This last year and all of the craziness that went with it was hard. It was also wonderful and amazing. But, shit did get crazy hard. Being under constant attack by someone who is hellbent on making your life miserable for absolutely no logical reason will take its toll.  I endured it without any response to them. Not one reaction to them about all of the messed up flustercluckery they rained down. It was surprisingly hard.

The reason I say surprisingly is that I generally don’t stand up for myself. I will smile and take copious amounts of verbal excrement without responding in kind. Then I will take a deep breath and try to let it all go. Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

But, tonight I didn’t do that.

Tonight I had someone pop up out of the blue raging about some nonsense that I had zero to do with. Normally I would apologize, even though I had nothing to do with what happened. Instead, I let them know I had no idea what they were talking about and wished them a good night.  They then brought up some drama and began to spin a tale in which I should somehow be indebted to them. Indebted to them for things they didn’t even do. I didn’t smile and nod.

I did take a deep breath.  

Then I corrected them.  I called them on everything, gently but firmly. I wished them well but made it quite clear that I was in no way indebted to them for anything.  I sent them away with hugs and hopes for happiness.

And then they really lost their damned mind.

Which I could care less about. It felt REALLY good to get it out.  It felt REALLY good to say “nope, I do not think that means what you think that means.”  It felt REALLY good to not let them bathe me in undue guilt.

It felt REALLY good to truly stand up for me and still be all Namaste.

In the last year of craziness, I learned a thing.  

 A really good thing.

You learn a lot about yourself when you are sitting in the “women’s waiting room” with a bunch of women old enough to be your grandma and all of you are wearing only a hospital gown. Watching us all get ushered in and back one by one to get or breasts origamied in the mammography machine. So many looks exchanged wondering if each was here for just the annual or if there was a darker reason for it. No one wanting to ask.

I did not get my favorite tech, but I did get an awesome one. She had a thick Minnesotan accent and understood that humor is my defense mechanism. She asked me about Furiously Happy: A Funny Book About Horrible Things. I told her how great it is and how Jenny Lawson‘s first book made me laugh so hard that I peed my pants. She said that sounded like her kind of book. Then, during the most bizarre and uncomfortable pose I have ever struck in my life, I said “Well, this is it. This is going to be my Christmas card this year.” She LOST it. Tears down her face. It was fun. Then she told me I should write a book.

While she was rearranging my boob on a cold, plastic slate.

Life is a strange, funny, wonderful ride. Even when it’s scary and awkward, a momentary connection or genuine laughter is right around the corner.

I hope you all had a wonderful day today! <3

I don’t say it much, but I frequently feel like I’m failing- as a person, as a friend, as a mom, you name it. I feel like I’m flailing my way through life trying to be the best I can be, but the little voice in my head says it’s just not enough. We all have that voice to some extent. Sometimes I feel like I’m failing as all of them at once.

Before I sink too deep in that feeling where I almost can’t breathe, life throws me a line. Last night, before her bath, eldest was (and someday she’ll find out I documented this and probably smack me, but it was such a beautiful moment that I’ll gladly take the hit) dancing in front of the mirror. Wiggling her booty, checking out all her bits and parts while singing “naked baby, naked baby” like they both did frequently during bath time when they were wee little ones. It wasn’t some inappropriate dance of an older woman. It wasn’t the self conscious dance of a tween. It was just pure childlike joy of being naked, alive, and free. I totally cried. She didn’t see me, but I did. I worry so much about them growing too fast or having their own voices in their heads filled with doubt.

Dear Sweet, Wonderful Child of Mine,

Love of my life, light of my heart, pain in my tush- I truly love how much you love Doctor Who. I love that you feel compelled to fervently reply when someone posts a hypothesis that Rory was the Master online. Your retort was well thought out and articulate.

Just two tiny things- 1. the internet allows anyone, and I do mean anyone, to write whatever drivel they want about anything, and I do mean anything. Engaging in arguments online is rarely a good idea.

2. If you ever wake me up at the 7am on a Sunday when I’ve been sick and exhausted all week to read me the aforementioned hypothesis and your retort again, I swear on all that is holy, sacred, and Gallifreyan that you will wake up one morning to a giant angel statue at the foot of your bed. You won’t know when, you won’t know how. It will just happen.

And I will not feel sorry.

