On Bra Sizes

Recently I saw the following meme and I felt some feelings.

Can I get an Amen?!

One of the grand common threads that unite all women (on my facebook feed) is that none of use can find bras that we like, are flattering, fit well, and are easily accessible within our paltry clothing budgets.

What gives bra manufacturers? Don't you want our $30? APPARENTLY NOT. Don't even start with the idea that 3-4 INCHES of fabric should add $50+ to the price of a bra. I shop at JoAnns, I know how much fabric costs and you can buy it wholesale.

It's not just big boobs vs small boobs as this meme suggests either.

G-d forbid if you're not in one of the four cup sizes VS sells. Smaller than a B cup? Get some weird ugly padding or Hello Kitty! Bigger than a D? Drive out into the boonies to a specialty shop to buy a boring ugly bra for $80+ OR settle for a 40D or some other nonsense that will give you back pain and make you look weird in your work clothes because you really should be wearing a 34G/H that no one will sell you. I say this as the lady in a $80, sort of ugly 36F because even the fancy specially bra shop a half an hour drive away didn't carry any 34G/H bras. (Yes, the internet exists, but it takes just as long to measure yourself, order something, and send it back because the sizes are meaningless and it still doesn't fit. At least driving out to the bra store is something I can do while leaving Toddler and Preschooler home with their daddy and thus has the added benefit of feeling like "self-care").

And, neither my body nor my breasts are even that big. Like, you don't look at me and think 'she has huge tits!' I look sort of average which is usually a huge privilege, but when it comes to women's clothing, even the whitest, thinnest, C-cuppiest of us don't get nice things, sizing that means anything, or pockets.

Posting some stuff!

Friends,

I have decided that I sometimes put a lot of effort into writing comments on people's facebook pages, because... I'm not really sure? Instant gratification? Social Pressure? I'm a person with a smart phone? It's a mystery.

Suffice it to say, I'm gonna start posting some of that shit here and y'all are gonna like it. (Or not... Whatevs)

So, happy new year! Watch this space for random tidbits and feel free to bother me if you see my fabulous diatribes elsewhere.

On Being an Urban Sprouts Family

Ellicia being introduced

My daughters' school recently broke ground on their new building and the Center's Director, Ellicia, asked me to speak from the perspective of a parent. Here is the text of my remarks: 

When Ellicia asked me if I'd say a few words on what it means to be an Urban Sprouts family, I knew the answer immediately. Being an Urban Sprouts family means being a member of a diverse, loving community where each individual is respected and valued.

The teachers are highly trained and skilled professionals who partner with parents in our shared goals of raising inquisitive children who can confidently make a difference in the world knowing their own worth and respecting the value of others.

Parenting is hard. There are so many choices, so many expectations, so much judgement, and it's all on you to not mess it up. They say 'it takes a village to raise a child' but they never tell you where to find your "village" and so many families are left isolated.

Urban Sprouts lives their values of diversity and community by bringing families together for fellowship at every opportunity. In addition to annual events like the chili cook off and the cultural picnic, there are little things like tastings of snacks the children prepare with fresh herbs and produce from the school's garden and curriculum nights where parents work together with their children on crafts.

These events and the community spirit that they foster don't just happen. It takes time, it takes money, it takes intentionality and a great deal of effort. For that, I'm extremely grateful to Ellicia Qualls, Andrea Barragan, and all of the Urban Sprouts teachers. 

It takes a village to raise a child and Urban Sprouts is a crucial part of my family's village.

Dachau Or My Feelings After the 2016 Election

Work Sets You Free.
The gate to the Nazi concentration camp, Dachau in southern Germany.

In 2002, I was an exchange-student at Ohm Gymnasium in Erlangen, Germany. We went on a field trip to Dachau, a concentration camp. On the bus on the way there, they assured me not that many Jews were sent to their deaths at this particular camp. 

This was mostly a concentration camp for gays and socialists. 

I think they told me this to help me feel more comfortable.

I walked around with some of my friends from class and as we were leaving one of the German kids, I think his name was Manny, handed me a piece of chocolate.

I was ugly-crying and could barely speak, but I felt like that piece of chocolate meant something. It felt important.

We got back in the bus and started driving back. As we drove up the hill, I looked out the window and noted the charming German houses with their cute little flower-boxes built in the eighteen-hundreds and earlier. 

Then, I looked out the window. 

From the bus I could see over the walls and into the camp. From the road, I could see the barracks that they had a rebuilt as a museum. In my imagination, I superimposed the pictures of grotesque human suffering perpetrated in that concentration camp some sixty years ago onto the quaint, well-manicured museum grounds there today.

It was those flowers. The flowers in the front yards and the cute little picturesque flower-boxes that struck me. 

