Riley and Avery

So, a couple things happened recently that made me think about feminism and its various applications, and what "feminism" truly means.

First, my World History teacher seems to be a rather militant feminist. She hasn't said as much, but when she refers to the notion of "a woman's place" she has a rather disgusted and snarky look on her face, or about womens' roles as child-rearers. I'm sorry, women are different from men, and being feminist doesn't mean that we have to want the same things and have to be treated the exact same way as men. That's not true feminism. Actually, it's anti-feminism. It's a veiled and sophisticated form of woman-hate, in my book, this militant and political feminism.

Anyway, she mentioned while talking about the Industrial Revolution, how big a deal it was for women not have to sew clothes anymore, and she said that she hated sewing, and I said "I LOVE sewing! Clothes, quilts, anything!" She looked at me in a surprised way. I guess the loud-mouthed, opinionated woman in class enjoying sewing was a bit of a shock. She didn't say anything other than "really?!?" but I knew what she was thinking. I was a failed feminist for doing stuff so out-dated, but here's the thing...

I am really interested in historic Colorado quilts. Why, you ask? Because historically, women have been invisible. Our work is historically temporary. Food is made and consumed. Children are raised and leave the house to start their own families. Houses are cleaned, only to become dirty, and we clean again. A man's work is more permanent. He builds a fence and it stands for decades. He builds a homestead and it's still standing hundreds of years later, etc. A woman who's name was, perhaps, Emily Smith, become Mrs. Robert Brown upon marriage, and that name is written on photographs of her, if there even are any, and within a couple of generations, no one knows who the woman in the picture actually is.

But she made quilts, and they still exist. The only tangible testament to her existence. Her hands may have bled, her eyes may have grown dim, but she made quilts by hand. She may have saved fabric for decades, worn out pants, out-grown shirts, remnants of older quilts, the cloth from feed sacks. She may have cut up the "nice" clothes she brought with her west, finding them impractical for homesteading life.

Quilts served as backdrops for the rare photograph. When an infant died, she lay him on a quilt and called in a photographer to take perhaps the only picture she would ever commission, of her dear child on a beautiful quilt that had become a burial shroud.

When she was preparing to go west, women in her community gathered cloth for her to take with her, and made her memory quilts to take with her and to remember them by. She traded her precious quilts for provisions for the trip, and necessities along the way. Quilts and quilt-making tools became popular trade items between white women and Indian women, opening up trade relationships that were previously only available to men. Women widowed on the frontier were able to sustain themselves and their children through sewing and trading quilts. Those quilts saved lives.

If a child fell ill, she sat by her bedside quilting a death vigil.

Later, rural women came together to have quilting bees. They probably breastfed while quilting, exchanging female wisdom over a quilt top. With no access to modern medicine, they probably exchanged recipes for homeopathic remedies over a quilt. What an incredible female-only culture! And these women were tough! One woman cut a gash in her arm while performing farm labor, and called to her daughter to fetch her quilting needle and thread. The woman proceeded to sew up her own arm right there in the field, while her husband fainted dead away.

With industrialization, quilting almost became extinct, with "liberated" women opting to buy factory-made quilts rather than engaging in such a pedestrian and old-fashioned occupation. But to let this art form die (and those who think that quilting is not art have a fundamental misunderstanding of what art actually is) would be to negate and invalidate the existence of whole generations of women!

The crux of the hypocrisy of modern feminists is the advent of new (awesome) websites like etsy.com where women, mostly, ply their handmade wares. Feminist neo-hippies are covetous of the domestic crafts of other women, an occupation which, if they were honest with themselves and adhered uniformly to their own philosophies, they abhor. So, through this ego-centric consumerism, we create an elite class of women who are "too feminist" to participate in domestic occupations, yet still desire, and can afford, to buy handmade organic toys or handknit organic wool leggings made by other women. Feminist neo-hippies have become elitist classists, and the object of their domination is other women! Doesn't this just drip with hypocrisy???

We don't question Indians who continue to do beadwork, men who do woodwork, people who make their own bread when it can be bought in a store, so why do we question women who continue to practice domestic arts? How come we can grow our own herbs and vegetables, but can't make our own quilt for fear of "setting women back?" Because women themselves are the single largest obstacle to true feminism, that's why. Because at the root of it all, militant feminist hate being women, and are ashamed of the female experience (for they deny that the female experience exists at all, no?). True feminism is the act of embracing all that women are, were, and will be.

Oxytocin. I've been a slave to its narcotic properties, an unwitting addict, for more than 6 long years. Now I've gone cold-turkey, completely unaware of how it has its little mitts involved in every aspect of my life.

Sleeping. Why do people tout night-weaning? For 6 years, someone or another has dictated how I lay in the bed, how lightly, or deeply, I slept. Calmed me to sleep through nursing and a flood of oxytocin, woke me gently in the morning when Avery partook of her early-morning nursing session, the sun rising through the window alerting me that it was time to slowly wake and start the day. I've lost my own internal sleep rhythm. I don't know when to go to bed, I am not tired when I force myself to retire, I lay awake, my mind won't calm down. Not without oxytocin. And the dreams! The dreams! I sleep deeply and uninterrupted, for a while, and the dreams, so vivid, attack me. I toss and turn all night. I wake angry at whatever whoever did to me in my dreams (I'm pretty sure that I verbally assaulted Rudi in my sleep last night, as I dreamed that he was laying in bed talking incessantly). At 5am, I ran down to sleep on the couch, my foggy brain fuming for another hour or so about how inconsiderate and rude my husband was, and how I would blow him a new butthole in the morning. Luckily, by morning, I realize that his transgressions were purely imagined.

