Marriage--You Have to WORK at It!

I was telling a happily, single, older woman, co-worker about what I had done for Valentine’s Day with my husband which was not much because…REALLY everyone knows it is one of those holidays that is just there to make everyone feel like losers—like New Year’s Eve. Millions of desperate people looking for the one good time on that one night of the year. You can cut the angst with a knife. The same goes for Valentine’s Day.

The older woman said to me in a serious voice: “ you know…with marriage—You really have to WORK at it.” I looked at her for a split second before we both dissolved into a school girl giggles. This is when she pulled up the study on happiness and marriage. Apparently single women are the happiest, followed by married men, then single men and then married women. “ Interesting” I said. I normally question studies because I am like that—annoying. But this one seemed to ring true in my gut.

There is an inordinately large body of work designed to tell women how to make men happy….from marriage books, to so called women’s magazines which are all about how to please your man—what to cook for him, how to dress for him, what to do in bed…for him. I, of course, blame THE MEDIA for selling this mind set and women for buying this huge load of crap. Not that I am an expert, but you don’t see magazines for men on how to treat women well. Do you?

I have been around the block…so to speak and I can guarantee you—men are pretty happy furry creatures to begin with. They don’t need a lot of care and feeding—they just want you to stop asking them if your butt looks big—because then they have to think. My advice, not that anyone asked, is to have fun—men will come along for the ride. No instructions needed.

Erotic Capital

We pulled our red VW microbus up behind the massive black Mercedes with diplomatic plates. It was one of those Technicolor memories from my childhood. The large circular driveway, the huge fountain with that abstract sculpture in the middle, the flags from every country waving in the warm breeze and the grand, glass, rectangle of United Nations in front of us…my sister, beside me, seething…of course.

We had gone into the city on this beautiful, sunny, spring morning (not sure why my sister was not in school—I was barely five) to have a girls day in the city. My mother could not find street parking near the UN where we planned to meet my father for lunch. Rather than go to a parking garage my mother convinced the guard at the entrance of the UN, through smiles and pleasantries, to allow us to park in the stately front entrance normally reserved for heads of state. My sister was mortified. I was…intrigued by this power my mother had over men.

My mother always had a certain style that appealed. Brought up by a single mother, but in the circle of the upper class of Boston families—she had an easy elegance, a common touch and a warmth that carried her through life with a grace and a charm. She had what I now know is erotic capital.

“You don’t hear women in the U.S. talking about Erotic Capital” said the head with the truly great golden blond die job (I would say it has at least three layers of highlights to create that hair color that is almost too perfect) as she looked down at me over her big boobs.
Ms. Older Woman Sexy is probably around my age, but sans child and husband. She takes time on her appearance—fingernails flawless, eye brows perfectly arched—she is sexy. She is also a lesbian, but that does not stop her from using that capital on everyone. It is an exciting skill which I never really thought about in formal terms, but we were discussing the dress style of the younger people in our group—all of whom are very stylish ….and nice…and smart…very sexy.

I, like my mother, use my erotic capital (mainly my very sexy phone voice)…which I define as the ability to connect with people, mainly men, on the more gut level. My sister, although always more attractive than I (and with the exact same voice), never wanted to developed the skill. She refused. Obviously still scarred by the United Nations experience.

Now that I am a mother—I wonder about this skill of wielding erotic capital. I am not sure how I feel about The Beast manipulating that power. There are debates…mainly among women. Does Erotic Capital help women? Does it hurt women? I am not sure—I look at Hugh Grant and Pierce Bronson and think—they have it and use it. It is combination of charm, connecting with people and humor…and of course that underlying sexuality.
“Why not?” I guess is the true question. Sexually will always be there Why Not use it.

