Category: Uncategorized

So, did you ever have a little something randomly just happen in your life but it made a big impact on you anyway? I did last night.

I had just gotten done running and was walking around a track that encircles a pond by my house. I live in the inner city and am used to, sadly, seeing homeless people around. While I was walking, I saw an older man holding 2 plastic garbage bags and I waved to him and said ‘Hi’ and he smiled at me and waved too. On my next lap, I saw him again and he waved and smiled at me and I smiled back. Finally, on another lap, the guy was almost out of my sight and I knew I wouldn’t see him again. I looked over to where he was crossing through a parking lot and he smiled at me so wide, held up his garbage bags for a big wave, and the joy on his face moved me to tears.

Yes, this homeless guy had a look of joy on his face. I don’t know where it came from. Me smiling and saying ‘hi’? Him on his way to a friends or a someplace where he’ll be warm and fed? Maybe he left a place that gave him clothes and such for the winter months and that’s why he was carrying the bags. It could have been any of these…or more…but the thing was his face. He didn’t have a closed lip, little grin. He SMILED…a huge open mouth, no teeth, joyous smile that radiated. Truly.

After I stopped sniveling (and yes, I would have helped him if he had asked…that’s a given 😐), I started to have another feeling that’s a hard one to deal with. Shame.

My friend started an organization/non-profit (Stand Up For Grace) about 15 years ago and I’m on it’s board and have helped her in various ways from the start. Anyhoot, SUFG works hard to support orphaned kids in an extremely impoverished area of Nairobi, many of which have disabilities, HIV, or other issues outside of being orphaned. At Christmas, we make stockings for each child and they get a piece of candy, a pencil, and a toothbrush. That’s their Christmas and they love it. Their diet mostly consists of bread and porridge for breakfast, and then maize, beans, and rice for the rest of the day. When volunteers visit, they often provide a meal with meat which gives the kids much needed protein.

But once again, here’s the thing: the kids are spirited too. They are so thankful for each and everything they get and the annual stocking is looked forward to each year. The kids sing, write beautiful letters proclaiming their love to the people who donate to the shelter, and talk openly about their love for God and how blessed they are everyday.

And then here I am with so many ‘things’ to be thankful for. My house, furniture, food, pets, plants, water, lights, heat, and the list could go on and on but suffice it to say it’s immeasurable. The homeless man had very few ‘things’ but was still joyous. Still happy. Still willing to share a smile and make someone’s day because of it. The orphans are the same…they have so little but spread so much love and delight to everyone around them.

Why do we…meaning people like me…always think we need to have more? I went to the General ($ General🙄) today to grab a few things and as I was looking around, I thought about how there was more food there and more things available than the kids in the orphanage could even comprehend. They don’t have band-aids most of the time and I bought some off of a shelf that held dozens of different types. They eat porridge and I walked by aisles with bread, peanut butter, oatmeal, cereal, milk, orange juice, etc. I get to choose what I want to have for dinner tonight, and I might bitch about it for being left-overs. Regardless of whatever I have, the kids and most probably the homeless man, won’t have anything close.

When I got home, I started looking around. Truly looking. And I started feeling so embarrassed about the amount of crap I have. Why do I worry about my lampshades matching? Why the hell do I think about buying a new rug when mine is perfectly fine? Why do we feel we have to have ‘special’ placemats for a variety of occasions? Was it really necessary to buy a new bathmat to match my towels? Did I really ‘need’ that new phone case I got last week? Am I shopping for a sectional because I actually ‘need’ it or want it?

I think we live in a culture where we see ‘things’ as making us happy. “Oooooooo…once we move to our new house things will be so great!” Or, “I’m so overjoyed with my new car!”

Look, I’m so guilty of thinking that and I spend WAY too much money on trivial things I want without really thinking about what I need. Minimalism is the new trend and organizers tell us to clean out our closets and drawers, say ‘goodbye’ (literally…I am not going to say ‘goodbye’ to the jeans I just donated that are now too small for me 😳) to the things we are tossing and get along with less.

But think about that. We have so much, we need to GET RID of the clutter…junk…crap…but there are so many people in this world that need these basics and here we are fussing and fighting over them. I get rid of a shirt because I think it’s ugly now…and how many people need a shirt for the winter? I get rid of boots that just aren’t trendy anymore…and I think about the women who could use these everyday.

I re-did my house this past year: painted all of the rooms, bought some new furniture, got some wall art, replaced old outlets, etc. And after I was done, I was pleased. Proud. But I wasn’t ‘happy’ because as I told ma, I didn’t have anyone to share my home with. I was content in it but I was still missing a piece until Bill came into my life and that’s made me happier because now it’s not just things…it’s a relationship inside those walls.

