She’s a Lady

Women, their interests, and fluffy stuff have never been my cup of tea.  Then I was told at the hairdresser’s last week that I am such a girly girl.  Whatever could she mean?  She chuckled something about my clothes, nails, and hair and how I enjoy them.  That I do.   After 17 years of being pregnant and/or nursing, either baby-fat or just looking it with my incessant baby slings,  I’m ready to be more than a spit rag.  I no longer dress like the poster child for durability and functionality.  All that time as “one of the boys” and then “Mama” has left me wanting to be a woman.  If I can pull it off, “Lady” sounds better still.

I noticed something right after “In the beginning…”  Woman is made of the same stuff as man and can take over his position if necessary.  Since living in the sticks, I’ve realized I am tougher than I thought.  Storms can pound and crap may fly, but I will still be here tomorrow to take some more.  The women who inspire me have an unusually quiet strength, never breathing a word about what they endure.  Trials are unbecoming to a lady.  As tempting as it may be to whine and complain, I must bear up under pressure gracefully, never besting her man.  I met a beautiful gal once who was a serious mechanic.  You’d never know it over dinner, though, with her lovely, dark red nail polish to cover the grease under her fingernails.  This is probably what sets a woman apart.  Men don’t cover their grime.

God pulled Eve out of man to be different.  While she’s capable of anything, she should not do it all, and what she does, she does differently.  She is the soft, merciful side of the equation;  she is Grace to man’s Law.  It is hers to bear the next generation and sustain this one, keeping home and hearth warm.   A “womanly touch” softens and beautifies.  He  provides security and incites fear in any who threaten their nest.  There is nothing to fear in woman but the withdrawal of her acceptance.  Most men will do anything to prevent that.

Yet, so many men show affection for  their ladies similarly to how they’d show affection for their brothers.  I remember watching a guy flipping his keys around his finger, slapping his new bride’s thigh with each turn.  Chink, chink, chink.  Stupid, little things hurt a woman deeply.  She (and other women around her) will read many intentions into that one thoughtless action.  It’s not the pain;  women will control their minds and breathe through the ultimate workout of childbirth.   I have never met a man who honestly thinks it would be no big deal to bear a child.  Childbirth is only the initiation.

A man’s work is done when the battle is won and the goal achieved.  He bandages his wounds like trophies and wears them proudly, turning to new pursuits and obstacles to conquer.  The woman now moves into the daily grind, covering over her scars and stretch marks as shameful and unladylike.  Her work of feeding the family and making sure the laundry is folded and put away is not hard work – it is merely tedious.  And far beneath her abilities, she is reminded too often.  Chink, chink, chink.  Childhood stories have left visions in her head of singing while she scrubs her floors, laughing with the children when they come in from their mudpies, and overlooking bootprints her gallant warrior tracks across the tile.  Nothing she does is special and couldn’t be done better by a maid, and she tends to forget that it is her very presence which makes the magic of “home”.  She sees so many areas where she hasn’t met the standard, and they pain her.

Her deepest desire is to be taken care of – cherished, as my mom would say.   She needs to be so dear to her man’s heart that she is restored to rib-hood.  She must know beyond any doubt that she is essential to the survival of the family,  appreciated and protected and held tightly when the nights are cold.  She can become stronger than steel if necessary, but prefers to be soft.

She is powerful and vulnerable all at once.  Fascinating.  That’s what makes her so alluring.

She’s faced the hardest times
you could imagine
and many times her eyes fought back the tears
and when her youthful world
was about to fall in
each time her slender shoulders
bore the weight of all her fears
and a sorrow no one hears
still rings in midnight silence,
in her ears

Let her cry, for she’s a lady
let her dream, for she’s a child
let the rain fall down upon her
She’s a free and gentle flower,
growing wild

–           “Wildflower”, by New Birth

Gonna need some cheese over here –

This morning, the new jar of mayonnaise dropped out of little hands and the lid broke.  I was dressed, but my hair was clipped up in a big froof while it dried and I really did not want to go investigate the noise and loud accusations.  Cleaning up the mayo was no huge deal, but we had been thrilled to have a new jar of mayo.  The last jar had been dropped on its maiden voyage, too,  and all of us were really tired of Saran wrap rubberbanded over the top.   Quite frankly, why did I have to clean it up?  Who declared Moms do all the work? Couldn’t it have at least waited until I was ready for my day?

I haven’t felt well in over  a week.  I’ve had a sore throat and no energy.  The doctor gave me some stuff, but it appears I get to relive the entire illness in reverse order on its way out.  I haven’t a had my voice in longer than any woman can tolerate and most men dream of.   I felt really sorry for myself, but I couldn’t even yell at the offender properly.  I decided to yell at everybody.  There were dishes in the sink I didn’t dirty and mess in the living room.  Why was that?  Why, when anybody else is sick, does Mom get to dote on them and care for their every need?  Yet, when Mom’s sick, she gets to dote on everybody and care for their every need?

My voice gave out completely.  Damn.  It will only work if I’m sane.

I’m really missing Jon.  If I went to bed early, Jon always took care of any remaining dishes.  This morning I woke up to midnight snack mess.  And now mayonnaise on the floor with the youngest running pell-mell into the kitchen to see what all the ruckus was about.  Don’t want to miss anything good!  It’s a wonder she didn’t do a double back gainer on that mess….

When I finished with my crisis, the kids all chipped in to clean the kitchen properly  and then disassembled, packaged, and hauled the toddler bed to the attic for me.  The older boys have always handled attic runs in the past.  This group was surprised at how hot it was up there.  After that, they went out front to play in the water.  I wish I’d taken my camera out: the two big ones dumped a new trash can full of water onto the driveway where the two little ones were sitting, legs outstretched.  Those two giggled like fools as they washed away a few feet.  The dog circled them happily – it was his first time outside to play since his surgery last week.  He sported a green t-shirt to protect against sunburn that he seemed to really enjoy once it was wet and cool. He even came and begged me to go again, later.  Pathetic.

And y’know what?  It was a better day for the quiet.  In spite of my whining, I got a lot done and the kids helped with everything.  They were cheerful helpers and didn’t fight.  I even found dinner made for me when I came in from working outside with the boys.  It always happens that way.  They only need to know they’re needed and appreciated, just like the rest of us.