I’m Just A Mama, Raising Rouge Rebels

He’ll be okay, though. I only killed him A little. Inside. His masculinity I mean.

How dare I not move when he was in my way? I mean come on, haven’t I learned, by now, to be completely passive and submissive?  How could I have the audacity to take up Too much space? I’m a little dense when it comes to the etiquette of oppression, so I guess I’ll just ask to be excused for being bold enough to believe that men don’t own every walkway. Especially not in the grocery store. That’s our domain!

I hit my first man, and I gotta say, I feel like my daughters would be proud. My mother surely wouldn’t, but that’s because she didn’t raise me That way. She did her best to teach me what it meant to be a lady, but it never really took. Let’s just say, I’m probably not the Most feminine mama you’ll ever meet. I don’t see that as a bad thing, though.  Like everything else in my life, I’d probably benefit from a little balance, but I love the Rebel Warrior Woman that I’ve become. I can only hope my example inspires my mini mes. Kindness and respect will continue to be the most important things I try to instill in my kids, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want them to keep a little Edge.

I didn’t go to the store looking for a man to hit. It happened by chance, I promise. I’m sure he didn’t go to the store expecting to be hit either. Unfortunately for him, though, he did not leave his sense of male privilege at home, so when he rounded the corner into my path, he got a little bump back. I could have made that infamous “ooop” sound I’m sure we’re all familiar with, said excuse me, and made room for him to pass through. He could’ve pulled his cart back and apologized for getting in My way. He didn’t, and I didn’t so I hit him head on, Boom, solid gold victory my friends!

Not my words, Ludacris’s, but I’m not gonna say the vulgarity doesn’t make me feel a little like a Boss. I’m done yielding every time I brush by a man. If I’m clearly the one in the way, maybe I’ll use my manners, but Not likely. They’ve been in the way for years, yet we women apologize every trip. We turn to the side, let them pass, and say excuse me. Wait what? I was standing in line for my mocha frap when You decided to split through because you forgot your chocolate grahams. Why the hell am I saying sorry for being in your way? Well, not any more ladies. I’m going Rogue.

I’m prepared to endure whatever bruises necessary to begin changing the way men expect us behave when faced with their intrusion. My girls are counting on me, and I want to do my part to make their future world a place where equality for women actually exists. A good shoulder check never hurt anyone, and I’m not scurred! It may actually hurt a little, I’m not going to pretend that I’m physically on par with the male physic, but I’m willing to take one for the team; two or three or ten if need be. For all the men out there, who are on the less than strong side, Beware. I will take you down; I’m pretty sure. I’m aware of the fact that at some point I may even get bumped to the ground if either of us is moving at a mall-walk type pace, but I’m a tough cookie. I can take it. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make ladies. That’s just the sort of team player I am.

I’m not suggesting that you join me on my mission, (I can be a bit unhinged in my approach), but I am going to tell you that you probably apologize, way too much, for things you have no reason to be sorry for. If you’re not sure, Keep count today. Being late, or forgetting something. Being in the way, having something bold to say,  or adding too much salt to the scrambled eggs. Take a look at how many times you apologize in one day. Once you tally up you may just hop on board with me. I’ve been on the hunt for weeks, looking for opportunities to be rebellious, but I still find myself saying sorry when I’m not thinking. I have to constantly remind myself not to shrink to fit the male ego, but I’m not giving up. Through practice I’m learning that you can explain a mistake without adding in a sorry. Men do it all the time.  Most men anyway; I’ll give a nod to the gentlemen that do still exist. (I have to, I’m also a mom of boys) Instead, try thanking someone for their understanding. “My daughter completely lost it on the way out the door because her sister made a comment about bees, and from there she screamed for 10 minutes while I tried to convince her that there wasn’t a bee waiting to sting her somewhere in the house. Thank you for understanding that My life is a mess, and I’m running a little late.” It feels so good to live without apology. Give it a go, and tell me all about it. Send me a message, or join the Messiful Mama Friends Facebook group and share. I’d really love to hear about your first time. 😉

Every time my practice leads to physical contact I’m going to Celebrate. I’ll grab an ice pack and nurse my wounds once the adrenaline wears off. I may not change the world overnight, but every time I mow down a man, a fairy will get her wings, and the scale will tip ever so slightly towards equality. Years from now, my girls will thank their mama; I think.