Bitch be cool.

Hi. In case you didn't get the memo, I'm a hot mess lately. This is a recurring theme: Exhausted. Stressed. Maxed out. Just plain done. Blah blah blah. I know I sound like a broken record. There's just So. Much. Stuff. I used to be really good at handling my (and everyone else's) shit and suffering in silence while managing to keep it together. But "juggling" has simply become "dropping all of the balls," or, some days, just "drowning in the ball pit."

Awesomely apropos mug from Hot Mess Mom. 

One unpleasant side effect of being stressed the F*CK out is forgetting things all the time. My kid called me "Dorie" this morning!!! But the Mackenzie Nunchuck Cheeseman that *I* know DOES NOT FORGET THINGS. So now, not only do I forget them, I fret about the forgotten things like Rain Man worrying over Judge Wapner for the next 7 hours or 7 days, or, I don't know, possibly 7 years, I'll have to get back to you on that. Meanwhile, HOW did this happen to me?!? I am NOT this person! (Or am I?! I forget ;))

DM: Baby, it's just a checkbook. You have more checks. It's not a big deal.
ME: I KNOW I have more checks. That is not the point. The POINT is I am not the type of person who misplaces a checkbook. Or a spare key. Or a photo album. Or the perfect card I've been saving 9 months for this exact occasion. Or, *gulp,* the roll of masking tape that held 5 years of my kids' measurements from the old house that is irreplaceable, and, just... GONE. Waaaaaa.

OH WAIT. I forgot (shocker) to tell you about the infamous Columbus Day Incident of 2015.

So. Jack didn't have school on Columbus day. Even though Colby, DM and I didn't have the day off, we decided to play hooky and go to Disneyland. We surprised the kids and hooked a left onto the 5 north instead of taking them to school Monday morning. They loved it, and there are few places in the world I would rather be than Disneyland.

But. Jack came home after school on Tuesday and said, "My teacher asked me why I wasn't at school yesterday." BECAUSE HE DIDN'T ACTUALLY HAVE THE DAY OFF and we all just ditched work and school for no reason. (Well, no reason except MICKEY MOUSE, which is an excused absence as far as I'm concerned ;))

How have I fallen so far???

Feta says, "Bitch, be cool. Seriously, woman. Pull yourself together."

One silver lining to my slow spiral into insanity (or, if you prefer the proper medical terminology, "Motherhood,") is that my husband is finally getting a little taste of what it's like to be married to himself. (And I've become a little more sympathetic to his schtick, which I refer to in shorthand as "Huh?" :))

DM: "Did 'we' buy my cousin a wedding present?" "Did 'we' get my dad a birthday card?" "Did 'we' schedule the kids' dentist appointments, or purchase and launder clothes that actually fit our children who grew 3 inches since Tuesday, or call an electrician, or arrange a meeting with a contractor for that one hour we have free in the next calendar year?"

Nope. Nope. Aaaaaand no. And PS, where are my goddamn keys?!?

All of this is a roundabout way of saying I have yet to write that "real" blog post I've been meaning to do. Someday. Maybe ;)

Don't worry about me. I've got this under control. Butterfingers may cause diabetes and liver disease but they are gluten free, bitches!

Anyway. Happy Friday, Friends. Good luck juggling yer balls. I say leave that to the clowns ;)

Lurve and Tang: A True Story

I've been kind of sappy and nostalgic and emotional these last few days, which definitely isn't my baseline. I thought maybe it was because life has been so crazy lately, but really, except for the real estate transaction bonanza, it's not a whole lot crazier than it has been for the last three-to-five years. Then it occurred to me that for the first time in over 20 years, my hormones are actually my own. They are not at the mercy of chemical birth control or tiny humans growing in my belly. And I'm not sure how I feel about it! Is this that "PMS" that everyone has been talking about? Yowza. You people weren't joking around.

Anyway, in light of my recent state of sap, and cleaning and sorting things for the impending move, here's a mini retrospective on my love. Sometimes it's nice to be reminded why you married someone, especially at those times in your life when you've recently argued about a mop.

First, I came across one of our wedding programs. On one side were the lyrics to Bob Dylan's "Wedding Song," which I love to this day:

...You're the other half of what I am
You're the missing piece
And I love you more than ever
With a love that doesn't cease...

And on the other side was this letter:

Dear Mom and L -

A lot has happened in ten years, and I wish you'd been here to experience every minute of the wild ride. I grew up. Sorta. I'm not a trainer for the 'Niners, but a lawyer instead. It still sounds funny to say that. But I love my work. I do good (and medium-well ;)), and I learn something new each day. Little Brother is headed into his senior year of high school... no longer a little kid that falls asleep amidst a sea of markers and crayons, but an (almost) man with big ideas about how to turn those markers and crayons (and paints and pens) into an exciting future. Little Sister is married, and she's a MOM!!! I can't get used to that either! But it's an incredible thing... your first grandbaby!

My favorite story to tell, however, is this:

I met a boy. And I loooooove him. And the best part is, I know you would, too. He's smart and he's handsome and he's funny (but don't tell him I said so :)). He likes adventures. He makes great margaritas. And he makes me smile every single day. I feel so lucky, not only that he and I found each other, but also that I was fortunate enough to get plenty of lessons in love from the two of you. Thank you for teaching me that friendship and laughter and silliness are just as essential to a relationship as commitment and strength. Thank you for teaching me that true love doesn't fit in a box, and can't be captured by words. And thank you for providing inspiration and encouragement in love and all of life's endeavors over the years.

I'd like to think of the two of you here today, in Tahoe, where I always feel your spirits so strongly. I imagine you at the top of one of these peaks, tired and happy and completely content after a long day's hike, setting up camp and preparing a feast of Tang and re-constituted Chinese chicken salad. After dinner you settle in around the fire with your books or a deck of cards, but as the sun begins to set, you take a few minutes to watch the festivities.

You hear music and laughter wafting up the mountain.

You see family and friends dancing the night away.

It's almost as if you're right there.

It's almost as if you're right here.

Miss you.

Love you.

- M.

Then, I came across this little convo between DM and me, probably from a month or two ago:

Me: You're my fave. Thank you for helping out with our lives so much lately. I just can't seem to get ahold of the reins.
Him: We are a team. You only need one rein. I got the other one. Sometimes. And sometimes it's okay for us to be a runaway wagon.
Me: Well thank you. You are a good partner. I don't know if I'll ever grab hold of that second rein again.
Him: That's okay. I like a wild ride :)

As my grandma likes to say, "Hang on tight and don't stand up!"

the text that almost ended in divorce

Alternate title: I am 62% insane.

