Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Spooning

The first time I heard the term spooning I was 18, taking a marine biology course at a local junior college. I had no intention of becoming a marine biologist, but the course included a trip to Monterey to explore tide pools. Who doesn't enjoy a free road trip complete with bunking in a small cabin on the coast of California? When the time came to prepare for the trip I was told I needed to rent a wet-suit.

Now unless you are a surfer, you have no business being in a wet-suit. I am convinced they were made as torture devices. Even those with chiseled abs will tell you they are not the most comfortable form of attire.
The man running the store, bless his heart, brought out a suit fit for a girl half my size. I asked him to bring in the next size three more times until he said, “You know they are meant to be tight, right?”

I finally left with my gigantic wet-suit in hand. This won’t be so bad I told myself.

The day before the trip, I started my period. This becomes a reoccurring pattern for the rest of my life—if there’s a momentous occasion, vacation or holiday, I will start my period. Yes, I even started on my wedding day.

We arrived in Monterey and were told to put on our suits and meet back at the bus. Twenty five clueless college kids, in suits that smelled of fisherman’s boots crowded onto a bus and were toted out to the tide pools looking like oversized seals that had just been slightly clubbed. We wandered around aimlessly—not a single biology major among us.

Our professor told us to take notes of what we found and to be careful because the—whack! Face first I pan-caked onto the seaweed-covered rocks. Another student fell and another. We were ridiculous baby seal cubs who had been officially clubbed by the nature we pretended to care about.

By the time we got back to our cabins I imagined the inside of my suit looked like I had experienced a shark attack. There was only one shower and most people volunteered to hose off out front so that they didn't drag their rank wet suits through the cabin.

Not a chance in hell.

I dashed to the bathroom and watched the shower water turn red as clumps of mossy seaweed clung to the shower tiles.

That night some of the boys ended up in our cabin. When it came time to go to bed, I noticed that my high school friend Lisa, who had signed up for the class with me, was in a bed with one of the guys and another girl.

The next morning, the talk was about the three of them who had slept in the same bed. That’s when I was told that they had “spooned.”

I pretended to know what “spooning” was, but I had no idea. My sex education up to that point had come from a high school teacher who was more awkward about being there than we were. To make matters worse, a pimply faced boy named Ray who sat next to me attempted to lure me into the bathroom each day so that he could give me one on one sex-ed tutoring. 

In my mind, the only thing spooning could mean was fingers cupped like a spoon, digging into a girl’s vagina. The idea didn't sound pleasurable.

In my defense, no one had a smart phone and the internet was nowhere close to what it is today. If I wanted to go home and Google “spooning,” it would take at least five minutes for the internet to connect.

At some point I figured out what spooning was. Perhaps because someone offered to “spoon” me and an extremely awkward moment transpired, I can’t recall. It was however, a letdown. Spooning is simply cuddling, which don’t get me wrong, can be awesome I just had something far more exotic in mind.


Years later, while in Vegas, my sister-in-law showed me a sticker that read “Spooning Leads to Forking.” I bought it and keep it in the top drawer of my desk to remind me of how innocent I was, and how potentially dangerous spoons can be.


For those that are still clueless or need some "spooning" pointers, click here...who knew there was so much involved?!

Monday, June 2, 2014

Jill & Jack

Today I am featuring a guest blogger, Jenn Neilson PhD., from the awesome company Jill & Jack to my blog. Jenn is currently trying to get funding for her clothing company that is inspired by the notion that we should see beyond "pink" for girls and "blue" for boys. In her blog post she will talk about the role that gender stereotyping plays on kids.
To help make this company a reality you can go to their Kickstarter campaign and donate and in turn receive what I think is the coolest t-shirt ever made or any of their other donation gifts.

HALFof all T-Rexes were GIRLS. (Photo: Sara Shirley)

So without further ado, here's Jenn...

Raising Kids Without Gender Stereotypes

“I like your hat, that color looks great on you,” I catch myself saying to my niece when I see her rosy 2-year-old cheeks on the iPad, as she runs in from playing outside to say hello. I could have said “Did you see any interesting bugs out there?”, “What did you plant today?”, or “What’s your favourite book right now?” instead, but I didn’t, and neither will 99% of the people that start a conversation with my niece or my daughter over the next 8 to 10 years. And that’s a problem.

