Self portrait in a car park, August 2009.
As the only lady in the house packed to the gunwales of testosterone, poor Jen suffers intolerably. Even dear, sweet, lovely little Ezra™ has embraced with great vigour the masculine world of balls, drums, wild animals, mixed martial arts and random shouting.
That said, Henry has his oven and has established a keen interest in the kitchen, even if his spiel is more Gordon Ramsey than Julia Child. He’s also shown an eagerness to learn the fine art of knitting (i.e. stabbing me with the needles and lynching his little people with the wool). He enjoys the supermarket (“What’s that daddy?” “What’s that daddy?” “What’s that daddy?” “What’s that daddy?” “What’s that daddy?” “What’s that?” “What’s that?” “WHAT’S THAT?”)
We have Colin – the baby dolly introduced to Henry when we learned that Ez was on his way. Henry enjoys bathing Colin, wrapping Colin, changing Colin, dressing Colin, putting Colin to bed, feeding Colin, throwing Colin at me. That sort of thing.
Henry helps with the washing. He helps mop the floor, and he – in a fashion – wants to brush our hair. Both lads are fascinated by the vacuum. Henry has graduated from folding clean face washers to folding clean handkerchiefs. If I did not have an ideological opposition to ironing – i.e.,
an elitist con job designed to distract attention away from the subjection of the proletariat to the bourgeoisie and focus instead on creases – I am sure that they’d both be happily waving an iron around each morning.
You see, despite being two of the finest examples of masculinity, my lads are new men. Not metrosexuals, that pathetic fusion of airheaded vanity, unthinking consumerism and poorly chosen shirts, they are NEW MEN, fusing all that is good about the stereotypical man – honourable, strong, robust, physical, brave – with the traits that OLD MAN perhaps lacked – sensitivity, good hygiene, a nurturing spirit.
Comments
Landed here randomly and now a follower.
I like to think of myself as that hard drinking,(past tense), hard working, hard living man about the house. Your mother taught me to embrace most things feminine.
And, at the cost of repeating myself for the umpteenth time now, Please Write a Book. I would even come to Tasmania if I have to, in order to buy a copy.