The F Word

Feminism.

I’m sure a vast majority would never call me the poster child for feminism and would say I have little right other than my gender to speak on the topic, myself included. I grew up thinking that I shouldn’t be bossy. I was rarely one to take the lead, unless I felt overtly passionate about a subject. Even now as an adult, a wife, and a mother, I find myself quiet on topics that I find I can let go when looking at the bigger picture. I pick and choose my battles. I think that’s just part of growing up, and you just hope at the end of the day you’re not on the winning side, but the one that is right morally.

It took having not just a daughter but also a son to really bring me into feminism. I have tried to raise my kids with eyes wide open to prejudice and inequality not just for themselves but those around them, and I’ll be honest, there were bias that I hadn’t even realized I turned a blind eye to before having kids. Never for a moment would I let them believe it was okay to see someone as less or even greater than themselves based on prejudice, even if that prejudice is gender.

All that being said, I’m also a “kept woman.” (That’s the nicer of terms I’ve been labelled staying at home while my husband works.) What I see as a partnership that has spanned almost a decade with my husband that now allows me to be a stay-at-home mother to our two kids, many see as me being bought and paid for. I could sit and list the tasks I try to complete on a daily basis, but the list of things I don’t seem to have time for is nearly twice as long. (Honestly, I shouldn’t even be blogging, which is why, if you look, you will see this part of my life is sorely neglected.)

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Not usually the view I show the world-Chipped nails, no makeup, crazed hair, and passed out while my husband is trying to talk to me. 

Most of the time I just feel worn out. I feel like I have given a piece of myself up to be a mother and spouse. So much so that I sometimes find myself forgetting my own name. I’m just “Mama” or “Addy Osmani’s Wife.”

I’m not complaining. Those are my favorite titles in the world, I’d have to say. I am so proud of my husband and children. I am their biggest fan. I sit in the front row. I take pictures, and I lug around all their crap from event to event.  I cook, I clean, I garden, and I chauffeur. I sit through doctor and dentist appointments. I worry about them all constantly, and I love them more than reason. Even though sometimes I feel overworked and underpaid, the benefits are so great that I couldn’t imagine a career in anything else.

Osmani

#ThrowbackTeamOsmani

Recently I was at an event with my husband. It was kind of a big deal. It was the first one I had been to in a great many years, through circumstance at first, but then as the years went by and his “stardom” (or twitter followers) rose, I became more and more intimidated to attend. Sure, I had been the one to harp on him to finish his thesis for Uni, and I encouraged him to go after his “dream job,” but when it comes down to it, when my husband is on stage, I barely understand a fraction of what he’s talking about. I couldn’t tell you the difference between JavaScript Design Patterns and China Patterns. He dedicated a book to me about these patterns, the JavaScript ones, not the other racially insensitive ones- and I honestly have tried and tried and TRIED to get through it, but I can’t. Not even the first chapter, but I do know that it is beautifully written, and I cherish it.

When I am around his colleagues a lot of times people will ask if I code, and when I say that I do not, they are curious how we met, because I am an anomaly in his world, as he is in mine. We laugh when people ask if I’m in the tech industry. Not to make fun of the person asking or even me, but the idea is very silly to us both, because I am the least tech savvy person you may meet next to your own grandmother. I once attempted to delete System Windows32, but in my defense it was in add/remove programs, it said it was rarely used and taking up a lot of room. (true story) I mean, I have my good qualities. I can make you a pie from scratch or paint you a picture. I break things, and I make things. It evens out.

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I make things.

So, I walked around the event in search of swag to send to a childhood friend that is a huge fan of my husband and also had hopes of finding something child appropriate for the kinder. I stayed away from the fray, because not everyone has the patience to talk to a n00b. That’s when I found a sticker I had been searching for ever since my tablet died, and it refused to be removed.

BINGO! I could have squeed. I may have. I stopped worrying that people were looking at me, knowing I was a total fraud and had no idea what they were talking about, although I listened to each pitch and brought home my husband a bag full of literature to go through.

I was so happy and excited that I forgot being insecure around all these tech gurus, and I asked if I could have not one but two. I know, I know. Greedy, but a girl can never be too careful. (Am I really the only one that has bought a second pair of my favorite shoes, that hide in the closet, waiting for the next blowout?)

When the young woman scanned my badge, she looked at the company listed and asked what I did there, and I made the bad joke of being married to an employee.

I explained the mistake-

My husband works there and to get my badge printed, he typed in his company name while my hands were full. (The badge had printed, and I knew my fate was sealed. That I would be trying to correct people all day, so I tried to explain through fancy networking ribbons.)

