Marching to the beat of a different mandolin

I was shaving my legs in the shower just now, and musing about how infrequently I bother to do this now. When I was a tween, I couldn't WAIT to start shaving my legs. I was one of the last girls in my class to start, and I had thick, coarse, black hair. It mortified me, but for some reason, I believed I needed my mother's permission to start shaving. And as much as my leg hair mortified me, having such a conversation with my mother was even more difficult. I brought it up once or twice, and she always brushed it off as "pssh, you don't need to shave!" and that was the end of the conversation. It never occurred to me that I could just do it. It's not like I couldn't figure out the razor on my own. It also didn't occur to me that I could ask my mom to purchase things like a razor and shaving cream for me. I just believed that my mom would one day decide that it was time and only then could I rid myself of this humiliating evidence that I was a mammal.

I don't know that my mother particularly raised me to believe I needed to ask her permission in cases such as this; maybe the idea came from the larger paradigm of what it meant to be a lady and please the adults in my life. Surprisingly to those who know me now, this mattered a lot to young Meg. And we NEVER talked about bodies. I didn't get my period until the summer before I started high school, so the conversation didn't have to happen until then, and by that time, I'd had all my friends to fill me in on the essentials. Even asking my mom for more pads or tampons when I ran out was humiliating.

Parents, please: raise your daughters in such a way that this shit is not difficult for them. Be matter-of-fact about bodies. Everybody farts. Don't raise your kids to be so ashamed of natural functions that should they let one slip in company that the humiliation follows them into adulthood.

While I don't think it's good to push certain beauty standards on a girl, forcing her to avoid them can be just as harmful to her self-image. If your daughter expresses a wish to start shaving her legs or pits or ass, whatever, let her do it. Don't tell her "you're 12 now so you should shave," but don't tell her "you can't shave until you're at least 12," either. Just let her decide when she's ready, and help her avoid the mortification that comes every gym class.

Talk about periods and sex and masturbation like they're normal things BECAUSE THEY ARE.

Just thinking back on my childhood, there are SO MANY WAYS my life would have been much more comfortable had my parents just been open and matter-of-fact about bodies. I'm sure a lot of the issues I have to this day stem from the shame I was brought up to feel about all things body. For instance, I'm 35 years old and I still don't enjoy receiving oral sex. I'm just too self-conscious. I didn't masturbate for the first time until I was 27. I lost my virginity at 15, but there were 8 years and 5 sexual partners between that and my first orgasm. All because I never felt comfortable asking questions or exploring even my own body. I was raised to believe that bodies and sex are just shame machines. Obviously I knew there was some fun to be had, but I was too squicked out to really enjoy them. And even though I know better now, I *still* can't enjoy some of the most fundamentally sexy things, because that shame is so ingrained.

My mother never did give me permission to shave my legs. One day when I was 13, I stole one of my dad's disposable razors and just did the deed. I was sure my mom would notice (my legs, having always been protected by a mat of hair, were so pale they glowed) and get mad and make a big deal about it, but she never did, and I used that same 35-cent piece of shit razor for like THREE YEARS before I had a driver's license and could take myself to the store to get some fucking shaving cream and a good razor, because lord knows I was never going to have that talk with my mom.

Please don't do this to your kids. If it's weird or uncomfortable for you to talk about bodies with them, send them to their aunt Meg, and I'll answer all their questions in an age-appropriate way.

Questions from noodledays. Comment here if you'd like 5 questions from me :)

Do you have favorite memory from when you were 11 or 12?
Oh gosh, those were like my most awkward years EVER. I think back on them and I'm just cringing at myself! But...probably the most fun I had during that time was inventing the game of doorknob tag while babysitting the Bloomfields across the street. It was easy to win because Aaron was too little to catch me and Elana would freeze in terror if you screamed at her, so I never got tagged, unless Emily was playing with us, too...she could catch me.

What's the most you'd be willing to pay for a shirt and why?
I won't pay more than 10-20$ for MOST shirts, but if I saw one that was really perfect (hilarious reference to something really important to me), I'd probably spend a lot of money on it. Up to 50$? And I've bought really nice tops (not really shirts, though?) for $80...

Who has been a mentor to you in your life?
My brother William was one of my first mentors. He is 14 years older than me and the last year that he lived at home before college, we were very close. He taught me lots of things, some far too advanced for my toddler brain, but he was the first one to start shaping me into the bleeding heart hippie that I am today.
My grandmother, Marma, lived in our house until she died on my 15th birthday. Of anyone in my life, she has undoubtedly influenced me the most. She taught me about being a strong woman, about valuing education and knowledge, and loving games.
My cousin Allan lived with us during the summer when I was 13 and he was 20. He taught me about the world of music that you don't hear on the radio, and further cultivated those hippie seeds my brother planted. He and I remain very close, and we continue to inspire each other.
My husband has mentored me in bridge more than anyone else has, and he transformed me from casual player to fierce competitor.
My "little sister" Emily has been my emotional rock through every challenge I've ever faced, and has shared in all of my accomplishments and joys. Running is the main thing in my life for which she's mentored me, but I feel like she's got a hand in basically everything I do.

