Did I let that girl down?

Some time last Friday night I became middle-aged. One minute I was standing at the bar in my leopard print pants dancing to Blurred Lines like the 30 year old I think I am and the next minute I was a 42 year old mum.

I know exactly when it happened too. It wasn’t when I had to come inside because it was freezing in the courtyard and despite my sensible outfits layers, I needed to stand in front of the open fire. It wasn’t when I realized that all the guys that caught my eye [in a harmless, non-cheating kind of way] were beardless, looked a bit tired and all had grey hair. It wasn’t even when I ordered a gin and tonic because I understood that if I had another glass of pinot gris, I would feel queasy and not be able to sleep well and I knew I had to be up early in the morning. It was precisely at the moment that I watched a young woman gyrating between two equally young men in a very tight, very troubling kind of human sandwich.

I had been watching this girl [I know technically she’s a woman but I’m middle-aged now and that makes her a girl] randomly throughout the night. She was young. Maybe early to mid twenties. Blonde and fresh and confidently attractive. She was dancing around with a group, I couldn’t tell who exactly she was with but there were at least two other girls that I think she was with. She was having a lot of fun and I had been watching her with a mix of admiration and envy. Admiration at her ability to dance –vigorously – without spilling her drink and envy as I remembered that feeling of abandon that overcomes you when you’re young and out and feeling gorgeous. She was wearing a short playsuit with stiletto heels and a deep, plunging, ruffled neckline. She looked gorgeous. She was drinking but I couldn’t tell how drunk she was. I know this is all sounding weird and you’d be forgiven for wondering if I’m actually some sick kind of stalker but I’m going somewhere with this.

I watched her dancing up against one of the guys in a suit who did his best to keep up with her funk… and failed. Still he pulled her closer and as she spun around and backed up to him it was obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra as her top gaped and showed just a bit too much to the gathering onlookers from time to time. Still, her hands were in the air and she was smiling and singing and it looked like she was feeling fantastic. I stole kind glances at her in between having my own good time with a great group of chicks and then I noticed that another guy had started dancing with them and that she was now sandwiched between the two. And it was tight in there. The boys could’ve kissed each other when she squatted between them and shimmied her way back up. Her eyes were closed and she looked like she was really happy to be there. With them. Like that. I watched on as another mate took photos or video on his phone of them dancing. I watched on as both the guys she was dancing with had their hands on her. Competing for space on her small torso. I watched on as her girlfriends clapped with encouragement and as she turned it up when they did. I watched on.

I can’t reconcile how it all made me feel and I am still confused. The young, empowered woman in me wanted to high-five her and say ‘You go girl! While you’re young and happy and without the burden of responsibility. Feel gorgeous. Be sexy. Flirt to heart’s content’. The middle-aged, protector in me wanted to march over, eye-ball the guys, erase the phone footage and tell her ‘You go girl! But remember that the minute you want to stop – I’m here, and I’ve got your back’

There was nothing wrong with her behavior and I sincerely HOPE this is not being misinterpreted as judgemental but it just made me feel so uncomfortable. Maybe she didn’t want to stop. Maybe she wasn’t drunk. Maybe it was playing out exactly how she wanted to. Maybe her own friends had her back. Maybe all those guys were her friends and this was just how they all partied together. Maybe. But maybe not.

I left not long after [it was already 11 o'clock!!!] so I don't know how the night ended for her. I hope it was exactly as she intended. And, regardless of what that may have been, that she still felt that way in the morning.

I remember being young and single and gorgeous and drunk. I remember dancing on packed dance floors. Hot and sweaty and sexy. Pushing myself up against guys and feeling their ‘appreciation’ at doing so. It’s a heady time and I loved it. Did I think I was doing anything wrong? No. Would I have appreciated some old bag keeping their watchful eye on me? Fuck no. Weirdo. So why can’t I shake the feeling that I somehow, just a little bit, let that girl down?

Viva la Vagina

Dear marketers, young girls, young boys and anyone else who's confused... vaginas are not dirty. Women do not need special soap or wipes for their intimate bits and quite frankly I’m offended that the products even exist.

What the fuck is going on?

I’m worried for our latest generation of girls and young women. It bothers me that the conversation they are involved in talks about hairless vaginas and intimate cleansing. It infuriates me that our latest generation of boys and young men are eavesdropping on that conversation. The conversation which carries, far and wide, this message.

Vaginas are unclean.