Boys and Cars and Sex

Ms. Seize the Moment and I are in my vintage Subaru on the Westside Highway inching down to SoHo in city traffic. It is one of those perfect, fall NYC Sundays…clear and bright and just the right temperature for walking…unfortunately we were still in the car somewhere in 50s. As we waited for yet another red light—we talked and looked out at the blue, sparkling Hudson still filled with boats from the summer—slowly the sensual, thumping sound of urban music drifted into our open car windows and then the deep, eager, testosterone enriched voices of young men in a group. Looking in the rear view mirror I see a BMW full with young guys and they seem to looking in our direction—deducing the beat-up suburban station wagon with the two moms are not the target of their interest…I look around for a car filled with girls.

That was when I realized…

WE are the car filled with girls. In my backseat are three absolutely gorgeous girls--the other half of this mother-daughter outing. Two striking blonds and The Beast with her beautiful mane of black curly hair. I am not sure what they did. THEY are not sure what they did, but they definitely did something and got attention.

“Girls! you are too old to wave at other people in cars—they will get the wrong impression. And believe me—you do not want Ms. Seize the Moment to get out of the car on the Westside Highway and correct their impressions. It WILL be embarrassing”

The girls stopped what every they were “not doing” and we finally parked in the West Village and walked over to SOHO--the day was perfect…. full of unexpected beauty, wonderful food and the excitement of exploring new places...but there are other new places that I worry about.

It is a whole new social setting that the girls are entering into and I wonder how much we can prepare them for dealing with unwanted attention and attention that is wanted but may be more then they are ready for.

Growing Older Gracefully

I am trying not to stare. I am attempting to subtly catch a glimpse of some anatomical feature of the person walking in front of me which would tip me off to the gender of the person…a waist, hips, some sensual backside curve. I, sadly, can find nothing. The person I am staring at turns out to be a middle aged woman with short hair (short for convenience, not for edgey fashion) in a boxy dark business suit—non-descript earrings and a scarf to denote sex.

Have you noticed the de-feminization of women in the United States as they get older?

I am not sure if it is a resent occurrence because I have only recently started obsessing about women slightly older than I am in an attempt to find a fashion role model. My mother, although not a beautiful woman, was always striking and she had a particular style that was all her own right up into her 70’s.

Now I see middle aged women in suits with no real shape, or in easy-fit mom-jeans. I think there is a certain giving oneself over to the ravages of time rather than embracing a new age. I, of course, blame the media and for women who take the bait--hook, line and sinker. It is not just that the media holds this bizarre ideal of teen beauty as a pinnacle for all women, but they place older women in oddly gender neutral positions…like automatons who take care of children or the house. We are the ones who care about the dirty carpet by the front door. We are the ones who obsess about dust and germs in the home. Or at work—we are the ones who are serious…we are the ones who get things done while the men talk.

Just like in adolescence—I feel with middle-age the need to redefine myself. No longer a young girl, no longer a care taker of a baby, no longer needed for childcare. I want to be more European in attitude. European women take time for themselves, they feel it is their right to feel beautiful at any age. I am guessing—but I think, at least, Parisian woman feel it is more important to shop for the perfect scarf than obsess about germs on their bidets.

I refuse to slip into the asexual role that the media has created for moms of a certain age. The Beast is grown-up and what she needs now is not a maid, not a chauffeur, not an ATM, but a role model. A positive role model of a woman who enjoys life, sex, and really a good meal with friends. I am off to find the perfect scarf.

Sexy is the New Pink

Have you noticed? This new sexiness the 13 year olds have? I see it all over Facebook…because I am THAT much of a masochist...yes, yes, yes...I ACTUALLY look. And my gut feeling is that a lot of mothers are not looking because it is just too disturbing to see. Thank you Steve Jobs and Apple for making it SO easy to take photos and post them on line...

Remember when they were little girls…
First there was pink—everything had to be pink. The sneakers, the backpack, the fleece. Then pink and glitter, then purple and glitter, then just purple….then rainbow…then rainbow and peace signs….The Beast made a quick foray into acid green, but …now…NOW…it is sexy. It is odd how you can tell a girl’s age just by looking at the colors they are sporting.

Today--everything is about cleavage or a thick, beautiful, mane of hair or highly mascara-ed eyes—or in my case all of the above. Of course I look at her friends pages too..because I am that type of Nazi mom—pouty lips, glossy hair cascading down perfect faces… One can only sigh with resignation.

