Author: fullofgracedj

We are former working moms blogging about faith, family, friends and food! In between writing about our hopes, prayers and adventures, we hope to bridge the gap between working moms and stay at home moms by providing recipes and resources everyone can use to make their family healthier.

Conservative Feminists and Arrogance

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Dana and I are Feminists from way back. Maybe you’ve noticed.

So we take issue when a group of powerful and important women trash Feminism, which is what happened last week at the Heritage Foundation’s celebration of Women’s History Month, “Evaluating Feminism, Its Failures and Its Future”.

These women have some serious hubris. Do they even know what the word Feminist means?

Feminism is a collection of movements and ideologies aimed at defining, establishing, and defending equal political, economic, and social rights for women  (dictionary.com)

The Conservative Right would have us believe that Feminism only serves liberals. That’s not true. Sarah Palin is a product of Feminism. Condolezza Rice. Michelle Bachman. Bay Buchanon. Michelle Malkin. Even, and sadly, Ann Coulter. The only reason Karin Agness, Mona Charen and Mollie Hemingway even had a microphone to speak in front of the other day is because of Feminism.

And yet these women blithely turn their backs on the path forged by our grandmothers and great grandmothers, a path that says that every woman born to freedom in this great nation can be anything she chooses to be. Like a presidential candidate, Secretary of State, political pundit or even character assassin in a nodding relationship with the truth.

I am pretty sure that Mona Charen who “called the glass-ceiling a ‘supposed barrier’ and said Feminists and the Obama Administration often use “much debunked statistics” to argue their points” didn’t get where she is by sleeping her way to the top. But 70 years ago, who knows if she would have had the opportunity to run her mouth as a syndicated columnist? Maybe some cigar smoking editor with girlie pictures hanging all over his office would have sent her home to her husband and babies with a smack on her bum, or even invited her to “discuss” her career on his couch.

But that’s not allowed anymore, because of Feminism.

And Mollie Hemingway? It’s odd because I cannot find much specific information on this lady on the internet. Beyond that she’s a highly educated and decorated writer who lives in DC. I know she’s married because she wrote a defense of submissive wives after the whole Michele Bachman thing. But I don’t think she has kids. Which makes this statement all the more puzzling: “ ‘We’re telling women they should delay marriage, ‘lean in’ on career, focus on themselves,” Hemingway said. “And we know these things don’t lead to female happiness.’ “

I have no idea why this submissive wife doesn’t appear to have kids but does have a nationally important voice in the political debate. Or does have kids that are well hidden from an intrusive media, but still travels the country for her day job.

Oh wait, yes I do: Feminism.

And either way, I’m not judging her choices, even if her life seems to give a lie to her words. I don’t judge working moms and stay at home moms and single moms and two moms and dads who are moms and grandmas who are moms again. Because it takes a damn village, and there but for the grace of God go I, and no one should have to feel abandoned and alone before anyone else has walked a mile in their shoes.

You know where I learned all that?

Jesus. And Feminism.

So here’s the thing. If you think your daughter would make a great lawyer, you’re a Feminist. If you think your daughter would make a great wife and mom, you’re a Feminist. If you think your daughter is going to earn a scholarship to play soccer at Stanford or become a Rhodes scholar and get into every single Ivy League school she applies to, you’re a Feminist. If you proudly take her to vote the first time after she turns 18, you’re a Feminist. If you raise your sons to treat the women around them with respect and if you married a man who treats you with respect, you’re a Feminist.

Heck, let’s make this bottom line easy: if you teach your daughter to read and write, you’re a Feminist. And thank God, because in places where they don’t believe in Feminism, girls die on the way to school, shot by men who think they should never leave the house. Their. Entire. Lives.

So come on ladies. Where’s your humility? Maybe you don’t like the tone of womanhood today. I don’t, either. Too much sexuality, too much photoshop, too much divorce, too many babies born out of wedlock, too much abortion. But that’s not Feminism. That’s a crooked culture, and if we could just stop flailing at each other, we could band together like the Women’s Christian Temperance Union and put the crooked straight.

(Well, maybe not just like them, because I do enjoy a good vodka tonic)

The point is that history shows us that women’s voices are strong and powerful and sensitive and maternal and compassionate and unyielding when we have something to protect.

You know how I know this?

Feminism.

The Moon

Have you ever been loved well by someone? So well that you are secure that person will receive you and will forgive your worst fault? That’s the kind of security the soul receives from God. When the soul lives in that kind of security, it is no longer occupied with technique. We can go back and do the rituals, the spiritual disciplines, but they are no longer idolatrously followed. We don’t condemn people who don’t do it our way. All techniques, rituals and spiritual disciplines are just fingers pointing to the moon.

But the moon is the important thing, not the pointing fingers.

