men and women, women and men

My mother-in-law emailed me this joke:

Three Men on a Hike

Three men were hiking through a forest when they came upon
a large raging, violent river.

Needing to get to the other side, the first man prayed : 'God, please give me the strength to cross the river.' Poof! ... God gave him big arms and strong legs and he was able to swim across in about 2 hours, having almost drowned twice.

After witnessing that, the second man prayed : 'God, please give me strength and the tools to cross the river.' Poof! .... God gave him a rowboat and strong arms and strong legs and he was able to row across in about an hour after almost capsizing once.

Seeing what happened to the first two men, the third man prayed: 'God, please give me the strength, the tools and the intelligence to cross the river.' Poof! .... He was turned into a woman. She checked the map, hiked one hundred yards up stream and walked across the bridge.

It got me wondering: why do we act like there's a contest between men and women? I still see t-shirts and bumper stickers that say things like, "When God created man, She was only joking." In the kitchen of one of my childhood friends, there was a pair of embroidered wall hangings. One had the rooster crowing, "I rule the roost." And the other was a hen saying, "And I rule the rooster." Why do some of my friends and I make disparaging comments about our husbands?

Are these comments on our individual marriages or about specific men? Is it about finding a way to create or enhance a sense of community with our sister-women?

boys will still be boys

Last week, my 16-year old man-child was sticking duct tape all over his face. Two days ago, he picked up a piece of scrap lumber and stuck it to his nose and told us that it was his propellor. Is it true that he's going to be a high school junior next week?

gynecological testing

I think I have new fibroid tumors growing.  I have such a sensitive uterus that any stimulation (sex, full bladder, constipation, diarrhea, a sore back, etc.) triggers contractions/cramping.  With the fibroids, this is painful.  Right now, I feel this slow tightening, like my entire uterus is being pulled inward.  On rare occasions, the pain is--just for an instant--so severe that it causes me to get light-headed and nearly pass out.

The doctor wants me to have an ultrasound, which is what I knew would be the next step.  I have put off scheduling this test for four months now.  I dread it.  The full bladder alone is extremely painful for me, and keeping it all in my bladder is quite a challenge in itself.  Then, the ultrasound is quite invasive.  It's the transvaginal kind, which is basically like a dildo with a condom on it.  It pokes and presses against things in very uncomfortable ways, especially with the aforementioned full bladder.  Then, the ultrasonic waves themselves stimulate the uterus.  The pain from this kind of thing usually sets in about an hour later and lasts for two or three days.

The next step up from an ultrasound is an MRI.  The MRI causes all the atoms to realign, which generally doesn't cause any problems.  The first time I had a pelvic MRI, however, it was in the evening.  I expected no pain, so imagine my surprise when I woke up in the middle of the night to severe pain.

All these tests will do is confirm whether I do actually have a fibroid.  Last time, I had just a tiny one--but at only 1 cm in diameter, it caused me to nearly pass out while driving, teaching, pushing a shopping cart, etc.   I know that I have to deal with this, but man, I dread it.

boys will be boys

So I'm sitting in the living room admiring my son, a young man who is about to be a high school junior.  I began thinking about the leadership he's shown in his scout troop, the times he's seen me stressing over something and put his arms around me, the way he is so tall now.  Without looking up, I said, "Honey, I just want you to know how proud I am of the man you're becoming."  I glanced over at him, and he was sticking duct tape all over his face.  He at least had the decency to be a bit embarrassed.

olympic grace

As I have most of my life, I watched the women's gymnastics events as part of the Olympics coverage. I absolutely love watching Nastia Liukin. She has a grace to her movement that is almost ethereal. The lines and curves she creates with her body are just amazing. It's like she's floating and not even working at all, she makes it look that beautiful. It's a physical grace like one I could never have. When I watch her, I feel like I'm watching a soul, not like I'm watching gymnastics.

Shawn Johnson is another kind of gymnast, the kind with explosive and energetic power. She is an amazing gymnast, although I would never use the word "grace" to describe how she jumps and balances and twirls. However, she has another kind of grace that impresses me deeply. Before winning her gold (and what an absolutely adorable smile she had for us!), she won three silvers. Despite the disappointment that was written in her eyes, each time, she approached the gold medal winner and offered her a big hug, even tugging on others' sleeves to get their attention. She smiled even when she won a silver. She exhibited great grace in the way of sportsmanship.