I am hoping this experimentation with sexy will go the way of the Barbie pink and the glittery purple to more subtle explorations of adulthood. I am trying to remember when sexy became something that I watched out in my dress style rather than actively seeked out. I think it might have been after spending more time in the city…I think it will take some time…

Condoms

The strip of condoms swung into my line of vision .” What are these?” asked the annoyingly curious Beast as she proudly waved the prize she found in the detritus that had fallen from by bag.

I had not thought of condoms in…say 10 years…until a bunch of them were shoved into my hand as I walked by the Columbia University main gate on the Upper Westside.

Often people are at the Broadway gate handing out free samples…mints, gum, soda, coconut water…whatever the marketers are interested in testing with college kids. So when a tiny, wrinkled, Asian woman in an apron with large pockets handed me a wade of some individually wrapped circular shaped objects it took me a while to realize these where not mints, but the new NYC condoms…curtsey of NYC….thank you Mayor Bloomberg.

Not knowing what to do with them—I tucked them in my bag for later disposal. I few days later at home while I emptied my bag the snake of brightly colored condoms fell out. The Beast was intrigued. I tried to be nonchalant—“oh…that is something they were handing out…free samples.” I said—hoping that would end the conversation.

But the Beast persisted. “ It is sort of big for a mint and it feels funny…squishy.” I always remember Ms. SexEdLady’s mantra—“capture the teachable moments when they happen.” Taking a deep breath, I elucidated as quickly as I could the purpose of the squishy sample.

The Beast, still intrigued, would not let the free sample go…so with further explanation AND a demo with a banana—I felt I gave a rather comprehensive overview of the purpose and use and even history of condoms followed by a warning not to touch boys because even condoms will not protect you from cooties . The Beast was completely and utterly disgusted…thankfully.

In case you ever doubted, I am here to tell you— it is true what the experts say—Children DO listen to their parents. Perhaps it was a year later while walking along the Hudson River with one of The Beast’s friends, the girls discovered an unwrapped, probably used, condom lying just off the path. The friend was curious and wanted to investigate further, but the Beast knew exactly what it was…”Oh that is like a rubber glove for a penis.” Horror tinged with nausea crept over the friend’s face as she dropped the stick she was planning to use for a closer inspection. Another successful sex ed intervention and I did not have to say a word.

Thank you Ms. SexExLady!

The Church, Sex and Faith

“Ssssunday Ssssschool. Sssssalacious Sssssunday Morning Sssssex “ whispered the serpent in my ear…I mean, Ms. Churchlady.

Okay…perhaps she did not say those EXACT words…but something very close… like—“We can take The Beast with us to Sunday School so you two can have some together time on Sunday Morning” (wink, wink-nod, nod) I know Catholics and those Watch Tower people are good at “building” their flocks through fear and little booklets—but who would have THOUGHT the Episcopalians would stoop to using sex to increase congregation size. I mean, REALLY—these are people who believe they will go to hell if they use the wrong fork during dinner. I guess times are hard for religion.

Something shifted when we had The Beast...some friends who seemed perfectly normal started to act strange. (Not Ms. ChurchLady—she was not Ms. Churchlady then) There was a lot of talk of god and religion from people who seemed about as far away from spirituality as the strip mall down the street.

The husband was about as thrilled by this friendly religious advice as I was by the baby advice I was given while eight months pregnant...”oh really—thank you SO much for that insightful tip on breastfeeding—who would have known a homeless man who is sleeping on a traffic island in the middle of Broadway could be such a wealth information on lactation...I guess I will just throw away all those baby books I have been pouring over for the last 7 months.”

The husband explained to one of his old poker buddies that we were not interested in baptizing The Beast in his church because we did not believe in god. Yet the born-again man kept on trying to sell us his salvation—The church had community, youth groups, etc. I finally heard the husband say in frustration-- “Look man—I am SURE the Klan has great barbeques and ‘community activities’, but we aren’t joining them either. ”

You may think we don’t like god, but that is not true at all. And as far as religion—I LOVE religion. ...those ancient mystery cults, those crazy Zoroastrians, the Buddhists, the Taoists....I minored in religion as an undergraduate. I swear—when I saw Vatican City…it took every ounce of knowledge I had from years of philosophy and history classes to stop me from genuflecting to the pure beauty of it all.

