Sexy Without Sex: Abstinence in Twlight

New Moon-- the second installment of the Twilight saga-- premieres today. If I go out to my front porch and listen closely I can hear the shrieking of millions of teenage girls (and, in many cases, their moms) as they descend upon movie theaters nationwide. Hey, I'm going too. I usually like to read up on movie reviews beforehand, so I trotted off to rottentomatoes.com to find out what the hipper-than-thous had to say about the sequel. Most of what I found was predictable disdain, not entirely unfounded or unexpected, but something else struck me as interesting. Nearly every review was preoccupied with sex. Or rather, the lack thereof. It's been a while since I've seen the word "abstinence" used to much in connection with a Hollywood movie, though I could almost hear the snickers. Virtually every major critic seems to agree that the books, and their film counterparts, are about sexual repression and the silly idea that sexual urges should not instantly, completely gratified. For a minute, I wondered if we had read the same Twilight.

But of course that's what they see. Our culture has a short in their collective brains at the concept of passionate love without passionate lust. Our lovers, no matter how star-crossed or challenged, always make love. It's good for the box office bottom line and it reaffirms all of the sexual propaganda we've been hearing for thirty years. Then along comes Ms. Meyers, with an epic teen love story....that doesn't encourage premarital sex. What? Teenagers who don't hop in the sack at the first hormonal convenience? That's unnatural. It's uncomfortable. It's downright dorky. The human/vampire dynamic doesn't disturb anyone, but rather the idea that love can be restrained without being repressed. One has to equal the other, right?

I have one word for all of them: yearning.

We've really forgotten what that means. Here's a refresher: deep longing, esp. when accompanied by tenderness or sadness (dictionary.com). Synonym-- desire. It has been so long since we've seen a love story without sex that we've almost lost context for such an idea. But for all of her faults as an author, Ms. Meyers gets it. She understands that yearning is a powerful force, one that speaks to a much deeper part of our souls than insta-sex. Just think for a minute about all of the teen girls swooning over her books....why haven't they flocked in similar droves to other, more "sexually liberated" versions of the same story? The answer isn't just Robert Pattinson's hair or Taylor Lautner's abs (which are, to be fair, a work of art). Women are attracted to this strange, old-fashioned idea of....waiting. They are intrigued by this love affair in which honor, restraint, and-- yes, let's use the word-- abstinence are just as integral to the relationship as desire, passion, and hormones. And I am not sure why they consider Ms. Meyers such a prude. I've read the books; after their marriage, Edward and Bella happily dispose of restraint and yearning in favor of pleasure and satisfaction on the scale of a small hurricane. Seriously, the furniture suffers. I am a rather jaded reader when it comes to romance, but even I gasped-- not because she was overly specific but because it was so incredibly appropriate. Would we care so much to see them consummate their relationship if it had happened in book one or movie one? I don't think so.

In any romance, the journey is the really important part of the story. We all know they'll end up together....what we care about is how. We want to be mesmerized. By refusing to pander to the sexual expectations of our culture, Stephanie Meyers makes Bella and Edward's journey far more compelling and far more satisfying when they can finally give answer to their physical desires.

Three cheers for vampire abstinence.
Maybe our culture could learn a thing or two from the undead.

We Carry Them

We are both wearing babies, me and this girl, barely eight.
I am folding laundry and she is walking for water, or for food,
or away from bullets, from fire, from rape. We are both barefoot,
but I am standing on carpet and she is crossing sand,
wading through deserts. We have both made our carrying cloths
but mine is soft and clean while hers is a tired shawl, barely a rag.

I want to take her into my house and hold the baby so she can rest.
I want to feed her macaroni and cheese, to give her my shoes and
my good jacket. I want to knit her a hat and make the baby a blanket.
I want to tell her that wherever she is going, she will find shelter
and that the baby will live.

It's easy to have these good intentions towards a photograph.
Nothing is required but sympathy, that delicate ache that rises and falls
like an ocean swell....and that can be just as fleeting. It would be
easy to turn away from the picture and forget both of them by the time
I finish putting away towels. Chalk it up to a moment of rich American guilt
and move on. After all, the things I want to do are silly and impossible.
She's half a world away, buried under war and hunger and plague like
a survivor of earthquake under a collapsed house. It seems foolish-- even arrogant-- to think that I can do one thing to help her or the thousands upon thousands like her. It's like trying to stop the tsunami of human pain with
a bucket.

But I know Someone who can help her, who knows her name and the name of
the baby on her back, Someone who fathers the fatherless. When I pray for her,
He listens. And I have to believe that my kindness matters, even if she can't receive it herself. All of the tiny threads of love-- carrying my child, cooking for my daughter, teaching little ones about God, giving what I have so that others may go serve-- form a web that can blanket the world. I cannot love her but I can love those within my reach, and they may love those in their reach, and link by link the chain stretches even to Africa. Blessed are the feet that may take her the gospel, blessed are the hands that may give her a cup of cold water cold water in His name. May my feet and hands be blessings to those in front of me.

Ether

You pull me out of the ether
down from the nebulous dark

When my heart drifts,
a black balloon under blacker clouds,
you tether me to earth
with your cry, your hunger,
your relentless need.

I never knew that
helplessness could be so powerful
that you are caring for me
by your inability
to care for yourself.
Your fear makes me
brave
Your weakness gives me
strength

You pull me down out of the ether
out of the nebulous dark
You shepherd me through storms
until we rest by still waters,
until we sleep on solid ground.

A Laundry Prayer

Lord,

Thank you for this pile of laundry.

Thank you
that my house is filled with people whom I love
who have health and vigor enough to get dirty,
who live and laugh well in their clothes,
which you have provided.

