Sluts Vote

(Image from Skreened.com)

STRONG LANGUAGE ALERT!!! Mom, you may want to skip this

Back in the early to mid-90s, when I was coming of age, there were two main topics which dominated discussions about women’s rights. Now, this may be due to where I lived and where I went to school (California, a fairly liberal college) but the two main gender-related topics on the table were:

1) AIDS and the need for everyone to protect themselves from it (via safe sex)
2) Date rape

There was a campus event called “Take Back The Night”: a candlelight vigil where women and men marched through the university in the dark. The event was meant to illuminate the dangers women face at night, most specifically sexual assault, from fellow students or anonymous attackers. Our college had quite the reputation as a “fun place”, and it even won the Playboy title for “Biggest Party School” a few times. I think the designation was mostly true, and was due to an irresistible combination of the location (directly on a beach), the fact that the entire student community is a closely knit town where students can bike or walk everywhere and the weather, which is rarely below a balmy 70%. Anyway, the statistics at the college at the time claimed 1 in 4 women would be sexually assaulted. 1 in 4. This was a message that was frequently discussed: at parties, in the college newspaper, on banners around campus, in class. You couldn’t avoid that message if you tried.

It seems to me as if in the last year the agenda had shifted, pretty dramatically. Suddenly, we are talking about whether women should use birth control AT ALL and whether women in short skirts are “asking for it” and of course there is the growing movement for personhood (which undermines IVF treatments completely) and the restrictions on abortion and more and more….

I came across this article yesterday, which was incredibly upsetting. And I found myself wondering, is this the direction that society as a whole is going?

Then I thought, you know what? Women vote. We matter. We count. We have economic power, as Justine pointed out.

Esperanza wrote a post which has been percolating in my head all day.

The word I am most concerned about is the word SLUT. It is an ugly, ugly word. And it may be the word underlining most of the political debate about gender right now. It’s not spoken, but it’s implied. She’s a SLUT, so she got what she had coming. She’s a SLUT, she should deal with the consequences of a rape. (Including parenting a child, even if she’s 11, even if her father is the father.) She’s a SLUT, I shouldn’t have to pay for her birth control: she needs to be in the kitchen barefoot with her five children.

Aside: why aren’t we discussing why VIAGRA should be covered by public health plans?

Words are powerful, but what if we could remake a word so it wasn’t a slur? What if we could reclaim the word slut, make it our own?

Or maybe we shouldn’t. I don’t know. But I did see someone post a photo of the banner “Sluts Vote” on Twitter and it made my heart glad.

What do you think? Should we try to reclaim the word “slut?” Would that work?

Perfect Moment: Smoke Caught in the Glass

Perfect Moment Monday is about noticing a perfect moment rather than creating one. Perfect moments can be momentous or ordinary or somewhere in between.

My daughter loves to dance.

On vacation, there was a talent show. Ten-year-olds sang songs from such varied sources as Disney’s Tarzan, LMFAO and The Sound of Music.

Suddenly, the MC called my daughter’s name, and my four-year-old little dynamo strode up those stairs onto the stage in front of 50+ vacationers. (Her twin brother, her guard-at-arms, was close on her heels, acting as her bodyguard.)

And she danced. To a tune and rhythm all her own. It was if an unspoilt tropical breeze blew in and took over my daughter’s spirit. But of course, there was no introduced element: it was her own uncynical, carefree soul in its most free form.

And I thought: how honored I was to see this smoke caught in a glass jar: a momentary, blissful joy captured in the wild, even if for just a millisecond of my time here. How privileged am I to have caught a glimpse of this fume in this comely pure shape.

I tried to recapture the moment, here. She is so fluid, so shifting, so molten. She is like how I once was, she is nothing like me. She is she.

Extra bonus: my incredibly terrible cinematography and ugly brass-filled bathroom! Fire extinguisher still on the counter? CHECK!

When the Lines Between the Private and Public Blur

By now, you probably have all heard of the Joseph Kony social media campaign and the unfortunate public breakdown of its creator, Jason Russell.

I’ve watched the Kony 2012 YouTube video, and it is among the more brilliant pieces of viral media I’ve ever seen. You probably have, too: over 80 million people have viewed it. While the video meant to shine the spotlight on Kony and his evil reign of terror (including enslaving children to become soldiers and a lot of other atrocities), it attracted a lot of criticism too. There was talk that the short film was oversimplifying the political situation in Uganda, that Kony was not even the biggest problem in the region (preventable diseases are) and there were some skeptical reports of Russell’s foundation and the way they spent money.

