I know I've written a good blog when I reread it hours after the last set of proofs and tinkers, and I find myself laughing again. And one good blog triggers another. I have begun to feel very chicken-and-egg about blogging--does the event trigger the blog or does the blogging make the event noteworthy? Nevertheless, here are some of the signs I have learned that show me when an event is blogworthy or when a blog is going to entertain:
1. When my husband does something and says about it later: It seemed like a good idea at the time. I wonder if he'll be saying that about the motorcycle he bought a year ago that he will finally be bringing home from storage this summer. Frankly, I see myself with a hard cast up to the hip after my first-ever motorcycle ride saying the same thing. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
2. Anything my son does involving what a girlfriend of mine calls "Shit-iroshima". You can draw a conclusion about what this might mean based on the fact that we now call Friday night's 3 AM vomiting session "Puke-asaki". I have yet to write about it, but then I have written before about the mass eruption that is children's barfing. Do we really need to go there again? Yes. Yes, we do.
3. When an event is a metaphor for something else, the event is now blogworthy. For example, the day my dog died, the dog I once shared with my ex-husband. Enough said.
4. When a lesson is learned. For example, why I should never shop with my children. And this week I learned another new lesson: I should have ignored my son when he asked me if using the middle finger was bad. I said yes, and today he willfully and knowingly shot his sister the bird. He's not even five. I have so much to learn.
5. When I eat something so incredible I immediately transcend time and space, my five senses become electrified, and I swear I'm having a foodgasm. I wish I had taken the time to describe every breakfast I ate at Cafe Pasqual's in Santa Fe, New Mexico this year. I love food. I think food is amazing. It's multi-sensory, sexual, comforting, basic, extreme, and a mastery of chemical reaction both in creation and consumption--all at once.
6. When I experience something that I know will directly relate to a reader, a common topic, and put a twist on it you didn't see coming. Or maybe, I put something out there that I never could have said at the kitchen table growing up, like my friend Jay's line in this post: http://cafecatiche.blogspot.com/2010/12/facebook-vs-blogger.html. It's a super short post. You'll know the line when you see it.
7. And when I experience something inspiring or life-changing. The posts about New Mexico are particularly examples of that.
8. Anytime I have to explain sex to my daughter. Remember this one? http://cafecatiche.blogspot.com/2010/05/joy-of-sex-education.html And just recently, we had a whole separate discussion when someone let my daughter watch an inappropriate film. And I quote: "Mom, I thought the guy's thingie went into the girl's thingie like this." She made a gesture. I said yes, that that was true. "Ok, but I just saw this movie where this girl was in love with two guys and one of them got her from behind." You can imagine the phone calls I had to place after THAT.
9. When the small moments are really big moments. I went to a children's talent show at my daughter's school this weekend. Those awkward displays of burgeoning (or failing) talent were beautiful. I have never seen so many brave young people. I watched one little girl sing "Yesterday" by the Beatles. She fought her nerves the entire time--stopping to fight tears, dropping words, and still managing to finish. I haven't even seen that many grown ups present themselves so vulnerably and courageously.
10. Love. Joy. Any moment that makes those things blossom in my heart and any moment that marks loss or transition relating to those things. My blog posts have run the gamut from self-indulgent to self-deprecating, but what I want to share the most is love. Like I said to someone this week, life is hard, but I would rather live celebrating its good moments. I hope that comes through on this blog. My life mission is to connect with others, make their living a better experience than it might have been otherwise. I hope that all the joys and trials of life that I have chosen to so neatly pen here in this blog are an element of that desire to love, share love, and be loved.
Happy reading! And as ever, thanks for coming back here again and again.
Showing posts with label sex. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sex. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
The Theory of Butts
A friend of mine once called me to complain that she was driving her husband crazy because she was not interested in sex. At the time, her first child was very small. I thought about her situation (and mine, frankly) and said, "Well, I know what your problem is. It's the theory of butts."
