Yesterday afternoon a room packed with CLPP conference goers listened and participated in a discussion during our workshop “When Boys Wear Pink.” The frame I offered was this: “As a parent (to a pink-loving young boy) I was so surprised that it was radical to have kids be kids (when it comes to gender expression).”
Avital Norman Nathman and I brought Erin McNeil, Christian McEwen and Jennifer Bryan together to talk about media, tomboys, and schools—and really, a good bit of everything related to this question: whatever happened to kids being kids?
I really urge you to learn more about what they have to say.
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Hampshire College bustles during this CLPP weekend. It’s just… astonishing. I feel so proud that the college I went to and worked at—I did help to start this conference—hosts one of the most innovative and hopeful events for activists.
I also really love being a feminist—and a mama. It has been a pretty intensive week on both fronts. Despite the fact that I’m exhausted, I feel this surge of gladness that somehow I do live both—not always in the balances I’d wish for, certainly with regrets about things done or not done—but finally, to date, I am interested in what happens pretty much every day.
This is what a feminist mama looks like.
I wanted to be a mama from childhood. I helped out with the babies in my school’s infant room from third through sixth grade. I loved babies, always. I had my first baby at 32. I’d waited a long time if you frame it that way. We really planned this family—unruly as it is, bigger than I’d envisioned, and more spread out, still, planned. This wonderful essay about a time when abortion was available without shame or fear reminded me—on this major reproductive rights’ focused weekend here in Western Massachusetts—why I am steadfast on this: without access, abortion rights are theoretical and thus, nonexistent.
This afternoon, I’ll participate in the National Network of Abortion Funds’ Bowlathon. You don’t have to bowl to support access. Click and donate.
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The mama part Saturday involved a village (dear husband out of town, but showered me with gifts: a book, a Goberry card, swoon). While I was at the conference session, my pal and her kids came to help with dinner and bring an additional third grader and toddler to the mix. I came home knocked out by one of a handful of migraines I’ve ever had and after she and toddler left the count was three third graders, a preschooler and two teens. I ended up asleep with preschooler and thirteen year-old. Elder teen eavesdropped on the third graders and got them quiet (they didn’t sleep much). The event—migraines are like electrical storms—passed around midnight. I got up briefly and then slept some more.
And on we go.