It’s a problem because the first thing almost every adult says to a little girl is something about her clothes or her hair. Even if it’s a compliment, little girls quickly get the idea that their looks are what matters, and that looking good and dressing well is what they should aspire to. It’s what adults (and society at large) expect them to be interested in, to be good at, and to want to talk about. And that’s bad news for the future of our girls. If we want the next generation to grow up striving to be kind, capable and confident rather than popular and sexy, we need to be mindful of the messages we’re sending to kids.

With kids growing up surrounded by advertising, movies and TV, toys, books, and clothes that tell them that some things are for girls, and others are for boys, we’re already fighting an uphill battle if our goal is to raise girls who know that they can solve tough, real world problems, and boys who are interested in collaboration, not just competition. The only solution is to recognize that gender stereotypes doesn't reflect the “natural” wants or interests of kids or the adults who shop for them, to acknowledge our part in creating this environment, and to vote against it with our voices, and more importantly, with our wallets.


We are finally starting to see a backlash against labeling toys to do with domestic life as for girls, and science and building toys as for boys. Since it’s clear that stereotypically boy toys like Lego and K’nex help build spatial development skills, skills that help prepare kids for in-demand careers in science, math and engineering, it’s no wonder that parents want to offer their daughters the chance to practice those skills as well.

Of course it’s great that we’re starting to see skill-building toys being marketed to girls, as well as boys (Goldieblox being the prime example). But this is really only a tiny part of the change that we need to make in kids’ environments to stop reinforcing the outdated gender stereotypes that limit their opportunities in life. If we want kids to want to engage in play that develops new skills, they have to see that kind of play as acceptable for kids like them. This will be easier with some kids than others, but how easily it comes depends both on the examples and influences that they see around them, and on their sense of self--their sense of how they’re supposed to behave, what sort of interests are seen as acceptable for them to have, and what options are open to them. A child’s sense of self is shaped by a combination of his or her own personality, along with a wide range of social factors.

To change the environment that kids grow up in enough to stop reinforcing outdated gender stereotypes, we’re going to have to do a lot more than market skill-building toys to kids who are already independent enough, who already have a strong enough sense of self, to be interested in them. If we want to see the level of real, widespread change that stands a chance of eradicating gender inequality as we know it, then we have to start earlier. We have surround kids with influences that will help them to develop a strong and resilient sense of self, so that they will be secure enough to choose toys and clothes and books and movies based on their true interests, instead of choosing according to what society expects of them.

So how do we do that? We start by changing the messages that kids receive from role models in books, on TV, and in movies--ending the era of the traditional Disney princess, where adventure, curiosity and personal strength are reserved for boys. But that’s not enough. If we want to change the messages we’re sending to kids, we need to recognize the communicative power of the things that are closest to them--the very clothes we dress them in. Gender conventions in children’s clothing reinforce the idea that building, discovery and active play are for boys, and that girls should be concerned with home life and aesthetic appeal. Bows and ruffles and hearts and frills teach girls about the importance of looking pretty, and dark colors, and truck and sports motifs show boys that they’re destined for competition and adventure. We should strive to make our children’s worlds reflect our hopes for a future where men and women are treated with equal respect, and have equal access to and responsibility for all aspects of life. Only our own choices as consumers and business-owners can make that change happen.


Jill and Jack Kids is a new kids’ clothing company that’s inspiring the next generation of leaders to think beyond pink and blue. We make playtime-worthy clothes in fun, bright colors that change the messages we’re sending to kids, and we’re launching on Kickstarter right now. If we reach our goal, we will be expanding to offer a complete line of gender neutral kids’ clothing free from outdated gender stereotypes that both boys and girls will love to wear. Please check out the campaign now at http://bit.ly/jillandjackkids, and buy a shirt for a kid in your life who dreams beyond pink and blue.

So far over 230 backers have contributed almost $11,000 to the project, but to go into
production we need to raise $15,000 by Thursday, June 5th, so we need your support!


Please check out the campaign now at http://bit.ly/jillandjackkidsand pledge to

support us in making clothes for kids who dream beyond pink and blue.

Jenn Neilson is the founder of Jill and Jack Kids (www.JillandJackKids.com), a new company that makes playtime-worthy clothes that change the messages we're sending to kids. She is a graphic artist with a PhD in philosophy, and a passion for gender equality.