These women are both great gymnasts and showed very different kinds of grace.

children grow up

I'm sitting here with hot coffee, an available computer, and a quiet house. My three kids (all teenagers) are sound asleep, and it will be several hours yet before I have all three of them vertical and mobile. Late-sleeping kids during summer vacation is one of the things I really like about having teenagers. Just a few years ago, they would have all been up before 6, and by now I would have dealt with breakfast and at least one or two spats--and it's only 7:45 am. My kids were all early risers. If I wanted any alone time to start my day, I had to get up at 5--and then I could count on only about half an hour before they started waking up. When did they start sleeping late? Why didn't I notice it and throw myself a party to celebrate this change?

Several years ago--when my kids were younger and I needed a different kind of support in parenting--I was on an email list for parents of twins. Someone had expressed frustration with the endless butt-wiping. "Why does it feel like I'll be wiping their butts forever?" Somehow this struck a chord in me, and I posted a response about some of the things that pass by without our even noticing. I've been thinking about that now, and here's what I wrote:

Butt-wiping is one of those things that just kind of tapers off without anyone realizing it until one day,whammo--it hits you that you don't even remember the last time you

• wiped a butt
• bought baby wipes
• carried a diaper bag
• didn't have dust in the bowl of the potty seat
• had to get up in the middle of the night to feed someone
• hunted for a pacifier
• used a sippy cup
• were able to spell words to your spouse and the kids really weren't able to
  figure out what you were talking about
• had to cut everyone's food into tiny, tiny pieces
• thought 5 a.m. was sleeping in
• couldn't take a shower unless another adult was in the house
• had spit-up on your clothes
• were able to pick up both your twins at once

There is such an intense time when all of life seems to revolve around these things, and it's hard to believe that it won't last forever. It does pass--so much that I truly hadn't thought about these things for a long, long time. To those of you still there, please believe that there is a light at the end of the tunnel (I first believed in this particular light once the twins were on solid food and had more regular and predictable meal times)--and thank you for helping me remember to appreciate that I'm now living in that light (of course, we haven't hit puberty yet). I also must say, somewhat sadly, that my 10-year old doesn't fit on my lap anymore, although we do try sometimes. Just a few weeks ago, we were watching TV together and he fell asleep on my lap. His poor hair got all soaked with my tears as I realized that at that moment, I might well be experiencing the very last time I would ever get to hold that child as he slept. The rhythms of life move to many difference dances.--April 24, 2002

How could I have forgotten all those things? The 10-year old who fell asleep on my lap is now 16, and that was, indeed, the last time I held him as he slept. He is now a young man, and I can hold him briefly and in a very different way. He now comforts me as I once comforted him. I still wonder what his future will hold, but I see the promise of a good man in him and I wonder if I've really had anything to do with who he is from this point on. With all three of my children, I have been able to see their character and know something of who they will be. My oldest cares deeply about fairness in the world. My daughter is a true and loyal friend. My younger son sympathizes with those who suffer. I don't know where these qualities came from, but I feel blessed for having been able to see them in my children. Although I miss the sweetness of a baby's soft head tucked into my neck, I am truly grateful to have the chance to watch my babies grow into good adult human beings.

going out in public

My first semester of full-time teaching, I had a student in her mid-50's who wrote a paper about the importance of appearance. I remember one sentence in particular: "I would never go even to the grocery store in less than slacks and flats and base makeup. Jeans are for gardening; tennis shoes are for playing tennis." Since then, I've met other women who have said the same thing.

I'm headed off to the library and the grocery store in cut-off jean shorts, a t-shirt, tennis shoes, and no makeup. Is that really bad for a 43-year old woman? At least I'm not wearing my old pink flip-flops.

bras and tank tops

Why is it so hard to find a tank top that's not so loose and low-hanging that my bra shows? I purchase bras for comfort, not for how they look with my clothes. I know they say that white goes with everything, but trust me, when it comes to the side of my bra, that's just not true.

the menstrual legacy: first blood

I still remember my first period: March 25-26, 1977. My diary showed a little diagram of the uterus and ovaries with tear-drop-shaped blood coming out of it. That was the first time I felt like I was really female and really growing up. I felt like I'd become a full-blooded woman.

It didn't take long to learn that my periods were worse than what the other girls my age were experiencing.. They were heavy, I had cramping, and my mood swings made me a poster child for PMS. This just got worse after having children and slouching into middle age. Right before my ablation, the flow and the cramping caused pain so bad I nearly passed out while driving, teaching, pushing my cart through the grocery store, and even just sitting on the couch. My mother had horrible periods--an extremely heavy flow, clots whose size was compared to various citrus fruits, the necessity of using multiple pads and tampons, etc. In fact, my mother had worse periods than any woman I ever knew--until I met my mother-in-law, who couldn't even use tampons due to a higher likelihood of infection related to rheumatic fever during her teen years. These two women made my periods look like a walk in the park.