~ Richard Rohr, Everything Belongs

We are entering the end of Lent and Holy Week is fast approaching. This is a Christian’s most sacred time, when all our pretensions should be stripped away, and we reach for the poor, the humble, the hurting both outside and inside ourselves.

Don’t get distracted by the pointing fingers. Everything we need is inside of us. Just look to the moon.

Because what is the moon?

A bright light shining in the darkness.

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Ten Years

Ten years is a long time to be married to someone.  –Gwyneth Paltrow

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Dear Gwyneth,

I’ve been married ten years in November and it has gone by in a silly blur. When we got married, my nephew Wyatt was a tiny bump under his mom’s bridesmaid dress. He’s going to be nine in June—nine!  Behind him came seven more grandkids in seven years and all of them are now walking and talking.

I don’t feel like I have aged a day, even though there’s a whole lot of gray hair and twenty extra pounds that give a lie to that story. Shea is thinner than he was on our wedding day, but the gray ghost has caught him by the chin and we’re going to make a lot of money in retirement hiring ourselves out as Santa and Mrs. Claus for parties.

We still fight over the same stupid things we fought over when we were dating. And we laugh at the same stupid jokes. Sometimes we look around at our three kids, two dogs and home that we’ve lived in for almost all of those ten years and say to each other “When did we become grown-ups?”

Before, I prayed for and waited almost patiently for this life. The last ten years have not always been joyful and we have faced some dark valleys, just like everyone else. But even when those folded up socks in the laundry make me want to scream and throw Shea over the mountain, I am grateful that he has given me this life.

So I don’t think ten years is a long time to be married. Not when we’re standing in the shadow of our parents, who have been married 30 and 46 years respectively. Not when I witnessed both my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary celebrations. Not when some of my closest friends, who are our age, have been married 24 and 19 years. Compared to them, we’re still rookies!

And Gwyneth, this idea of “conscious uncoupling” is dangerous. If it was a way to divorce without anger and resentment and with the children’s emotional and psychological health intact, I could get behind it-ish. We don’t speak divorce in this house, but there are legitimate reasons for it to happen.

But that’s not what you’re saying. You’re saying you got tired, distant, bored. That you’ve had enough and there isn’t any more you can learn from each other. That it just isn’t working.

You’re not saying much else, so we don’t know the nuts and bolts. And normally I would say that it’s not our business, except that the conscious uncoupling made it our business.

You want reform the definition of divorce and hide behind the “science” that humans are living longer and are not psychologically or emotionally equipped to be married for decades. That we should stay in our marriages as long as they have something to teach us, and then, like graduating from college, move on to the next experience with no guilt, shame or sense of failure.

Without even a nod to the mountains of research that tell us what divorce does to kids.

Look, if you aren’t willing to work on it, if your anger is too big and your ability to forgive too small, that’s fine. We’re human and we understand those emotions. We’ve all felt a like a five year old at one time or another.

But own it. Say that you have failed, let down your families and your children and yourselves. Be humble. Don’t whitewash it, like it isn’t a trauma.

And keep this conscious uncoupling stuff to yourself. You are entitled to your delusions. But don’t call my marriage and the marriages around me “exceptions” to your delusion, because we aren’t. Most marriages that make it ten years have more resilience in the long run. Not yours, I get it, but who knows what could have happened if you hadn’t put a limit on it before you even started.

Don’t drag the rest of us into it, even though misery loves company. We aren’t faking it, or denying ourselves personal growth by staying with our partners. We’re still learning and growing and our endoskeletons are just fine, thank you very much.

Jen

PS: You’re on a roll, with your conscious uncoupling and your comments about regular working moms, and not in a good way. I have found that when the world seems to be against you, that’s more about you than the world. Might be time for a rethink. Just sayin’.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Afternoon Tea ~ Jen

When I asked my mom what she wanted for Christmas, she hemmed and hawed. She and my dad have been working empty nesters for almost 15 years so if they want something they buy it, and they don’t want much.

This makes it very hard to buy presents for them.

A few days after this conversation, my cousin liked an article on Facebook. I can’t find it, but it was something along the lines of “Don’t buy my kid more presents, give him your presence.” Great idea.

So I gave my mom Afternoon Tea for Christmas.

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We finally got around to going this past weekend. We waited for the weather to warm up a bit so we could wear dresses and strappy shoes. The tea was at the Mission Inn, which is an amazing historical landmark in downtown Riverside, CA. Anne Rice fans will recognize the name—she loves the place and has featured it in one of her more recent novels. It’s hard to explain the Mission Inn—a mix of castle, Spanish Mission, old Hollywood and Garden District Haunted Mansion. Several Presidents have stayed there, and just this visit we noticed a secluded, tiny spiral staircase winding up from the corner of the Presidential Lounge to…the Presidential Suite? There are lots of nooks and crannies and spiral staircases—I counted four and wasn’t even trying—and hallways leading up and down and sideways. Very mysterious in a way that makes you feel like you’re ten again and need to sneak past the bellman to explore.