Friday, March 7, 2014

I am Woman

I don't really remember the first time I realized what being a woman meant or what gender was, but I do remember the first time someone sang "I am Woman," by Helen Reddy.


I don't know how the topic came up or what we were even talking about but I can recall that it had something to do with women being capable of doing anything, and my mom started to belt out the lyrics. 
I'm pretty sure I was a teen or preteen and remember thinking she was nuts, as all teenage daughters do in regards to their mothers.

She said," You've never heard that song..." as if she forgot that she gave birth to me in the 80's. She then proceeded to tell me who sang it and how it helped empower women. At the time of its release, it was an anthem for women everywhere, but for someone who was wearing a side ponytail, two pairs of socks on each foot, and shirts with puff paint, it was quite possibly the cheesiest song I had ever heard--because nothing says "classy" like a scrunchie and puff paint.


Years later I would attend Humboldt State University and major in Women's Studies. My education consisted of female activists, history makers, writers, poets, artists, dreamers, revolutionaries, critical thinkers, musicians, and yes, even a reference to Helen Reddy.

She still wasn't as cool as the ladies behind the band Le Tigre, or have the lyricism of Ani DiFranco, but it made me feel like I was a part of something bigger than myself, bigger than my life's petty dramas--I was Woman, hear me roar.

Happy International Women's Day to all of the inspiring women everywhere, and to my mom, 
Sherry Farebrother, for being the most influential woman in my life.


P.S. Helen Reddy has given up her fame and fortune and resides in a small apartment in Australia (with a killer view mind you). Click here for an interesting interview with the former superstar. 

P.P.S. Here is a small list of some phenomenal Women in History for you to reflect on, or familiarize yourself with:

(two part episode)
and last but not least, a reading by Maya Angelou!


Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Sick Bay

Captains log:

Day three--what started with miserable aches and chills turned into one of the worst flu's I've ever had. As any good captain would, I checked out WebMD to see what my high fever could mean and as it turns out, I not only have H1N1, but bronchitis, Rubella, shingles, depression, and pneumonia.
         (Note to self--next time do not consult webMD--but who are you kidding? You will.)

It's been a day now with little contact to other life  forms.  This has been my view for too long:





The first two days the youngest human tried to share my pillow, rubbed my hair and even drew me this lovely picture and hung it on my nightstand.



Today she seems to have come to the same realizations as webMD and her survival instincts have told her to stay clear of the Sick Bay. I even heard her tell the other human that they should consider abandoning ship, along with me in it. Okay maybe that was the NyQuil talking. 

On day one and two the other human built me fires, made be an inflatable bed in the common quarters and even gave me a back rub. Today she slid my tray of food by the door.

Thankfully we had a delivery yesterday from the "mother" ship and it contained much needed reinforcements. 

The doctor saw me today (actually I waited 1.5 hours in the lobby before he got to me and the appointment took all of 5 minutes) and contrary to what WebMD says, I have "junk" in my lungs, Tonsillitis, which is fancy for inflamed tonsils, and a viral infection.

One more day of bed rest and plenty of fluids. If I'm still not better than the almighty Z-Pack will be prescribed by the good doctor.

Oh wait, there's hope on the horizon I just got a visit from the human and she's brought me a special note to cheer me up--

I was right. There's mutiny afoot here. 






Friday, August 30, 2013

Reunited

I didn't plan on being the go-to gal for my fifteen year high school reunion. I had a decent enough time in High School and I had friends in all social circles, but I wasn't the Class President, or the Homecoming Queen. I never waived pom-poms at a football game or kissed the quarterback behind the bleachers.

I did attend dances, some with my closest group of girl friends and others with actual dates. Although I think my favorite date was my BFF Kelly to my Junior Prom. We each got one another a corsage and went dress shopping together. She and I were the modern day Anne & Diana of Anne of Green Gables; bosom buddies, kindred spirits.

Homecoming 1995 with Kyle Meador and reunited at our 15-year reunion

After having to change the reunion location three times, we ended up at Churchill Arms pub in Folsom, home of our Alma Mater. Two bands that were playing that night consisted of members of our graduating class so it seemed like the perfect venue.

When I arrived at the Pub there was only one group of girls from High School that I recognized. They were the girls who had waived pom-poms at football games, and made out with the quarter back behind the bleachers.