Because Russell involved his own personal story in the video (how he met a victim of Kony’s, a former child soldier years ago and promised him he’d do something about Kony, the birth of his son, his son’s reaction to being told what Kony had done) he (indadvertedly, I think) made himself into a sort of bulls-eye target for skeptics and detractors.

According to his wife, the pressure and criticism really bothered him, to the point where he suffered from “reactive psychosis”.

The whole thing is unsettling to me, as an ALI blogger. My real name is associated with this site, and I have put myself out there as an advocate with the Faces of ALI series. The reason I attached my real name was because I was certain I was strong enough to withstand criticism from the outside world, and I was uniquely positioned to do so, being a SAHM with a supportive family. And I still feel that way. But there is a kind of dread attached to going really viral, like the KONY campaign. I have not yet received that mean comment from someone outside the ALI community. I know that day will come.

What I think surprised me recently is the fact that people within your own cause are not always 100% percent aligned. This makes perfect sense in retrospect. (Of course all individuals have their own unique viewpoint). To be honest, I don’t know much about advocating at all. I’ve never really had a cause to fight for, other than working on political campaigns, which is different than blogging for a cause. I had never told my personal story and connected it to a public problem.

Really, it was something in Harry Potter that spoke deeply enough to me when I was going through infertility and my miscarriages and moved me to advocate. I have always admired bravery more than any other trait, like I suspect Rowling does, probably because a lot of things scare me. In the end, I liked the lesson that Neville Longbottom, who’s kind of shy and timid like me, can be helpful to a cause and his friends simply by putting himself out there and standing up for his beliefs. He chooses to do that, it’s not like he’s an adrenaline seeker. (Like I kind of think Harry is. At least, that’s how I see him sometimes.) He chooses to do it, even though it makes him uncomfortable.

But I so totally, totally understand why so many of you choose not to (and in many cases have no choice at all due to relatives, work, friends, religious institutions, etc) and the last couple of weeks has really gotten me thinking about advocate blogging and the issues involved.

What do you think? Do you think it’s dangerous to mix the personal with the private while blogging for a cause?

The Babysitter Who Works For Us A Few Times A Month: Worth Every Cent of the $60 I Pay Her?

Because I was looking to hire a babysitter of the highest exactitude and excellence, I put an advertisement in our local serviceperson-finding exchange. (A very well-qualified gentleman named Craig manages this exclusive directory.)

The advertisement read:
“Needed: a childcare professional who can handle many specialized tasks. You must be able to finesse our LOB-STAR Elite tennis ball thrower, be a leather-gloved chauffeur who can handle driving both our finicky Mazarati AND our sporty Range Rover, sail and know the starboard from the portside, be comfortable in both the environs of Chez Panisse AND Mission Chinese Food and preferably be bilingual in Mandarian and English. Perks include a private Pilates studio, biannual trips to Nantucket and St. Barts and the company of elite intellectuals who would NEVER sing David Guetta songs.”

Ah, but I did not anticipate how DIFFICULT it would BE to find such a paragon. My own heavenly mother’s helper did not appear, because, good help, it seems, is really hard to find.

There were the intangible qualities I was looking for, too. She would need to extract invitations on the chicest playgrounds in town from daughters and sons of the A-list. (She could only rub elbows with other nannies employed by captains of industry or possessors of very large fortunes.) She must know the difference between Salmon roe or sturgeon caviar, when over at Mrs. X’s house for a playdate. (And let me know, because if it’s the Salmon, she’s down on her heels.)

If this sounds bonkers, click here.

Here’s my actual advertisement:

“Competent, kind babysitter wanted to help out a few hours a week. The children are toddler twins. References and CPR-certified, please.”

I mean, REALLY!!!!

Fresh Horses

“What is luck when it comes right down to it? How exactly does it differ from fate? Are we really the stories we tell? This, Judge, is just the tip of my iceberg. Grace – I need it – I need it badly. But the thing is, I can’t find it. Is it enough to be a decent mother, a wife or do I need to do something big?” She tucked in, her lemony hot breath puffing in his face. “Answer me this: Do you believe today everyone has the goods to be a champion?”

“Ah,” chuckled Artie Green, “a liberal.”

Three Stages of Amazement, Carol Edgarian

In the aftermath of the heated battle which shall not be mentioned again, I doubted myself. I doubted my ability to champion a cause. I thought about abandoning it. There were a few heated discussions with Darcy, wherein he told me that he would prefer me to channel my creative energies elsewhere. Why, he wanted to know, am I so focused on what lies in my past?

