Ode To A Modern Husband

I had one of those "where did you FIND him?!" conversations with a perfect stranger today. You know, the kind where some woman makes a comment about how men (in general) act, and how they Never Do This or Always Do That? I'm often in the position of either smiling weakly and excusing myself to get on with my day, thinking about my own husband and how glad I am that Mr. O is not like that, or, sometimes I'll gently disagree with an "I don't know... My husband does at least half the housework, and he's an amazing parent in his own right... It's like having another mom in the household..."

I chose the latter today and left my utter stranger chatmate completely dumbfounded. Granted, she was about 20 years older than I am, so it was partially a generational thing, but I do believe that there are a lot of terrific men out there.

I get so tired of hearing women complain about men, the way people like to complain about traffic or bad weather, just to make conversation. I know a lot of great men: husbands, fathers, boyfriends, uncles, grandpas, friends. Yes, there are a lot of jerks out there, but same goes for the womenfolk too.

I guess stereotypes in general get on my nerves. Mr. O defies stereotypes:

He drives an old pickup truck with the radio station set to a country station...
...but most days he bikes to work, five miles each way. And when he gets home, he's likely to turn on NPR.

He loves Fluffernutter sandwiches...
...but he makes tamales from scratch, does a LOT of our family's cooking, and has been a vegetarian for most of his life.

He loves his workshop and his power tools...
...but he also knows how to knit a scarf.

He likes NASCAR...
...but his favorite sport is tennis. Golf might be vying for that top spot lately, though.

He once told me (before we actually started dating, many years ago) that he thought feminism was a "crock of shit"...
...but then he become one! (a feminist, that is. not a crock of shit.)

Mr. O does wonderful things. He gets off his bike on his morning commute to go rescue turtles when he sees them trying to cross a road. He has been known to help injured wildlife, bringing them to the Wildlife Center of Virginia. He is a strict label-reading vegetarian, but he doesn't say a word when a friend of his orders meat. Mr. O is a terrific man. He is sweet, kind, funny, smart, fun, patient, loving, forgiving, and rock-solid. He's politically progressive, fiercely pro-choice, opposed to racism, sexism, heterosexism, classism, and so on. He's an awesome cook. He can fix things. He's a good friend: honest, loyal, and easygoing. He's curious, adventurous, and stable, all at once. He gets bashful when I tell stories about him, so I'm limited in how I can illustrate these qualities, but take my word for it. He's a gem.

I feel really lucky to be spending my life with him. And gosh golly, I just wanted to say all that.

Looks Can Be Deceiving

My daily uniform: Jeans, Danskos, some sort of top. I'm a Caucasian middle class woman with two kids, two years apart. I'm primarily a stay at home mom. I look like That Mom.

Never mind that I'm someone who owns sexy knee high boots and that I can dance my ass off for hours on any dance floor with nothing but water to fuel me. Never mind that I'm someone who has plenty of opinions and lots of passion and that I can make a killer margarita. Never mind that my political ideas range from fairly liberal to rather radical. When I walk down the street, I look just like the typical middle-of-the road stay at home "soccer mom". I don't look like someone who knows how to cut loose. I don't look like someone who rocks the boat. I don't look like someone who consciously tries not to exercise white privilege or class privilege. I don't look like someone with whom, when you hear the guy in line behind us making a stupid racist (or heterosexist, or classist) comment, you can expect to exchange a knowing glance, to wordlessly complain "what an asshole." I don't look like someone who drives around with a big rainbow sticker on the back of her car. But I am. My appearance murmurs, "status quo." But my sentiments shout "revolution!"

I wear jeans because they are comfortable and I feel like they look good on me. I wear Danskos because I had plantar fasciitis and I have to wear supportive shoes, and I like that I can easily slip in and out of clogs. But I recognize that the way I dress and the way I appear to people who don't know me gives off an impression that is really rather inaccurate, because of the stereotypes about people who wear what I wear, who look the way I do. Sometimes I think about going out of my way to find or create a funkier, more counterculture look for myself, but I'm too lazy, and part of me doesn't mind cloaking my identity a bit. I'm so mouthy, people don't have to spend more than a couple of minutes with me before they realize that I'm ~not~ actually That Mom. But it does give me pause for thought when someone like my friend Jeff tells me, "When I first met you, I assumed you were a Republican. The hair, the clothes. You know."

Of course, what you do is much more important than how you look. But it can be interesting to examine one's appearance and what it reveals (or implies), correctly or otherwise. Do you have a "look"? What do you think your appearance says about you? Is it fairly accurate? In what ways do you wear your identity openly, with your appearance, and how are you cloaking yourself, intentionally or not?