Imagine my poor daughter trying to escape the menstrual legacy coming down from both sides of her gene pool. I'd often wondered how I would handle my daughter's first period. On the Cosby Show, Rudy's first period was celebrated by a mother-daughter "Woman's Day." Should I celebrate with her? Would it be something she wanted to celebrate? Would she even want to acknowledge it to me? The only thing I ever wanted to talk to my mom about with my periods at that age was to tell her that I needed more "stuff" from the grocery store. I must say that it's been interesting being the mother of a menstruating daughter, especially since I haven't bled in a year and half.

First Blood, Part 1
R (my daughter) had her first blood about two years ago. This consisted of her seeing a spot of blood on her underwear, yelling to me to come to the bathroom right away, and announcing, "I have my punctuation." About three more times over the following year, this was the pattern. Her hormones and emotions were definitely have regular periods, but she spotted only occasionally for over a year. Last summer, she had none at all.

First Blood, Part 2
Last year, on the Friday of the first week of school, R came home and announced: "I became a woman today--twice!" Huh? Apparently, she had blood on her underwear two different times at school. As we were talking, her twin brother (B) walked into the room. R said, "You'll probably want to leave the room because we're talking about woman things. I became a woman today." B said, "What, you had a bat mitzvah?" (He's wanted to convert to Judaism ever since we attended a friend's son's bar mitzvah and saw what a great party and cool presents were to be had. This was clearly on his mind, as he was approaching his 13th birthday.)

R thought she'd gotten her period twice, since she'd found blood twice. I had to sit her down and explain to her that a period wasn't something that just occasionally punctuated her underwear, that it was like a slow faucet that dripped over several days and nights. Once her body figured out what it was doing, it would be a more steady flow. Her face fell. It was like I'd told her there was no Santa.

First Blood, Part 3
By November, her periods were floods, not punctuation. She would have only 3 weeks between, and the flow was heavy. We were staying at her uncle's farm overnight, and I went in to wake her up. She was standing with a blanket wrapped around her. She opened the blanket and was covered in blood from boobs to knees. My poor baby! Later that day, she looked at the baby I was holding and said, "You know I could make one of those, right?"

First Blood, Part 4
Ever since November, I've been encouraging her to use tampons, knowing that they would help mitigate some of the embarrassing leaking onto clothes that she'd experienced. I bought her tampons, but she couldn't figure out exactly where they went. I bought her a mirror and told her to get to know her body. She finally figured out the location but couldn't figure out the insertion method--and once she did, it pinched. So, following my sister-in-law's advice, I got some with plastic applicators. These worked better. After months and boxes of practice, she'd finally gotten one in. She was ready for showtime.

Showtime came last week. In the middle of the lake at the family campout, we were lying on a raft together when she announced, "I just felt something in my va-jay-jay." She scooted to the edge of the raft and managed to get her hand in enough to check, and there was blood on it. Then began the hours and days of the Tampon Transition.

Day 1
"It's causing cramping."
"It hurts."
"It hurts but not when I lie down."
"It hurts but not when I sit."
"Look! I can walk!"
"I don't know why anyone uses these stupid
things."

Day 2
"Oh. Was I supposed to use a pad and a tampon overnight? Oops."

Day 3
"I just read the directions. I wasn't putting them in all the way. It's much better now."

Day 4 (the day of regular updates, every single time she went to the bathroom)
"Did you know that if you twist it just a bit at the end that it's easier to get the applicator out?"
"Gross. I saw my pee coming off the end of the string."
"The string got stuck in the crack thing. I had to dig it out."
At the end of the day, I got a daily summary that consisted of a recap of all earlier updates and a a confirmation that she planned to use tampons again in the future. (This part was delivered while I was lying in bed next to my husband, who we both thought was asleep. We
discovered we were wrong when my husband suddenly covered his ears and started
singing the "la-la-la" song.)



So far, this is proving to be an interesting adventure. She says she doesn't like to talk about this stuff with me--but she talks to me, anyway. We never did celebrate a "Woman's Day" to honor her first period. However, we have a monthly tradition. On the first day of her period every month, I go to the store and buy chocolate. The boys get some chocolate, too (B says, "because we have to put up with her"), but she gets the good stuff. It's a celebration of Woman's Day every month.