I guess seeing that homeless man and thinking about the kids I do work for makes me realize what’s really important in life. Making connections. Sharing a smile. Making someone laugh. Reconnecting with a friend…or making a new one (I love you, Susan! ❤). Hugging my ma and pop. Snuggling with Dottie and Edward. Taking meals to my neighbors. Watching my son work on his photography.

You know, I’d give up any and all of my ‘things’ to get to be with my gramma and gramps again. To make my mom’s bad liver great again. To take away the beginning of my pop’s Alzheimers. To stretch out time so I can see my sister more. To see and love on my son more than I do.

The ‘things’ in my life are OK…but when you get right down to it, they really aren’t that important after all. In 50 years, when I’m gone and playing with my dogs in heaven (God loves animals…duh…🙄) who is going to remember my outfit that didn’t match one day? Or the fact I washed my car all the time? Or that my yard was trimmed each week? Probably no one. But I hope my sonshine talks about my love of animals to my great-grandkids. I hope my grandkids remember a gramma that stopped whatever she was doing to read a book to them or get in the sandbox with them or teach them how to play poker. Because when it gets right down to it, isn’t that what life is really about?

Kristi xoxo

So, one of my sweetie peeps asked me why I didn’t blawg over Thanksgiving weekend and the ‘easy’ answer is that I’m just too doggone busy with grading, preparing finals, and roasting my famous turkey I handed out to my neighbors (bless their hearts…no salmonella yet 🙄). However, the ‘true’ answer is this: I have a love/hate relationship to holidays.

Now, when I was a kid I loved loved loved the holidays and I still do! Ma and pop always made me and T’s birthdays and Christmases awesome. Every birthday, pop would call us up from work in the morning after we got up, to wish us a happy birthday before we left for school. Yes, I know this sounds ‘boring’ to my grasshoppers who have grown up with cell phones and constant contact, but for pop to call us from work was a huge deal ‘back then’ (I’m sure the local operator who had to connect the wires was a nice gal 😐). We loved getting ‘the call’ and then ma would pack up cupcakes and Kool-Aid for us to take to school for our class party. Now it literally (well…not literally or I’d be dead…but I’m trying to be dramatic here) breaks my heart that schools around my area don’t allow for homemade treats anymore. Sigh. Things were sometimes better in the old days. Anyhoot, after dinner, gramma and gramps would come over and we’d get to open our presents and bask in the glory of being in the spotlight that night. (Also, ma would let us pick our dinners and I always chose Kraft Mac and Cheese with green beans…every year…she got off easy, huh?)

Now, I love love love to open presents and I readily admit it. And yes, I know it’s much better to give than to receive which is why I just adore finding stuff for people that is funky or unique or really shows the person that I ‘know’ them. But, I do LOVE getting presents too! I love the wrapping paper and the shaking of the boxes and the anticipation of tearing off that first piece of paper and then seeing what the gift is. It always amazes me because because somehow, no matter what, the present is always something I wanted. Ma says I’m still like a kid when I open presents…and she’s right. (Of course, I’m just a couple decades out of ‘childhood’ so… 🙄).

Christmas was even better. T and I would always wake up and she’d come into my room and we’d dare each other to wake up ma and pop so we could all go in the living room to see what Santa brought. We’d say: “OK…on 3 we are going to yell WAKE UP…ready…1….2….3….” and we’d chicken out. Of course, the folks were already awake and wondering what the hell was taking us so long! Pop would say he wanted a BIG breakfast before we could open but T and I would yell NO and we’d unwrap our loot. Ahhhhhhhhh….the smell of paper, boxes, fresh plastic, etc. always takes me back. That afternoon, we’d schlep over to gramma and gramps where there were more presents and a special dinner with my aunt, uncle and cousin. It was a GREAT day every year.

And, I love Christmas with my little guy so much (he’s 6″ 😳) and he still gets so excited about the holiday too. However, ahem, it would be so much better if only I had a grandchild, ahem, to enjoy buying cutsie little clothes for, ahem, and every toy ever produced by Fisher Price…ahem…but I digress. *Note to son: read this paragraph again. And again.

So, why do I say I have a love/hate with holidays? As I’ve gotten into my 40’s (shutty the mouthies, peeps 😉) I’ve realized that holidays are a wonderful way of celebrating so many things: being thankful, the birth and resurrection of Jesus, the love of our lives, being an American, etc. But, here’s the thing: shouldn’t we be doing this all the live long day?