Remember early high school? I do. I remember lots of disgusting jokes about fishy smelling girls and snail trails and the grossness of periods. It was a tough time for a developing girl. It was shameful. We noticed that ‘down there’ did smell a bit. We noticed that there was that discharge that we couldn’t control. We were already embarrassed. We were already uncomfortable. But advertising wasn’t what it is today. There wasn’t social media. There wasn’t a life online. You copped the ribbing at school and went home and tried to forget about it.

Girls and boys are still the same today. Boys still joke about that stuff and girls are still uncomfortable. But now, they’re being told that the boys aren’t actually joking. Now, they’re being told they should be embarrassed. Not in those actual words of course. No it’s far more insidious than that. Today’s conversation is wrapped up in fancy packaging and words like Femfresh Intimate Wash and Libra Get Fresh Wipes. Make sure that dirty area is fresh. ALL.THE.TIME. And, while you’re at it, make sure you get rid of all that hideous pubic hair. You know, the stuff that differentiates your grown up vagina from that of a child. Eeewwww can you imagine it? A woman who smells like a woman with a hairy vagina??? #wouldntfuckherwithyourdick

Seriously, I’m mad. I can’t even articulate it without swearing. Profusely. The ads on tv offend me. The bottles of feminine hygiene I find in my ‘ladies lunch’ gift bag offend me. The entire fucking message offends me. I’m livid that girls my sister’s age are not only uncomfortable being a woman but have no idea how to celebrate it. They're waxing their vaginas to hairless peril just in case they hook up with a guy. A guy that’s probably only ever seen hairless vaginas.

You know what I don’t get? Men stink. Their arses smell and their balls sweat. Is there a ‘Manfresh Intimate Sack Wash’ for them? Do they have ‘Lynx Get Fresh Arse Wipes’ in their gym bags? Are they waxing their balls and their crack? Nope. Not a chance. Why?

I want to change the conversation, I just don't know how. I'm no activist but I am pissed off. And I do truly believe there's something wrong here. 

Don't you??

Raising Men

It’s not so easy to be a man today. What is a good man these days? Do you know? Do you think your son knows?

I have always had my feet planted firmly in the raising adults camp as opposed to the raising kids playground. It just makes sense to me. Start as you mean to go on and all that kind of logic. Having two sons means that I am deeply entrenched in the business of raising men. Good men. Men who will succeed in love and life and happiness and self. It is one of the greatest challenges of parenthood to have the foresight to teach the right lessons for an outcome that may not even exist.

I am constantly, CONSTANTLY thinking about the right lessons to teach my boys but, to be perfectly basic, it’s just so confusing. I am an empowered woman. I am empowered because my society has empowered me. Our focus has been and is to teach girls that we can be anything we want to be. Anything. Because the greatest power you can bestow upon someone is freedom. Choice. Independent thought. I know what a good woman is. A good woman is anything you want to be – unless you’re a bad mother. That is the mother of all sins in womanhood... pardon the pun. You can choose not have children. You can choose to adopt your children out. You can choose multiple fathers for your children. You can even choose to end a pregnancy to avoid having children. But if you’re shit at raising them... god fucking help you. 

I digress.

How can I teach my sons to celebrate their own selves when there is very little room to do that? 

Consider this – a young girl doesn’t like to wear dresses so much. She prefers to rough and tumble in a pair of shorts on the soccer field. Her parents are so proud and delighted that she’s so strong willed. They call her a tomboy. She’ll be able to do anything when she’s older, their friends say. On the other hand there’s  a young boy who’s not so keen on sport. He prefers to play music and dress ups and have tea parties. He likes pink. He’s interested in mum’s make-up and likes the feel of silk on his skin. His parents try to channel his masculine spirit into any sport then can. They downplay his creativity. They call him different. He’ll probably be gay, their friends say. As if that's a destination or a definition.

A strong willed girl is going places. A strong willed boy will have anger management issues. An emotional girl is understood. An emotional boy is a cry baby. A boy who gets into a playground fight school is aggressive and a trouble maker. A girl who gets into a playground fight at school is tough and can ‘hold her own’.

Don’t mollycoddle your boys is the message I get loud and clear. They should be strong. Why are you crying little Johnny? Only girls cry... are you a girl? So, girls are allowed to cry and fight. They’re allowed to be girlie and tough. But boys? Boys are expected to act like men.  

And how should a man ‘act’? In this age where the traditional family unit is predominantly non-existent, there are no more villages to raise our children and we have CONSTANT access to every type of media, our boys’ role models are confusing. And, I suspect, confused. How does our society focus on our men today? By adoring massive sporting idols covered in tattoos who drink too much, take drugs, mistreat women and believe in their own infallibility so much that they jump from the sky expecting to survive. By glorifying our criminals in ridiculous television franchises like Underbelly. Today’s male tv sitcom characters are socially inept geeks, bumbling idiots, overtly camp or useless husbands berated by their wives. Our male politicians are represented as sexist, racist, backstabbers or just dickheads.

