A Life Of Privilege

I’ve been with my husband for 16 years. After 16 years, you know somebody. I know how he likes his underwear folded and how annoyed he gets that I don’t match socks.  I know he gets moody if he doesn’t get enough sleep and he absolutely can’t stand any kind of road noise. I know he’s a traditionalist that values family. He drinks his coffee black, likes his tea sweet and has mayo on his hamburger.

After sixteen years, I know him is at his very core.  Right?

I always thought so.

Until recently.

Until we had some disturbing conversations about white privilege.

White privilege that he doesn’t believe exists.

And I can’t, for the life of me, wrap my head around that.

He fully acknowledges racism exists, that racism is unfair. But he refuses to recognize the advantages being born a white male have afforded him.

And I kinda get where he’s coming from. He doesn’t feel like he’s had any advantages in life. Growing up the way he did, struggling to survive and literally clawing his way out of poverty with absolutely no support. There is a little part of me that can understand the thought process.  But even when I asked him to step outside of himself and to think in broader terms – not his specific life but in general – he couldn’t see it.

And it’s alarming.

What does that mean?

How can you believe racism exists but then not see how fortunate you are that you don’t encounter it on a regular basis? Or hardly at all? How can you look around at our world and discount the reassurance that is provided by seeing faces that look just like yours on the vast majority of tv shows, commercials, magazines and even toys. How can you discount the fact that you are inherently provided the benefit of the doubt, unchained by demoralizing stereotypes?

I just don’t get it.

And I care too much about social injustices to let it go. It’s something I’ve always been passionate about. When I was in Kindergarten we had a black boy in our class. It was the first time I recall hearing the term black used to describe someone’s race. I don’t remember what the kid said, I don’t even remember if it was a boy or a girl, one kid or more…but I know when I heard him being called black, it was in a mean, degrading, demeaning way that was meant to imply he was not equal. And I was immediately struck with concern. I couldn’t comprehend why that made him “bad”.

I also thought of my father who, as Lebanese, also had dark skin and coarse kinky hair. I thought he must be black too. And I loved my Dad. I was confused. And hurt. And angry. My Dad was not less than!

When I asked my Mom that night if Dad was black, she had a really good laugh and explained he was not. I’m sure we had a conversation about race, although I don’t remember it. What I do remember is feeling a sense of injustice for the boy in my class.

I really don’t remember anything about him except that he was small and always looked sad. He had such sad eyes.  I wanted to cheer him up so I did what any 6 year old girl would do – I ran up to him on the playground, gave him a big ol’ kiss on his forehead and ran off again. I have about five memories from Kindergarten and that’s one of them. Obviously it was significant because it was the very first time I "kissed" a boy. Also he didn’t react the way I expected him too as a vaguely remember him not being pleased about it. At all. 

As I’ve gotten older I’ve thought of that boy a lot. As an adult, I wonder if he was sad because he heard himself described in such a mean way.  If that sadness was born from learning that some thought he was not as good because the color of his skin. I don’t know anything about his life, what he encountered or if he was really even sad at all. But I wonder if, like me, he went home that day and had a conversation with his Mom.

That’s a conversation I won’t ever have to have with my children. I won’t ever have to explain that there are some in this world that will always see them as less than. I won’t ever have to look at my child’s sad eyes when they realize that someone could hate them just because the pigment of their skin.

And that, my friends, is a privilege I get because I’m white.

The Day I Didn't Wear Pants

So today is officially No Pants day.

At least for me.

For some reason when I was getting dressed this morning I just decided it would be a good idea to go to work without pants.

Instead, I opted for leggings.

Let me tell you, it's 100% true what they say - leggings are NOT pants.

Did I realize this when I was getting dressed? No.

It's Friday, I'll go casual. Let me toss on this denim shirt with some leggings and boots. Yep, that will be cute.

Yeah, so cute when every dent and dimple is showing. So cute when you can visibly see your thighs vibrating as you walk. So cute when your butt is sagging past your shirt. 

I've worn leggings before. But I've always stayed on the side of safety. Meaning shirt well past my fingertips.  And I don't know why but it wasn't until I caught of glimpse of myself in the daycare door after drop off that I realized this shirt may be too short.

I had a fleeting thought of running home and changing. But I pushed that thought out of my head and rolled on.

Then I kept looking down, debating. Is it too short? Naw, it's fine. Right? Yeah, totally fine.

This continued as I rolled through McDonalds and on to the office.