One year I was in Walgreens buying a Valentine for Hubby 3 (the mouthies are still shutty 😐), and I told the old gal at the register “Happy Valentine’s Day!” I knew her from going into the store every single day and she said this: “It’s not really a happy day for me…my husband died last year.” Ouch. I felt so so bad for my blunder and gave her a hug over the counter. I went home that night and really started thinking about why we assign 1 day a year to celebrating our ‘love’ by giving flowers, candy, cards, stuffed animals, etc. Then I started thinking about all of the other holidays and felt the same.

Look, I love eating turkey on Thanksgiving (but not yams…I hate yams…🥔) but I think that we need to have thankfulness in our hearts everyday. Every single day. And, I think we need to share this with those around us while showing our appreciation for all we have. I don’t want to have ONE day where I say I’m thankful for my family…for piss sakes, I’m thankful for them every single day and I try to tell them often. Everyday, I’m thankful for my students, my pets, my friends, my neighbors, my precious blawg readers, my home, the food I have, the money I earn, my health, etc. The list can go on and on. Even at my darkest, I had blessings. When things were falling down all around me, I still had my ma…my son…my family. Even though this fucking (sorry ma 😳) bipolar makes my life hellish at times, I still have my physical health. I still have a doctor who helps me fight the damn thing. I still have people who stand behind me. Right?

And Christmas? Look, I know you all aren’t Christians because I have readers from all over the globe (that humbles me more than you could ever know 😘), but I know you all have spiritual beliefs and like I’ve said before, I believe God is the alpha and omega…the one and only…and the true God for any religion you practice and follow. Anyhoot, I talk to God everyday. I thank him for all he has done in my life and every night when I pray, I thank him for sacrificing his son for my sins. And I’m not going to ‘just’ thank Jesus for this salvation once a year…I thank him everyday as well I should.

And, here’s a little rant for ya: I hate the materialism of Christmas. I mean really…when you think about it why do we give gifts to each other on a day we should be celebrating the gift given to us? Like I said, I love presents and all the trimmings that come with Christmas, but actually, wouldn’t us giving the gift of time, money, help to those who are sick, homeless, poor, etc. actually be more appropriate for what the holiday is really about? I also have a problem (please don’t send me shitty messages…this is only my opinion 😐) with people who are scornful…disdainful…of my beliefs in Jesus only to be the ones who decorate and ‘buy’ for Christmas the most. Hmmmm. They laugh at me (yes, to my face…I’ve had colleagues tell me I’m ‘stupid’ for my beliefs…that I’m too ‘smart’ to believe in a higher power 🤨) yet natter on about how they much they love Christmas break and how much they got for Christmas and how much they ate over Christmas and how much they celebrated over Christmas. ‘Nuff said.

And back to Valentines day…I don’t want someone giving me flowers once a year to show their love. How about getting my car washed in the summer when it’s filthy? Or leaving me a card on a random Wednesday because you luv me? Or buying me the book you know I’ve been wanting to read? As someone who has had some…cough cough…experience with relationships (🙄), I’m here to tell you this: they need to be nurtured everyday. And yes, I do this myself.

The 4th of July? I love the fireworks and eats and the patriotism every year, but I’m here to tell you that I love America. Yes, we have some very big issues we need to tackle. Yes, things aren’t always just and fair. Yes, as far as we’ve come in terms of race relations, equality for women, understanding of mental illness, etc. we still have a long ways to go. However, I can talk about these things without fearing retribution from my government. I can practice what I believe. I can question, protest, vote, petition, and write what I want. I have the right to marry who I want, wear what I want, be educated, access info on the internet, own property, start a business, etc. Yes, I’m truly thankful to be an American every day of my life.

And other holidays? Thank a veteran every time you see one. Think about those who have passed and maintain the memory of them. Celebrate men like Martin Luther King Jr. regularly and strive to be more involved in your community. Tell your ma and pop often how important and loved they are…not just once in May and then June.

Look, you don’t have to make everyday a holiday…that would become tedious and disingenuous. Have fun with our holidays…cook turkeys, bake cookies (BTW, I’m a great taste-tester…just wanted you to know 🙂), wrap gifts, shoot off fireworks, and have a ball with family and friends. But you can also be thankful and loving everyday. You can have an open heart everyday. And most of all, you can keep that wonderful feeling of celebration all the year through.