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She asked where I did work.

I sheepishly said that I was a stay-at-home mom.

They have those in the tech industry?” She laughed hysterically at my expense. “Don’t tell any women in tech that, because they’ll find it offensive.” She chuckled a little more.

Her words cut me like a knife, and while an older male colleague of hers started in about ageism in the industry, my ears started buzzing. It felt like a punch in the gut, because it brought up all those doubts I had about myself over the years to give up working every day or taking care of my family as a full time job.

My self worth diminished in that moment, I turned away and soon left. Ironically I was on my way to listen to keynote talks about diversity, inclusion, and community. I actually felt like an outsider looking in as they went on, and my recent interactions stewed inside of me until I was slightly shaky from anxiety, but those with unseen illnesses like anxiety and depression (although that’s a whole other blog post entirely) will empathize with me all too deeply when I say that I can plaster a smile on and act like I don’t have a care in the world. It’s an exhausting affair, but I grew up on the phrase “fix your face.”

I still couldn’t believe a woman in any industry would treat another woman like that, but especially a woman in a field that is already facing its own battle with sexism. My daughter aspires to work in mathematics or business, and I kept thinking, what if she had heard that? What if either of my kids had heard it?

Would they think less of me as a mother? Less of a feminist? A woman? Less of a person?

Would they grow up and think less of those that dedicate their lives to raising families and greater of those that have careers?

I learned to type twenty five years ago. I was the only 2nd grader in summer school keyboarding class. I took it by mistake. My mom told me I could learn to play the keyboard, but I’m pretty determined, so they got me a big phone book to sit on, and I was at 35 wpm before I knew it. They said I was adorable, and I’d make a great secretary one day. As luck would have it, I got an electronic typewriter before I ever had access to my own “family” computer.  Today I can type faster than the great Addy Osmani, but that’s about as far as my typing skills have taken me.

Today my daughter can not just learn to type, but she can learn to code and take robotics in the 7th grade! That blows my mind and makes my Grinch heart swell three sizes. That people look at my daughter and see the same potential as my son is amazing to me, because I didn’t grow up in that society. I hope that one day they grow up in a world that is blind to race, religion, nationality, sexual orientation, and gender.

At least that’s my dream. I think as a mom we all hope for a perfect world for our children.

I’m not naming this woman or the company she works for or even the event, because my goal is not to shame another woman. I feel there has been enough of that for one day, thank you. I merely want to point out to women in all industries and walks of life that we can stand together, or we can tear ourselves apart, but if we can’t treat each other with respect, how can we expect the rest of the world to respect us.

 

I would tell her to walk a mile in my shoes.

 

That’s the only response I could croak out to that young woman without crying like an idiot.

I feel so many women don’t even realize this country is more than 220 years old and women have been able to vote for less than 100 years, because we were seen as “less than.”

I implore any women reading this to just be kind to one another. Compliment each other. Inspire others. Support one another.

The world is tough enough on our gender without us being hard on each other.

xoxo

L.

 

P.S. Sorry for the insanely long post, but even though Twitter was little quiet on my tweet, but it lacked GIFs or hashtags of my usual tweets. When it posted to my facebook page , some people wanted an explanation beyond the 140 characters I was allowed on Twitter. So, for the TL;DR you can check out that tweet.

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Hello, Old Friend…

It’s me again. Long time, no write.

It’s been…awhile. I had forgotten what you even looked like to be honest.

Well, as you can see, I still look the same.

10968334_10153324497236754_3484031295877036765_n Two of my oldest and dearest friends have called me out on my writing…or lack thereof. (I like to call it Chronic Writer’s Block, and I’m still working on experimental treatments.) It’s funny how we all have those friends. The ones that have known you so long that even if years pass without saying a word, you can pick up right where you left off without missing a beat. These friends also have the tendency to accurately call you out on your BS.

So, here I am trying to fit a blog post into my crazy life at two o’clock in the morning. Never mind that I have to be up in five hours, still have to get ready for bed, and I have a dentist appointment tomorrow afternoon. Those are just the minor details that I like to call life. I started another blog, and abandoned it. (Big surprise, right?) I have so many things I want to do that often times so much gets overlooked, and the truth is that, sadly, my writing has been pushed to the back burner. Once upon a time, when I felt that I had no voice, I realized that on paper I could let myself finally be heard. I once even won a trip to Washington, D.C., all expenses paid, for a week just because of an essay I wrote at lunch and printed out as the bell was ringing. It used to come so easily. Now, I sit for hours staring at the cursor while it mocks me with its pulsating blink. Write it down on paper, you might say…oh, the paper wad mountain in the recycling bin is just as frustrating. Other times, I can manage to close myself off, get it all down, then I go back to the habit I have had since livejournal and myspace blogs…I highlight and delete, convinced that my voice doesn’t deserve to be heard.