I sent this to DM and asked him if it was kinda funny, or just made me look legit-crazy. He read it and replied, "Eh, it definitely makes you sound kinda nuts. But... you are... so..." His bottom line was that it wasn't funny enough to justify letting this much of my crazy show, but I don't often listen to what he says (don't worry, the selective hearing disorder is a two-way street).

So, DM was working from home the other day and he and I texted back and forth for a little bit about nothing in particular. Probably about houses we can't afford. We hadn't texted in an hour or so and then I get this text:

DM: It's just going to have to be in and out tonight, sorry baby.

Me: What?

No response.

Me: You know that sounds bad, right?

(Editor's note: I swear I'm happily married and don't normally jump automatically to the conclusion that my spouse is cheating on me. I actually used to be a very anxious and jealous person, but either a decade-plus of his undying love, and/or four years and 237 days of little humans sucking every last ounce of energy from my soul has left me without the ability to muster even one iota of suspicion. But for some reason, this day, this text, just hit me - it gave me that instant pit in my stomach.)

Still no answer.

So I call. No answer.

Text again: Dude.

No answer.

At this point, I basically feel as though my suspicions are 100% confirmed and he's not answering the phone or texts because he's trying to devise a cover story, and/or pack a bag to avoid the wrath that shall rain down upon him when I get home.

Me: Please tell me there is a reasonable explanation for that text.

Nothing.

Meanwhile, this is the insane freight train of thoughts going through my tiny skull:

I can't believe I'm going to be a divorcee.
With two small children.
I can't believe he's talking to me about buying our dream home all the while cheating on me with some floozy!
I can't believe he calls her "Baby" too! (insert Sam Smith song here).
Then again, every-other-weekend off wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.
But how are we going to afford our lives without pooled resources?!
This might finally be my chance to find a sugar daddy and become a kept woman.
Of course this had to happen on the day when I guest-posted about the sad state of one's sex life when you're married with children. Everyone is going to say "Well, duh! Of course he stepped out on you. Suck it up and give the man a BJ once in a while!" (Pun intended).
I wonder if this hussy likes laundry, cooking, or blow jobs? We might be able to work something out...
By the way, I'm keeping the ring, dick.

Then, it suddenly dawned on me. That morning, the kids had asked for In-N-Out Burger for dinner (not my fave, as I'm a vegetarian and currently off bread.) DM answered "We'll see," (which usually means no).

Me: OHMIGOD. Were you talking about dinner???

DM FINALLY answers: Phrasing :)

Me: DUDE. I was 3 seconds away from calling a divorce lawyer.

DM: I am still unsure exactly what it was you thought my text meant?

Me: Um, that you were having secret sexytimes with some trollop!

DM: Like, in the 20 minutes before I had to pick up our children?

Me: It only takes 4.

DM: Ouch.

Twenty minutes later I get this text:

DM: Hey secret imaginary girlfriend: I'm coming over for some hot sex before I fetch the kids at preschool. Don't tell my wife Mackenzie Cheeseman.

Sigh. He's a good sport. And I need mental help ;)

That reminds me of this:

I in no way, shape or form condone drunk driving. But this cracked me up and would so happen to me, with my luck in combination with AT&T and my godforsaken iPhone -2.

Anyway, I'm happy to report, we are still married (just celebrated our 7th anniversary, thank you very much).

AND, I know how to keep things HOT.

With this kind of spice, that man's not going anywhere ;)

to blave

i wrote a post a little while back about marriage. true love. soul mates. and i feel like i sort of need to clarify. i said everyone deserves someone who "completes them," a la jerry maguire, but that would imply that you had some sort of void that needed to be filled, and that's not what i meant. both halves of a good marriage should be able to stand on their own. if you're looking for someone else to have "the answers," you are surely going to end up disappointed. that reminds me of this great quote from that movie the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind:

"too many guys think i'm a concept, or i complete them, or i'm gonna make them alive. but i'm just a fucked-up girl who's lookin' for my own peace of mind; don't assign me yours."

this has actually happened to me a few times. i guess it probably happens to everyone. people fall in love with the idea of you, which is a lot of friggin' pressure because there's no way you can live up to the platonic ideal of yourself. once they scratch the surface, "the real me" is revealed in all its hot, sweaty, squishy, hairy, naggy, messy glory.

that reminds me of another one of my favorite movie quotes from good will hunting:

"you're not perfect sport, and i'll save you the suspense. this girl you met? she's not perfect, either. the question is whether or not you're perfect for each other."

i certainly do not intend to send my son and daughter into the world on some wild goose chase for their perfect disney prince/princess fairytale. nobody is going to rescue you from the castle. nobody is going to save you from your wicked stepmother. nobody is going to set you free. nobody but yourself.

my underlying argument in my last marriage post is that (i believe) there IS such a thing as truly, madly, deeply. and that everyone deserves that. i don't think people should just get married because they are worried they won't find anything better, or their ovaries are starting to get moldy, or they are dangerously close to becoming a Cat Lady. i believe there is a person, or, more likely, a generous handful of people, who can increase the sum total of happiness in your soul. not who provide you the answers to some deep lingering questions about the meaning of life or your place in the world, but who push and inspire you to be your best self, and make your time on this earth better for being there.

my definition of a soul mate is someone who, ultimately, loves YOU more than the IDEA of you. and that is a pretty rare find.

and again. i am not saying it is perfect, or a fairytale. far from it. and i plan to share with my children the good, the bad, and the ugly.

the love of Mackenzie and Daddy Mack rose from inglorious beginnings. well. that's not true. it was pretty glorious. amidst the rice and beans and smelly bar mats of Fred's Mexican Café and Typhoon Saloon, we began a torrid, tequila-fueled love affair that carried us from the beaches of san diego to the beaches of the caribbean and back again. but even in the beginning we were not without our problems. i had left mr "perfect on paper" for mr. older, dark and mysterious bar manager guy and perhaps failed to cut DM some slack when the reality of him differed from both the idea of him, and the idea of my ex. meanwhile, DM was, by virtue of proximity, drawn into tension-filled family negotiations over whether or not i should adopt my kid brother as i ventured into to law school. add to that the fact that DM and i were attending different law schools in the fall, 500 miles apart. this was a lot to handle for two people who hadn't even been together a year. it proved to be too much. he cheated on me with a somewhat unfortunate-looking girl who smelled like stale cigarettes and old-man-B.O. we broke up.

i used to swear with such conviction that i would never, ever, take someone back that cheated on me. you can say a lot of things before they happen to you. eventually, we got back together. even then it was not smooth sailing. people always say the first year of marriage is hard, but i like to joke that our first year of marriage was a piece of cake because we had already had every single fight that one couple could possibly have in a lifetime. seriously. we once argued for literally 6 hours once over whether not DM would smoke cigarettes once our imaginary children were born. i guess, in my crooked little mind, i did not want to commit my heart again unless this was IT, so i wanted to make sure that all eventualities were accounted for.