Kristi xoxo

So, after all of the successes ma, sis and I have had in cutting our own bangs and hair, along with home coloring and highlights, I have absolutely no idea why none of us are licensed cosmetologists. 🙄

Ma, for some Godforsaken reason (and I blame Pop for not intervening 🤨), loved to put me and T’s hair in pink foam rollers. Apparently she thought we were future Shirley Temples and could make her and pop a buck or two in vaudeville. EVERY single time ma would do this, she would say (in a snarky voice I might add): “Girls, these won’t hurt at all to sleep in.” Well…ma…I can finally say it: “Bullshit.” So, after a night of tossing and turning thinking my gray matter was going to be squashed out of my ears, the rollers came off and we did NOT look like Shirley. We weren’t even close. And the more she did it, the worse it got…not better. What did we look like you might be wondering? Well…picture 2 girls who are NOT twins, dressed alike in the most horrifying outfits the 70’s had to offer with what looked like Halloween wigs on their heads. No wonder T and I have panic attacks whenever we see the color pink. Just sayin’.

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Ma also loved to cut our bangs. Even when they were short, she still loved to cut the damn things. She’d either put a piece of tape (not ‘hair tape’ like ‘beauticians’ used to use but plain old Scotch tape which was sticky as hell) across our bangs and then ‘cut the tape off’ or, even better, use her finger as a horizontal guide across our bangs and try not to cut her finger off. Either way, T and I (see pics) had bangs that always sloped up our foreheads and were so short you could have shown a movie on said foreheads; plus, there was always…ALWAYS…a chunk (not just a piece but a CHUNK 😳) of bangs left long. Charming. And, until just now, I never thought to ask ma this: “Ma…in the name of all that is holy, why didn’t you just slice off those remaining chunks?” T…I’ll let you know what she says.

Then, when my sis and I were in our teens, T loved to mess with my hair. Note that I didn’t say we loved to mess with each others hair…I was the guinea pig in this particular part our relationship. When I was in the 7th grade, T read an article about how cool hair looked if you braided it wet and then slept on it. So, one night while her boyfriend “Jack” was at the house (on whom I had an incredible crush…like I did on all of T’s boyfriends 😲), she wet down my hair and started braiding. I couldn’t wait to see my head afterwards since I pictured myself looking like Bo Derek (look it up, younger peeps…she was in the movie 10) before the actual ‘do’ was finished. After looking in the mirror, I saw that I DIDN’T look like Bo…I actually looked like someone who had just stuck a bobby pin into a light socket.

Anyhoot, I slept on the braids all night long, woke up, took out the rubber bands, and viola! I had half crimped hair, frizzy, absolutely terrifying hair. T hadn’t realized the braids needed to be small and tight for actual ‘waves’ to happen and since she wasn’t the best braider in the world, she didn’t braid up to my scalp so the top of my head was as flat as my chest at that time, while the bottom stuck out like Roseann RoseannaDanna. Since I was already running late, I had to go to school like this and yes, I got a lot of looks. And no, they weren’t admiring. At all. 😐

Now, braiding and making ‘crimps and curls’ might not have been T’s area of expertise, but we thought we had a surefire way of getting noticed when school started back up. One summer, T took some of her allowance, rode her bike to the local ‘Thrifty Drug Store’ and bought a bottle of SunIn. This is still sold today (T? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?) but I’m assuming the formula has changed in the last 35 years. Basically, you put a BIT on your hair, lay out a ‘short’ while, and then bam!…you look like Farrah Fawcett (once again, peeps…look her up…she was actually quite hot 🤭)

The minute she came home she started spraying our heads and instead of just dampening our locks, she decided to soak our locks. And then, instead of laying out for a few minutes (per the instructions which T and I didn’t read until…after…) we actually toasted ourselves for the entire afternoon…in direct sunlight. Yes, we were dehydrated. Yes, we were burnt (we didn’t care about sunscreen back in the ‘olden days’ 🙄). But it was going to be worth it! We tottered into the bathroom (the dehydration make it difficult to walk), rinsed out our hair and…wait for it…saw that it was orange. ORANGE. I’m not talking about red/coppery highlighty orange. Nope. I’m talking about traffic cone orange that made us both look like circus employees. 🤡 Charmed, I’m sure.

