Girls

It finally happened. My son, age 4, started talking about girls. I could hear him last night, talking with my husband, who was putting him back into bed for the umpteenth* time.

"I don't like girls," he said.

What he was saying was, he didn't like girls in sports. And that makes me sad.

Oh sure, I'm a massive hypocrite. For years I've followed the men's national soccer team and not really the women's. And my local MLS team, but not the women's soccer team. But I hadn't talked about it in front of my son. I thought he was immune still to this bias.

The truth is, although he doesn't remember it, he actually seems to have more fun at WNBA games than at NBA games. There are more day games, so he's not tired and cranky. Tickets are less expensive so we can sit in the 100s rather than the 400s. There's fewer people at the games so there's more room to move around. (Sigh.)

The folding of the women's pro soccer league the WPS made me think about women's sports lately, so I guess it was already on my mind. If we'd had a girl and not a boy, I'd want her to see the WPS and the WNBA and know that if she was a gifted athlete and she worked really hard, that her dream of playing for a living could come true. It's so unfair that women have fewer options in this arena. 

When you're a kid and you're playing a sport, that dream that someday you could be on the court, the field, the pitch^ playing professionally is a dream that every kid should have. It can keep you going during practices and wind sprints and muddy scraped knees and that time you caught a softball in the face. (Ok, clearly I was never going to be a professional athlete of any kind but I was and I remain a world class day dreamer.)

I hope that right now my son's dismissiveness of women in sports stems only from his current age and fixation on categorizing and sorting and pattern-making. If not, I have a lot of work to do.



*That is the number my mother used to measure things when she was annoyed. "I've had it!" she'd say, "For the umpteenth time, put your toys away!"

^Europoseur

How To Be A Woman

I toyed with the idea of reviewing books, but decided against it primarily because my book reviews generally consist of me grabbing a friend by the arm and insisting they read a book because it is delightful or difficult or all-encompassingly awesome.

That does not lend itself to bloggery.

However, I am halfway through Caitlin Moran's How To Be A Woman and as I haven't left the house this week and am woefully short of forearms to clutch, I am writing a review. Sort of. Yes, I haven't finished it yet but unless she dedicates the last half to a discussion of Simon Cowell's chest hair or the genius of boy bands I can't imagine I won't love this entire book. Because, although this is the story of Caitlin Moran's life and beliefs of what being a woman means it contains thus far everything I get ranty about when I've had a bit too much to drink: knickers and porn and pubic hair and sexism and feminism and fat and honestly I would hug this book if it weren't sharp and pointy and generally book-like. I would have finished it days ago if it weren't for this stupid cold and the siren call of sweet, syrupy Nyquil. Ahh, Nyquil.

The book is funny and honest and stupendous and human. Please do consider this a virtual (and gentle and loving) arm-assault by me and consider pre-ordering this book. Amazon informs me it is available in the US starting July 17th.

Things That Are Making Me Ragey This Week

1. I offer this without comment. Well, almost without comment. It is a shame that Narcissistic Personality Disorder is being removed from the next DSM.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2056875/Liz-Jones-baby-craving-drove-steal-husbands-sperm-ultimate-deception.html?ito=feeds-newsxml

2.  I watched a show the other day in which a 39 year old woman said she was waiting for her prince. Almost everything about that sentiment is wrong and irksome and rage-inducing.

The Germans

A few weeks ago, I started picking up my friend's son from preschool. I pick him up Monday through Friday and I take him to my apartment until his parents can pick him up after work.

He goes to a German school. Every time I arrive there I think, "Whatever you do don't mention the war".

I also have to suppress my almost constant urge to interject random words of German into conversation while at the school. Since all the German I know comes from two sources (WWII movies and my trip to the Weltmeisterschaft in 2006), it would be nicht sehr gut.

Sigh

I hope that if I ever have a drug-related psychotic episode people at least enjoy tweeting about it. I'm more disappointed that people aren't talking about the real crime.

Two and a Half Men is one of the highest rated sitcoms on American television. Now, I know old people so I've watched a few episodes. I cannot adequately express how much it sucks. They've made 8ish seasons of this show. THAT is crazy, my friends.

scooters, vacation, fall

*The title comes from the label examples given by blogger. I love them. I think they'd make a great writing prompt, but not today.

New Year's Resolutions

--Stop gossiping. I have a friend (you know the one with the crazy ex-boyfriend and that filthy unbelievable habit I've told you about?) who gossips all the time and it's a really unattractive quality.

--Wear Crocs every day. I've given up on life, why not express this via footwear?

--No sex with hobos. I intend to be quite firm about this one, this year.


--Stop using "for realsies" in conversation. I mean it this time. For realsies.

--I've been WAY too active this year. In 2011, I'd like to spend more time on the couch.

--Stop obsessing over things. Stop obsessing over things. Stop obsessing over things. Stop obsessing over things. Stop obsessing over things. Stop obsessing over things. Stop obsessing over things.