For those who wonder about why we would choose not to toss our child blindly into a religion just as a safe-guard for the potential afterlife—remember Paul Tillich: “Doubt is not the opposite of faith; it is one element of faith. “
But…if anyone would like to take The Beast on a non-denominational Ssssunday morning trip or have her for a Sssssaturday into Ssssunday sssssleepover—feel free. The Husband and I will find Ssssssomething to do.

Whacking-off, Incest and the Mother-Daughter Book Club

“What does ‘whacking-off’ mean?” was the first question. Grabbing the book from my daughter...assuming it was a miss-read...I read the word myself--

WHACKING OFF

Wonderful. Taking a deep breath and thinking---well I guess an explanation is better coming from me than from some precocious pre-teen girl while they are in the school’s bathroom. I started off on my explanation on the joys of the male self-induced ejaculation and several minutes later after some clarification such as “okay—the penis does not ‘explode’ it really ‘erupts’...like a volcano” (You have to be SO careful with your words to get the right image) we were back to reading.

It SEEMED like a good idea when The Beast and I decided to join the public library’s Mother-Daughter Book Club. They were reading an award winning young adult book call “How I Live Now” and would be discussing it the first Thursday of the month over pizza and soda in the library’s community room. We checked out the book and later that weekend started to read.

The book was truly transformative for us because no sooner than I elucidated male masturbation to my tween daughter then I had to turn around and TRY to explain incest...followed by war...and war crimes...

I was SO tired by the time we arrived at this said “book club” I could barely think straight. Wondering what bizarre characters must be involved in this book club and bracing for the next book to be something by Hunter S. Thompson or William Burroughs I was completely surprised when we walked into a room full of....wonderful women—both moms and daughters.

Apparently no one reads the books before they are picked for the book club so the incest and war crimes were a big surprise to everyone and the consensus was the book was “truly disturbing,” but very discussion provoking....

I have mentioned the joys of the book club to many of my mom friends, but for some reason they don’t seem to see the benefits.

I view the book club as a way to talk about subjects that are uncomfortable or just very difficult to comprehend for both child and mother. I love our fearless librarian who tries to guide the discussions of this loud, opinionated group of women. And I love the moms who have a wonderful sense of humor about themselves, their daughters and parenting in general. Because REALLY if you have to discuss whacking-off, incest and war crimes—I feel there is safety and comfort in numbers.

Sex and Marriage

Did you have sex before you married daddy?

It is odd how you never anticipate questions like these—they just come out of the blue. We were watching the PBS News Hour...not even one of those none rated foreign films --“How should I know there was a 15 minute sex scene?”...that lingered artfully, yet explicitly over young French bodies entangled in passion? I say with my eyes to my glaring husband as we try, unsuccessfully, to distract the open mouthed, totally engage Beast from the on-screen copulation. Did that DVD provoke any questions—NO...not a one. I guess it just goes to show that PBS is truly thought provoking—it was a story on the News Hour about why teaching abstinence before marriage to teens does not work. Surprise, surprise....

I, of course, ignored the Beast’s question and looked at the TV attempting to bide time to think of a true, but sanitized answer. The only thing that came to mind was--Hello...I married your father when I was 34...you better believe I had sex before that. “Well?” she said...

I started...”Your father and I married rather late in life and we had many adventures before we found one another again...so yes. I did have boyfriends and sex before I married daddy....after I got my degree...and I always used condoms for protection...” (okay...it was not completely true.)

The Beast then turned to the smirking Husband. “How about you daddy? “
The Husband’s face changed to serious and he looked The Beast in the eye and said: “No. Mommy was the first person I ever had sex with.”

Pleassssee...If there was a god listening a lightening bolt would have struck the house.