So, T wasn’t great at ‘chemicals’ either but still wanted to mess with my hair. The best solution? Style it! T would blow dry my hair with her white Conair dryer (it was awesome…and lasted for decades! No kidding!) which was great…until she would whip the dryer around from my right to my left, in front of my face, and hit my nose every. single. time. Then, the curling iron was brought out. She waited until it got as hot as a stove top and then would sear curls into my hair…often hitting my ears and neck in the process. In fact, she may have branded me. So, did I look beeeaaaauuuuttttiiiifull after all of this? Well…no. My hair was full of static electricity (we didn’t understand what conditioners were for…we used Prell and that was it🤨) and the curls were all over the place. Literally. But, bless her heart…those were the most fun afternoons we spent together. Truly. 😘

Fast forward to me cutting hubby 2’s hair and O’s. Let’s see…I want to make sure I say this next thing diplomatically…so here goes: Hubby was cheap. His wallets never ever wore out…they just went out of style. So, one day he said this to his sweet wifey: “Kristi. Why are we spending so much money on haircuts for me and O when you have clippers you use on Scooter anyway?” Well…I had no answer for that. Why wasn’t I cutting my family’s hair like I clipped the fur around Scooter’s butt so he wouldn’t get dingleberries? Beats me.

The minute these words were out of his mouth, I ran to get the clippers, put veggie oil on them (didn’t have clipper oil…ce la vie), set up a lawn chair on the deck, got out an old sheet and the ‘barber shop’ was ready to go. O went first. I basically put on a quarter inch blade and shaved his head. He loved it (of course he was 5) and kept saying how ‘cool’ he was. Not ‘popular cool’ but cool…since he had no way to hold in his body heat anymore. Hubby saw this and I could see the regret of his suggestion in his eyes. But, he sat down and told me this: “Kristi. I do not want a shaved head. I have to work tomorrow among mechanics as well as my brother and dad and really don’t want to get made fun of. Just give me a slight trim and go around my ears.”

Ok. Sure. I put on a longer blade and gave him a ‘trim’ and then went around his ears. Now, how to you go AROUND an ear with a STRAIGT edge? Beats the hell out of me. When I saw the results I realized I made hubby look like Spock from Star Trek…the hair around his ears was a completely shaved line and he now looked ‘pointed.’ But, before I could tell him what a miserable job I did, he said this: “Kristi. Can you trim up my mustache and eyebrows too?” SURE!! Why not? Remember how ma trimmed our bangs? Well…I used the same technique and hubby was left with an extremely crooked mustache and most of his left eyebrow gone. When he looked in the mirror he said: “OH MY GOD!!!” Quite loudly, I might add. Trying to salvage what I could from the incident I replied with this: “But honey…I saved you $8.00 😏”. I would love to tell you what he said, but I’d better not. The words would make ma faint.

So, why am I remembering all of this today? Well, for the upteenth time I just colored my hair and trimmed/thinned my bangs. EVERY single time I do this, I swear to ma and sis that this is the last time I’ll ever work on my own hair. I’ve even thrown away my scissors while ma watched (I live a mile from Walgreens…just saying 😁). Have I looked in the mirror to see the color and how my bangs look? No. I have not. I got out of the shower, towel dried my hair, combed it while the mirror was steamed up, and then boogied out of the bathroom. I’m trying to get up my courage to go back in, but keep finding things to do. Like write to you all. Anyhoot…wish me luck.

Kristi xoxo

So, here’s a disclaimer for this particular post: the views of the author (me 🙄) are not necessarily those of anyone else on the planet (although I’m sure there will be MANY women nodding and agreeing with what I have to say) but are based on my experiences only. K? Hey ho…let’s go!

Hopefully my sweetie peeps aren’t reading this while eating because I’m going to get just a tad gross right now. For the past 3 freaking weeks, I’ve been dealing with an inner ear infection and kidney infection (which has made me pee blood for the entire time…charmed, I’m sure 😐) and am now on my 3rd round of antibiotics. During this all, I’ve managed to keep up with school, the house, the yard, the shopping, the dog caring, the plant watering, and everything else that needs attended too. Consequently, some friends have said this: “But you don’t act sick…it must not be a big deal.” Well…peeing blood is kind of a big deal since you think you are knocking on death’s door and the inner ear infection hurts like a MF (don’t ask what that is, ma…it’s not a bad word 🙄). Anyhoot, this made me think of how differently I’ve handled sickness and injury in my life compared to the many many hubbies I’ve had over the years (shutty the mouthies). * Note to Sis: you are why I use the word ‘charming’ now! 😘

Hubby 2 and I had only been married for a few months when he came home early from work one day and told me he was ‘sick as a dog.’ First, my dogs rarely get sick and second, they are troupers when they do. Anyhoot, I asked him the following to ascertain what exactly was wrong with him: “Are you throwing up? Does your throat hurt? Do your ears hurt? Are you achy? Have you had diarrhea? Did you pass out?” To each of these questions I heard a resounding “no.” So, I asked him: “B, what exactly is wrong with you that you felt you needed to come home during ‘All My Children’ just as Erica and Jack were preparing for their wedding?” And his answer? “I just feel ‘off’.”