I mean, look at all the blogs out there. Everyone and their mother has a blog. Some people have blogs with their mothers. I am hardly the first person to have an Autistic child, and I am certainly not the first wife and stay-at-home mom. I am not a trailblazer, because I moved from the Ozark Mountains to London. There is no novelty for most people in travel in a world of been there, done that, and I’m still a novice at it anyway. Sure, I bake gluten-free goodies that rock pretty hard. I bake a lot of things that are awesome, but what did I make that I didn’t already get from another blog or one of my many cookbooks? I can craft my little heart out, but when I’m covered in paint, mod podge, or just burned my finger with hot glue, I’m not exactly dying to take pictures every step of the way, and write a how-to manual. To those crafty blogs that I often read, y’all deserve gold stars.

With all the voices out there struggling to be heard, I’m pretty sure mind would get lost in the wind, or at least somewhere along the information highway. I always think to myself, ¨Is this original? Has it been done before? Done to death? Do I sound like an idiot?¨

I think now, it’s probably the sleep deprivation talking, and I promise not to delete this in the morning, but I think that it doesn’t matter if I’m not the first. I don’t have to be a trailblazer, and no matter how quiet my voice is, that maybe there are a few people willing to hear it. My life isn’t a Hollywood movie. It’s not even a made-for-TV or straight-to-DVD movie. It’s just life. It’s messy and complicated. It’s loud and most of the time, utterly exhausting, but it’s mine. I wouldn’t change that for the world. Would I change things about myself? Sure. Loads, probably. Not my life, though. I love where I am and those that I get to spend my days with.

Maybe,

Occasionally

Possibly… it might even be semi interesting enough to write about. I’m sure I can find a few things in the last few years to ramble on about, because currently the best I got is that it’s the kids’ last day of school tomorrow, and I’m having a crown. The one that involves a root canal, not the fun party or royal kind. I feel like I’d rather be chased by a serial killer clown than write about that, and I don’t want to imagine how painful it would be to read. Now, I should probably get to bed.

Tomorrow’s a brand new day.

Procrastination and Love,

L.

xoxo


Happy Halloweenie to the Old Skoolers!

Hello, boys and ghouls.

It’s been a long time for me to post a blergh. My personal life is kind of crazy right now, but I’d like to push that aside to remember happier times.

When I was a little girl, I loved Donald Duck, because whenever I was scared- when I first got my ears pierced, when I had to sit on Santa’s lap…my Daddy would do his best Donald Duck impersonation. He passed away a long time ago, but sometimes it feels like only yesterday, so it’s nice to have the memories that I do.

So, in honor of my Daddy and of Halloweenie, and the great and powaful Donald, I’ve decided to take a post away from my usual viral shenanigans and pay a little tribute…(don’t worry I’ll be back with more dancing prostitute dogs and such later).

 

For all the old skoolers that remember seeing this when there was still a Mickey Mouse Club…

 

 

This gave me the smile I’ve needed for days. Hope it brightens your day…

It wouldn’t be my blergh if I hadn’t asked a pointless question to my stalkers…

What was your best Halloween costume? For three years in a row I was Cherry Mary Muffin, because three different people bought my costume and took me trick or treating. My mom, my grandmother, and my aunt. I hate cherry muffins. So, I want to hear about some rockin’ awesome costumes.

Have a ghoul night!

xoxo

L

 

 


Dirty Balls? Clean them up.

With Orbit?

Now that would be a hairy or sticky situation, depending on how you looked at it…

Either way, the answer is Axe. These people have made a video so long shocking that it can only be viral.

My advice is to not watch this near children, or your kids will get on the school bus and start talking about clean balls.

-Damnit my rice cakes are stale…

On that note, here’s your video.

Blergh.

Yeah…I know, right?

It was too awesome for me to just throw on facebook. I first had to blog about it for all the world to see, then lazily throw it on facebook via my blog afterwards. Which really sucks of me, mostly because I haven’t blogged in such a long time (sars), anyway…

Well, I actually really hate Axe in general (it makes my sinus cavity bleed), minus the media…So, world, what’s your favorite smell/scent?

Lazy Love.

xoxo.

L.