And then I explained how the butt theory affects many young women in the throes of raising wee ones. "The deal is," I continued, "you get up in the morning and change your child's little butt, and then you feed him and have to change that little butt again. You often have to deal with explosive movements out of that butt, rashes, gas, et cetera. And your entire day revolves around nurturing that baby and dealing with his butt. At the end of the day, the last naked butt you feel like seeing is your husband's." When my girlfriend stopped laughing she said no one had explained things like this to her quite that way before. You can't argue with genius.
I often think the sex drive difference between the genders is absolutely cruel. Men are jacked up--testosterone is like gasoline cruising their veins and they don't need anything stronger than the sight of a woman in a thin sundress to raise their flag. Women's sex drive is different. It's not the same release as men. Our situation has to be right. Once we marry and start service mode (cleaning toilets, yelling at you because you eat cholesterol instead of fiber, managing the odd and semi-controllable on-goings of children), sex can feel like an extension of service.
My children are getting older, so really the butt theory doesn't apply to me very much anymore. They go to bed and stay there at night, for one thing. And my husband has figured out how to make things work to his advantage when I might be in an otherwise non-pliant mood. (Let's just say we have no problems in that delightful area of our relationship.) As for butts now, I often joke with my son that he needs to take off his clothes for a bath because "you know how much I love a naked man." Tiny laughs and laughs at this. Of course, one day, I won't be able to say this anymore without him responding, "Ew, gross, Mom. Cut it out." But by that time, I really won't want to see his butt, either.
And then I explained how the butt theory affects many young women in the throes of raising wee ones. "The deal is," I continued, "you get up in the morning and change your child's little butt, and then you feed him and have to change that little butt again. You often have to deal with explosive movements out of that butt, rashes, gas, et cetera. And your entire day revolves around nurturing that baby and dealing with his butt. At the end of the day, the last naked butt you feel like seeing is your husband's." When my girlfriend stopped laughing she said no one had explained things like this to her quite that way before. You can't argue with genius.
I often think the sex drive difference between the genders is absolutely cruel. Men are jacked up--testosterone is like gasoline cruising their veins and they don't need anything stronger than the sight of a woman in a thin sundress to raise their flag. Women's sex drive is different. It's not the same release as men. Our situation has to be right. Once we marry and start service mode (cleaning toilets, yelling at you because you eat cholesterol instead of fiber, managing the odd and semi-controllable on-goings of children), sex can feel like an extension of service.
My children are getting older, so really the butt theory doesn't apply to me very much anymore. They go to bed and stay there at night, for one thing. And my husband has figured out how to make things work to his advantage when I might be in an otherwise non-pliant mood. (Let's just say we have no problems in that delightful area of our relationship.) As for butts now, I often joke with my son that he needs to take off his clothes for a bath because "you know how much I love a naked man." Tiny laughs and laughs at this. Of course, one day, I won't be able to say this anymore without him responding, "Ew, gross, Mom. Cut it out." But by that time, I really won't want to see his butt, either.
Monday, May 3, 2010
The Joy of Sex Education
Sex education can be a dicey topic with young people. I think these discussions embarrass most parents, but I would rather my daughter learn from our talks than from what she hears at school. I have been operating on a blunt, but simple need-to-know basis.
A few years ago, my daughter wanted to know exactly how horses made babies. After all, we were around them all the time. I explained in general terms, but it was not enough. Not being able to understand my daughter’s exact informational gap, I did what the twenty-first century mother does—I googled it. We found a few helpful pictures of horses in action, so to speak, maybe a video, and my daughter finally announced that she grasped the concept. She went upstairs to play only to return 20 minutes later with two beautifully drawn, colored, and cut paper doll horses—one of whom was endowed with a spectacular penis.