Okey dokey. Hmmmm. I sort of felt off too considering I was 8 months preggers in the middle of July in the middle of Kansas carrying an extra 65 pounds (8 of which was actually ‘baby’) while still doing every God forsaken thing around the house and yard. So, I said: “Describe ‘off'” and he did: “You know the day before the day before you are actually sick? That’s me.”

What the fuck (sorry, ma 🙄)? The day BEFORE the day? Who knew his constitution was so delicate that he could ‘feel’ a sickness 2 days before it happened? Wow! And, side note: he didn’t get sick 2 days later. At all.

Fast forward to a family dinner with my nephews and in-laws while we were visiting home when O was a little guy. I went into the kitchen and saw my sweetie nephew K, with his feet in a bowl of salsa. Let me say that again: his feet were in a bowl of salsa. In the bowl. Right as I was getting ready to tell my stressed out sis-in-law about the foot situation, she said: “K! Get your feet out of the salsa and put it on the table!” And he did. So, I trot out to the family room where all of the male relatives are waiting for us ‘women folk’ to serve them (don’t ask…it was like the 1940’s 😬) and I say to B: “B…whatever you do, DO NOT EAT THE SALSA! K’s feet were in it.” And what did he say for me being so kind as to give him this warning? “You don’t like my family…blah blah blah…you are just saying that…blah blah blah…” So, the salsa is on the table. B eats the salsa. Kristi and her little fella don’t eat the salsa. And…drumroll please…B gets sick. As a dog. O and I don’t. ‘Nuff’ said.

Once when we were in Kansas (away from any family that could help), all 3 of us got the flu. It was hellish at best. Two adults and a little guy in diapers (just O was wearing the diapers although I was greatly tempted to myself 😐) barfing, pooping, coughing and sneezing all over the place. All of our sheets and towels were dirty and our washer was pretty small. So when B and O fell asleep, I tottered to the laundry with 5 loads, did it all while laying on the floor of the laundry steeped in my flu sweat (literally 😳) while people stepped around me like I was Typhoid Mary, and came home before my men were even awake. When B found out everything was clean, he said: “What happened to the laundry?” For piss sakes…what the hell did he think happened? Think man! I said: “I went to the laundry to do it.” And my sweetie hubby said this: “I guess you aren’t as sick as I am.” OOOKKKKAAAAYYY. Ugh. 🤒

A couple years later, he called me from his work and said: “Now honey…don’t worry but I cut myself and have a huge gash on my hand.” This scared the shit out of me since I was thinking I’d have to take care of everything myself for a couple of weeks. I asked if he needed stitches and he said he was just going ‘to tough it out.’ My hero. When he got home, he had a sock wrapped around a finger. I very very gently unwrapped the sock and said: “Honey, where is it?” He said: “It’s right there!” like I was an idiot or something. I looked. And looked. And looked. And all I could see was a scratch that looked like a paper cut. So I said: “B…is this it?” He said: “Yes! That’s the gash!” Oh my lord. For fuck sakes, I’ve had bigger shaving mishaps. 😐

Hubby 3 wasn’t much better. When he would get his yearly bout of bronchitis, he would tell me this: “Do not bother me. Leave me alone. I don’t need anything and I can take care of myself.” Wow! The first time he said this I was gobsmacked. What a difference! This guy was going to take care of himself….and he did. Sorta.

First though, I needed to get him: his meds, Halls cough drops, Vicks Vapo Rub which I rubbed on this chest then put a warm washcloth over, his Ghost Rider movie complete with remote and soda, never ending bowls of chunky Chicken Noodle soup (only Campbells…the others ‘didn’t taste right’ to him), a stack of hankies by his hands (no Kleenex for this guy…he thought it was much more hygienic to use these multiple times and then have me wash them with fabric softener so his nose wouldn’t get irritated), his favorite pillow (with ever changing pillow cases so he could feel ‘fresh’), his favorite pajama pants (Jack Daniels with a hole in the crotch for easy scratching 🙄), his phone and charger, a bowl of M and M’s (since those are great for bronchitis), and a bell by the couch so he could ring if he needed anything he couldn’t get for himself. He was definitely a little soldier.

