how to get the VCR to work with their TV. And today it was going to work! I would not let it defeat me. Kairyn said, “Dede, it’s just a movie. We can just listen to Justin Bieber because that’s easier.” I think she was trying to be comforting again, as she will, but I was all, “I’ve got this Kairyn. Just give me a bit.” She rolled her eyes.

And then it worked! *Applause!* And she was genuinely excited because she loves that movie, and so do I. And when we got tired of coloring we just snuggled on the couch watching it together. And because I’m a big stinking hormonal train wreck lately, I cried when the girls found out their mom wasn’t coming home from the hospital yet. I also cried when we watched Bolt and when I listened to the Wicked soundtrack all the way through. That stuff will tear. You. up! Seriously. “Sure, I meant well -Well, look at what well-meant did. All right, enough; so be it. So be it, then. Let all Oz be agreed I'm wicked through and through. Since I cannot succeed Fiyero, saving you, I promise no good deed will I attempt to do again. Ever again.” Sheesh. Tell me that doesn’t make you want to sob. Okay, it doesn’t? Cool. Just me. (A side note. Spell Check tells me the ‘doesn’t’ in “doesn’t make you want to sob” is supposed to be don’t. So: Tell me that don’t make you want to sob.?? I would beg to differ Mr. Check.)

Cheese sticks are a perfectly acceptable meal for lunch... Right?

I got way off track. Anyway. So then we went to the park. And we swang/swinged/swung (IT WAS SWUNG, GRANDMA! TAKE THAT, YOU SLUT!) and it was whimsical. Really it was. And then she went on the merry-go-round thing with two other charming children who were really nice to her and they all had a great time. Then I busted a kid’s head open. Sort of. He was little and wanted to ride too, and I spun them, and all of a sudden he flew off into the gravel and started wailing uncontrollably. And the other kids are looking at me, horrified, like that poor child! Or more like they were afraid I was going to beat them, which is a disturbingly common reaction among kids in the event of a crisis. And after a really long time trying to calm him down long enough for me to ask the First Aid questions I’d never really gotten to ask before, his day care provider showed up.

And he had blood ALL over his head. But because I’m all certified, I knew that head wounds bleed like crazy, even if they’re not very severe, just because of where they are. Plus, the kid was wiping it all over the place and wiping is wet eyes, so then he had blood all over his face too. He looked like the survivor of a devastating car wreck, and he was crying like the only survivor in a car full of his immediate family. His day care lady freaked and called his mom, because apparently she didn’t know what the hell to do. The camp counselor in me was way more prepared for that shit than she was. She was actually kind of mad at the kid. Apparently he busts his head all the time, and the way she said he did it, made me feel like I was off the hook like, NOT MY FAULT, PEOPLE!  Now that knew people really thought that I was innocent, I could chillax. Because I was kind of afraid the 5, 6, and 7 year olds thought I had done it on purpose and the day care woman would judge me, even though she should have been watching him, not me.

So then Kairyn and I left because I was afraid to be there when the mom showed up. And we looked for Indian beads. Later we played a game where I threw pennies while she closed her eyes and then she looked for them—much like playing fetch with a puppy.
The end.

The best day ever.

Preschool Graduation

Kairyn and I are going to eat breakfast, go to the park, watch Totoro while we color Disney Princess pages, and go to the OHU graduation party! I can't tell you how excited I am to spend the day with my little lady. I'll let you know how it all goes when the day is over. :) This girl gives me no trouble. She is kind to everyone. And she reminds me what it is to love unconditionally. She loves those who don't deserve it. I was definitely not that good when I was 5. She is so extraordinary.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

This Post is About Sex


You know what has more views than any other post? The one about me not shaving. So. This post is about sex. It really is. But I thought that title might help me out. ;)

S.E.X. You mean… sex? Ahhhhh!
That was a conversation between my grandmother and me when I was about 9.