What? So I'm too fat to wear leggings. Does that mean I can't get a Bacon Egg and Cheese biscuit and a hashbrown?  I don't see the problem...

It wasn't until I saw my reflection in the office door. Way too short. And way too unattractive.

I had a meeting first thing so I had to wait but the minute I was free I snuck out and bought a tank top long enough to cover my rear end.

So I do believe my leggings to work days are over.

Love Bug

Speaking of love...

I was spoiled rotten this weekend. Spent my Valentines weekend at a B&B. Total surprise.

It was really, really great.

Who knew getting spoiled was so awesome?  Yeah, I could totally do the whole princess gig.

A princess that cleans the toilets and does laundry.

And that's why they call it "spoiled", because it ruins real life for you. You mean, I can't live like this forever? I gottta work and actually do things? Domestic things? Noooooo! Don't make me, please, don't make me. I don't wanna go back to real life...

Actually though, I kinda get spoiled on a regular basis.  I mean, I guess it's all relative, because some women would probably scoff at what I consider spoiling. But hey, hubby lets me sleep in almost every Saturday and does breakfast. I don't know where that measures on the list of spoiling but sleep and food are two of my favorite things so I'll take it.

AND I got to drive his new ride. I guess technically my new ride too, since my income will contribute to the payment. But let's get real - it's totally his. As evidenced by the fact that I said I was driving it and he freaked out.

It was a controlled freak out but still.

"Couldn't you take the old truck?" I could but the new truck is more flattering. Be careful." Nope, planning on being careless. "Are you sure you can drive it?" I'm really not. Since, you know,  I just got my drivers licence 23 years ago. "Don't let anything happen to it." I'll do my best to control the universe. "Don't park right next to any other cars, I don't want any door dings." Well that's no fun because I was kinda planning on parking two inches away from the first beater I saw.

But just in case something did happen, I made sure to practice my "You can't really be mad at me, look at how cute I am" face...

And judging by this photo, I'm glad nothing happened for both our sake!

Ready Or Not

I listened to one of my old CDs today. The Fugees.

Took me right back to 1999. And made me think of an old friend.

I was living in an apartment with one of  my best friends from high school. The guys below us were about our age and we became friends, hung out. It was like our own little Melrose Place.

J used come up and we would hang out and listen to the Fugees.  Over and over. I swear that cd was always playing.

He was a big bear with a million dollar smile. He had this gruff voice, a Chicago accent and he used expressions I had never heard before.  Oh my God, I loved to listen to that boy talk.

One night I heard a clink. Then I heard it again. It was definitely coming from my bedroom window. I peeked out the window, and there's J standing underneath my window with the biggest grin on his face, like he was really proud of himself or something. I pulled up my blinds and he motioned for me to go to my front door.

It's late, past midnight and I'm thinking this dude is crazy. I cracked open the door and he says "Amber, will you make me something to eat? Pleeeeeease?"

I cooked less then than I do now so I made him the only thing I had - eggs.

Thus began our pattern - if my bedroom light was on then he knew I was awake and he would throw rocks at my window to get my attention and I would make him eggs. Sometimes I would make his whole crew eggs. He would brag to them "Amber makes the best eggs!"

I didn't. He was just happy that I was feeding him.

One night we're hanging out with another friend and all the sudden we randomly decide to go to Dallas. Right then. So we just get in my car and go. No one packs a bag. No one tells anyone that we're leaving. We just...go. We didn't even have a toothbrush.

We found a hotel, crashed, got up late the next day, ate lunch at Planet Hollywood. and then came right back home. The stupid things you do when you're young...

Man, I loved him.  But not in a romantic way.

Is that weird?

Maybe I over use the word love. But I feel like I really did, I loved who he was.  I feel that way about a lot of people in my life. Just this incredible love and appreciation for who they are.

I'm not afraid to use the term often. Maybe I say it too much, use it too casually. But when I say it, I say it sincerely.  It doesn't mean the same thing for every person, but it always means something. 

I don't think it diminishes romantic love either. There are different types of love, different levels of love.  I've loved a lot of people in my life. I've only been in love with a few.

Those guys ended up moving into a rental home that belonged to the parents of one of my friends. Right before they moved J did something trying to be funny. But it wasn't - at all. And I got offended. It was still kinda awkward between us when they moved.

He called some after they moved but eventually our friendship faded.

