Divine Feminine Girl Daddy Hubby Dude

I’m taking some time this morning to dig further into Sue Monk Kidd’s book, Dance of the Dissident Daughter. It is some really good stuff. Lots to process.

One of the most important things I have gleaned so far is how blessed I am to be in a relationship with a man who is very a-typical of the human male species.

The author talks about the expected rolls of women and how we usually end up being this and that and everything else taking care of not only the children in our lives, but the men in our lives, too.

I am not sure whether to be proud or feel guilty, but this is not something I struggle with. I don’t know if we are just the weirdo family or if my man got a raw deal. He certainly didn’t get his Italian mother in the exchange of vows. I think he got someone a lot more like my mother with a huge dose of “if you want it done, you’d better get on that one yourself!” and a splash of “where’s the mountain? Let’s conquer it!”

Case in point. I loved having my babies. I just didn’t enjoy the lack of sleep (along with a few other things). As a result, from a very early age, my children were empowered to get it for themselves, whatever IT might be. Hence there were babies in bed with us for a very long time. They couldn’t exactly crawl to their food supply, so I made it readily available without a ton of effort on my part.

By age four, my oldest was introduced to Mr. Toaster, Mrs. Butter, and Uncle Jelly. She was already operating electrical appliances. If the kid was going to get out of bed THAT ridiculously early on my only day to sleep late, she simply had to learn to take care of herself.

I rarely ask permission to go on a trip of some kind. Of course, I am not gone that often, but if my man isn’t going with me, it is simply a matter of remembering to tell him that I will be gone. There is no great drama. No wailing and moaning about how will we survive while mom is gone. Quite honestly, things always seem to run smoother with me out of the house. Chaos returns with me.

Not exactly what is considered normal for a traditional household.

I can’t really decide whether I’m okay with that or if it makes me feel inadequate. Hmm….

Okay. I’m over it.

Yes, they fend for themselves.

And my man does A LOT! He is probably the only reason my children survived passed their third month of life. Someone had to nurture them. It obviously wasn’t going to be me beyond supplying liquid sustenance.  This man can salvage a dying plant. He can take care of small animals. When I found him at age 29, he had plants and fish and candles and cats. I figured he was either a good catch for raising a family or he wasn’t overly interested in females. It took all of about two seconds to figure out the latter was NOT the case.

He also cooks, washes dishes, does laundry, vacuums, shampoos carpets, cleans up animal poo and kid barf, mows, landscapes, repairs, builds, does stupid science and art projects with my kids, fixes our vehicles, and performs taxi duties. I don’t tell him he has to do those things. He just does them. Because I don’t. At all. Unless there’s a blue moon. So once every couple of years maybe. He’s on his own. I show up for dinner. Maybe. And I tell him what an awesome guy he is. A lot. A whole lot. Like mucho a lot.

Did I mention his only vice is an addiction to cigarettes?  I stopped harassing him about that a long time ago. You’d smoke, too, if you were him.

So yeah. I may be coping with the effects of a male empowered world, but the catch I landed 20 years ago hasn’t oppressed my divine feminine spirit in the least.

And single guys? There are four women about to conquer the world who are growing up with the ideal that their daddy is just about as perfect as a man can get and telling them to do the dishes is unacceptable. They’ll do them if and only if they want to.

And they are some gorgeous, talented, and amazing women.

If you want their attention, you might want to come apprentice under my man for awhile.

They won’t be an easy catch.

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