I think our culture’s fear of sex is both amusing and terrifying. I think sex is a natural part of life and suppression is both unhealthy and unwarranted. In the early days of religion, sex was strongly encouraged. “Be fruitful and multiply.” These kinds of messages were necessary evolutionarily to continue our race. HAVE SEX AND HAVE LOTS OF IT Genesis told us. So men have a whole bunch of wives because 9 months is just too long to wait to make another child. Monogamous relationships would have been counterproductive to the continuation of humankind. And because of our ability to communicate these ideas, specifically as instructions directly from a higher power that has control over our afterlife, humans thrived. WE HAVE SO MANY! Whoa. But let’s get real. If we don’t believe in polygamy anymore, then we shouldn’t view sex as sinful anymore, either.
We don’t need to have so many people, because we’re using and abusing the world’s resources. For that reason, we have contraceptive devises. ßGenius stuff really. And at puberty, when kids start to have urges to reproduce, they may or may not choose to wait for a number of reasons. I think these reasons can be narrowed down to a lack of education, religious beliefs, fear of judgment from peers or family, fear of disease, or fear of pregnancy.
Those are all well-founded reasons to wait. But regardless, those urges are there. And some people aren’t going to wait, especially those who have been raised with really unhealthy ideas of what sex means. I think it’s our public school system’s job to educate kids on what sex is, the role it plays in relationships as defined by our society, and how to prevent pregnancy and STDs and STIs. I think it’s our public school system’s job to counsel kids on when they’re ready for sex, ideas of sex based on experiences with sexual abuse, and which decision is best for them if they have contracted an STD or STI or have become pregnant.
I don’t think someone is ready for sex unless they are comfortable with their bodies, comfortable with their sexuality, are well-educated, and have found a partner with mutual expectations. Those are difficult standards to define, which is why I wish sex wasn’t such a taboo topic. Then those would have clearer definitions, and kids wouldn’t feel as scared to approach someone to really discuss where they stand. And personally I think in our society you aren’t ready to have a child until you’ve reached adulthood, which should be redefined as 21 (and sometimes not then really). And I only say this because of judgments our society makes concerning young parents and the structure of our educational system.
Educating kids on sex isn’t going to make them want to have sex. Likely, the same reasons kids don’t have sex will remain firm, and more kids who do have sex with use protection or know better what it means to be ready for sex. And I find that the same people that are against sex education are against abortion, health care, and supporting social welfare programs. A lack of sex education leads to diseases, unwanted pregnancies, and eventually uncared-for children. (Extreme generalization, I’m aware. But these are ideas put in kids’ heads that they’ll take into adulthood about readiness and protection.) So if you support this lack of education, then you should be supporting programs to deal with the backlash of these unwanted pregnancies, unwanted babies, and unwanted STwhatevers. You can’t just put kids into a pit of lions and ditch them without helping them when things go badly. That may have worked with Daniel, but he was the good guy in that story… and how many other people make it out of a pit of freaking hungry lions?
This all comes down to our ridiculous fear of sex. There are ways to protect your children from unhealthy ideas of sex and to encourage waiting until marriage (if that is something you care about), but pretending sex doesn’t exist isn’t all that effective. If you don’t educate your kids first, then the kids who have been exposed to sex (sexual abuse, sexual exploitation, exposure to sexual behavior and images at home) will do the talking for you. Do you see how this can be problematic? We’re so scared of sex, that the least healthy messages around sex are what circulate among our youth.
I can attest to this! I’m barely an adult. My mom did a great job of educating me, but I still heard what kids had to say. And the naïve kids soaked it all up because they didn’t want to look dumb. Sex seemed like a big kid thing, and the bad kids knew all about it (because they were forced to grow up too quickly). I remember thinking it was kind of creepy (I don’t use that word lightly here) the way kids saw sex when I was in middle school and high school. I hadn’t taken enough time to think about why. It all comes down to fear. And it’s starting to piss me off. Tell me what you think. Please?

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Makeup is NOT Antifeminist

Yes makeup, yes feminist.
*I would like to note that I wrote this geared towards women because of the feminist nature of the post. However, these truths are applied (often in reverse) to men who wear makeup as well. Men should not feel bad about interest in cosmetics, and no assumptions or judgments should be made concerning a man’s sexuality because of his use of makeup. I try to be sensitive to my male readers on this topic, because I acknowledge the flaws of our gender dichotomy. <3 to y’all.

I love makeup. I love makeup because it is art. It is art in the same way tattoos, piercings, and clothes are art for our bodies. It’s a form of artistry I’m not half-bad at. I appreciate cosmetic application as an expression of personality and a creative outlet. I like picking colors that look good together and finding the perfect shade of foundation for my skin. And I love helping other women do the same. I’m a Mary Kay consultant. I’m also a feminist.