Several years later I was out on a date.  We'd stopped for drinks at a place downtown and as we were at the door someone caught me by the arm. I turned around and it was J.  I gave him a hug and he whispers "You don't have to ignore me just because you're on a date." with that huge grin. Apparently he had been calling my name. I wish I could say I was so engrossed in my date that I wasn't paying attention but no, just deaf.

And that was the last time I saw him.

I wonder what ever happened to him...especially when I hear the Fugees.

Feelin Freakin Frustrated

This day. Ohmygod, this day.

I've been writing another grant. Don't ask me why. I'm a glutton for punishment. I'm actually a glutton for a lot of things.  Apparently grant writing is one of them. Even as I was writing I was asking myself "Why am I doing this again?" It's a good thing I love my job...

So I've been working on this thing since October. And let me tell you, this one was so much harder to write than the last one. Because I have no freakin clue what I'm doing. None. At least with the last one I knew the program - this one, well...I guessed the best I could.

So after months of work, I finally had it wrapped up. When I woke up this morning I thought it would be submitted. But clearly, that didn't happen.

Last Wednesday I sent the grant to our contract grant writer. He offered to review it and I always think it's wise to get feedback. Plus, I think he's probably good. It's unrelated to my assessment, but our paths have actually crossed multiple times - he knew one of my bosses when I did a stint as a congressional intern, also knew my boss when I worked in a campaign office, and we both worked at the same institution for about 4 years. All that crossing but we never actually met.

But when I did finally meet him last Tuesday, there was just something about him that made me feel like he was good. Maybe because right out of the box he knew TRIO. And he made sure I knew he knew. Maybe it was because he asked really good questions. The kind that sorta made me feel like I was being interviewed. Or maybe it was because it was obvious within the first 10 minutes that he's not new to the grant game.

So when he offered to read, I gladly accepted. It was interesting too, because right after he made the offer he acknowledged it was my grant, made sure I knew he wasn't trying to take over and then expressed that I was in no way obligated.  Of course, he did it more subtlety and eloquently than that, but that's what he was doing. It was Handling People 101: eliminate territorial threats, acknowledge ownership and invite collaboration.  Oh, yeah, this guy's good. 

So I sent it Wednesday. I had hoped to get it back on Friday. Thought maybe he would send it over the weekend. Then was just positive I would have it Monday.

Do I just keep waiting? Do I move on? You're holdin me up, man!

And it's awkward too because this really isn't part of his contract gig - this was really just him trying to be helpful. How demanding can I be when he's doing me a favor?

So there's a conversation, he agrees to have it by end of business Tuesday. The end of business comes and goes.

Nothing.

Nothing this morning.

I set a time deadline in my head.

I'm really big into time deadlines. I don't know why. I'm always assigning these secret cut-off  times. And I just arbitrarily make up some random time. Just whatever pops in my head. If they don't respond by 9:30, or I'm giving her until 3, or I'll wait until 4:15...

20 minutes before the deadline, my deadline, I get it with an explanation - first grand baby was born last night.

The good news is that he had nothing but good feedback. The bad news is that I waited a week for basically nothing. Not discounting his effort, but the content of the grant is the same today as it was a week ago.

Of course, I get the assurance of having someone tell me it's a quality grant. Or that he just didn't read it close enough to tell that it's not...

Regardless, it's done. We're ready to go!

Except, we're not.

Because things that should have been done, weren't done.

I am beyond frustrated.

The grant is due Friday. FRIDAY. We don't have time to mess around. We need to work this out and work it out now.

But apparently, I'm the only one that feels that way.

Come on guys, where's your panic?

Can you throw me a bone and at least show some distress? Maybe a little worry? Somethin? Anything?

Of course, I find out at the end of the day. So I'm fired up and bent out of shape and can't do anything about it.

And it's not that I don't think it will get fixed, because I do. In my heart, I feel like it will work out just fine.  It's the eternal optimism that I have - I always think things will work out. It's like I believe I have some sort of a bubble of protection or something that prevents things in my life from really going wrong.  I mean, they can and they have...I just don't ever believe it's a real possibility.

But I'm super irritated that it's an annoyance that should have never occurred. And a stress I don't need.

I was so stressed and annoyed that I ate my entire daily allowance of calories in dinner. 

Now, that's annoying.

I've stayed within my calorie count all week - then BAM, I blow it. And I'm kinda hoping you didn't notice that it's only Wednesday...but " all week" sounds so much more impressive then "two days", doesn't it?  