Love you the mostestest,

Mommy

Since I began this blog years ago, my girls have grown.  They are nine and ten now. Pre-tweens.

And I want to hit rewind and pause on a regular basis.

The problems they faced then were so much easier. I could kiss it better.  Now, it’s the big stuff. The stuff that scars if not handled right. The stuff that shapes them as young women.

I am super proud to be a member of the Geek Girls Book Club.  (Seriously- join us here– boys are allowed!) We’ve read some incredible books. This month, though, it’s perfect timing. April is Yes, Please by Amy Poehler. I’ve felt for a long time that she was my spirit animal. Now I know she is. It’s so smart and funny and EMPOWERING.

There are so very many quotes in it that resonate with me. Some are a balm for old wounds. One of those that struck a cord hard is:

“It takes years as a woman to unlearn what you have been taught to be sorry for.”

When I posted it on Facebook last night, it turns out that I am not alone.

From abusive relationships to upbringing,  we all bonded with the realization that we apologize for so many things that we need not. As a gender, we are forced to apologize for just being us. It is one of the hardest habits to break.

AND WE ARE DONE.

So, the “I’m Not Sorry Summit” will be coming.  Along with one of my soul sisters, we will be creating a week-long event that builds women and girls of all ages up. That fills them with love and the tools grow. To use their voices to implement change. To build each other up.

To not be sorry.

In the mean time, pick yourself up a copy of Yes, Please.  You’re welcome. 🙂

*This post was originally published on my blogspot blog back in 2013(ish)

If you were with me for the last post, you got a lil introduction to my dear friend the #truthbat. You also heard tale of the things in the outside world that have driven me to the point of this giant two-part blog. Now I’m going to let you in on my inside world. If you missed the last one, let me get you up to speed right quick.

1)We as women have got to stop treating each other and OURSELVES like shit and blaming it on men. Seriously, knock both parts off! #truthbat

2)We need to put the damn Ginsu knives down, step away from all the bullshit, stop knocking each other down and start building each other up. #truthbat

C) If we fail to do this, we are dooming every lil girl in our lives. Period. #truthbat

As the events in the last post were occurring, there was a theme interwoven directly in my own life. My own relationships with women. They forced me to wield the #truthbat on myself and do some reflection as a woman. As a friend. As a mom. As me.

I’ve always known I wasn’t wired quite like other females in my life. Growing up when other girls were gossiping, primping, vying (i.e. brawling) for social status and boys’ attention, I was doing my own thang. I wore what I liked, listened to what I dug, talked to whomever I wanted to and hung with more guys than girls. Part of me has always chocked it up to being kind of different in general. I just related to guys more than girls. None of the other girls rode a skateboard or played video games, could hack a computer or really shared most of my interests. I was just me. And I still am in a lot of those ways. Not that I haven’t grown, changed, evolved. I have. But, then and now, it’s on my own terms. For me. At my hand. In my own way.

It wasn’t until I was older that I started to reflect on the confusion I face when looking at my own gender. When gossiping didn’t end. When I began to really witness the false smiles. When the females I did bond with started getting stabbed in the back by other females. I still don’t play well with others in that manner. And I’m clearly still reflecting. But now I know that I am not alone. While I still have a bunch of guy friends, I also have a bunch of pretty incredible females in my life too. Others that are also wired differently. Or are they? Is it a matter of wiring?

While on my crusade of reflection, I’ve been looking at women in my life directly, in my life via other friends and completely outside of my life. I’ve been silently watching interactions between women in stores, at functions, on Twitter, on Facebook walls and yes even on the dreaded TV. (Total random side note/question stemming from “boob-tube” as slang for TV. Why is it that boob originated in like 1905 to describe “a stupid person; a fool; a dunce” and is now used to describe our breasts as well?? Welcome to my random ponderings) In all of this, I found a big commonality. Another reason for me to be proud to be a geek girl. In a whole, I discovered a whole lot of love amongst my sisters in geekdom. Enough for me to state that I believe that, in terms of groups, geeky gals bond and support each other more than other groups. You can get several geek girls together and no drama. Are we truly wired differently? Is it because we get so excited when we encounter each other that we bond and support rather than engage territorial behavior? Don’t get me wrong, we will talk all kinds of smack against each other via Xbox Live while playing. But, when we log off, it doesn’t carry over. I have seen so much support from geek girls for other geek girls’ projects and lives in general. It makes me squee. We are, for all intents and purposes, a minority in our own lil right. We’re cool with that though. We’re cool with each other. And we support our fellow geek guys.