And I know that’s hard for some people to grasp, because the way in which people use makeup can be antifeminist, and the way in which people interpret a woman’s use of makeup can be antifeminist. But makeup is never antifeminist. Some women do not wear makeup because they don’t like it. Just fine. Some women don’t wear it because they want to push social boundaries. Just fine. Some men and women are attracted to a certain style of makeup. Just fine. But makeup is often viewed in ways I find problematic. Following are my issues with makeup and my explanations of those.

What makeup is not:
  1. A requirement for beauty.
  2. A requirement for women.
  3. An invitation for sex.

Further explanation:

  1. Physical beauty has nothing to do with images on TV or in magazines. Physical beauty is something every single woman has. Some man or woman who is in touch with their sexuality and their wants and needs will find her attractive. Ugliness lies in behavior and isn’t present in physical appearance. I don’t believe in ugly. I do believe in unattractive. Something may be unattractive to me, which to me means that I find it unattractive; and not that it is by nature unattractive. Just because I do not find someone attractive does not mean they are inherently unattractive; someone else still might. Makeup isn’t what makes a woman beautiful. It can highlight the things she is most fond of. Maybe a woman really appreciates and loves the shape of her lips. If she wants to accentuate that, I take no issue with that. All that means to me is that she loves herself enough to have found a part of herself she is willing to show off. And the same goes for a woman without makeup! If she finds herself attractive without makeup on, then she need not wear it. I know I’m beautiful without makeup, but I still enjoy it. I wear makeup a lot, but I sometimes (more often lately) allow my face to go without. I need to remind myself that I’m beautiful without it, and I am confident enough to show it off without fear of how others feel about it. I find myself attractive, and if someone else does not, I’m not bothered by that. I don’t find everyone attractive either! It’s crazy to expect everyone to be attracted to me. A woman’s beauty comes from her attractiveness which is a combination of her personality and her physical appearance; which does not have to match societal standards of beauty to be beautiful. Damn the man.
  2. It’s absurd to define a woman’s femininity by her interest in makeup. Perhaps she just feels more comfortable expressing her creativity elsewhere. A woman is a woman by choice, and if she does indeed identify as woman, then she is a woman. Her style of dress, her career, nor her interest in cosmetics can take that identity from her. I’m concerned that a woman can feel less of a woman because of another person’s idea of attractiveness. Often that idea of what is attractive is defined by images on TV (curse television), and I take issue with that because...

    A) images of women on TV are often achieved by unnatural means and are unattainable by nearly every other woman. It is unfair to expect that of women. Women should not be attempting to fit themselves into our cultural cookie cutter, because not everyone fits! Women should instead accept their appearance, although always aiming for health. But some women are healthy at a size 14 (this girl, for instance). Some women are healthy at a size 0. No body is the same. And the cookie cutter is getting more and more complicated. The cookie cutter has breasts that are not proportionate to the rest of the tiny body. The cookie cutter has skin that is darker than is healthy for the popular blonde hair often associated with it. Blondes tend to have fairer skin and are more prone to skin sensitivity and sunburn. This cookie cutter leaves women feeling hopeless and unfeminine. Women try to lose weight to look like those skinny women, but the weight first comes from their breasts! Women try to tan, but then age more rapidly—another natural process our culture is terrified of, as if looking younger means you aren’t actually approaching death. A woman in her natural state is attractive to someone as she is. There isn’t one way to be beautiful, and it’s ludicrous to think that because a woman doesn’t look like a Barbie—something nearly physically impossible to achieve without cosmetic surgery –she isn’t attractive! And,

