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March 8, carnival

Today I decided to keep a low profile. I know it's International Women's Day and I should say something clever about it, but on this blog every day is International Women's Day (Blog only, however). I just spontaneously comes out that, in this very sensitive period for the female gender, destiny willed relentlessly, partially obscuring the festival, superimposed on Shrove Tuesday, which, with its commercial value and disengagement, will certainly have the upper hand. I see it already at home with my children, who do not even know what a mimosa, but fully aware of the clothing of Zorro. The children in kindergarten will not receive any flowers, but will be buried by confetti. The big joke the carnival. And then the news will have to decide how to divide the three minutes to the news of little consequence: a minute and a half for the Women's Day, a half minutes for the wagons. The war of the poor.

Then, last Saturday I took my eldest son to a party of four-cinquenni. Of course they were all in masks, and strangely even my son wanted to dress. I say oddly, because like two years ago I bought a black pirate dress, that the first year because he did not want to get frightened, and the second because he was annoyed. Yes, I know, I have not committed to anything, fold up a garment trite, formulaic and a little 'sloppy, but the carnival has never turned particolarmente la mia fantasia. Comunque questa volta mio figlio non ha voluto gli stivali, né il cappello, né la spada, però la camicia e il mantello sì. Già qualcosa. Per fortuna l'avevo comprato in crescere, come fanno le brave madri previdenti. E sempre come una brava madre, mi sono pure ritrovata dopopranzo a cucire il mantello che l'anno prima, in un raptus di protesta, la dolce creatura aveva strappato. Chiaramente ci ho messo due ore, maledicendo l'assenza di "economia domestica" dalle materie della scuola dell'obbligo. Mentre giocavo alla piccola sarta, mi è venuta in mente la storia di quella madre americana che per Halloween aveva vestito il figlio di cinque anni da Daphne di Scooby Doo, generando un vespaio of controversy. Do you know Daphne is not it? Here, is not exactly the macho character from which children use to dress up carnival. And I wonder why. At the bottom of the panorama playful reference to very young children is very varied, but in the end, you always see the girls dressed as princesses and boys as pirates or superheroes. In this exhibition of the stereotype you put me there too, I have chosen and imposed on my son dressed as a pirate (which now no longer even know what it is). In fact, my arbitrariness has turned against me. Maybe my son wanted to dress up as Hello Kitty and I have not been able to interpret his needs. However, the party went very well. The children ran continuously for three hours, and then pass out unconscious each in his own car. Whatever their clothing.
morning instead, Women's Day, I left the two dwarfs in kindergarten, where to take them there were a bevy of fairies and princesses all sbrilluccicanti. Their femininity was so blatant that my firstborn is even blushed. Surely those little women today will be celebrated with full pomp. Will be pirates, astronauts, spider man, batman, Gormiti, peter pan, all at their feet. Other than us, in the office, with a sprig of mimosa skimpy, to wonder where we went wrong.
Ah, if only time my mother had dressed me as a princess! But nothing. In the name of equality (more unconscious conscious) I have always been imposed unisex clothes, like Harlequin and Pierrot. The only time that has encroached in a feminine color me dressed as the Pink Panther. Obviously then you end up writing about women in late.

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The simplicity of the man. Part Three: nudity

conclude the trilogy on the simplicity of man, by sharing another reflection of very deep with his wife, the man lives in a much more serene her naked body. Obviously not take into account the latest trends that see people obsessed with excess hair, sculpted dall'addominale, skin smooth as a baby's ass, the colorful "beach Sardinia also in January. "No, because I think (hope) that it is still a minority. The majority however, continues to perform with candor and sometimes with pride, the three P: belly, hair and smell.

already start young men, placed side by side in front of their urinals in elementary school. You know how they are made urinals, right? Well, personally one of the main reasons for happiness to be born a woman, I have given just urinals . I always wondered how men do in carrying out their duties while chatting with your neighbor pea. A few weeks ago I went to a customer with my partner, and after the meeting he and his client went to the bathroom. Thus, fraternally. And when it came out seemed much more in tune. In practice, a pee good for business more than two hours of meeting. I tried to imagine doing the same thing, to sit on a toilet next to a customer and discuss the furnishing of the bathroom, or the latest advertising campaign, but I could not help but shudder. For men it's different. They feel more free, more in touch with their animal part. They are more serene. Sometimes a woman feels uncomfortable in the bathroom even if there is another person beside her. "Oh, I do not have you seen someone come in?"

