Today on Facebook, I found and shared an article from the Huffington Post by Karen Mangiacotti titled The Penis Mom.  Of course, once I saw the title, I just had to check it out.  It’s beautifully written.  An account of one mother’s tricky navigation through the “gender requirements” of Pumpkin Chunkin’.  And I want to be this type of mom.   Y’all, this one has sent me off on a tangent of thoughts today…

Unless something is too high or incredibly heavy, I don’t shy away from doing much around the house.  My son and daughter have seen me and me alone hang and take down all of our Christmas lights, both indoors and on the roof of the house.  My kids have seen me work out or lift weights, boxes and people.  I have moved Christmas trees and have potted delicate flowers.  I have coached soccer practices and have taken my daughter to dance classes.   I don’t ever want to default to the fact that I am a woman as a reason something can’t be done.  Because I’m short?  Sure, that’s a great one. 

While I lean towards the feminist side, I won’t deny my daughter the right to Barbies, princesses, baby dolls, and everything pink.  However, I don’t want her to feels as if she has to rely on anyone, particularly a man, to get things done, or that there are things that girls can’t or shouldn’t do.  I can remember being a kid and watching my brothers wrestle with my dad.  It looked like so much fun, and craving that kind of attention from my father, I dove right in.  I was quickly reprimanded that wrestling with the boys wasn’t something I, as a girl, should do.  Now, maybe my memory of hold old I was is younger than I might have actually been, and my father was trying to avoid that weird line of wrestling with a pre-teen.  But I don’t think so.  And it really doesn’t matter how old I was.  What matters is what was said to me, and that I still remember the sting to this day. 

I want to empower my daughter to feel like she can move herself in college if she has to.  That she doesn’t have to rely on a guy to change the tire on her car or shovel the snow on her sidewalk.  Or that she’ll need to ask her husband to volunteer to launch pumpkins for her kids class project.  I want her to feel like she CAN be strong when she wants or needs to.  Like my son, I want her to grow a pair when the circumstance demands it.  And I want her to see that Mommy can do things that take strength and courage.  Just like I want her to know that Daddy is capable of great cuddles and putting together a mean craft session.