    B) people who are attracted to those images are often only attracted to those images because they feel a social obligation to be, as if not finding Kim Kardashian attractive would make them less of a man. (I only say man because women are generally not expected by society to find Kim Kardashian attractive.) So, TV Heads (people who allow television to think for them) can only be attracted to them physically which is only half (although still important) of attraction. That means these people are experiencing a very shallow sense interest in these images, and they are assuming that they will be wholly attracted to a woman that displays that image in the “real world.” However, they are lacking the equally important part of attraction: personality. This leads to misinterpretations and unrealistic expectations. For instance, women with large breasts are often considered sexual—regardless of their personality—because our society encourages young men to find large breasts sexually attractive. Also, I’m bothered because I don’t think TV Heads are really in touch with their sexuality. Every single person attracted to women is not likely attracted to the same kind of woman, and vice versa. A person that lets their TV think for them is often not aware of what they do find attractive. They think that only certain physical bodies are supposed to be found attractive, and someone who finds a 300 pound woman attractive is wrong. But honestly, I believe that person is far more in touch with their sexuality and their physical needs, because they’ve come to that conclusion on their own. Society had nothing to do with that decision. I respect that.
  3. I feel ridiculous that I have to say this at all. Guys and gals: just because a woman wears a style of makeup our culture tends to pair with sex doesn’t actually mean she wants to have sex. You may say, “Maddie! People don’t really think that!” But tell me if you’ve heard this: “Her makeup looks so slutty.” You have. And the word ‘slut’ is associated with sex! But be sure to check the etymology on that! When someone calls someone a slut because of the style of a woman’s makeup, they’re insinuating that woman wants to have sex because of that. Culturally, red lipstick and thick, black eyeliner are associated with prostitution and thus women who are initiating sex. But further consideration needs to be made: Perhaps she just likes the aesthetic appearance of that style of makeup. Is it not possible she just finds herself attractive in that style of makeup? Also, we should consider the likely possibility that she may feel pressured to present herself as a sexual being, because she may see herself as such. By calling her a slut, you’re confirming her belief that her purpose is to please men; nothing more. We need to be a lot more careful about our judgment of women—everyone has a story, and you don’t know everything! I get that it’s pretty much written in our DNA to judge people and categorize them, but we’ve come quite a long way since the days of a necessary, biological sense to protect ourselves from warring tribes, in order to carry on our race. In fact, we’re dangerously overpopulated. Seriously. It’s unnecessary. And people. Assuming a woman wants to have sex with you just because you think her makeup screams it, makes you look kind of desperate. And desperation + the flippant use of the word ‘slut,’ makes you a tool. Congratulations. You’re an asshole. Nice guys don’t really finish last.
In short. Makeup is a form of artistic expression. I don’t like for women to feel as though their beauty depends on it. And I don’t like women to feel as though their womanhood is unbreakably bonded to cosmetics. And I don’t like when a woman is labeled a slut because of the way she wears her makeup (or anything she does, really). But I love makeup. I’d appreciate if other feminists stopped harping on it.

But for the sake of you feisty women: I do think women should wear it less. I think they should experiment with their natural, physical beauty and learn to accept themselves as they are. They should look for things they’re proud of instead of focusing on what they’re ashamed of on their bodies. And the confidence to go without makeup is impressive, only because of our culture’s emphasis on it. Try it out for a while every now and then, just to remind yourself of how beautiful you are, and to get in touch with why you’re really putting that face on in the morning.

No makeup, no big deal.

Sunday, May 13, 2012

All the single ladies...

This is it, boys, this is war - what are we waiting for?
Why don't we break the rules already?
She'll go to sleep alone in her queen-sized hotel room bed. She's pretty okay with that these days. I'm embracing my singleness and for the first time I'm not really afraid of being single forever. I know I won't, but if I am, I don't think I really care. I'm settling into a comfortable kind of relationship with myself that doesn't feel lonely. All the single ladies. There's no one in my life, near my life that I want to be with. So... who cares? I'm just as cute alone (except for the refusal to shave my legs thing). I'm just as smart alone. I'm just as compassionate alone. I'm still me, and I'm not really alone. I've got me some grrreat friends, and a maaahvelous family. And I'm way past just okay with that setup. I'm happy being myself, by myself, with the people I love. I'm not sure I like the 'alone,' phrase anyway. The more I use it, the more it feels wrong. The word alone insinuates that I'm lacking something--that I'm less than whole. I'm my own whole person. And if I'm attracted to someone who makes an effort to be with me, I'll give it a go. But until then, baby, I'm dancing with myself.

Doesn't mean I don't want a spooning buddy, but seriously ladies... put your hands up. If he liked it then he shoulda put a ring on it.

Why I’ve Stopped Shaving

No. It’s not another defiant feminist protest.
No. It’s not to “see how long I can stand it.”
No. It’s not to torture my mother. :P

I don’t want to feel pressured to shave my legs. I don’t want my womanhood to feel linked to smooth legs. I like the feel of smooth legs, so at some point I’ll shave, and if and when I ever have a partner again, I’ll take their preferences into account. But I will not let society dictate what I do with my body. I want to be comfortable with my body in its natural state. I don’t actually like shaving that much. I don’t think anyone does, really. Am I right, ladies? But we do it anyway because it’s expected of us. We’re somehow unnatural if we don’t. But what is unnatural about allowing our bodies to behave as they would naturally? Hair on our bodies served an evolutionary purpose at one point. But now we associate hair with manliness, only because our society has done that for us; another example of how we allow our societal norms to think for us.