And I cannot afford to to do that when I am literally blowing up. Seriously.  I look like a swollen tick. A really cute tick, but still...

So for the love of me trying to lose enough weight to fit back into my fat clothes, I'm gonna need everyone that I interact with to get it together.  Because I refuse to driven to another high calorie night!

Truckin Along

Hubby's golf game got cancelled Friday, so he picked me up early.  First stop, picking up our new ride.

We actually considered getting a cross-over at first. We spent a weekend looking and test driving and we're driving down the highway and hubby's like "These just don't have any power." Um, that's because it's just a boxy sedan...You want power? You gotta go with a truck.  

So a truck it was...

The dealership had to order it and we didn't expect it to come in so fast so that was a nice surprise.

Then I got a date.  An actual date -date. Not a "Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom." as soon as the food arrives date. Not a "Sit up at the table and stop messing with that!" date. Not a "Do you want chicken strips or a hamburger? date. But a real, adult, romantic date. 

Saturday we had some appointments for the new house. We picked out windows. Who would have thought there was so much to a window? I mean, I get that it's important to be energy efficient and all that but the amount of options for windows is ridiculous. Just throw something with glass in there and let's call it good. 

We also picked our entry door. All this time on windows and we picked the door in like 10 minutes flat. Let's agonize over windows that no one will even notice but the front door, yeah, who cares about that? 

It's not what I had originally envisioned. I had wanted to do a wood door but some friends of ours built a house a few years ago and their wood door has not held up well - it already needs to be resealed. We looked at...I think they were fiberglass...but honestly they looked cheap. So we were kinda at a crossroads about what direction to go. 

We ended up doing something completely different and went with iron. At first I was a little worried because I thought it would end up a little gothic...or look like burglar bars. But when I looked at the pictures, I think it will end up looking really good. And hubby liked the door, so that was the one.

Our door. Does it look too spanish villa?

I was really worried about building because of all the decisions. It's not that I can't make a decision - I can. It's that generally, I don't have a strong preference. Hubby doesn't have the problem, he has a strong opinion about almost everything so it balances out. I mean, he always asks for my input and opinion but about 90% of the time all I ever offer is "I don't care, either one."  

Real helpful, huh?

We wrapped up the weekend with a family date. Complete with "Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom.", "Sit up at the table and stop messing with that!" and  "Do you want chicken strips or a hamburger?"  

Is She Talkin About Her Vajayjay Again?

**In case the title didn't give it away, this is a post about my lady parts.  If that makes you uncomfortable or nauseous then you might want to consider moving on.**

So remember that time I found out that I have an ugly vagina?

Well, I kinda haven't been able to let it go.

I know it doesn't matter.  Shouldn't matter...but it really kinda does.

Husband was adamant that surgery was a stupid, ridiculous idea. So I dismissed it as a stupid and ridiculous idea too.

But honestly, it still bothered me.

Not bothered me like social injustice, sexism, and muffin top does. But enough that I haven't let it go.

I decided that it doesn't matter what anyone thinks, if I want to do it then I should do it.

So I informed the husband that I was going to do it.

He still thought it was dumb.

And I don't need his permission but I do want him to be on board. So I decided to convince him.

*driving down the highway*

"Okay, so look at this." *turns phone*

"What? I'm driving, I can't look. *quickly glances over* What are you doing?"

"I'm showing you some before and after pictures!"

"Before and after pictures of what?"

"Of vaginas! So you can see."

"Put that away. People can see!"

*ignoring him*  "Okay, so look! *pushes phone in face* So this. *swipes to after picture* And then this. *pause* Better, huh?"

"That doesn't look like yours."

"But it looks better, right?"

"Yours looks nothing like that."

*furiously searches phone* "Okay. Here! This looks like mine. *holding up phone* Doesn't it?" (it really did look just like mine. Like my vagina twin.)

*side glances at phone and then smiles*  

"Okay, then look at this!" *swipes to after picture and triumphantly puts phone in face*

*disgusted face* "Yuck!"

"What do you mean yuck? *shocked* What's wrong with that?!? It's pretty!"

*shrugs*  "It just looks...wrong."

*staring in disbelief* "What? Wrong?!? How does that look wrong?" *looking at picture again*

"I don't know. It just doesn't...look like you."

Oh my God, I have ruined this man. He's gone so long without seeing another one, he's completely forgotten what a vagina should look like.

I'm not sure if I should laugh or cry.