In the midst of it all is a gorgeous courtyard, sheltered and shaded by four stories of mismatched balconies and box windows. And here, by the gurgling fountain, is where we had our tea.

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I did some research and found out that what we had was Full Tea—served in the afternoon, with savories and sweets—and not a High Tea, which is served later and more like dinner. The Mission Inn Restaurant serves a Full Tea menu from 2 to 4 pm, complete with finger sandwiches, scones and pastries. Everyone gets their own generous teapot, with matching china cup, saucer and plate. Kate enjoyed learning how to properly pour her tea. The food came on tiered plates in the center of the table—and it was more than enough. Crab croissants, egg salad and salmon, sun dried tomato and basil and chicken salad sandwiches for the grown ups; turkey, ham and peanut butter and jelly for the girls. Then brownies, cheesecakes, custards, macaroons, and mousse for dessert.

We couldn’t finish it all so we brought some home to Gabriel. He had begged me to find somewhere else for him to go instead of “that tea”, but he was happy to eat the sweet leftovers.

It was an elegant afternoon, where everyone sat up straight and used their best manners. We chatted and laughed and when we were done, we showed Grandma some of the special places we found on our last trip to the Mission Inn.

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Then we strolled over to one of Dana’s Favorite Places, Mrs. Tiggywinkle’s, to check out the Easter decorations.

Presence…a lovely idea. In fact, I think this one should become an annual tradition.

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Stolen Goods ~ Dana

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*Names have been changed in this story to protect… the guilty (me).

When I was playing volleyball for Long Beach State in the mid 90s, the men’s and the women’s teams were a pretty tight knit group.  We hung out together, went out dancing together, had classes together, dated, and knew each other’s parents.  Among the favorites of all of the parents was Suzy* who was the mom of one of the guys on the men’s team.  Suzy is beyond tall, is always sun-kissed tan, has the perfect natural shade of sandy blonde hair, and a gorgeous twinkle in her sky blue eyes.  And on top of it all, Suzy can bake.  She used to bring bags of frozen chocolate chip cookies for her son and all of his friends.  And they were delicious.

At one point, I was dating Suzy’s son’s best friend.  So we all trundled down to San Diego to Suzy’s house for a few home-cooked meals and lots of beach volleyball.  When we arrived, the guys headed out to the beach and I stayed behind to help Suzy with dinner prep and cookie baking.   As she got her cookie recipe out, I raved about the cookies, and how everyone loved them, then followed up with a question, “May I copy down your recipe?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”  Suzy was also known for being a Dr. Laura-type no-nonsense woman.  She explained that it was her recipe and she didn’t share.  My duties were to man the mixer and start it when she had added all the ingredients.

I’m not going to lie; I was hurt.  And mad.  I mean, really?  Who doesn’t share recipes?

The rest of the weekend was lovely.  Fun, sun, delicious bar-be-ques.  On our last evening there, the kids all went out to a few local bars and had a grand old time.  When we got back to Suzy’s house, we were all ready to turn in as we were going to head back to Long Beach early the next morning.   And when I turned out the light in my perfectly darling guest room, the idea hit me:  I was going to get that cookie recipe.   The boys were all sleeping on the floor in the living room; so sneaking around the kitchen would be tenuous, at best.  Nonetheless, I had the courage of a few adult beverages behind me, and I was on a mission.

I crept down the stairs and blindly started going through drawers.  These were the days before cell phones, so I had no instant flashlight, and I couldn’t just snap a picture of the recipe when I found it.  Soon, I found a paper and pen, and after a few drawers of kitchen utensils and canned goods, finally found her recipe box and scribbled the recipe as quickly as I could, completely undetected.  Thank you, margaritas.

We packed up the next morning, ate the breakfast burritos Suzy made for us, and I never looked back!  I’m a thief and I have no remorse.  None.

So today, I will share with you my stolen cookie recipe.  They really are delicious and I giggle every time I make them.  I hope you enjoy!

Suzy’s Chocolate Chip Cookies

2¼ c. flour

1 tsp. baking soda

½ tsp. salt

2 eggs

1 c. shortening

1 tsp. vanilla

¾ c. white sugar

¾ c. brown sugar

1 12 oz bag toll house semi-sweet chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 375.

Mix flour, salt, and baking soda separately.  In the mixing bowl of a mixer, beat together shortening, vanilla, and sugars until creamy.  Add eggs one at a time and beat well.  Slowly add flour mixture and beat on low speed until well incorporated.  Once all flour is added, stir in chocolate chips.

Drop by heaping tablespoons onto cookie sheet and bake for 9 minutes.