But I do like shaven legs. Because the association between smooth legs and femininity is so firmly engrained in our culture, I feel womanly and feminine when I do it. I like the way they feel against each other when I lay down to go to sleep. I feel cleaner somehow. But the act of shaving itself is cumbersome enough that I don’t mind giving it a little longer waiting period. I’ll shave again when I feel like it. Damn it.
Rainbow glitter Goldenponies oxfords. Hell yes. + Hairy legs.


Dear Miss Kelsie Jo,
Which is also fine. Some people just like to do it. In that case, get it gr. I just find it tedious and bothersome.

A Mother’s Soul: Wonder Woman Style

Wonder Woman and Batman

I’m sure I don’t need to point out that mothers are not defined as women who have birthed a child, but rather women who have tended to and reared a child. On Mother’s Day, we honor the women who have felt the joy and heartache associated with motherhood. Although I believe men and women should play a nearly equal role in parenthood, I think women have something men do not. We are biologically and culturally geared to raise children with a certain amount of love and compassion that comes more naturally to most women. Men are capable of this expression of parenthood—but the truth of parenthood is written on a mother’s soul; it is so natural.
Not every woman is called to motherhood, just as every male is not called to fatherhood. And some of these men and women continue to follow their biological impulses to reproduce before they are ready, or in spite of their lack of capability. It happens all the time, and in that instance, it is on the capable men and women of the world to nurture and bless those children with love. It’s the social responsibility of those who have motherhood written in their very bodies, as some women do, to cradle the abandoned and abused. These are the mothers.
Mothers are heroes. They are the Wonder Woman in a child’s life. They rush to the rescue when their child has skinned their knee, been called a mean name, or left their favorite doll in the stands of a gymnasium…. They rush to the rescue when their baby has been dumped by their partner, gotten a bad grade, or been diagnosed with bipolar disorder…
I have a pretty great mom. I know she isn’t perfect, but she was born to motherhood—it’s written on her soul. And because I think she’s done such a good job, I’m going to narrow down 3 important traits of heroic mothers based on her example. <3 you mama.
  1.  Heroic mothers really listen. Sometimes in imperfect moments a mother will tune their child out. They get a little tired of the empty chatter—especially talkative ladies like me. But a mother knows when she needs to listen. She knows when her baby is on the verge of tears or when her baby has done something they aren’t proud of and has worked up the courage to confess. She knows, by listening, the time to scold and the time to hold. She knows that unconditional love is often expressed in the ability to sense a child’s need to speak to her. She listens for a crack in her child’s voice upon an ending statement. She listens for the music they want to present her—for the smile they want her to wear. A mother hears any story a child does or does not want to tell. It is written on her soul, the directions to hear what is unsaid. She has supersonic hearing.   
  2.  Heroic mothers can see beauty. In imperfect moments, a mother will tell their daughter she looks like a hooker when she’s just playing dress up. But a mother knows that beauty is more than a brand of makeup or a style of clothes. She knows that beauty is the talents their child has been blessed with. She knows that every child has a purpose; sometimes a little coaching is required to find it. She knows that beauty is the way in which her child treats a person who can do nothing for them. She knows that beauty is in the genuine smile of every child, no matter how many teeth have fallen out. She knows that beauty is the list of values her child has inherited from her rearing. Values of selflessness, compassion, intelligence, and resilience… She can see beauty where others can only see a face. She has X-ray vision.
  3. Heroic mothers love with a strength that can vanquish evil—from one of the most badass fictional mothers ever: Lily Potter. I’m speaking directly to you now, mothers. A woman born to motherhood—a woman with motherhood written on her soul, whether or not she has given birth to a child or not—knows what I mean. You feel such inexplicable love for a person that you are willing to give your life for them. You prize the life of a child so greatly that your love becomes magic; greater than magic. Your magic can stamp out the most powerful evils. Your love is capable of strength your powerful, womanly body cannot exert. Your love is stronger than an unforgivable curse. That’s some pretty impressive stuff ladies. Hats off. You have Lily Potter charm
Motherhood can be taught to women who were born to women who were not mothers. And motherhood is not a requirement. It is a calling. Women are called to artistry and to writing in the same way. For some women it just feels right. And for the best mothers: whether they are adoptive, foster, surrogate, or biological—I salute you. I honor you and I respect you. I thank you for your contributions to making the “good guys.” You are Wonderful Women.
*A hand for the heroes.*