Alright, having said that, I need to state, we aren’t perfect. We are not superior. We have our own lil quirks. In fact, one recent incident has been gnawing at me because it doesn’t stick with my theory (ok, technically hypothesis as it can’t truly be proven).

Months and months ago there was a geek girl I started following on Twitter. I Follow Friday’d her every time I did them. I tweeted at her to engage conversation or show support of her project. After months of this I realized that not only had she never followed me back or replied to any of said tweets, she really wasn’t nice to people. So, I figured “eh, it’s just Twitter” and I unfollowed her. A few weeks went by and the path of turmoil she was creating went outside of Twitter and into people’s lives. It bothers me because it’s people I call friends, but I’m trying not to let my claws out. Yup, I have one of the traits that I have scolded other women for. #trutbat. Mine come out DEFFENSIVELY to protect those I care about or the underdog, not OFFENSIVELY to claw my way to feeling better or to a higher position. Regardless, I am still trying to use them sparingly and I totally didn’t want to start using them on another girl that waves a geek flag or shake up my lil geek girl community.

So, a couple of weeks ago I got a new geek girl follower and she’s great. When it came time to do some Follow Friday’s I used the old one from the aforementioned geek for this new one. I swear my only thought was “oh! I always liked this one, now I can use it for her!” That’s it. Nothing else occurred to me regarding it until the new girl was happy and RT’d it. And like a minute later guess who suddenly requested, after all this time, to follow me? Yup. The Aforementioned One. And I let her. Trying to be nice. Trying to give benefit of the doubt. Trying not to shake up lil community. Does she talk to me now? Yup, she’ll send me a random tweet on Friday mornings. Only on Friday mornings. Now she’s incited full-blown eye twitchage. To make matters more difficult, one of my good friends that is being affected by the Aforementioned One outside of Twitter is left in the same quandary I am. We are used to being ourselves, calling people on stuff and confronting situations head on. Yet, because it is a fellow self-proclaimed geek girl, we don’t feel like we can do that. We are forcing ourselves to smile, be polite and try to let her behavior slide. Which goes against who we are in a lot of ways. I realize the very posting of this is so passive aggressive and I’m not the passive aggressive type. Which bothers me all the more. The decision to do so comes down to two things. The first is me saying “fuck it.” If it shakes things up, it shakes things up and I accept full responsibility for everything that I’ve said here. I’m not sure what else to do and I need to just get it out. Maybe just the purge will do it good. The second is to prove an important point in this whole post- THERE ARE EXCEPTIONS TO EVERY RULE, EVERY THEORY. #truthbat Not every geek girl is wired the same way. Not every woman is wired the same way.

And not every exception is a bad one.

This brings me to another recent situation. We’ve all heard of the dreaded love triangle. The old scenario and it’s variations; two women fighting for same man, same man dating the same two unknowing women. Not long ago I found myself witness to a doozy of one. I lost track of how many women and the full drama that ensued, which is all unimportant. I know it sounds juicy, but I don’t dish. The reason it is here is to bring forth something that took me aback. Typically when drama of this nature goes down, the women don’t team up and go against the man (at least right away), the first reaction is to extend claws and gouge each other’s eyes out. Amidst all the craziness, all the drama, all the hurt feelings, the confusion, the gamut of emotions on all party’s parts… two unheard of things happened. The first was two separate women involved on two separate occasions uttered “This would be so much easier if you were a skanky whore, but you’re not. You’re really great” and “Wow, I gotta say I really like you. I didn’t want to, but I do.” Yup, insults didn’t fly. Eyeballs remained intact. Secondly, those two women both offered respect to another woman’s decision as to what she was going to do and what she would and would not discuss and actually followed through with the respect. And only one confirmed geek girl in the whole bunch.