I don't know when to get up in the mornings, without the nursing signal. The kids finally succeeded in getting me out of bed at 10:30 yesterday morning, and only because I looked at the clock and realized that it was, in fact, 10:30. I wake every morning with unimaginable pain in my back, shoulders, or neck, my body forgetting how to lay in a bed without nursing.

I am never hungry, and yet I am always eating, because that's what I used to do when nursing. I make bad food choices, while all food simultaneously repulses me, and nothing tastes good. It's like my body used to tell me exactly what I needed; fruit, veggies, carbs, protein; and now I don't know how to read my own hunger signals and nutritional needs.

This is all made worse, of course, by the fact that Avery nursed at least 12 times one day, and the next day was DONE. Cold turkey, indeed. This sucks. Hard.

I had to publish the last post because I needed to close Firefox to install something. Here are the pictures...


Avery's super-neat writing that she wanted to practice herself:
Riley's spontaneous writing. I used to know what it said:
Avery writing my name for the first time:

Wow, my blog is still here, not marked as abandoned!

Riley has been feverish, but no other symptoms. I had to pick her up from school yesterday half-way through. On Wednesday, no less, the day when both girls are all-day with art class tagged on to the end. Ugh. But her fever was 104 and the teachers were kind of freaking out. I told them that a spike of 104 or 105 is not unusual for Riley. Just a sign of her immune system working, doesn't mean she's sick, just fighting something off so she doesn't become sick. Immune systems are funny. Mine works by knocking me out and making me sleep, and I won't get sick if I listen. Riley's burns off whatever she's got, and she will come out of the fever and not get sick. Of course, all this happens a week or two after Avery has weaned. I wonder how the next illness with affect her.

Speaking of weaning, Avery's still weaned. It's so weird, though, because she was obviously not ready. If she wakes in the middle of the night, she screams and cries that she wants to nurse, so I ask her if she wants to try, and she says no, that it doesn't work anymore. Ugh. Poor kid!

I think Riley is hitting an intellectual growth spurt. All she wants to do is "school work." Not a problem. We started the Singapore Math, and as I suspected, it's a tad too easy for her. Actually, way too easy :) I think there may be something in the second half of the first grade curriculum that's new to her, and I want to do it all in order, so we'll stick with the first half of the first grade curriculum and just go through really fast. She did seven lessons in one day before I stopped her. Doing handwriting work is like pulling teeth, oh my goodness, SO not easy for her! And as a handwriting freak, I WILL NOT have a child with sloppy handwriting! LOL I will not! I think that because she really does truly love writing, she just doesn't want to stop or slow down and learn the mechanics of it. I also bought her some work on consonant blends, and she knew them all. Oops, didn't know she knew that. I also got her a book on non-fiction comprehension where she reads a short non-fiction excerpt and answers questions about the reading. She didn't have a problem with the reading, but was a little intimidated by the look of the book, but had very few problems doing the actual work. She lacks a bit in the self-confidence area.

Avery is so strange. I heard her counting up to 29 the other day. She also said that something was "fifty-six" and was correct. Hmmm. She also wrote my name on a picture, saying that she had seen it written somewhere, so she knew how to spell it. And Avery's handwriting is VERY neat (be still, my heart!) especially considering how she continues to hold a pencil/marker. She knows all her letters and the sounds they make. She was just randomly writing yesterday, saying she wanted to practice her ABC's, without me asking or prompting her. Oh, goodness, though, how perfectionist Avery is!! I mean, it really does handicap her in some areas, it's that bad. Ugh.

It looks like we have a home for our guinea pigs for when we move. The school's guinea pig died on Friday from a huge tumor (the other guinea pig died last year, I think). The director said that they would be interested in taking our pigs after a natural mourning period for Sammy. Nice! Riley's on the fence about it, sometimes loving the idea, sometimes hating it. We'll see how it all pans out.

Riley starts ice skating lessons at her school in a week or two. I need to get her skates by them. I'm just so wishy-washy about which I want for her. She wants pink ones. I went to Play it Again Sports and got myself a pair of cheap beater skates for myself at an awesome price. They didn't have anything good for little girls. I'll probably just end up getting her white figure skates. Meh, who knows? I promised her skates for her birthday, so I need to produce them soon! The director said that they needed to be figure skates, not hockey skates, but I don't know if she means a figure skating blade. I like the recreational skates with more support than figure skates. I don't know...

So, Avery has weaned. And, true to herself, in the most unusual way. I'm still kind of shell-shocked!

There was no tapering, no days without nursing. She was still nursing, on average, 8-12 times a day as well as nursing to sleep and perhaps twice more at night. Then one morning, LITERALLY, she lost the sucking reflex. Her latch seemed fine, but her nursing hurt like the dickens. She then said "I forgot how I used to nurse" and "how come I don't get milk anymore?" I checked and I still had milk. So we decided that we would cuddle instead. She was still pretty frustrated and upset, but knew that nursing doesn't "work" anymore.

The funny thing is, though, that my first response to any household discord it to offer to nurse. Avery and Riley had a little argument and Avery came to me and crawled onto my lap and I instinctively lifted my shirt. Avery said, in her best teenage voice, "Mom, that doesn't work anymore!" Doh! There goes my best tool!

I was talking to Rudi about it last night, telling him that I have been nursing for more than SIX YEARS non-stop. Six years! And for 1 1/2 of those years I was nursing two. I think I've earned my stripes!