“It’s like this,” she said unblinking. “They graze on all fours like this, then the stallion wants to make a baby, and he gets on two legs and climbs on the mare like this.” She rotated the stallion paper doll to the perfect reproductive angle and slid him toward the unsuspecting mare. The stallion’s extended shaft slid behind the mare’s tale.
“See?” she asked proudly. I was dumbfounded.
“Well,” I stammered. “That’s just… perfect.” She left the horses on the table and I put them somewhere for safekeeping. I am just waiting for her teenage years; the paper dolls are perfect blackmail material.
The tab A-slot B discussions did not end there. She eventually applied that knowledge to human reproduction. I was taking her and her little brother to the park when she asked again and we had a recap.
“Oh, gross! You and Daddy did that?”
“Well, sweetheart, it was necessary to produce you and your brother,” I said.
“You mean you had to do it TWICE?”
I laughed so hard I had to pull the car over to the side of the road.
This year, the discussion once again became a hot topic. Since she is ten, I provided more detail. She just did not understand the whole erection thing and I really did not feel like using that word just yet. We ended up having to illuminate that concept as well.
“When a man climbs on a woman, how does his thing go in there?” she asked.
“Well, he gets all excited and aroused. Blood flow starts going. His part gets stiff so it can go in the woman.”
“I just don’t understand. I mean it hangs down. How does it get in there? Does it have problems getting in? How does it know where to go?”
“Trust me, sweetheart,” I said, “it always knows where to go.”
“Well, why does a man get aroused?”
“He sees the woman. He sees her face. He sees her body. He wants to touch her, be near her. The whole act is based on love, really.”
“He gets excited when he looks at her??”
“Trust me. It doesn’t take a whole lot.”
I can’t wait to see the paper dolls she might make as a result of this last chat.
A few years ago, my daughter wanted to know exactly how horses made babies. After all, we were around them all the time. I explained in general terms, but it was not enough. Not being able to understand my daughter’s exact informational gap, I did what the twenty-first century mother does—I googled it. We found a few helpful pictures of horses in action, so to speak, maybe a video, and my daughter finally announced that she grasped the concept. She went upstairs to play only to return 20 minutes later with two beautifully drawn, colored, and cut paper doll horses—one of whom was endowed with a spectacular penis.
“It’s like this,” she said unblinking. “They graze on all fours like this, then the stallion wants to make a baby, and he gets on two legs and climbs on the mare like this.” She rotated the stallion paper doll to the perfect reproductive angle and slid him toward the unsuspecting mare. The stallion’s extended shaft slid behind the mare’s tale.
“See?” she asked proudly. I was dumbfounded.
“Well,” I stammered. “That’s just… perfect.” She left the horses on the table and I put them somewhere for safekeeping. I am just waiting for her teenage years; the paper dolls are perfect blackmail material.
The tab A-slot B discussions did not end there. She eventually applied that knowledge to human reproduction. I was taking her and her little brother to the park when she asked again and we had a recap.
“Oh, gross! You and Daddy did that?”
“Well, sweetheart, it was necessary to produce you and your brother,” I said.
“You mean you had to do it TWICE?”
I laughed so hard I had to pull the car over to the side of the road.
This year, the discussion once again became a hot topic. Since she is ten, I provided more detail. She just did not understand the whole erection thing and I really did not feel like using that word just yet. We ended up having to illuminate that concept as well.
“When a man climbs on a woman, how does his thing go in there?” she asked.
“Well, he gets all excited and aroused. Blood flow starts going. His part gets stiff so it can go in the woman.”
“I just don’t understand. I mean it hangs down. How does it get in there? Does it have problems getting in? How does it know where to go?”
“Trust me, sweetheart,” I said, “it always knows where to go.”
“Well, why does a man get aroused?”
“He sees the woman. He sees her face. He sees her body. He wants to touch her, be near her. The whole act is based on love, really.”
“He gets excited when he looks at her??”
“Trust me. It doesn’t take a whole lot.”
I can’t wait to see the paper dolls she might make as a result of this last chat.
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