What the fuck happened to our men?

For me to raise good men I must be able to explain what a ‘good’ man is. I think this will mean explaining to my sons that, like their female friends, they also have choices. They can choose their own paths too. To be sporty, to be musical, to be creative, to be tough, to be emotional, to be open, to be loving, to be scared, to be brave, to dance, to be true, to cry, to be shy, to sing, to be competitive, to be alone, to be honest, to like dressing up, to be a reader, to be dependable.

Could a 'good man' simply just be a grown-up 'good boy', after all?

30 Lessons in Love

Dear Boys,

because mummy loves you, I'm going to help you out with a few tips. Well, thirty actually. It's not a complete list but it's a good start. You can thank me later xx

1. If she’s just broken up with her ex – stay away for a while. The rebound guy never wins.

2. Be chivalrous

3. If you ask her out – you pay... for everything.

4. If you pick her up, go to the door and knock. Don’t sit in the car and beep.

5. If you drop her off, walk her to the door or front gate. The same goes for when she leaves your place, walk her to the door or the front gate. It's manners.

6. If you love her – tell her. Many times and in many ways. There is no shame in love.

7. If you love someone else – you shouldn’t be with her.

8. If she lives at home, do not call after 9.30pm.

9. If she’s studying – let her. Encourage her even. You may end up spending the rest of your life with her.

10. No really does mean no. All the time. When she’s pissed. When you’re pissed. Even if your hand’s up her top. Or her bra’s undone. Or you’re half way through. You do not have the rights to her because she’s your girlfriend.

11. If she wants to hang out with her girlfriends don't whinge that she'd rather be with them than you. Be thankful that she has her own life and for the time you can hang out with your mates.

12. Don’t be too eager. It’s gross.

13. If you need to cry, that’s ok. Just don’t make it that ugly cry. That’s a huge turn off.

14. Go clothes shopping with her. It’s more fun than you think.

15. Don’t try to be one of the girls. Her friends will think it’s weird. And yuck.

16. Don’t talk to her in a stupid baby voice.

17. If you’re gonna have nicknames for each other, make them G rated. You’d be surprised just how easily they slip out at the worst possible times.

18. Orgasms are a joint venture. You should be aiming for a win/win result.

19. Brush your teeth.

20. Do not expect her to be responsible for contraception. Wear a condom. I’ll buy them for you if I have to. And don’t let me hear that you won’t because it doesn’t feel as good. Know what feels worse? Months WITHOUT having sex because of your BABY. Oh and herpes. If it’s not on, it’s not on.

21. These girls are not options – your friend’s mum. Your friend’s daughter. Your cousin. Your teacher. The emo [too much baggage]. The goth [too black]. The gold digger. Your brother’s girlfriend. The one that’s rude to your mum.

22. Hip Hop music is fun but it ain’t no way to treat yo woman... dawg

23. Don’t fart in front of her. Or on top of her. Or in her face. Or in bed and then put the covers over her head.

24. Don’t say anything if she accidentally farts in front of you. She’s probably DYING inside.

25. Be respectful to her parents. Both of them. Whether they’re still together or not. And DO NOT swear in front of them.

26. If you expect her to play some video game of mass destruction with you then she can expect you to watch a chick flick with her. Do not roll your eyes or sigh or say ‘as if’ or ‘gay’ or spoil it for her. Just hold her hand. It will earn you massive ‘love’ credits.

27. If she’s silly enough to send you nude photos of herself, do not show them to your mates. Even after you’ve split up.

28. Your erection is not her responsibility. Even if she’s responsible for it. Carry a spoon around in your back pocket if you can’t sort yourself out.

29. When she says "It’s not you, it’s me"... agree and move on. She’s probably right.

30. Do not get a tattoo of any girl’s name. Unless her name is ‘Mum’.

DISCLAIMER: where appropriate, please use ‘boy, ‘he’ and ‘him’ in place of ‘girl’, ‘she’ and ‘her’  ;)

Sister from another mister

I have a little sister. And when I say she’s little I mean she’s 20 years littler than me. I can hear you screaming ‘ACCIDENT!’ but she was planned and the reason is simpler than you may think. My dad died young. My mum remarried. Enter Little Miss PIMA [pain in my arse].

I was the same age as my mum when she had me when Pima was born so my role in her life is one part sister, one part friend and two parts mum. Oh, and twenty seven parts exasperation.