We have it in us ladies. If while faced with matters of the heart, which tend to be the most sensitive of things, we can remain respectful and polite, well there’s no reason while on a day to day basis we can’t work together to move past these stereotypes that we’ve placed on each other. Yup, placed on each other. #truthbat

In my quest of reflection I have worked on who I am. Specifically who I let in my walls. This blog may make it seem like I don’t have any walls. I lay an awful lot of myself out there. But, I assure you I do. It’s a rather complex series of walls as well. Built over the years by myself, sometimes by the doing of others, sometimes by my own. There are people in my life that I like, people that I call acquaintances, people that I call friends and people that I feel a true bond with. Those that I feel the bond with are allowed access past more walls than others. For that reason, I tended to avoid bonding and I think especially women, as odd as that sounds. So, I have, in the last several months, made myself more open to possible bonds.

Out of the bonds I have made, I was wrong about only one. It’s still a hard one for me because we shared some really deep commonalities that most would never understand. Been through the same levels of Hell together. She showed me her Hell, I showed her mine. In the end though, her drive for acceptance of others, for attention from others proved the bond to be false. You have no idea how it hurt to know that I had shared so much with someone who turned around and pretty much pissed on it and bastardized it for her own benefit. You know what though? I’m ok. It didn’t kill me, it didn’t wreck me, it didn’t change me and it didn’t prevent me from bonding with or hurt the bonds that I had with some AMAZING women.

Maybe it’s not so much how we are wired. Those that are similar in me in how we treat the majority of other women, interact with them, support them, peacefully exist with them all have faced the threat of being forced into a stereotype at some point in their lives. Maybe it is a matter of embracing and being true to who we are no matter the circumstances.

These women are all very different in their own ways. If we were all standing in a group, just looking at us and our vast differences, you would wonder what the connection would be. What it comes down to is our cores. Our hearts. Our characters. And I love every one of them. We don’t talk every day, we don’t get together every week. But each one knows I am there for them and I know they are there for me. That if anything was needed the other would be there in a heartbeat. That no matter what direction our lives may take, no matter what distance lies between, no matter how long between conversations, that bond will remain intact. It’s not a forced bond, it doesn’t need to be babysat. It is nurtured naturally in its own way, it’s own pace.

They have all taught me lessons that I will forever be grateful for. Thank you will never be enough. Each has overcome very different obstacles and emerged beautiful, inspiring women. Women who lead by example.

The first woman I have ever proudly called my “BFF” (even though she’s more of a soul sister), who has the biggest, purest heart I have ever seen and we have an undying pact to lovingly whack each other with the #truthbat as needed. The saner pea in our crazy lil pod @StacySnook. She’s also the only one in my life that has truly taught me to embrace my inner girliness I have shied away from for so long.

The woman who gives herself far too little credit, is beyond real, who taught me to take risks, that dreams aren’t worth anything if you don’t work toward them and proves geek girls don’t come in one boring mold. In fact, she makes her own in so very many ways. My sexy ass sista in geekdom @KyleeLane

The woman who has helped me keep more balance in my life so far than anyone ever has, that has taught me it’s ok to take time out of life for myself to work on me, the person that encourages me regularly that being a work in progress is indeed a good thing, my voice of reason (and dorky sista from another mista) @BerniXiong

I have to admit I am in awe and so thankful for all the response and support from everyone that read the first part of this post. I hope that the second part hasn’t let ya down.

My quest shall continue. It’s legacy will hopefully live on with my girls. I hope one day they will, as @GeekWithSoul has wished for his daughter, read this and laugh about how things USED to be. That they will have pages of amazing women in their lives that also lead by example.

But this will only be if we make an effort to step up, lead by example, work toward change and gently keep each other in check when we don’t. Seriously, I may love your ass, but if you step outta line, I’m coming with the #truthbat. *mwuah*

Saturday, May 05, 2007

The beauty of a name
Current mood: content
Category: Life

Growing up in a suburb like mine, having the name Natali was kinda rough. I was pretty much the only person with the name and the only real “famous” Natali’ that anyone would have heard of at the time was the chick from the Facts of Life. I HATED the fact that she had my name. Most of my generation watched that show and she was so frickin’ annoying. Blech. So, I really disliked my name. It grew on me as I got older, when I got to that age where being different didn’t suck quite so bad. Then, I got to the point where I liked it. It was during the time where I guess I finally just started feeling comfortable in my own skin really.