From those windows, while tending those flowers, the people who lived in those houses could see into the camp.

They could always see. 

I thought how? How could people wake up every morning and see that out their bedroom window? 

I realize now in 2016, that I really don't want to find out. 

Fast Forward

It's been almost two years since I last updated this blog! In that time, BeeToddler has become BeePreschooler (she loves DC Super Hero Girls, My Little Pony, The Hobbit and all things adventuring, especially maps and treasure) and BeeBaby has become BeeToddler 2.0!

BoyBee mentioned that he likes to read my writing and that I don't share it enough recently, so... I'm back. Going to try to do this and stick with it since it makes me happy and maybe it will make you happy too person who is probably FaceBook/Twitter friends with me anyway.

The Art of Asking

This week, I have been looking to Amanda Palmer for reassurance. Boybee is out of town and both Beebabies are sick (Boybee and I are too, but who's counting?). I had been freaking out about how I was going to handle a toddler and a newborn by myself for a week and Boybee basically had to force me to call my family in for help, and thank God he did.

I hate asking for help. The other night as I was sitting there with my screaming baby in the ER, not having slept at all in the past 24 hours, the doctor said that we could go home or be admitted observation for 24 hours. Immediately, while crying and coughing almost as hard as my 5 week old baby, I volunteered to just go home. We would be fine, I said, I can manage. The doctor looked at me and said, no, and admitted us, and thank God she did. Part of my reasoning was that I was already asking too much of my mom and grandma and I couldn't ask them for more. They jumped at the chance to help, of course, as did my sister and my friends, (my grandma had gotten dressed and driven over at 3am when I called so that I could even go to the ER with the baby in the first place). Just thinking about waking up the toddler and taking her with me to the hospital makes me feel sick but still it took so much to make that call. I hate asking for help.

I followed the kerfuffle surrounding Amanda Palmer's kickstarter and seen her TED talk about asking for help and the artistic exchange, and I had agreed with her. Boybee runs kickstarters for work, so I know that they don't make you rich (you're more likely to lose money on them) and besides, as a fan I would rather my money go to the artist rather than the label. No one gets pissed at the music exec making millions and he's not doing anything that special. In her TED talk, she describes a musician who is uncomfortable passing the hat because "it feels too much like begging" and that resonates with me more than anything else. It feels shameful to ask for anything.

In almost every other aspect of my life, I am shameless. I pop my boob out in public to breastfeed without batting an eye. I've asked for (and gotten!) raises/promotions at work. I ask questions when I don't understand even if it might make me look stupid. If you ask me a personal question about my experiences, 9 times out of 10, I'll answer in as much detail as you will accept. I truly believe that shame is a counter productive emotion.

And yet... I can't ask for help, even when I need it. The past 36 hours have been rough, but I cannot even imagine the hell they would have been if my grandma, mom, and sister hadn't been there to take care of Toddlerbee. So many friends offered help too, though I'm not sure I'll be able to bring myself to accept any of their offers... One is easy to say no to since she is on the list of folks who we need to avoid because this virus is contagious, but maybe I'll try taking some others up on their offers?

The past 36 hours have been rough, but I don't think I've ever felt more lucky or more loved.

And Fall Passed Quickly By

Fall was super hectic for this PAX widow - Prime and then Australia as a single mom in my third trimester of pregnancy was a little much. We'll see how South and East with a toddler and an infant treat me! Luckily, I have family in town so I'm not actually alone, but things are always easier with two parents.

Babybee 2.0 was born and my abdominal muscles rejoiced! We followed our preset naming conventions - one name for a progenetrix and one for a Star Trek character (though 2.0's name also pays homage to a favorite Marvel character as well as our favorite restaurant).

Halloween was pretty fabulous - I went as the Death Star because Babybee 1.0 wanted to be Darth Vader. My entire life (and by that, I really mean since high school), I have wanted someone to do theme Halloween costumes with me. Boybee is so not into dressing up - he only wears his Spock costume because he has a really nice replica Starfleet Uniform. Since I can't count on my spouse, I had to go and make a whole new person for this. Last year, Babybee 1.0 was Yoda (since we had the costume as a hand-me-down) and I was gender-swapped Han Solo (since the annual Halloween party we go to had the theme of Space). This year, Babybee 1.0 wanted to be Darth Vader and being pregnant, I figured it was the perfect chance to go as the Death Star. I am still sad that I didn't end up making that Padme costume, but oh well.

That's no moon!

Now I have two people with whom to do theme costumes and I am really pumped. It kind of sucks because PAX Australia is going to be over Halloween again in 2015 which means Boybee will once again miss the fun. And, of course, PAX East falls on Purim this year. My favorite holidays just can't win this year.