True Colors

Girl colors and boy colors; that was the topic of discussion at breakfast this morning with my five- and almost four-year olds. As they fought over the "boy" monster versus the "girl" monster, I tried to think of a way to gently explain to them that their whole way of thinking was crap. The only problem being that our whole world is laced with this ind of toxic thinking and goes much deeper than boy colors and girl colors. 

Work places are riddled with male leaders who see the world as a big game of Risk. World domination on a much smaller scale. They try to impose their ideas on others and think nothing of using people as mere collateral damage in their quest for power. Intellectual men with multiple degrees stomping their feet on the ground because they don't their way. Why?

I was a communications manager at a successful nonprofit and was having issues with an employee I supervised. He was rude, arrogant and refused to show up to work, or not, at anyone's request. Clear case of someone who should be fired. When I shared my concerns with my male boss his response was, "Don't take it personally. I don't think he would like to report to any woman." The "solution" turned out to be changing the reporting structure of this man to my male boss. Problem solved.

In a world where inequities exist on so many levels how are we evolve as a society? 

After all of these events ran through my mind I finally jumped in and told my boys, yes we are referring to the original question at hand, "It doesn't matter what color the monsters are. There are no boy colors or girl colors. All monsters have loud roars and things to say. If it were me I'd pick the monster with the strongest voice."

Perhaps this is too much thought to put into a mere color conversation between toddlers, but hey, it's got to start somewhere, I know sexism does. I am monster, hear me roar.

Going #2

No this isn't bathroom humor, it's merely a commentary on life in motion with a 13-month-old while anxiously awaiting a new little one. Seventeen months apart. So not only does this make this feminist exhausted, but life with a pseudo-modern male adds to the mix.

Often I see him awaken but in my mind's eye he arises, pelt in check, from a cave where he slumbers. Much like the neanderthal male who must beat his chest and do amazing things such as create fire, my neanderthal beats his chest in anger over his lack of sleep. His mere eight hours is simply not enough and so he metaphorically beats his chest to show his dissatisfaction with the situation.

Meanwhile, I have been up for nearly an hour and a half, having exercised, fed the child and showered already... all while being a mere 29 weeks pregnant. After breakfast, I gather up my belongings - lunch, workout clothes, personal items and baby - and head off to drop off the baby before embarking on the full-time, very demanding job in senior management.

Neanderthal man curls up in a ball and falls back asleep because he has a "tummy ache" and can't possible fold the clean laundry I have taken out of the dryer.

In my perfect world men are pregnant at least once in hopes that they will evolve beyond their own egos.