My son, bless his heart, tends to take after his dad. In other words (and he doesn’t read all of my posts so I’m not too worried about him seeing this 😳 ), he can be a bit of a ‘bother’ when he’s sick too but he also has another quirk which I actually don’t mind: he likes it when I’m ‘there’ when he’s sick. When he was little, he would practically refuse to throw up or juicy poop unless I was witness to it, and as a man now, he doesn’t want me to watch (phew) but does like to ‘describe’ what is happening so I can make my diagnosis.

Now that’s a whole other ball of wax. My family doc who has been with us for 24 years just loves it when I try to diagnosis illnesses myself. For example, when I went in the other day for this infection, I told him I had punched my symptoms into a med site and am either suffering from prostate cancer, sepsis, or am pregnant. He rolled his eyes…I swear he did…and said this to me quite clearly (with a tinge of frustration): “Kristi. You are not a doctor. I am a doctor. I have a medical degree. I will do the diagnosis.” So I said: “But doc…I have a Master’s degree (in Family Studies…very relevant to medicine 🙄) and peruse WebMD regularly.” I heard him mutter something under his breath…I’m still trying to figure out what he said.

Anyhoot, I’m going to keep on being my strong, brave self in the face of this physical adversity and just make sure my ‘papers’ are in order in case anything happens. I’ve only asked Bill for about a dozen things and ma has only gotten about 30 calls from me. Every neighbor in a 5 mile radius knows of my ‘infection’ and I announced it to all 1000 friends on facebook. In other words, I’m one of these women who can take care of herself (Bill? Can you bring me some fresh ice cubes? These smell ‘used’.) and doesn’t need anyone else to pamper her (Ma? I think some of your homemade chili would hit the spot…but if you’re too busy…for your sick daughter…that’s fine…sigh…). I am woman hear me roar (Ouch…that roar hurt my throat…O? Can you bring me some cough syrup to soothe it?) and am just so damn proud I’m stronger then the men in my life (Pop? Some non-dairy ice cream would really hit the spot right now.). Just saying.

Kristi xoxo

So, one of my students shared a tweet they had seen in a paper they wrote for me and I was so intrigued by it. The “Feminist Next Door” wrote this: “Women, imagine that for 24 hours, there were no men in the world. No men are being harmed in the creation of this hypothetical. They will all return. They are safe and happy wherever they are during this hypothetical time period. What would or could you do that day?” (@emrazz).

Here are some of the replies:

• “Go out without worrying, dress however I want to go out, go for a walk at night or generally going for a walk with headphones at whatever volume I like, the list is endless…”
• “Enter my workplace without being harassed.”
• “…the freedom to move around the world without fear and with confidence.”
• “Walk my favorite trail at night, with or without my large dog, and marvel at the stars away from the city lights.”
• “I was thinking I’d let my daughter be free in public, take a deep breath and just let her be, not watch her like a hawk.”
• “Hike in the woods, sleep with my windows open, or outside, walk everywhere, leave my home any time of the day I wanted too.”
• “…not be forced to smile and respond to strange men making jokes for fear of them becoming hostile.”
• “Talk about things I have expertise in, uninterrupted.”
• “Talk without being corrected.  Talk without having things explained to me when I hadn’t asked for it.  Talk without constantly watching my tone or making what I was saying more palatable.”

Wow.  When I read these responses, and this is just the tip of the iceberg, I was gobsmacked.  Truly.  Now, before anyone starts defending men, let me do it myself.  

Obviously, from my many many many (🙄) marriages, I love men (maybe a bit too much 😳) .  And besides my rockin’ son, I love my nephews with all my heart as well.  My dad is a good man…my grandpas were good men…and I have tons of male students/colleagues/friends etc. that are good men.  THERE ARE REALLY GOOD MEN IN THE WORLD!  Got that?  Good.  

But, like with everything, there is always good and bad.  And here’s the thing:  men do prey on women much more than women prey on men or other women.  Let’s take a look-see with stats from The National Coalition against Domestic Violence:  

• 1:4 women and 1:7 men have experienced severe (injurious) physical violence by their intimate (opposite sex) partner.
• 1:10 women have been raped by an intimate partner (no data available on men)
• 1:5 women and 1:71 men have been raped in their lifetime.
• 19.3 million women and 5.1 million men have been stalked in their lifetime.

Wow.  Again.  Obviously, violence is an issue for both men and women but when it comes right down to it, women are violated more by men than vice versa.   