ANYWAY. we made it through, with flying colors, if i may say so myself. we made two beautiful, if slightly insane and preternaturally stubborn little cheese-its. DM is my rock, my voice of reason, my cheerleader, my partner in crime, the angel AND the devil on my shoulder, my best friend. he's my prince charming-ish. in high tide or in low tide, he'll be by my side.

i'm sure, someday, down the road, there will be more fights to fight. and we will fight them with grit, tenacity, and frequent cites to prevailing legal principles. i am hoping there will be no more smelly beasties vying for a piece o' my hunka hunka burnin' love, but you never know.

on infidelity - i used to think that when you were IN LOVE (which is supposed to last FOREVAH-EVAH), you would never even LOOK at another person "like that." i still like to pretend in my mind that that is true. but now that i am older and wiser, i realize that is probably not a realistic expectation. my husband works with all women. he goes to vegas twice a year. he travels for business on occasion. there are going to be women who catch his eye. and i get that now. first of all, as much as it pains me to admit, i am no spring chicken. it's so sad. i'm so vain. i wish i could turn back time and freeze my physical self at the age of 22 forever. but that's not gonna happen, and vegas is chock full of 22 year olds that look better than i ever did. second, that feeling In The Beginning - where you're not sure if you're in love or you've contracted malaria? sadly (yet also thankfully), that does not last forever. and i can understand how, if confronted with that, you might be tempted to dive back into that (temporary) bliss.

but, i think of it like this. we knew this guy in the virgin islands. he was our "frenchy" landlord. he was a crazy, old, awesome, alcoholic. seriously, he put 151 in his coffee every morning. and i feel like i should mention, just for added color, that he had the "triple crown" of genital piercings. anyway. the first night we met him, he had picked us up at the airport with one of DM's friends. (we sat in two lawn chairs strapped to the bed of his truck with bungee cords.) we proceeded to pub crawl our way through st. thomas. on our second or third drink at our third or fourth bar, DM suggested we eat some food. and crazy jimmy replied, "are you kidding me? i've got $30 invested in this buzz. i'm not gonna go ruining it with dinner!" in this story - i'm the buzz. get it? you've put some serious time and effort into that shit, and you don't wanna go undermining those efforts by eating dinner, even if it does look inviting and delicious. (or, as was once the case, looks sort of like a troll doll in serious need of a V05 hot oil treatment.*) this is especially true because dinner, though possibly quite divine, will be over before you know it, and now you're sober and you have heartburn.

the officiant at our wedding - one of my mom's best friends - said during the ceremony, "you are now husband and wife, but you must wake up every morning and decide to be married." and that is something that we have to remember, in the midst of the chaotic monotony of "grown up life." decide, every day, to be married. and that is what me and my prince charming-ish will continue to do :)

Hobo Marriage Vows
We are in accord with the following:
1. You are the way you are, and, it's OK for you to be that way.
2. May my love for you always be greater than my need for you.
3. May I always do what's right even if it's not what I want.
4. To help you be a success in your way.

links i like:

The Lie and the Truth About Marriage on Momastery.com - i basically love everything this woman has to say. luckily i still get the butterflies, though admittedly, it is not the default state that it once was.

My Husband is Not My Soul Mate on Trustychucks.com - a friend of mine posted this recently and it is apropos. i don't buy into the whole "married to god/soul mates with god" bit, but i highly approve of her general message.

and of course this oldie but goodie: holy crap this really is a four diamond hotel - they have gourmet butt wipes (a post about marriage, kinda) by yours truly

* please excuse my spite. i have forgiven but i have not forgotten. oh but that does remind me of the best advice i ever got surviving any major speed bump in your relationship: if you really want it to work out, you can't keep beating the person over the head with the infraction, e.g., "omigod i can't believe you left the milk out, this is like that time you cheated on me, you bastard!" hopefully that does not include using said incident as blog fodder. and to that end... sorry it's been a while, but this post was held up under review by my content editor. ultimately it passed muster ;)

maiwiage

settle a bet for me.

i believe in "True Love." i believe in "The One." i believe there's a lid for every pot. i mean. okay. there are 7+ billion people in the world. maybe there are a few lids that would fit really well. but my point is, i believe that it's out there. for everyone. that everyone can be, and deserves to be, madly in love with their partner. that does not mean that love is a fairytale, that you don't sometimes want to punch that special someone in their stubborn face or run away to mexico for a few days weeks months, that you never fight or he never makes you cry. but, i believe there is someone who, excuse the jerry maguire reference, completes you. who can make your heart race and your knees weak and make you laugh and make you think. someone who makes you happy at the very center of your soul.

my husband says i'm wrong.

he says we are lucky. that marriage is sometimes, maybe even a lot of the time, about convenience, about fear of being alone, about fear of the unknown, about settling, about preferring what you have to nothing. he also thinks that not everyone is equipped for that head-over-heels kind of love. he thinks some people just aren't "the marrying kind." that we aren't an inherently monogamous species. i think all of that is BS. i think they just haven't found the right person (yet).

DM is not alone in his thoughts, though. a good friend of mine calls it "Big Love," and views it as the exception, not the rule. she and i were talking more about it and she said maybe Big Love is when you get everything you need from one person. she said everyone she knows with The Big Love would, without hesitation, name their significant other as their best friend. i don't know. maybe Big Love is just a euphemism for codependence. but it works for me.

another friend, when asked about proposing to his now-wife, responded "well, at some point, you just gotta shit or get off the pot, you know?"

just.... please. for future reference. if i ever learn that my significant other said this about me, direct me to the nearest divorce lawyer.

also. in that metaphor. what am i? the shit? or the pot?

ugh.

i worked for this professor. (the one who made me a mix-tape. more about that later.) he once asked me: "who is the person you love the most and who is the person you have been the most in love with? are they the same person?" me: "is this a trick question? of course. why. it isn't for you?" him: "no."

i just don't get that. wouldn't you want both? a friend of mine was recently in a long-term relationship. he stayed with the girl for too long, out of some ill-conceived sense of obligation. he loved her but he was not in love. but she thought he was The One, and he felt like he owed it to her to try to make that true. i'm sorry, but, eff that, man. i hate to sound like a smug biatch, but i've been lots of people's The One (okay maybe three people's. ;)). and that sucks for them. but at the end of the day, that's not really my problem. and anyway, if they think i'm The One but i don't think they're The One, then i'm probably not actually The One. you dig? i can only hope that the universe will right the wrongs along the way. the bottom line is, just because you love someone doesn't mean they can make you happy. there's a difference. sometimes, love isn't enough. (< have you seen this movie with julia roberts and brad pitt and a gay james gandolfini? cinema gold.)

