Tempered Fragility

My drafts folder holds 96 saved entries. Some of them are long, rambling posts that cover interesting topics such as how annoying trams are, and why Connex should give up and go back to France or wherever else they’re screwing up public transport.

Some of them are ideas that probably made sense at the time, but now, well… now they don’t:

• Cornflour and cauliflower. Flowers. Why?
• Shark attack fatal. Knew I couldn’t trust them.
• Post about wires and bird. Nesting fail.

Yeah, I don’t know either. I don’t even remember writing them. I’m going to assume they were brilliant ideas at the time, though. Mere scribbles of grander ideas, and so on.

(I’ve lost 6cm off my waist! Down to 64kg!)

Everyone is twittering, and blogging, and going on and on about this year’s BlogHer.

The excitement surrounding such a huge event doesn’t annoy me, though. I’m happy for the people who are going, and I’m even looking forward to the gossip afterwards. People getting hurt by the tiniest things, drinking too much and making fools of themselves, and the continued debate over whether mommy-blogging is a good thing or a bad thing? Yes, please.

No, in my opinion the most irritating part of BlogHer is the whining from people who aren’t going, and think the whole affair is a waste of time. Last year, my feedreader was flooded with posts about how stupid BlogHer was, about how elitist the crowd would be, and how people wished the bloggers going would just shut up already. It drove me insane.

Let people be happy about going. BlogHer is an important blogging event, and they’re right to be excited - especially the speakers. It’s exciting, and fun, and apparently enjoyable for many. Put up with their incessant posts and tweets the same way you tolerate the media shoving things down your throat ten times a day, and it’ll all be over soon. Promise.

The renewal for this domain name is coming up.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet. I haven’t decided.

I have until August, though.

Surely I can make up my mind by then?

My two week break from classes has officially started.

I had an editing exam yesterday, on proofreading and copyediting, and it wasn’t as stressful as I thought it would be. I completed everything within the time limit, managed to resist the urge to correct the exam instructions (TWO errors, on the very first pages), and I’m feeling pretty good about it. Naturally, I’m aiming for a distinction or higher, but I’ll be happy with anything above a pass.

The biggest thing on my mind right now, though, is this blog. I’m considering changing the domain name. I chose temperedfragility.com almost three years ago, and lately it just seems.. meh. I don’t know, but I’m not happy with it. I’d really like a domain with my first name in it, that will still seem suitable in a few years when I’m working and then years after that when I have kids, and a mortgage and so on.

I suppose I feel like I’ve outgrown the name.

I’m still thinking about it right now, but when I find a new name (and I WILL, eventually) I’m just going to go ahead and change it. I don’t have a huge readership, so the move isn’t going to cause major issues. All of the old posts and comments will be moved across, I can get a theme actually up and running before I make the switch, and I won’t feel like I’m posting to some angsty teenager’s blog by mistake.

Rissa urinated on my bed again tonight.

I’m blaming myself for this incident, because I haven’t been upstairs (except to sleep) since Friday. Since the vet cleared her of any health problems, the behaviour is probably due to stress. She is particularly nervous - not unlike her owner - so my absence would have stressed her out.

As much as I love her, I almost threw her out the window when I found that wet spot.

I’ll make a point to spend more time with her from now on, and perhaps bring her downstairs in the cat carrier so she gets used to Shadow. I’m also thinking about changing her litter and buying a bigger box; she might not like the setup she has right now.

If all else fails, a lot of nervous cats have been prescribed a medication similar to Valium, that apparently helps to calm them down and reduces inappropriate urination. I’m all for medicating if the behaviour continues, because I simply cannot own a cat that pees on everything.

I have never before discussed an animal’s bodily fluids this often.

I haven’t made a secret of the fact that I’m a quiet, introverted person.

Something I’ve noticed this year, though, is that I’m much quieter in class. I’m not sure exactly why. Different teachers? New classmates? No idea. What I do know, is that I’m back to blushing every time someone looks at me, and stammering when the teacher asks me a question.