"Naturalia non sunt ugly." "The natural things are not shameful," he often says my father. It is no coincidence that he repeats it to me and not my mother. I confess that over the years I worked hard on myself to break down the wall dell'ingiustificata modesty. Subject to the basics of decorum, by issuing a pleasant smell, shave and do not wear anything that would cause laughter, I can say that it has acquired a satisfactory peace. What rhymes with ease. So, when I go to sea I do not feel bad about cellulite, just like the men who walk on the beach do not feel uncomfortable with their lush back. And then, making small change of philosophy, I find this attitude even poetic men, we are all equal in our nakedness. We remember that we are human beings and not machines to perfection. But it's tough.

It's hard to get out of centuries in which women have always been covered in every way. I have some pictures (but you'll also have you) in which my ancestors were bathing attire. And not because they were drunk after a graduation party. Even today, in many countries, she is eagerly covered. I wonder why then, because the female body has always been celebrated as the quintessence of beauty. The only exception to these habits are in business. If you sell something, it's better that you show up with a naked woman. But I do not want controversy, today is Monday and it is difficult enough.

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The simplicity of the man. Second part: breastfeeding

The most classic example of the schema donna-dubbi/uomo-nulla, we have it in the case of breastfeeding. I recently participated in a discussion on a blog talking about this : psychological torture to which millions of women undergo when they breastfeed. I have children who happen on the fly. Who has not, now I will explain. Then, you have just given birth, it is as if he had run the marathon in New York. Only after the marathon, when you reach the finish line back at the hotel, you make a one-hour massage and go to sleep for the following 12. Then you have breakfast and go out for shopping. After delivery the other hand, if you'd like a whirlpool, places you your son in my arms because they say it is good for the child and mother feel stuck, and you've just read about the daughter who murdered their parents and think that maybe it was because the newborn has not slept in bed with his mother. So you keep the baby on him. Would you like to go to the bathroom, would you sleep, you want a ham sandwich, but nothing, can not. Shopping do not speak either. At that moment you realize that your life is gone forever. Sure, it only ended the life that you did before, now they have a more beautiful and rewarding, you know that you have given meaning to your existence, you'll always feel full and satisfied, the children give you satisfaction and infinite love. But these are considerations that come only later, with time. Meanwhile, a few hours of birth, would only be in New York. Even just to have breakfast. But the breakfast should do your child, you should stick to breast feed. Sounds easy eh? That is, the women do when they were monkeys. They do all mammals. Even the platypus, that after spawning, they choose to breastfeed. And that's where you feel not alone. You make us realize that breastfeeding is not an issue between you and your son, but a question of all. Because everyone will have something to say about breastfeeding. And usually things are never positive. Started in hospital when the representative of the League of milk (Which is usually also a midwife) tells you how to position the baby correctly and tells you the First Big Rule of breastfeeding: There is no best food of breast milk for the baby. This is followed by the First Great Corollary to the Rule of breastfeeding: the powdered milk is poison. You do not have time to try the first impression of your child that feeds you, that you immediately take him away for weighing. And usually, when you bring him back, there are never good news: "Madam, your son has had a significant weight loss." What if you are not sufficiently balanced and does not have sufficient mastery of lexical comprehension, you might as well be a hit: "What did TOOK MY SON?? "No, that was when he was born he weighed 4.350 kg and now weighs 3.800 (the references are not purely random: quote data lived). This is normal, because when he was in the belly, the baby was constantly nourished by the blood of the mother, and once gone, they took (uncut) cock. And then the milk to the mothers is just after about 72 hours. First there's this thing called colostrum, which, I mean, the name itself ... But that is not milk. Just as eggs are not lumpfish caviar. In short, it is obvious that the baby weight loss. Will retrieve it, you think you confident. Meanwhile the hospital after learning the first great rule of breastfeeding, with its corollary, you discover that when they bring your child to do the canonical visits, give him a well partake of milk powder, because "he had the weight loss." In practice, according to what you said the representative of the League of milk, the poison. After a couple of days back home, and you've already lost control of the issue of breastfeeding.
Now the mothers are divided into two categories: those who are breastfeeding and those with no problems with breastfeeding problems. What problems?
- The baby is feeding poorly and you are the fissures (of the kind of bleeding wounds, that even the new shoes without socks you procure)
- The baby is feeding well, but there remains for hours and when the breaks, screaming like a suckling pig
- The baby is feeding well, but there is little and not growing
- You have to go back to work
The single answer to this, the simple answer, in short, the male would be: milk powder. End the suffering, the end of the crying, the end of hunger, end of the problem. But you are now given the Second World Rule of breastfeeding: it takes patience, perseverance and resistance to pain. First Corollary to the Second Rule: There are women who do not have enough milk. According to Corollary to the Second Rule: If you're a bad mother breast-feed. The history of the work instead, we cut directly out of any discussion.
So there you are, home alone, while your partner has taken over his life forever and then you realize that's just your life, it's over. Try to breastfeed, however, that this creature cries, you feel dissatisfied and even a very well. Think of the milk powder, it would be faster, painless and satisfying the hunger of the child, but you're holding. As if I had thought of killing him. In fact, you thought that too. And you look for comfort in magazines, on the forum, among the people. Everyone is very prodigal of advice. Even those who have never had children. But you can not make up your mind. Like when you choose the clothes to go to work . Then, thankfully, the survival instinct takes over, and a liberating "Fuck you" do your head. Some opt for the resistance to the death (or his child) and some to choose a bottle. And he goes for a bell'idromassaggio with the child. I am one of those. I said fuck you to the League of milk, midwife fuck, fuck the internet forums, fuck all those who tell you that "Breastmilk is the best food that exists for the child." Why assume that is even better than the fruit of your garden without fertilizers and pesticides, but if you have a vegetable garden, the fruit you buy at the supermarket and nobody is saying that you are poisoning your child. Who knows why. Then you also mind the place, and if you think it was invented the figure of the nurse, who work as a nurse the children of others, there will be a reason. Perhaps some other women before us have had problems with breastfeeding? Maybe once without the nurses, there were children who died? And perhaps, without the powdered milk, there would be today. This
for my first child. For the second has been a breeze. Even before he was born I bought two boxes of milk powder, which then, ironically, I did not need, until they are reunited, and were excluded from this type of discussion.
Then you look around, and discover that even those who have done all the things that were done, those who have followed all the great rules and their corollaries, are not undisputed. Type because they have chosen to breastfeed beyond the first six months of the child. As if there was a third great rule of breastfeeding: okay, you give your child your milk, but enough is enough, heh. On what basis is not known. As if this prodigious milk in the long run hurt. What are you doing? Expires?
Well, in all this, amid speculations, doubts, and suffering physical and psychological suffering, the man looks at you with amazement and bewilderment and seems to be asking "Why?" And indeed we should also ask ourselves. Because man is a simple creature, and should be a bit 'more even the woman.
End of second part.