along those lines, i just read this post - "Why Finding 'The One' Is Nearly Impossible But We Do It Anyway." he makes a good point - that lots of times you think you found "The One," until you find out they are not, in fact, The One. so it's really sort of about finding Mr. Right Now instead of Mr. Right?

and i guess all of this begs the question - what if there is The One, but you don't find The One, and your uterus is quickly approaching it's expiration date (or maybe you're just tired of cooking for one. in the latter case, i think i can help you out ;)) but, then what? i guess this is a major flaw in my reasoning. because some of the best people i know are still single, and not necessarily because they want to be. one of my favorite friends recently said "i think it's time to start thinking about settling," and i was like "NOOOOOOOO, you can't! you are too great to settle!" (also her dates provide too much entertainment for her to stop going on them ;)) in the early days when we talked a lot about lurve, DM and i always agreed that we would rather be alone than "settle." but, i guess that's really easy for me to say since i found "the one" when i was 22 years old. who knows what i would be thinking 12 or 20 years later. maybe something, anything, is better than nothing. but from my happily married high horse i just can't see that being true.

an old friend of mine (who is going through a divorce) posted this depressing ode to the mediocre state of marriage: "Good Enough? That's Great." am i nuts for thinking that "good enough" isn't? this: don't date a girl who reads. "you will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied." that's what i want. that's what i believe we all deserve. am i high? (editor's note: no. i am not. unless you mean high on life. then yes. yes i am. sometimes. other times life is a very bad trip.)

this whole train of thought reminds me of that viral post by seth adam smith - "marriage isn't for you." he discusses some guidance he received from his father on the eve of his marriage to his childhood sweetheart: "You don’t marry to make yourself happy, you marry to make someone else happy." okay. maybe i'm just selfish, and i'm no therapist, but... that seems like spectacularly bad marriage advice. isn't this the type of situation where you will plug along through the business of making and raising human beings, and then said humans go off to college, and you look at your partner and say, "why did i marry you? oh yeah. because marriage was for you. because you were going to be a great dad. and you were. but the kids are gone and it's just us... and... now what?"

and hey. who knows? maybe, someday, i'll find myself there too. and maybe, at that point, you start from scratch and learn to love eachother all over again with a new set of rules. or get divorced and adopt a bunch of cats. i do not know these things. i have no crystal ball. i cannot see the future. but i'm not in the future. i'm here. now. and i can't imagine doing what i'm doing every day (wrangling babies, referee-ing peewee WWF matches, cooking for implacable food critics of small stature, cleaning shit i just cleaned, again, laundry that never, ever ends, bills that annoyingly require payment each and every month, etc. etc. etc.) with someone who did not make this endless stream of quotidia bearable...

[on learning to love someone - i thought this post was interesting: I Didn't Love My Wife When We Got Married, on PopChassid.com. i respect where he's coming from, but then i'm like, i really just don't think you should have to work that hard to love someone. at what point does it turn from the effort that all relationships require to trying to fit a square peg into a round hole?]

this also reminds me of some people i know who stayed together in an unhappy marriage "for the children." that's so backwards to me. i can guarantee you if my mom and dad had stayed together i would be 113% more fucked up than i am right now. i mean, there's nothing better for kids to see than a happy, healthy marriage, but i believe the converse is also true.

don't get me wrong. my marriage is not all unicorns and rainbows. we've had our ups and downs. and it's not like it doesn't take effort. some days it takes a great deal more effort than others. our love has grown and changed and looks very, very different than it did over a decade ago, before marriage and mortgage and minis and full time jobs and too-long commutes and the Groundhog's Day repetition of bedtime battles and toddler tantrums and festive fetes every other freakin' weekend. but if i had to do all of that without him i would lose my ever lovin' mind. seriously. sometimes my husband and grilled cheese sandwiches and looking at pictures of my kids after they are sound asleep are the only things in the world that make me happy. i love that man. he keeps me sane. he's my partner and my sounding board and my best friend. and i feel so sad thinking that this is just due to some stroke of luck or rare divine intervention or alignment of the stars.

on the tangential topic of "the bad-assedness of married sex," i saw this post recently and the title scared the bejesus out of me but the message is really rather spot on: "I Didn't Have Sex for a Year, and I'm Still Married," by Natalie Singer Velush on the Huffington Post Blog.

sorry that this sort of reads like a schizophrenic book report. i have many thoughts on the subject and a lesser ability to weave them into a coherent message. mainly i just want to win the bet. tell me, is there such a thing as true love?

p.s., i had a dream last night that i posted this and then promptly found out DM was sleeping with his secretary. stranger things have happened. let's just hope if that is how our story ends, he chooses something a little less cliched. actually, i often joke with DM that divorce would be awesome. every other weekend off? hollaaaaaah!!! but i'm (93%) kidding. just wanted to clarify that with the universe ;)

quotes from the perks of being a wallflower by stephen chbosky

to blave...

I wear "The Pants," but everyone in my family wears pants (sometimes).

you know what really chaps my hide? stuff like this:

when i was pregnant with jack, at 12 weeks, we made the ultrasound tech take a guess as to the sex. she said girl. so we told everyone it was a girl. several people said, "oh, that's okay, i'm sure your next one will be a boy." i was like, um, i'm sorry, what? are you telling me "better luck next time"? is this china? do i have to throw the first one away since it doesn't have a penis? wtf?! turns out he did, in fact, have a penis. PHEW. i guess 9 10 months (< special pregnancy math) of morning ALL DAY sickness wasn't a complete waste of time and energy since i successfully produced a male heir to the throne in my royal kingdom???

it's 2013 (i think, but i could be wrong) and people say stuff like this, too:

"oh, you have two girls? is your husband sad? are you going to try for a third? who will he play catch with if you don't have a boy?" nothing incites my fury like the insinuation that a) you somehow failed at baby making if you didn't produce a boy, and b) that daddies can only play catch with their wiener-wielding man childs. GUESS WHAT?! MOTHERS can play catch with their SONS and FATHERS can play catch with their DAUGHTERS and... unfortunately, my math skills have languished since lawyerhood, so i don't know the exact permutations, but basically, IF YOU HAVE HANDS, YOU CAN PLAY CATCH.

"oh, you have two boys? are you so sad? are you going to try for a third? who will go shopping and get mani-pedis with mommy if you only have boys?" i hate shopping and my son loves having his toenails painted. so suck it.

"girls don't like football." this one does.

"boys don't like pink." not a true statement.