Like, dislike, indifference, all the phases I went through with it, never once did I think it was beautiful until I was 22. Living in California for a while at that point, I had finally gotten used to hearing other people being called Natalie. It took a while for me to stop saying “what?” every time I heard it. It’s commonplace settled in though. I was running a group home for autistic children at the time. My little guys were all amazing and I loved every one of them. One, in particular, was a challenge to me. Ryan didn’t speak at all, except his own name on rare occasion and singing “bah bah black sheep” to his toy radio. There had to be some way to get through to him and I worked my ass off on trying to find it.

After several months of being there, I noticed he used to like to watch whomever was in the kitchen cooking. So, I hunted down a cooking class for those with special needs and started taking him. The third class, the case manager for the company decided to come with me and Ryan. I am so glad she did. We had gotten to class earlier than usual and we walked Ryan to the bathroom. We sat there talking by the sink while we were waiting for him. Not but 10 seconds before he came out of the stall, I heard “Natali.” I just sat there agog, staring at the CM, hoping she had heard it too. “Did he just say your name?” Ryan came out of the stall, looked at her and me and said “Yes, Natali.” I cried. Yup, that’s right. I stood there in the bathroom, watching him wash his hands with tears just rolling down my face. It was the only time I would ever hear him say it, but it didn’t matter. I knew at that time that I had gotten through. Hearing his voice speak it, my name sounded beautiful.

Flash forward to present time and my name spawns a story that sums up the residents at the facility I run now. They are all amazing in their own way as well and I love the hell out of them too. While most of them call me Natali, there are three that have their own name for me. Robert calls me Natasha, Michael calls me “Antanette” (yes pronounced like that) and Will calls me Nadia.

About three weeks after I started the job, I was in my office one morning while Michael came running up. “Antanette, Antanette, I didn’t get my hug yet this morning.” The next thing I know Robert is standing there “Michael, you’re nuts, her name is Natasha.” Then Will “You’re both stupid, her name is Nadia.” A heated argument ensued. I attempted to diffuse it by saying “Actually guys, my name is Natali.” Will turned at me and yelled “Shut up, Linda!”

And Robert still calls me Natasha, Michael still calls me Antanette and Will still calls me Nadia. As for Linda, I’m still trying to figure out who she is.

For as long as I can remember, I have been a Star Wars fan. Every birthday I’d get pissed because I’d tear open my gifts and instead of an At-Tat or the Millennium Falcon, I’d get a freakin’ Monchichi or Strawberry Shortcake’s latest sidekick. Some solace was taken in the fact that I was the only girl that ever got to play Leia at recess. Part of that was probably the fact that I was the only one that could do the buns, but I didn’t care. I remember tearing ass down the isle to front row center when we went to see Return of the Jedi. While I may have lost my Star Wars sheet set along the way, I still have some of my trading cards left and my trusty rusty Return of the Jedi lunch box still faithfully holds some of my art supplies. And of course I own the DVD box sets.

One cold, rainy Saturday morning a couple of months after she turned 3, my eldest monkey figured out how to open the secret door of the entertainment stand and handed me “Phantom Menace.” “Mommy, this is my movie choice. I wanna watch this one.” The pride, oh the pride. I patted her head, told her it would be too scary and too hard for her to understand and insisted she pick a new one. Bless her gorgeously geek heart, she stood firm on her choice. Her arguments in the end were simple. “If I don’t understand something, I’ll ask you mommy and if it gets too scary, we can turn it off.” Hells bells, you can’t really argue with logic like that.

Ten minutes later, another fan was born. Two more actually, lilest monkey sat in wide-eyed wonderment cheering and booing right along with her. But, eldest took it to a whole new level. The rest of that weekend was spent watching all six in order up to her new beloved Anakin was “saved.” It floored me how little I needed to explain to her. There are so many favorite moments from that weekend. I think my favorite was when Luke made it out with Vader and she looked at me and said “Wow, he actually managed to pull it off.” Not remembering I was talking to my 3 year old and being mother of the year- my response? “Right? He’s kind of a wuss.” Sorry folks, I was a Han Solo girl all the way.