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The simplicity of the man. Part one: the clothing

There are situations in life, when people look at you with a clear expression in his face, an expression that seems to say: "Why?". This air of loss appears as if by magic all the time in which we women venture into speculations that even if you have a degree in philosophy, difficult to understand.
I think the obvious choice of clothing, for example. If the morning is scheduled for an important meeting in the office, the average man will, as the only difficulty, that the tie to match the dress. The woman, after checking the weather on the Internet, to see if it will rain or not, whether there will be wind or it will be hot, open the cabinet and will be seized by an irrational horror vacui. That is, you will have in front of dozens of clothes, but not see them. It is as if he had opened, I know, the closet, or door of the library. It is understandable if you think about it: choose from over one million combinations of statistics, it's like to grips with the concept of infinity. The argument will proceed in stages. Skirt or pants? Dress or suit? Color? Accessories? Humor? And then, because we're on a blog that talks about discrimination, specifically in view of a business meeting, a woman will always ask if that che indossa sarà troppo provocante, o troppo serioso, o troppo sciatto. E già questo ci dà la dimensione della quantità di pressioni a cui, ogni giorno, una donna è sottoposta. L’uomo invece, è una creatura semplice. Ti guarda interrogativo mentre componi sul letto i vari abbinamenti tra cui scegliere, ma non osa parlare, perché secoli di evoluzione gli hanno insegnato a percepire il pericolo. E quella, la situazione della donna che sceglie l’abbigliamento prima di uscire di casa con i minuti contati, È una situazione di pericolo. Adesso, qualcuno di voi starà sorridendo, pensando ai classici luoghi comuni che differenziano uomini e donne. Ma io non rido. Perché mi domando come mai una donna, nei millenni, has declined in these states. I mean, when we were monkeys, both male and female each had her hair (oh my God, even now, in the absence of wax), and were not big problems with pairing. That is, the female monkey, walking in the jungle, not wondered "What the other monkeys will think of me?" Man is simple because it is quiet. The company did not have it with him. And even biology.
In short, this reflection you throw it there as well. Then everyone who wants to draw the conclusions. For my part, I believe that the famous man's simplicity is not always to blame. Indeed, we often learn from them. Maybe not always, perhaps is better than someone in the face every now and then couple of questions that go beyond "What's for dinner?". But sparingly, without exaggeration. Why then there are cases in which too many questions cause suffering, a suffering that there is no solution. So it is better to draw a deep breath and recite this mantra: "I'ma man, I'ma man, I'ma man."
End Part.