"you throw like a girl."

"stop crying like a girl."

oh, and when my daughter was born and they put her on my chest, i whispered to her, "hey buddy." the nurse, whose name was Chit, by the way, said, "Hey, you can't call her buddy. She's a girl." um, okay, a) i just pushed this baby out my lady bits so i can call her whatever i damn well please. i could call her Ernesto and you would need to shut your freakin' trap. and b) since when can't a girl be a buddy?!

what the eff, man? is this 1952? there are so many things wrong with the above statements, i don't even know where to start. first and perhaps foremost, using "like a girl" as a derogatory statement is just f*cked up. second, not all girls are crybabies dressed in pink, and some can throw a mean spiral. some boys DO like pink, get their hearts broken on a daily basis, and prefer drawing or collecting leaves or playing the ukulele to tackle football. third, having children is a total freaking crap shoot and you never know what you're going to get.

the other night, my daughter was body slamming my son and they were both laughing maniacally and making fart sounds each time they made impact with the floor. i looked over at my husband and i was like, "well, i guess i get to know what it's like to have two boys after all." (i had always thought, if i could choose, it would be fun to have two boys.) he replied, "not really. we still have one 'boy' (pointing to our rough-and-tumble girl) and one 'girl' (pointing to our delicate flower of a boy child)." i'm not gonna lie. i laughed quite heartily because per the prevailing cultural trappings, it's totally true. but then i felt bad because we are sexist jerks.

i understand that, generally speaking, there are a few essential differences between men and women, mostly physical. beyond that, i chalk most of it up to culture and socialization. the affectations of gender stereotypes are just that - acts - but they are so ingrained it's hard to even think about getting to a neutral place from which to analyze them. i mean, cavemen and cavewomen, or adam and eve, or whoever... they didn't care about pink vs. blue or shaving their legs or painting their nails or how best to showcase The Original Cleavage under leaves and mammoth pelts. (speaking of, eve must have been one of those lucky hairless women because, eef, me in just a fig leaf without access to a razor? avert your eyes.) anyway, the point is, they didn't have peewee football or barbies or superheros or princesses. these "preferences" and "tendencies" and hang-ups are things that we have created.

my personal experience has also belied the cultural norms, which i guess gives me a different perspective than many. my mom definitely "wore the pants" in two different marriages and was the master of the house, no two ways about it. she wasn't super girly. she didn't do much makeup and she sort of sucked at hair. she definitely rocked a mullet for a good little while there circa 1989-1992. she loved purses and heels but also went through a tennis shoe and fanny pack phase. she was a kick ass business woman, capitalizing on every opportunity and always working her way to the top. she was a whiz in the kitchen, a skill set she actually picked up primarily from her father. she also climbed mountains and drove fast cars. she never made me feel like there was anything i couldn't do because i was female. i remember for a while i dreamt of playing football at Notre Dame. like, i really thought this was my future, apparently still riding high on our resounding powder puff victory in 7th grade. she managed, for that year, or three, to encourage my dreams without rolling her eyes or laughing in my face. looking back, i realize how hard that must have been and it makes me love her even more.

in my own relationships, i have unintentionally sought, or been found by, thoughtful, sensitive, loving, romantic, moody, dramatic and/or intense men, so i know, even though many men try to hide it behind their tough/manly/sporty spice exterior, they can be just as emotional, irrational, and insane as we are, or are purported to be. it kind of reminds me of something my gay and lesbian couple friends complain about - the "So who's the 'man' and who's the 'woman' in the relationship?" question. why does someone have to be The Boss? why does there have to be a Stronger Sex? how are we defining/measuring strength and power here? and WHY are we measuring it? why can't we just BE. why does there have to be this dichotomy and why do we have to choose sides? what purpose does this serve?

look. i am FAR from innocent here. i gender the SH*T out of my kids, particularly their closets. my daughter's wardrobe consists of 93% pink glitter, and i put big flower headbands in her hair from the day she was born until the day she called the kibosh on that business. my son has a lot of blue and grey featuring emergency vehicles, sanitation vehicles, construction vehicles, and/or carnivorous prehistoric animals. i gender the sh*t out of myself too. half my wardrobe is pink or orange. i have had my toenails consistently painted for the past 20 years. i have spent thousands of dollars and hours on hair removal and other cosmetic ... ahem... augmentations. i am willing to spend obscene amounts of money on a good pair of jeans. i love dresses and high heels and things that are sparkly. my diamond IS my (second) best friend. seriously. i lurve her.

but that just underlines my point. i consider myself a fairly well-educated, progressive-minded person. i minored in Critical Gender Studies, for heaven's sake. and yet i still subconsciously - or even consciously - fall prey to this strict "pink OR blue" mentality and i just want to know why?!

maybe i'll never know the "why," but at least i can continue to be aware and to fight the inevitable gendered pigeon-holing that we as a society perpetuate (myself included, see reference to pink glitter, above).

here are some things i intend to teach my son AND my daughter:

how to throw a ball and a punch. (seriously. in case you can't tell. this is a pet peeve of mine. teach your daughter how to throw and hit. your son too. unless your children have no arms (in which case i am very sorry), teach them how to throw, and catch, a ball, and how to throw a right cross and a left hook punch someone in the neck. wait. f that. even if they don't have arms. teach 'em to use their feet. they'll be even more badass. also how to throw a well-placed knee to the groin.)
how to change a tire.
how to do their own laundry, including emptying the f*cking lint trap.
how to pee in the toilet, or at least clean up after yourself if you are physically unable to do so.
how to iron a shirt.
how to sit through a pedicure, even the terrible part where they're sawing the dead skin bark off your heels.
how to check a book out of the library.
how to pay your bills.
how to write a will. (PLEASE, i beg you. if you have children, write a will.)
how to bake a cake, some basic edible meals, and a couple of potluck pleasers.
how to keep house in a manner that will not instantly put off potential friends, suitors, or mothers-in-law.
how to alleviate discomfort from mosquito bites, bee stings, and the flu.
how to start a fire.
how to jump a car.
the etiquette of "the courtesy wave"!
how to write a thank you card.
how to say sorry.
how to shake hands (no limp fish, ew!)
how to look someone in the eye.
how to set 'smile' as your default setting.
how to be kind.
how to love.
how to say "Yes."
how to say "No."
how to tell the truth.
when to tell a white lie.
how to help others, and yourself.

i guess this list could go on forever, but mainly, i just want to teach my kids how to survive in this crazy world. i want them to be good, honest, loving, and kind. these traits are gender neutral. i think the most important lessons in life apply regardless of what shape your bits and pieces take.