I told myself that I was no longer sixteen and was an amazing woman who deserved to breathe the same air as them. I walked over and was greeted warmly and thanked for putting the event on. One of them even hugged me, but she had always been sweet to me even in High School. The others still had a bit of a righteous air about them but they were the only ones there I recognized so I stayed and chatted.

They talked about one of the bands that was going to play, Brown Shoe and one of its members, Aaron Baggley, whom we graduated with. The band has done well--has two records and is comprised of four brothers who were blessed with the beauty gene. Aaron was the guy that all the girls wanted in high school. He had and still has, boyishly handsome good looks and a smile that makes any girl go a little weak in the knees. We had reconnected at the ten-year reunion and he had shown a genuine interest in the fact that I was a foster parent.

As the ladies all talked about Aaron and the level of crushes they had on him in high school, Aaron appeared right in front of us. His eyes got big as he said, "Erica! How have you been?!" and hugged me. We chatted for a minute before one of the ladies tried to talk to him. He was polite and answered her question before turning back to me to say he sees the photos of my daughter on Facebook and how adorable she is. After he left the girl next to me hit me in the arm as the rest of them picked their jaws up off the floor.

Cheerleaders 0 Erica 1

It's not like I'm keeping score, but it sort of felt like something you'd see in a movie, and it sure felt good.

Brown Shoe Band--Aaron Baggley second from left

More old friends appeared throughout the night and I ended up reconnecting with a lot of my really good ones, and building deeper friendships with people that I only knew as acquaintances. For the most part, a lot of the people were still the same, most had gotten married and several had children.

If I could go back and do high school over I would not change much--I had a lot of different friends and lots of fun while also getting to experience the embarrassing moments that we all have to suffer through as a high school rite of passage. I wasn't afraid to try out for plays or teams or join clubs, and I hope my daughter feels the same way when she's in high school.

If I could go back and talk to myself, I would say, make sure you enjoy the people in your life while they are there, realize that girls hold power over teenage boys, and not to worry about Windy, she ends up pregnant and working at Old Navy.


Thursday, August 1, 2013

Bon Appetit

I am not much of a cook. I mean I'm not a complete waste of space, I can boil noodles and do the basics. I wouldn't invite you over for dinner though. To me that implies that you are going to be treated to a meal, and how much of a treat is spaghetti sauce from a jar?

It's not that I don't enjoy entertaining or having people over and if you cooked me something out of a jar, I'd be grateful, I just get too self conscious. I'm afraid you're going to take one look at what I'm preparing and turn your nose up. Or worse, push your food around your plate and leave hungry. That's what happens when you come from a family of people who really know what they're doing in the kitchen--people who know what ramekins are for and how to use them. Last year Rachel Ray made her gnocchi recipe look so easy my toddler could accomplish it.

Rachel Ray's a liar. 

After a long day of work I made a special trip to the store to get the ingredients. It was a disaster. I ended up throwing away my oddly discolored potatoes and wasted eggs in the trash. A friend of mine who is married to a French baker and is an accomplished cook herself tried to make me feel better by telling me gnocchi is hard to make, but I still felt like a failure.

When I was growing up my step-dad, Alan, or Chef Muck as I liked to call him, had my little brother and I prepare and cook a fancy meal for the rest of the family. He had us prepare an appetizer, main dish, and dessert. I have no idea what I made, but I do remember the dessert. It was vanilla bean ice cream which seemed unique to my adolescent taste buds in itself, but we topped it with a raspberry Grand Marnier sauce. I will never forget the taste of that sauce. It felt like the first time my mouth had come alive from a flavor.

My brother made us sushi, and I only remember that because there's a photo of him dressed in a Japanese headband holding a platter of sushi rolls. He married a chef, so it seems he too had the idea of eating good food impressed on him.

My step-mother, Stella, also had an affinity for cooking. She was Assyrian and introduced me to foods most American kids my age never try. She used to put me in charge of mixing the hamburger meat and making the hamburger patties. I can still smell the oddly comforting scent of ground beef mixed with salt, pepper, and every once in awhile, dried onion soup mix. Even during those years of middle school and high school when I became a vegetarian after watching a film in science class that went behind the scenes of a meatpacking factory, she kept me in charge of the meat mixing. Truth be told, I enjoyed it. To this day I have yet to taste Baklava that can compare to hers.