There are creative energies that are being left behind. The unfinished novel. I look to Esperanza with naked envy: she has taken her literary aspirations and turned them into a real, living, breathing, wailing, colic-y book.

***

At the resort where we stayed, almost every morning I slept in. I knew this act would be disapproved of. I knew I was missing out on activities, sun, life. But I repeated to myself: “Fresh horses, Jessica. Fresh horses.”

I told my mom before we left, “Faces of ALI is the best thing I have ever written.”

She asked me: “Do you know what the favorite work of every writer is?”

“No,” I replied.

“Their current one.”

***

I read three good novels on vacation. Room, by Emma Donoghue (which I almost didn’t finish: it is that disturbing), Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand, by Helen Simonson, and Three Stages of Amazement, by Carol Edgarian. And also, a Sookie Stackhouse novel. After Room. I needed some light relief.

I hadn’t read a novel in over a year.

***

At the resort, a jovial happy place where smiling seemed de rigueur, cliques didn’t exist and everything was easy, I thought and thought. Why am I the lucky one who gets to enjoy such a place? Shouldn’t I be out in a fishing village volunteering my time? Is it never possible to quell my mind of guilt?

I hung out with native Mexicans and asked them what Mexico was like, now. How was the country holding up in the face of the drug wars?

Armando laid it out for me: “My brother graduated from a top college in engineering. He works at a kind of Bed Bath and Beyond. But he’s lucky. Some of his fellow graduates drive taxis. The economy, it is BAD.”

And the drug wars, I asked?

“Unless you are in a cartel, they don’t concern you. At least, here. In this province.”

***

Why are some lucky and not others? For the longest time, I thought I was unlucky. I blamed the status anxiety of where I live (where BMWs are called “Basic Marin Wheels”) and the fact that having children was not a given for me. That it took science, a lot of it, to make me a parent. I worried that I am such an anxious mom, compared to others. Compared to the lucky moms on the playground, who I see judging me in their narrowed eyes. Oh, she has twins, you see. Fraternal twins. And you know what THAT MEANS.

They worry that my circumstances will rub off on them. They are afraid. They are scared that life is but a sacred veil: an illusion, that we control nothing, that we are born into a set of parentheses. That nothing is guaranteed except death. That death will come for them, too. For none of us wears an invisibility cloak. Ignotus Peverall only fooled death for a while.

***

Like David Foster Wallace, vacations make me ponder death. Why, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s that the business of daily living doesn’t permit thoughts of death to enter into my head.

There was a water aerobics instructor who looked like Brad Pitt in Thelma and Louise and each day he danced to a special routine to LMFAO’s “I’m Sexy and I Know It.” He was in on the joke. He winked. He knew he was helping us bide our time here on this funny, strange, tragic, stunning blue and green ball (I know I’m paraphrasing Anne Lamont here) through his comeliness, his willingness to make himself ridiculous in front of us. To me, he was courageous. For cheerfully reminding us all how absurd life is.

***

This is sounding depressing. I don’t mean it to.

On the last full day of our trip, Darcy took me on a guided horseback riding trek on a deserted, unfathomably lovely beach. We walked our horses past a crocodile-filled lagoon. And our guide let me gallop down the long, U-shaped bay. As I spurred my horse onwards, I rushed past Darcy and the guide, and felt the salt-filled air fill my lungs and nostrils as I steamed across the beach, fully engaged, completely in control of my running mutt of a filly and we both charged into the distance: crazily, optimistically and at odds with our own skeptical natures. (For the horse stepped carefully and I knew her to be of my mindset.)

And that’s what life is: it’s a gambol. It’s a wild ride of a trek. We don’t control it, though we often think we do.

***

In the end, I choose to try to champion.

***

You may not need me, you may well be better off without me, but I need you. You have been my lighthouse in the fog, you have made me laugh, you have made me think, you have made me look.

***

“A woman could die from a lack of real talk. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it a hundred times. And it’s not the kind of thing that a man can or should provide. In fact, any fellow who doesn’t worship his wife’s girlfriends is a fool.”

Three Stages of Amazement, Carol Edgarian

***

Thank you, for the real talk. It means more to me than I can say.

Listen to Me, Keiko Zoll and Single Infertile Female TODAY!

Well, I’m back.

(With all due respect to Samwise Gamgee.)