Most of my friends weren’t entirely surprised at my “how I spent my weekend.” I swear everyone we encountered over the next few months heard her tales of the battle of dark and light, the path of a Jedi, the power of the force, the wisdom of Obi Wan and Yoda, her undying love for Anakin and the importance of having really good friends be they human, wookie or robot. Then one of my friends sent me a now rather famous YouTube clip of a 3 year old explaining Star Wars. I watched it and giggled. It didn’t really occur to me the vast differences between that 3 year old and mine. VAST. Thinking she’d be happy to find a kindred spirit, I showed her this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EBM854BTGL0

I expected a giggle. I did not expect her to lose her lil mind. She seriously damn near cussed that lil girl out. It went like this:

(Bear in mind, I did warn her it was only about New Hope, aka “When they save Leia” – oops I forgot to mention she renamed them all. I’ll footnote the rest.)

“What? The ‘sand people’ are Jawas and they aren’t that important.”

“ ‘Shiny one?’ ‘Shiny one?’ It’s C3PO. Duh.”

(At this point I’m staring blankly at my irate lil monkey.)

*HUGE GASP* “NO ONE MISPRONOUNCES OBI WAN KANOBI’S NAME!! NO ONE MOMMY!!!”

“Huh? That ‘light up sword’ is a light saber! Light SABER!”

“Leia wasn’t in jail. She was being held captive by Imperial Forces.”

“That’s it?? That’s it?? What about the subplot??!” (WTF!? Did my 3 year old really just say subplot!?!?!) “No Han? No Chew? MMMMOOOOOMMMM!!!!”

“Yeah, Darth will getchya because you, you are NO JEDI!!” (Yes, she was totally pointing her lil finger at her too.)

“Mommy, don’t EVER show me that girl again.”

That’s when it became clear to me that she wasn’t your average 3 1/2 year old. It also became clear I was raising a lil ÜberGeekGirlie in training. In my book, that’s just awesomsauce.

Yes, she still plans on marrying Anakin and is desperately pleading her case to her sister for decorating their new bathroom all Star Wars. My money is on her. Lil geek girls FTW!

***As promised- she renamed them all right away to remember them better. Never mind the fact she could tell you who Qui Gon Jinn was. So, in order:

“When Anakin was little”

“When Anakin became a Jedi”

“When Anakin caught on fire”

“When they save Leisa”

“When Luke becomes a Jedi”

“When Luke saves Anakin”

As a single mom, there are many big questions I get asked that I have to answer on my own. I tried to co-parent those answers with their father, but well that’s a whole other story. Some I have successfully dodged, some I have not.

Today Eldest turned nine. Nine going on ninety, which is what you get when you have girls who are old souls with huge, active minds. One of the most amazing things to me as I have watched them grow is, even when they were in my belly, I could feel their personalities. So different, yet so similar. Proud, strong, loving, inquisitive.

And little forces to be reckoned with.

They tackled me last summer and made me tell them about sex. Eldest, my Spock of sorts, always pulls out the logic that I can’t refute. Even at 7 (almost 8). She said “Mom, you’ve avoided it long enough and kids are starting to talk. Would you rather we learn from you, or from them? Some of them aren’t so smart.”

Today they asked me what religion we are. So I thought about it and I talked it out with them.

Neither one of the girls are baptized, which is something that bothers my parents. I was raised Catholic, but the Catholics and I definitely do not see eye-to-eye. I refused to pick a random church to have them baptized in to appease other people. There are cultures and faiths that wait until the children are old enough to choose to be baptized. Also, I don’t believe that there is a God that that would fault children for the choices of their parents.

But, that doesn’t mean they lack in beliefs or spirituality. They’ve been to church. They know who Jesus is. And Ganesh. We have a giant Buddha they call “Our buddy Buddha.” And they love to celebrate Christmas and Hanukkah. And to make a Thanksgiving Tree every year filled with the names of people we are thankful for.

All of this has one thing in common: Love. Love is the recurring theme in our lives. The cornerstone by which all the decisions I make are made. When they were one and two, I created a family motto and rules that all go back to that motto.

Our motto? “We’re All About the Love.”

It is our foundation.

We believe in love. In the power of it. We believe in not saying goodbye when we leave, but “giving love.” We hug people we just met. We hold doors open for strangers and give them random compliments. We donate to and help those in need. We believe in showing love to those we barely know and especially those that don’t seem like they deserve it. We believe that love is the most important thing in this world. We believe that everyone has the right to be loved and to love whomever they want. That every human being is worthy of love. That love has the power to save lives and change the world.

Our religion is love. <3