I think it’s really hard for men to understand how scary the world is for women.  Let’s face it ladies:  men are stronger then we are.  Yeppers.  It’s true.  It doesn’t mean women aren’t strong…of course not.  But when it gets right down to the nitty gritty, men have much more muscle mass, power, etc. that puts us all at a disadvantage.  And anytime a person’s size is used as a tool against someone (bullies always pick on the little guys…right?), the ‘fight’ is no longer fair.  Grip tests have women scoring 90% less than 95% of men, and the fastest woman in history (Flo-Jo: RIP ❤) has world record times that wouldn’t qualify for the men’s Olympic team.  

A study in the Journal of Applied Physiology found that men (on average) have an average of 26 pounds more muscle mass than women.  Also, women exhibited about 40% less upper-body strength and 33% less lower-body strength.  

Is it no wonder that women fear this population who can feasibly ‘win’ against them at any time?  Man on man violence?  More of an equal fight.  Man on women violence…not so much so.  

I know that whenever I go to a store by myself at night or run until dusk or even just take a hike at our local nature center by myself, I’m leery.  I’m watching my surroundings.  Listening for noises.  Hurrying on my way.  And I’m not being ‘paranoid’ by doing so.  The top places for women to be attacked (besides their own home 😕) are grocery store parking lots, office parking lots, public restrooms, trails, and college campuses.  To top it off, the most common time for attack is between 5:00 – 8:30 in the MORNING.  

“So, don’t do these things, dumbass.”  Rrrrriiiiiggggghhhhhttttt.  I’ll refrain from going to the store.  Parking my car in my school’s parking lot.  Not running on the bike trails in my town.  And I’ll be real sure not to do any of these things in the morning.  

But I think the responses of the women on Twitter show it’s more than just being fearful of men in specific areas, etc. but an overall unease that seems to permeate a woman’s world everyday.  Not being taken seriously.  Not being listened too.  Feeling you have to soften things when addressing them.  Feeling the humiliation of being talked too in a condescending way.  It’s almost as if women have to ‘monitor’ their words so carefully…not over-step their bounds at work lest they be seen as bitches.  Not be too much smarter than a guy lest they be called the same.   Not out-run a guy too much (like I could do Hubby 3) lest you be a ‘ball buster’.  And the list goes on.  

Then, IF we do get attacked, victim blaming is often the norm.  “Why were you out late?”  “Why did you go to the store then?”  “Why didn’t you wear something more conservative?”  “Why didn’t you look around more?”  In other words, the ‘whys’ center on the victim’s behavior…and not the perps.  Fucked up, huh (sorry ma, but I know you agree! 🤨)?

I get this.  An incident happened at a workplace once where a subordinate sent me texts describing how he’d like to rape me and make me into lampshades (he knew I had some Jewish ancestry).  We had been friendly at one time, and when I passed on his desire to be more than friends, this was the result.  So how was this handled at that particular workplace?  I had the texts.  The literal texts.  And I was blamed.  I must have been too ‘flirty’ (i.e. nice/funny/kind 🙄) so what the hell did I expect?  Of course he should have sent me these.  Of course I should have been threatened with rape.  Right?

All of this isn’t women’s issues though.  When it get’s right down to it, it’s men’s issues.  It’s like bullies at a school:  help the victim and the bully will move on to another and another and another.  Help the freaking bully…find out what the hell is happening in his (or of course, her) life that might be causing the anger, frustration, feelings of inadequacy, etc. and work on that.  Fix the bully…fix the problem.  

So why aren’t we doing that?  Why aren’t all parents teaching their sons to be the ‘good men’ we know they can be?  Is it that difficult to teach our sons respect?  Kindness?  Sensitivity?  Empathy?  Or do any of the parent’s  messages really matter when the media and their peers often tell them otherwise.  

I didn’t do a perfect job raising my sonshine.  In fact, I fucked up (sorry again, ma…I couldn’t help myself 😐) many many many times…as do all parents.  But I like to think I did teach him these things the best I could.  Some he’s better at than others.  And like a lot of other men, I don’t think he takes the fears that women have as seriously as he should simply because he doesn’t live in that world.  A world of power and strength that physically puts you at a disadvantage regardless of anything else.  I used to ask him to check on my while I ran and he’s say “Ma…you’ll be fine.”  Yes.  I have been (except for 1 time a guy ran me off the road and came after me 😞 ).  So far.  See, he wouldn’t have to worry going out for an early morning run as much as I have too. 

I believe the majority of men in this world are great guys.  I believe that because I’ve seen that.  But I also know the world can be a very dark and scary place for women because of the bad ones.  And how we can fix this is something we need to work on.  Now.

Kristi xoxo