I am decent at cleverly frosting cupcakes and I do make some yummy banana swirl Nutella muffins. I once made an entire vegetable garden out of cupcakes, candy and other edible items that I molded to look like little heads of lettuce (conrflakes coated in pale green frosting), and carrots complete with a "just pulled from the ground" look (molded Starbursts rubbed with cinnamon).

These aren't the ones I made but they looked exactly like this. 
Photo Credit to Jacqueline Bianche

However if you asked me to make Cornish games hens, wait, that's it! I honestly just remembered what I made for my meal all those years ago--Cornish game hens. Maybe I'm not as inept in the kitchen as I thought.

A few years ago my mother-in-law gave me Martha Stewart's Cooking School book as a gift. Most would have taken it as a hint, which I'm sure it partially was, but it was the first time a cookbook actually answered the questions most novice cooks are too embarrassed to ask. How do you properly steam an asparagus and the likes. I still call and ask her things like, "How long and what temperature for a yam?" I'm sure she's lost hope for me in the kitchen.

But it doesn't mean I won't trust my culinary abilities in the future. In fact, I will make it a point to cook new things. Most importantly, I will try to impress upon my daughter the joys of cooking so that one day, she won't be intimidated by ramekins and Tarte Tatins.

On my first attempt at cooking with my daughter, I had her make couscous and although she was very proud of herself and loved that she was able to help in the process of making dinner, I felt like we should take the next step and be more adventurous than a boxed item.

The next week I decided to let her brown her own ground turkey for the spaghetti sauce. She sat there patiently, watching it change colors and flipping it around every once in awhile. I was surprised at how much attention she gave the whole process. The best part was when she took the leftovers to school the next day and beamed with pride when her teacher and friends found out that she had made it herself.

So the sauce was from a jar, but she cooked the ground turkey to go in it!

Cooking with my daughter sort of feels like I get a second chance. I can start easy and no one is expecting a culinary masterpiece from a three year old. I may never be the kind of cook that others seek tips from or treasured recipes but for the time being I do have one adoring fan who thinks I'm a culinary genius.









Thursday, July 25, 2013

Doggone It

This week has been exhausting and I just don't have it in me to write a blog, so I'll leave it to our furry child, Ramsey to share this week. Enjoy.

Hey there. I'm Ramsey, named after chef Gordon Ramsay--one of my mom's was into the show Kitchen Nightmares when I was born. I'm a three year old black lab. I like to eat, wag my tail, run, eat, lick, wag my tail, then repeat.

I live for adventure. I love my family, especially my mom who takes me for rides in her truck. I am free as a bird in her truck. Sometimes she even lets me run in the woods. I was born to be in this family. They recently brought home this little girl--she's cute and drops so much food on the ground that I look past the tail pulling and trying to ride me like a horse. Life is good.

This is me and my little sister on 4th of July. She doesn't have fur, but we still love her the same.
I like when they take my picture. I've been told I'm handsome, whatever that means. 

Last Saturday my mom took me for a ride in her truck. I was so excited. We were going down the Highway and there were so many smells and sights that I leaped towards them and broke my chain. The last thing I remember was hitting the ground and my mom running towards me on the road. I had to go to the doctor, at least that's what my little sister kept saying.

There were lots of nurses and doctors and my mom's cried, a lot. Then they gave me this stuff that made me dream of chasing deer and bunnies and I slept for a long time. When I woke up I heard this guy with a mask telling everyone it was one of the worst open would fractures he's seen. I guess the guy is good at playing board games because they called him the jigsaw puzzle master--I had eight pieces of bone in my leg and he put them back together again.


I finally got to go home yesterday and all I could think of was eating scraps off the floor, playing fetch, running next door to poop on the neighbors lettuce, and laying in the sun with the other furry child in our house, Simba. He's a cat. Something tells me I'm supposed to eat him, but he's just so good at snuggling... 

My excitement was short lived when my mom put me in the laundry room and told me that's where I was going to have to stay--for six weeks. I don't know how long that is but by the look in her eyes, it's a long time. I've only been let out to go pee. Even then I have to be on a leash. Things are gonna get awkward when I have to take a poop.

I think they'll let me have visitors. Perhaps one of you could bring some bacon, and a lock pick. 

Love and licks, Ramsey