Pima is about to turn 20 which means that as well as having two young sons, I have also spent the last 7 years with a teenage girl under my wing. In my every-day thoughts. Front of mind and under my skin. And I have had the joy of NOT being her mum.

We talk a lot. Sometimes too much. We talk on the phone. We text. We Facebook. We hang out. It’s a relationship high in maintenance, for sure, but rich in reward. Which is not altogether limited to having an amazing, trustworthy and reliable babysitter on hand.

The real reward is in my opportunity to mentor a young woman in today’s world.

It keeps me aware and relevant and stretches my thinking and challenges my knee jerk compulsion to judge. I draw on my own life experiences. My own mistakes. My own successes, fears, dreams and ideals. And from there – I counsel.

Stay at University little sister

No, you cannot have a gap year. No, you cannot defer. No, you cannot change direction mid degree. You will finish. You will pass. You will thank me later.

Stay away from anything you can smoke, little sister

Keep your lungs fresh and your mind healthy. That's all.

Keep your legs crossed, little sister

My generation got all confused about sexual empowerment. We thought it was cool and grown up and enlightened to sleep with who we wanted, when we wanted. We thought it would make us grow and show how liberated we were. We didn’t give enough thought to how that would play out once we actually did meet the ‘love of our life’ or when we became mums or when we joined the parent community of our son’s private catholic school... or so I’ve heard. Anyway, there’s no hurry. Hold off. Don't compromise. Don't believe that 'friends with benefits' is anything other than a crappy Hollywood movie. Wait for a while when you meet someone new. Maybe he's 'the one' in which case you can wait and if he's not, then don't bother. You’ll have plenty of years and plenty of options and just quietly you won’t reach your prime ‘til you’re in your  thirties anyway.

Don’t ink your body yet, little sister

Wait, wait. Wait until you know what you believe in and know who you are. Live in your body a bit longer before you stain it with a cliché that means more to your friends on instagram than you.

Love yourself, little sister

You are bright and gorgeous and smart and honest. You sparkle when you smile and you snort when you laugh. You are healthy. You are a woman. Your body is beautiful. Now. When you were skinnier. When you get fatter. It’s YOUR body. If you love it, taking care of it will be easy. Be comfortable in your gorgeous skin. Be true to your earnest heart. And for fucks sake, pluck your eyebrows.

Be proud to be a woman, little sister

Remember when you were so excited to find your first pubic hair [or was that me?]. It was exciting because it heralded the beginning of your journey into womanhood. Women have pubic hair. Prepubescent girls don’t. Strippers don’t. Sex workers don’t. Real men like their women to look like women. Don’t be sucked into this craze that makes you feel dirty or unclean to look like a woman. I read somewhere that there are some boys of your generation who have never seen a woman with pubic hair and feel ‘repulsed’ at the mere thought of it. Do not date those boys. I will be forced to hold them down and wax their balls and arse myself. Keep your hair down there.

Love your Mum, little sister

I know she’s annoying. I know she doesn’t seem to ‘get it’. I know she doesn’t let you sleep in or have boys in your room or like you drinking. I know. She’s my Mum too. The thing is, when you get older, you’ll realise she was right about sooooo many things. Boys, friends, fashion mistakes, husbands. Your Mum is cool. When she’s not being embarrassing.

Be yourself always, little sister

I know that’s hard. I know you struggle. It comes with the territory. I know you don’t know who you are yet. That’s ok. Be yourself today. And tomorrow be yourself then. If you get confused, come to me. I will remind you of who you are. I will help you see who I see.

Be grateful, little sister

The world does not owe you, despite what your generation thinks. Be grateful for your gifts of health and intellect and freedom and love. Use your gifts to make a difference. To matter. Start with your family. When you’ve got that right, move on to your friends. Once you’ve got the hang of it, the world is yours to make a change. Do not waste your youth and opportunity in a life unlived, unexplored or unappreciated.

Stop using hashtags, little sister

We have a language. It’s called English. Use it. Spell out the words. Use a pen and write the words. Send someone a real card in the mail one day. Words are beautiful. They’re long and descriptive and evoke emotion. Stop abbreviating. It drives me nuts.

Laugh out loud, little sister

Actually live in the moment. You do only live once. Make it worth it. And don’t fuck your life.

Listen to me, little sister

I’ve lived your years. I’ve known your struggles. I recognise your fears. I’ve made [some of] your mistakes. Learn from me. Lean on me. I love you more than you love yourself at the moment. It’s just the way it is with girls. Let me guide you. All I ask in return is that when you become an amazing, love-yourself, authentic woman... you pay it forward.

Oh, and I still need you to babysit.

Love your totes awesome sister and #bff in the whole world,

Tan x