It’s frustrating, considering how confident I was last year. And although I’m not stressing more than usual, the panic is crowding me a little now. I can feel myself slipping backwards, slowly. Just a little at a time, but isn’t that how it starts? Two steps backwards.

Maybe being aware of it isn’t enough.

I know how to go about getting support. That isn’t the issue. The issue is that I’ve been drug-free for two years now, and maybe this has been an eventual decline. Maybe this has been happening slowly for the last two years, and I’m only just now catching on.

My doctor warned me that not having the medication would be difficult. She thought I could do it, though. So did I. From where I’m standing right now, though, facing the rest of the year and then the years after that? It doesn’t seem so easy. The end result doesn’t seem worth the struggle.

Sometimes it’s easier to give up.

Disclaimer: I am not a parent. I just read a lot of blogs written by mothers.

The next time I read a blog post in which a parent worries endlessly about the new phase their child is going through, I’m going to post ‘YOUR LITTLE DARLING WILL SURVIVE. AND WILL PROBABLY GROW UP TO BE JUST AS ANXIOUS AS YOU.’ just like that, with capitals and everything.

Because frankly, I’ve had enough.

Children go through phases. Their tastes change as quickly as their moods. They are growing, and developing, and becoming real little people from the minute they’re born. Your boy-child may well like My Little Pony and playing tea-party with his stuffed animals when he is three. He might be climbing trees and catching all sorts of disgusting things for you by the time he’s four.

That’s called growth. Development. That thing that kids do.

If your daughter likes Disney princesses instead of Dora, then let her enjoy them. You have years to teach her about morals, and peer pressure, and inner beauty. There will be plenty of opportunities to show her that beautiful can mean many things, that she shouldn’t depend on men all the time, that she should make her own decisions. She’ll probably be more receptive when she’s out of nappies, anyway.

Likewise, if your son wants to do nothing more than dig in the dirt and play with toy cars, let him. Stop worrying about him thinking pink is for girls, or not wanting to play with dolls. He won’t always think like that; I’m sure you’ve matured somewhat since you were three. If you show him that men can be gentle too, that they can wear pink and cry and even feel, I think he’ll be just fine.

In short: if you’re laying awake at night wondering why your three-year-old isn’t challenging gender stereotypes at every opportunity, then you’re doing it wrong. Gender stereotypes are generalisations and they don’t apply to everyone. Stereotypical behaviour doesn’t guarantee that your child will be a helpless slave to their gender and everything it entails, either.

You, as a parent, have the most influence over the adult your child becomes.

Disclaimer #2: There are posts all over the internet where mothers (such as Her Bad Mother and Uppercase Woman) talk about this ‘issue’, but the real inspiration for this post were the hundreds (seriously) of comments left on various blogs where mothers everywhere worried, obsessed and stressed about how their little boys and girls weren’t quite the well-rounded individuals that mummy and daddy felt they should be.

Shit. This post sounds angry. I’m not angry. I’m just sick of parents worrying over every tiny thing, about stuff that shouldn’t even be an issue. When I was five, I loved wearing flouncy dresses and pretty shoes. When my grandmother let me wear lipstick, it made my day. I smiled and twirled and tra-la-laed, even. I adored Disney movies. I played with Barbie dolls and baby dolls. I wanted a prince to save me.

I’m not like that any more. I grew up; I became a different person. I like to think that I’m strong, that I can think for myself. I don’t need a boyfriend to be happy, or believe that I’m worth something. I understand that women and men are equal, and I hate stereotypes, as you may have guessed. I believe that I can look beautiful without makeup and a princess dress, too.

Growth. It’s a wonderful thing.

Also? TV will not kill your child. They won’t get turned away from college because you let them watch an extra hour of whatever brain-numbing show they happen to love. Everyone watches TV. EVEN YOU. So stop worrying that you’re going to rob your kid of the chance to be the next Einstein.