** If you like this post, you'll love my essay in I Still Just Want To Pee Alone! **

Click HERE to buy!

source:  mae martin - http://imgur.com/gallery/jkNljuC



love ellen. 

sh*t my husband says

In "real life" -

"You're funny, for a girl."
Oh yeah? Well.... your brain has the shell on it!

After returning from a trip to the market with a 2-year-old Jack: "He made me buy Skittles."

Me (as I'm baking cookies): "I hope our kids like my cooking."
DM: "Yeah, I was just thinking about that. I have a feeling we're going to hear 'I'm eating over at Millie's house' a lot."
Ouch! And a corollary -
ME: "Jack, how's that chicken mama made? Good or bad?"
J: "Bad."
Alrighty then. lol. Millie's house it is!

"Nice ascot."
Yes. An ascot. Otherwise known, in some circles, as a scarf.

While we are out on 'Date Night' - "Are those jeans, or sweatpants?"
Um... Jeans... That are apparently going to Goodwill tomorrow?

 

"I love being married to you. I know we'll always have Ziploc bags around."
Awww. Thanks, baby. So romantic.

"You touched my pepperoni. That's true love."
FYI, that's not innuendo. I actually touched pepperoni. I'll take his pepperoni over his raw chicken any day! ;)

"[Our mutual friend] really likes you. This weekend he said, 'Can we just talk about the fact that you're married to pretty much the coolest chick ever?' And I was like, 'Wait, who am I married to?'"
Lol, wtf, man?! In his defense, only people that do not know me very well would think that about me :)

Brother-in-law: "Do you have a soldering gun?"
DM: "No. I have a hot glue gun for crafting? Does that help?"
Editor's note: We actually used the hot glue gun to fix the electronics after the soldering iron failed!

"Oh sh*t. It's my mom's birthday tomorrow? Did we get her a card?"
Yes, "we" did.

Went out to bars with friends. Went to their house afterwards. JW commences baking a cake. DM: "I hereby dub you Drunken Contessa."

DM took the day off to watch a sick newbie Colby-baby. I texted to see how it was going and I received this reply: "Watching infomercial called 'Brazilian Butts.' All is well."

I had some weird itchy rash on my legs and DM was like, "Maybe all your cellulite is melting off"...
Ummmm.... mayyybe.... ?

Me, putting on makeup wearing just "jorts" (my shirt was in the dryer). DM: "You're like a Guess mom jeans commercial."
Oh yeah? Well you're like the "Before" guy in a Rogaine commercial. Just kidding! You're barely even that bald, and anyway, I still love you, even though I know what's in store <3

While I am pregnant -

Me: "How does this dress look?"
DM: "Like a mumu."
Soooo... I should not wear this one to the baby shower???

DM: "You don't even look pregnant in that dress. People will probably just think you're a little overweight."

Me, dressed in black gaucho pants and a black top. DM: "You look like a pregnant ninja."
Not an inaccurate assessment. But still.

Me, dressed in brown yoga pants and a brown fleece, "I know I'm sort of monochromatic right now." DM: "I wasn't going to say anything, but you look like a giant tootsie roll."

DM: "Whoa, you're like wider than you are tall right now."
Me: *incredulous stare*
DM: "Not fat. Just, you know, really... thick."
ME: "Please stop talking."
DM: "Yeah okay, good call."

While I am recovering from being pregnant -

For some reason I brought my "skinny" maternity jeans - as in - maternity jeans that hadn't fit me in 3 months, in my hospital bag. As I'm struggling to get dressed to leave the hospital after giving birth to his daughter, DM says, "You probably should have brought some more forgiving clothes - it doesn't look like those are gonna work out for ya."
Thanks for the input, Captain Obvious!

"You look good, for someone who just had a baby." ... Um... thanks?

"At least you're thinner than when you were pregnant." Is that a compliment?

Sh*t Other People's Husbands Say -

JW, to TW, his beautifully pregnant wife: "It's amazing that your legs still look so good when you are generally enormous otherwise."

JW, after TW had stopped nursing their first child: "Awwww, sad, your boobs look like helium balloons three days after a birthday party."

GD, to his (reluctantly) pregnant wife upon her return from a business trip: "Wow, honey, you're getting huge! I love it!"

DP bought a maternity suit skirt. She tried it on at home and asked her husband if it looked decent enough for work. He responded, "I mean, it's fine, but I wouldn't pose for a picture in it or anything."

Oh, and she's not my husband, but sometimes I wish she was - our erstwhile nanny. When I was pregnant with Colby and found out she was a girl, I came home and told the nanny and she said, "I knew it! I always say you can tell someone's having a girl when their face gets kinda puffy and they look pregnant from behind.... Oh... I don't mean it like that... You look great."... Riggggght... hahaha :)

Okay. One of my cousins has some good material. I was going to try to come up with cheese names for all of them. She suggested Limburger for her husband, Muenster for her son, and Brie for her daughter. I was trying to think of a name for her but I'm kind of at a loss. Maybe Pepper? By the way, do you know there's a cheese called Cougar Gold? That's gonna come in handy at some point.

Anyway. Some of Limburger's gems - "No, it's not that [I don't want to hold your hand after you just delivered my first-born son], but you have some blood, or slime, or something foreign on your wrist." This coming from someone who guts deer and finds pleasure in raw meat! Apparently he would not touch her until she had washed the placenta or other unidentified schmeg from her hands! Ha!

When Muenster was born, Pepper had mild pre-eclampsia so she had to be induced. As she was being hooked up to the Pitocin, Limburger consulted the Google Medical School archives, proceeded to read aloud all the potential side effects, and then pronounced, "Ooooh, this is gonna hurt!" Then, after she requested an epidural and the anesthetist arrived, he said "Ooooh, that needle is at least 8 inches long!" Sounds like he needs to work on his bedside manner!