Thank you
for machines to help me wash and dry,
for the little hands that help me fold,
for the closets and drawers to hold what is clean.

Thank you
for baby drool on my t-shirts
and chocolate milk spots on my daughter's playdress,
for the endless parade of dirty work socks in my husband's boots.
These things are the footprints of blessing
and if those footprints are at times muddy,
it is a grace that we may tidy up in their path.

Skinny Saturdays: What Goes Up

Today was my first week back on the Weight Watcher wagon and I went up-- seven ounces. Not the most spectacular start, but in some ways it's more motivating than a loss. I remember now how hard it is to lose weight and how much focus, drive, and genuine lifestyle change is required. I have to ask myself why I'm back on the program-- to convince myself I'm making an effort so I can feel better or to truly change my relationship with food so I can live better.

I'd like to say I know for sure which one it is. I'm not thrilled at the thought of giving up the drive-thru hamburgers and french fries, the chocolate and the cookies; I'm not ecstatic at resuming my clumsy and awkward attempts at an exercise regime. Eating wrong is effortless. This time around, I'm more aware of what is required for long-term weight loss. Life overhaul anyone?

Small starts. This week is the launch of my incredible ingeniously inspired Pounds of Yarn project. Fast food is keeping me fat. The illusion of convenience, the easy gratification....it's looking for love in all the wrong places. I needed to find something I loved more than Wendy's. Hello yarn.

For some reason, I have lately been struck by the inexplicable desire to Knit Something Big. Something exquisite, something indulgent, something voluptuous. Then, as if the stars themselves were aligned for me, I discovered Cherry Tree Hill's design contest, a challenge featuring their beautiful new line of semi-solid hand-dyed yarn. The rules called for substantial garments of at least six skeins, which fit my Big Knitting dream perfectly.

So over the next few weeks, the twenty bucks a week I've been blowing on artery-killing hamburgers will be going for yarn. I'm designing a full skirt that will satisfy my knitting muse and keep me out of the drive-through. My goal is to be at least five pounds smaller by the contest deadline, which is Dec. 31st. What will triumph....fiber or french fries?

Only time will tell. Stay tuned for the next Skinny Saturday update.

my biggest fiber obsession, sponsors a design contest every year, and this year's challenge features a beautiful new line of hand-dyed semi-solid yarns that just beg to be knit into something glorious. The contest requires at least six skeins of yarn, which is no small investment.

Little Pretty Things

I love etsy.com! It's become quite an addiction-- who can resist beautiful handmade pretties, especially when you have two little girls? My latest find was these two headbands from bohosoulchild, a spunky little accessories boutique. I couldn't resist posting a picture or two of my ladies modeling their fashionable new look.





Aren't they cute?

Blogging Baby: My Sling Makes Me Brave

When my daughter River was about three weeks, her older sister Ember and I were in serious need of a change in routine. A walk to the playground was not going to cut it this time-- we needed to emerge from the New Baby Cave and do something radical. I took her to the beach. By myself.

How does a mother survive a trip to the ocean with a three year old and a three week old? I had a plan of action, plenty of snacks, extra pairs of underwear for everyone.... and I had my wrap sling. We came, we swam, we conquered. No one drowned or disappeared or lost a sandal. Cue the superhero music.

Now I am not one of those mothers who are blessed with organizational skills that make five star generals turn green with envy. I am...scattered...more often than I would like to admit and still learning how to properly keep my home, my kids, and my husband (who needs more care and feeding than he'd like to admit). I don't have a daily planner or a dry erase board with a week's worth of projects assigned to their neat, orderly boxes.

I do have a sling.

You see, wearing my baby makes me brave. With River tucked up on my chest, a modern day papoose, I feel that I can go anywhere or do anything. I can clean house! With a newborn! I can go to the beach in the middle of tourist season! I can go grocery shopping or clothes shopping without fear! I can even go to my local writer's group without worrying whether or not my baby will meltdown in the middle of the group reading. I have my baby sing and I have my breasts and that's all I need for a happy, secure little girl.

People tell me that River seems like such a "good" baby-- a term I have never liked because what mother wants to be told her baby is "bad"-- because she is so contented. She is pretty easy going but I don't think its just her disposition that makes people marvel at how peaceful she is. For most of her day, from the time we roll out of bed until the time we tuck in for the night, she is worn. We do everything together and the benefits are already obvious. She is bright and curious about her world. The prolonged periods of fussing I expected with an infant have never happened. Nursing usually solves her moments of unhappiness and when that doesn't work, a ride in the sling is like magic.

Sometimes I wonder how much "progress" helps us as mothers. At one time, everyone wore their children. Then we became more civilized-- supposedly-- and caring for young children became more and more like a battle...parents vs. the relentless demand for attention that comes with a newborn. Popular theories advise parents to "show their kids who's boss" and "let them cry it out" and are based in the assumption that a newborn is a manipulative little tyrant. Hold your baby and you'll ruin her for sure! This same logic encourages women to force their babies onto a nursing schedule and wean early because it is more convenient than prolonged breastfeeding.

These theorists forget that maybe babies just want to be held, that maybe the Creator designed them that way. My daughter Ember was worn much of the time and breastfed until she was two and a half, and she is nothing like the spoiled, clingy baby the "experts" said I would create by these practices. I look at River and see a beautiful peace that comes when she is in the sling and I know that this is how we were designed. It just fits. Instead of controlling my life, my babywearing allows me to include River in our daily routines, meeting her needs for comfort and security while still getting my work done. It makes me believe in myself as a mother-- that yes, I can love and nurture two children and still get the dishes done most of the time.

Babywearing makes me brave.