Men! They Just Don’t Get It!

(To all three of the men who read my blog: You are not included in this rant. I have a feeling, especially since you follow my blog, that you are among the enlightened few. And a special note to LLCoolJoe – I apologize in advance for this sexist slant. But I’ve had it up to here!)

Yesterday, I was trying to catch up on my blog reading. I came across this, featured on Nap’s blog, Naptime Writing:

Now, Nap had a lot to say about it. She was annoyed. And you can read all about it here. I watched the ad and thought, “Yeah, but it’s still funny.” So I re-read her post and thought, wait, she’s right. It’s backward. Stereotypical. (Which makes the title of this post all the more amusing.) But my husband is still going to love it.

And he did. He thought it was hilarious.

And then I quizzed him.

Me: So, as a parent, what does the dad do?

Him: Has tea parties with his daughter?

Me: Correct. Now, what does the mom do?

Him: pays the bills, kisses the boo-boos, bakes for the bake sale…

Me: Right. Everything else.

Him: You gotta remember. This is marketing. They’re marketing this minivan to MOMS. Moms who think they do it all.

Me: THINK they do it all?!

Him: Yeah. (All smug and shit. Oops. Sorry. Now I’m starting to talk like a rapper. Word!)

That’s where the discussion ended. I wasn’t going to get into it with him. Because, it’s not news to me. My husband thinks HE does it all, too.

We live a very traditional, stereotypical existence. We even joke about blue jobs and pink jobs. And frankly, I like it that way. I like the way I clean a bathroom compared to him (using actual cleaning products). Or doing the laundry (separating colors). Or cooking (as opposed to opening a can of pinto beans, pouring it over rice and calling it supper.) It works for us.

And oh-so-fortunately, he works outside the home, and I’m able to “stay home.” Which translates to: work (unpaid) at his office one or two days a week, be available for the kids at any hour of the day and run day-to-day household things. 

My husband works very hard. He puts in 10-12 hour days. He’s not afraid to work weekends. I’m so very proud of how he has built up his business. He yields success that many others in his field never attain.

But he doesn’t get it.

He has never bathed the boys. I can count on one hand how many times he’s supervised a shower. Wait, make that one finger. The very first time he ever “watched” the boys alone was when they were 3 and 4 years old. And when I came home he said, “That wasn’t so bad,” and the house looked as if a tornado had blown through. On the weekends, my husband’s threshold for patience ends about 4 o’clock on Saturday afternoon. “I can’t get anything done,” he says, sending the boys off to watch TV.

Yes, when we added kids to the mix my workload increased to infinity and beyond! My husband’s extra chores? Not so much.

In Nap’s rant she says that even in 50/50 marriages it abruptly switches to 90/10 once the kids are born. I wholeheartedly agree. It might not be 90/10 in OUR household. More like 80/20. But it’s not my husband’s version of 60/40.

No. Freakin’. Way.

The Fairer Sex? Not Any More

Women and war. I was happily stuck in the stereotypical mindset that the two just don’t mix.

In recent years, when I’d hear about female suicide bombers, I’d quickly skip over the story. I would tell myself it’s merely a strange anomaly. Or I’d picture a tortured woman, fearing for her children taken hostage. She was drugged and while she was unconscious they strapped a bomb to her and threatened to kill her children if she didn’t carry out their orders.

The attack that happened three days ago has been weighing heavy on my mind. I wrestled with whether to write about it or not. But I’m so distressed by this woman’s actions. I decided to investigate.

Sadly, all of my preconceived notions are wrong.

Instead of stories of women being forced, against their will, to perform these horrific acts I found stories of women calmly answering questions in a government office before reaching under their bra and setting off the device. Or women pretending to be pregnant, with a bomb carefully tucked underneath their clothes. All women. All ages. According to U.S. military statistics the youngest female suicide bomber was only 13 years old.

I love the customary image of a woman.  We are the nurturing sex. We protect life. I imagined that if women held the majority of leadership roles around the world there would be no war. And I’m dumbstruck, sitting here, wrestling with article after article telling me that I’m mistaken.

One article suggests that the work of female suicide bombers is not a new phenomenon. They’ve been around for more than 20 years.  From this 40-something-year-old perspective, 20 years is nothing. To me, it IS a new phenomenon. And I sit here wondering why? Why is my beautiful, idyllic convention being shattered?

And when I start to wonder how we have failed each other, why women are now willfully joining the ranks of male suicide bombers I can’t help but take a good, hard look at the human race and how we’ve resolved conflict in the past. War. Violence. Killing. It’s been going on as long as man has walked the Earth.

I remember, as a teen, comparing the male world leaders at war with each other to overgrown boys, fighting over a toy. Testosterone taking over their senses. I was smug in my vision of my fellow sisters. Calm. Rational. Wanting only peace.

Boy, was I ever wrong.