How many cookies are too many for you to eat in one sitting?
There have never been enough cookies to answer this question :)


What musical artist do you like today that you also liked 10 years ago?
Eddie From Ohio is the band that I have most consistently liked and like in the same way that I did 10 years ago...other artists that I saw in concert in 2004 and have seen or will see again this year are: Indigo Girls, Tracy Grammer, The Kennedys, Crooked Still/Aoife O'Donovan, We're About 9, Arlo Guthrie, Dar Williams, Ellis Paul...I'm sure there are some others, mostly Falcon Ridge performers.

Today is my friend Erin's birthday.  Happy birthday, Erin!  I've known and loved her since kindergarten, and I spent a long time flipping through my mental scrapbook for the best story to reference in the perfect facebook birthday message.  Of course I came up empty and just went with a generic "Happy birthday!" followed by some hearts to somehow pitifully communicate that her birthday is more important to me than just anyone's birthday.  Sigh.  I'm supposed to be better at creativity than this.

Shortly after I posted my totally cliche birthday wish, as my mind continued to dance through fourth grade, something came back to me that I hadn't thought about in a long time.  It's a good story, and I want it to be public, but I'm not entirely sure that I or Erin will be comfortable with it being available to the whole internet, so I'll just tell the story and decide at the end if it's going to need a friends-lock.  

I think this began in fourth grade, and I can't say for sure how long it persisted, but it was definitely an ongoing thing with us.  You know how days feel like months and yet still the years run together when you're a little kid?  My best guess is that this was a schtick we had going for about a year, mostly in fourth grade.  Possibly 3rd or 5th but it definitely didn't carry over to middle school, or I'm sure we both would've had lots more appointments with school counselors.  

Erin and I played a form of makebelieve where we were policewomen.  And the only thing we really knew about the job of police officer is that they write tickets for people who speed.  Somewhere early in our narrative, a strange little boy named Gene suggested that we shouldn't just be policewomen -- we should be naked policewomen.  In the years that followed, we would look back and laugh at what a little perv Gene was to suggest such a twist to our story, but the thing is, we totally went along with it.  We were equally pervy.  But this is normal for a 10-year-old, right?  On the outside of adolescence, looking in, full of curiosity...yeah, totally normal...

Now it was all makebelieve so just as we were only pretend policewomen, we were also only pretend naked.  But there's one more part of the story that makes it a little more disturbing.  For some reason, and I have no idea where this originated, our naked policewoman characters spoke very slowly, in deep southern accents, and called everybody honey.  It was the 10-year-old version of sultry.  The dialogue was always something like this:
"Hi, honey, I'm afraid I have to pull you over."
"Oh no!  Not the naked policewoman!"
"Honey, I'mma have to give you a ticket."  We always drew out the word "ticket," as if it were some kind of particularly naughty euphemism.  Of course in real porn, this is where the action would begin, but this was basically as far as our story went.
It wasn't a very deep narrative, and it was pretty much the same thing over and over again.  One of us would bust the other one for speeding and write a ticket, all the while the speeder would lament her bad luck at being caught by the naked policewoman.

I don't think we were trying to be scandalous, and I really don't think we were very secretive about this -- I'm SURE our teachers witnessed this and wondered what kind of porn we were watching at our sleepovers.  But somehow we both made it through elementary school without awkward confrontations with teachers or counselors or concerned phone calls to our parents.  Maybe this kind of behavior really is completely normal for little girls that age.  Or maybe our teachers just wrote us off as beyond help.  Or maybe they were too disturbed to say anything.  I honestly have no idea how I'd react to such a situation.  Certainly I would be alarmed -- it REALLY did sound like we were taking our cues from porn.  I can't speak for Gene, but Erin and I honestly did just pull it all from our own ridiculous fourth grade imaginations.  

Neither one of us grew up to hold careers in law enforcement, though to this day, Erin has never pursued a driver's license.  I wonder if the prospect of being pulled over is just too traumatic...

When I was a kid, we used two terms for pooping in my household.  My grandmother taught me the proper language, and it was always a bowel movement or BM with her.  But the other word I used for it was "stinky."  As in, "Mommy, I have to go stinky."

I don't really remember when I stopped using this terminology, but I think I'm going to reintroduce it to my vocabulary.  I encourage you all to do the same.

PS -- did anyone else call it that, or is this something my parents made up?