With Brie, Pepper's water broke at 2am and her contractions were intense immediately. They lived about 15 minutes from the hospital. She woke 'Burger, writhing in pain, and hobbled down the stairs, thinking he was basically right behind her. She waited, and waited. After about 5 minutes she crawled back to the apartment to discover him wrapped in a towel and shaving. She asked "What on earth are you doing?! Hello! I am having a baby. Like, NOW. There is presently a head coming out of my woman parts!" His eyes widened and he said, "Like, now now?! I was just shaving. I wanted to be fresh when she met me. I should probably finish. Can you wait that long?" Pepper had Brie 15 minutes later (they made it to the hospital, but barely) and she did NOT get the epidural. She screamed at him and told him to grow a beard :))

A funny story from another friend - Whenever anyone tells MH and her husband that their toddler is "advanced," her hubby replies, "She still sh*ts her pants. She ain't that smart!" Ha!

he has definitely said this.

a confession, part II, or, that time they accused me of kidnapping my own child

... SO. yesterday. picked colby jean up from daycare, then headed over to the preschool to fetch jackson jay. the kids were on the playground out in the back, but i went through his classroom to grab his lunchbox, and check his cubby. then i walked out to the playground, holding C on my hip. as soon as J spotted me, he cracked a big grin, called out "Mama!" and walked over to hug my legs. then he stepped back and said, "Mama, look, I got an OWIE! LOOK!" it looked like he had gotten a little sliver. he said it was from a tree, and that he'd even gotten a bandaid (if you achieve bandaid status, that owie is LEGIT ;)) i made the proper fuss as we headed over to the sign-out sheet. his arm was tangled in my skirt the whole time, and he nattered on about his day, that they'd read the Three Little Pigs, he'd "POOPED AT 'KOOL," and get this, WIPED HIS OWN BUTT (allegedly. i never did investigate skid mark status. what happened next kind of derailed the rest of my evening).

as i was almost to the table with the sign-out sheets, a teacher or playground monitor or whoever she was steps in front of me and says, "excuse me. i don't know you. i'm going to need to see some I.D." for a few seconds i just stared at her, stupidly smiling. i thought she was joking or something, it was so strange and surreal. (keep in mind, you have to have a security fob to even enter the building, which i was holding in my hand. also keep in mind that, while we are only a week and a half into the new school year, i have been there to pick him up 6 of the last 8 days, same place, same time, same little orphan annie in tow). then i started to feel very very small. like an underage kid trying to sneak into a club and getting caught by the bouncer. why i felt like this, i do not know, because i was not doing a thing wrong.

i said to her, "oh no! i didn't bring my ID in. but i have my security fob right here? see?"

her: "mmmmhmmm. that's nice. i need to see ID."

what the??? "ummm, well, like i said, i don't have it on me... but... i was just speaking with his teacher Olivia in Room 103. she knows me. could we just go over and ask her to verify that i'm Jack's mom?"

"no. school policy. i need to see your identification. now."

"okay, well, it's in my purse in the car." (what if it hadn't been?! what if it had been lost or stolen, as DM's recently was??? would they have just kept him?! as a ward of the YMCA?! until i got a DMV appointment in, like, DECEMBER?????)

"well then i guess you better go get it."

okay. pause. listen you guys. i am a lawyer. i only mention that because it is probably the profession packed with the highest asshats per capita on the planet. (well except maybe politicians. but most of those are just lawyers who are seeking advanced degrees in dickery. literally and figuratively. anthony weiner, i'm lookin' at you.) as such, i will tell you, i have come across more than my fair share of TERRIBLE people in my life. and yet. this lady takes the cake. i cannot convey in words the level of derission and disrespect that dripped from the handful of words she spoke, but, for the record, this was the SMUGGEST BITCH i have encountered, ever.

anyway. i replied, "okay, i will go get it, but, what happens with J? do i have to just leave him here?"

her: "yes. he's not going anywhere until i see your ID. we'll wait." (she said this last in that tone that your seventh grade science teacher used when you came to class late and were making a commotion getting settled and she felt it necessary to drive home your tardiness with some age old public shaming tactics.)

needless to say, my sensitive son LOST HIS F*CKING SHIT. he was basically like, "i'm sorry, what? i have to stay locked outside this glass security door with this stranger while my mom carries my sister out of the building and i have no freaking clue what in the hell is going on? thanks but i'll PASS!" he starts screaming bloody murder while i am trying to keep my cool. even though my hands are shaking and my vision is blurred i do not want to make matters any worse than they already are. i crouch down and try to soothe him and say "i PROMISE i will be RIGHT BACK, lovey. i SWEAR to you, my sweet sweet boy, i will be back as quick as a bunny. i just have to hop-hop-hop to my car and grab my purse really fast because i forgot it and i need it so i can show this lady i am your mama." this has the effect of calming him -3%. he responds, wailing, BUT YOU ARE MY MAMA! MAMA! MAMAAAAA! PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME!!!!!" UGH. SO heartwrenchingly awful i cannot even explain. but what choice do i have?

so. i stalk out to the car (there may have been actual steam coming out of my ears), grab my purse, and basically run back inside. at this point one of the administrators caught on to the fact that something was amiss so she follows me back out to the playground. i am shaking and i don't speak a word as i hand the girl my driver's license. i couldn't have spoken if i'd tried. she grabs my ID, looks at it for a second, and says, "Your names don't match." i take a breath and respond, "No. They don't. I did not take my husband's last name when we married." her: "Well. That's going to be an issue." me, exasperated, on the verge of tears: "Oh my God. Are you kidding me? Is this a joke? I don't have the same last name as my husband and kids. I'm sorry. It's two thousand and thirteen." Still trying to hold it together for the sake of the kids but the lid's about to come off.

at this point the administrator steps in and tries to unruffle some tailfeathers. she apologizes. THE FIRST TIME ANYONE HAS DONE SO. she says "I am so sorry for the inconvenience." she says, "I understand how frustating this must be, but this is the school-wide policy." she claims, "the teachers have been trained." the teachers have been trained to what?! Be A$$HOLES??? UGH!!! i tell her that i understand the policy and that i appreciate their concern for my son's safety, but that i hope they understand how upsetting it is for my son, and for me, to be handled so carelessly in what is obviously a delicate situation. she says yes, she completely understands, and apologizes again. i have no beef with this woman.

they proceed to bring out a ginormous three ring binder of registration papers and start flipping through it page by page. i ask again if we can talk to Olivia, J's teacher, to settle this mess, or Jane, the other administrator. they tell me both have gone home for the day. J is still crying, though more quietly at this point. he asks why i took Sister when i "left him all alone." i look the girl in the eyes and (snarkily) reply, "the school is only worried about the legal ramifications of me kidnapping you. they don't care if i kidnap your sister." more flipping of pages. i suggest that we go look at the scrapbook we provided per the school's request, the first two pages of which are pasted with family photos, including pictures of ME, the interloper. but no. they need to find the "official paperwork." after about twenty thousand minutes, or maybe three, they realize it's not in the first binder, so they haul out another one, equally thick, and start flipping through that at a glacial pace. finally, FINALLY, they find whatever piece of paper contains sufficient proof that i am not some crazy child-napper. the girl hands me back my ID and says, "There, see? Was that so hard?"

.....

i put that space there to delineate the pause that i took at this point. to breathe. to grasp desperately at the last shreds of my cool. because that is what i do in real life. so that I do not PUNCH HER IN HER EVER LOVIN' HEAD.

i think to myself, YES, you SMUGLY B, that WAS so hard. but i say nothing out loud. she continues, "Well, now we know who you are, so we won't have to do this again." All I can manage is, "No. This will not, ever, happen again."

as we walked out, my cheeks still burned. with rage. and with shame. why? because there were other parents and children around to witness this insanity? no. honestly, i was so upset i had tunnel vision and i could not say with any authority if there was a single other human being around. no. i felt shame because in a few short sentences, she had chopped my sense of self, my sense of worth as a mother, down at the knees. i mean, this lady sees tons of moms, day in, day out. obviously she ought to recognize a mom when she sees one, right? am i defective? am i not "mom material"? was my son's reaction to my arrival lacking the requisite joy reserved for "good moms"? can she tell that both of my kids prefer their daddy? that there was a genetic mutation in whatever chromosome makes some moms love their jobs 24/7? did i have "fraud" stamped across my forehead? maybe (probably) i'm being dramatic. maybe (probably) i'm overreacting. but i was shaking for an hour after this happened. my eyes are still tearing up and my heart is beating audibly in my ears as i write this, reliving that feeling of the instantaneous destruction of a little sliver of my soul. i cannot remember a time when someone has made me feel so small.

my first thought after i had time to process the situation was, there is no way that person has children, because no mother would treat another mother that way. someone with children of her own would know that essentially accusing someone of trying to kidnap her own child is a dangerous, painful accusation to make. okay, i get it, you have a hundred little people to keep track of and it's your job to keep them safe and you gotta do what you gotta do. this is your "policy," and it's probably an okay one given all the crazies in the world. but it is a very sticky situation that requires the utmost deference, tact, and respect. how about start with, "i am SO sorry, i know this is a huge inconvenience and i truly apologize, but, it's only the second week of school, and we are still learning everyone's names and faces, and i'm sorry but i don't recognize yours, so may I please just take a peek at your driver's license just to make extra sure? better safe than sorry!" how about that, instead of an agressive "i need to see some ID," which automatically tears someone down and puts them on the defensive.

maybe she does have kids, she just had a terrible day and i was the straw the broke the camel's back. (maybe i had a terrible day and this was just what pushed me over the edge.) or maybe she can't have kids and working with beautiful smiling/crazy crying children every day is driving her slowly out of her mind. maybe some poor child was abducted on her watch and she will never ever forgive herself, and is spending the rest of her life being hypervigilant, on edge, making sure it never ever happens again. maybe i wronged her in a past life. or maybe she's just a dick. i don't know. all i know is, sticks and stones my ass, her words cut me to the bone.

to bring it full circle. my second (not so) rational thought was, "i'm changing my last name tomorrow." but then, as i started to think about it some more, i was like, No. Because, F.U., YMCA. "Mack N. Cheese" does have a nice lil' ring to it. but. i've gotten this far. i am 33 years old. i have been married for over 5 years. i have been a mother for 3 years. we have been on a dozen plane flights with the kids. i have travelled with them alone. we have left the state. we have left the country. all with our mismatched names and no big hullabaloo. like i said, it's 2013, people! we live in the United States of America, and in California, to boot. thirty five percent of women in their 20s and 30s don't take their husband's name when they marry. it's not like i'm being joan of f*cking arc here. with the continued rise of gay marriage, second (and third and fourth) marriages, blended families, and revised notions of what the "marital union" entails, i believe at some point, sooner rather than later, we're going to have to start coming up with more creative approaches to "the name game." i don't believe i need to have the same last name as my son to be a bona fide mom. i already have my name. my son has his own. my husband and my daughter, too. and they don't always have to match.


**blood is thicker than water, but, not as thick as the name registered
with the county department of health and human services.
or the california department of motor vehicles.
and also the social security administration**

a confession, part I, or, what's in a name?

alright, listen, i have a confession to make. my last name is not, in fact, "Cheese." i know, i know. this is probably really hard for you to hear. i'll let you have a minute to process.

okay.

done?

so yeah. cheese is my husband's name. not mine. i've been operating under the monniker Mackenzie ("Mack") N. Cheese because it just seemed easier and less confusing, and honestly, i am too dead dog tired to come up with a witty maiden pseudo surname. but i'm taking submissions. hit me.

anyway. there ya go. my secret's out. i did not change my last name when i got married. why? i could spout a bunch of fem theory 101 at you, and say it was because i believe in equality (i do), that i don't want to perpetuate patriarchal, heteronormative, hegemonic masculinity (i don't), that i feel that my husband and i contribute equally to the partnership and therefore it makes no sense that he should get naming/branding rights (and ps, if marital contribution were the measurement, i would be the one entitled to naming rights, hands down. and also branding. seriously people. we have colors. and a font.)

but honestly, i didn't/don't even feel like i need(ed) a reason. it wasn't a decision i made. it was just a given. i never considered even for a second changing my name. okay shakespeare, yeah, yeah, "what's in a name?" blah blah. but it's my name. in my mind, it would have made as much (or as little) sense to change my first name upon marriage as it would to change my last. when i got married, i'd had this name for 28 years. i'd inherited it from my father, from his family, a family i love, a history i cherish. just as my parents told me the story of how they'd chosen my "given name," i remember my grandfather talking about our "family name," explaining to me the ways that we were, maybe-possibly, distantly related to marginally famous historical figures. sure, my mom's maiden name and my stepdad's surname were equally suffused with cool connections and history, but, the world being what it was in 1980, those names weren't mine. my mother had the same surname, and kept it even after she was divorced, even giving a version of it to my little brother, her son with my stepdad. while my little bro laments the 13 letters in his last name, i love that he and i still have that layer of connection. this name of mine was in the playbills for cheesy drama productions in junior high and high school. this name was silk-screened on the back of countless sports jerseys, stitched into my letterman jacket, etched into trophies, plaques, and awards. this name is caligraphied all pretty-like on my college diploma, as well as my fancy law degree. there is a group of people (albeit a very small one) who have commended my services as an attorney, saying i saved them, i saved their family, that i am doing "God's work." they know me by this name. my name. when people ask why i didn't change my name, i think, why would i?

i do have a couple of friends whose awesome radical progressive hippie parents melded their two last names to create a new one... Black + Smith = Blacksmith. Hill + Scott = Hillscott. i absolutely love that idea and everything that it represents about marriage and partnership in the world today, but it's not always practical, and again, it was really such a non-issue for us. i didn't think twice about keeping my name. i assumed people would call me mrs. cheese from time to time (my father in law still does :)) and i wouldn't bother correcting them, except maybe to say, "please, call me Mackenzie, or just plain Mack." ;) but like i said, i've never even considered changing my last name. it's just never been a thing. until today.

to be continued...

[source: http://feministryangosling.tumblr.com/post/36148664554/]