My interview with Sarah Holland is now up! Hear me and Keiko and S.I.F. talk about our blogs. I think the interviews are up for 24 hours, so until the afternoon of 3/18. Marwil wrote a good overview of the Fertility Telesummit over here.

I am feeling well-rested and pretty energetic. Exercising, horseback riding, camp for the kids, swimming, sleeping in, extensive reading and unlimited virgin Pina Coladas can, indeed, revive a weary old lady to vitality.

Thank you Mexico! Seriously, I needed you

Marilyn Hagerty is Rad

Image courtesy of The Grand Forks Herald

I am the world’s laziest packer. I really, really am. And this laziness causes me to tweet A LOT. (My favorite way to procrastinate.)

And so, I stumbled upon Marilyn Hagerty.

Marilyn is a columnist for a small paper in North Dakota, The Grand Forks Herald. Somehow humor sites like Gawker found a sincere and enthusiastic review she wrote about the local Olive Garden.

“After a lengthy wait for Olive Garden to open in Grand Forks, the lines were long in February. The novelty is slowly wearing off, but the steady following attests the warm welcome.”

There is something incredibly refreshing in Hegerty’s lack of cynicism about the much-mocked restaurant. I mean, the Olive Garden is a punchline with a lot of urbanista foodies. I’m not claiming I haven’t made jokes about it either.

“As I ate, I noticed the vases and planters with permanent flower displays on the ledges. There are several dining areas with arched doorways. And there is a fireplace that adds warmth to the decor.”

I mean, all of her points are TRUE. She’s just so positive and upbeat. ABOUT THE OLIVE GARDEN!!

Eager to learn more, I perused her back archives (no, I still have not started packing), and I found this column called: “When Life Gives You the Middle Seat, Grin and Bear It.”

I mean, she might as well write a book and title it that!!

She even names “Positive Persons of the Week”, an apparently regular feature.

So, as I prepare to leave for my vacation, I will leave you with the words of my new heroine. Hagerty writes a weekly series of letters to the mysterious Shirley. From the latest one:

“I’ve got to say I like Grand Forks, Shirley. Winter is fun watching sports, plays and hearing concerts as well as playing bridge. And when spring comes to the Red River Valley you have a feeling that you are born again. You congratulate yourself on being tough and making it through yet another winter.

I love this. I hope I can be Marilyn Hagerty, when I grow up.

Tears and Wishes For Peace

I woke up to an email that broke my heart. Literally. I can’t stop crying.

And, I think that’s the end result of all of this. I don’t want to fight with friends.

I am taking a vacation and will evaluate all of this. Or maybe I will forget about it all. I will continue along with “Faces of ALI” for sure.

Mostly, I just love you all and think every one of you is rad.

I wish everyone peace.

Xoxo

Jjiraffe

PS: I will be monitoring the comments. Please don’t say anything mean, about anyone. Please. Thanks

UPDATED AT BOTTOM: I just reread this post after taking a short break, and I want to say that this sounds a bit dramatic. I was feeling a bit dramatic at the time Honestly, I heard some truths I needed to, and they were not mean. Want to make sure that was clear. I’m in a more Namaste place, and I am going on an actual vacation in a day. Yay! Thanks for all your well wishes.

S.I.F., Keiko Zoll, Fertility Focus Telesummit and Odds and Ends

Image courtesy of Write Mind, Open Heart

UPDATED TO CORRECT THE SPELLING OF KEIKO’S NAME!!! SO SORRY KEIKO!!!!!!

Just a reminder that Single Infertile Female, Keiko Zoll and I will all be speaking at the Fertility Focus
Telesummit on March 17th! I am huge fans of both and can’t WAIT to hear what they have to say! For more information about this virtual event, a collection of interviews with tons of fertility experts too, click Faces of ALI and my own experience with infertility and loss.

Speaking of Keiko, have you checked out her new site, The Infertility Voice? If you haven’t, what are you waiting for?! Giveaways, a fertility newsletter, tips on living a fertile life, and much much more from the brave, incredible Keiko who asked “What IF?” and became a viral sensation. The Infertility Voice is a place to discuss infertility away from “cultural silence and shame.”

Finally, for fun (which, we could all use at this point?) check out Lori’s Limerick Contest. Project Progency wrote one about me, and it’s awesome! I don’t want to let her down, so can y’all please vote it up? Thanks

Sneetches, PAIL and What Now?

“Now, the Star-Bell Sneetches had bellies with stars.
The Plain-Belly Sneetches had none upon thars.
Those stars weren’t so big. They were really so small.
You might think such a thing wouldn’t matter at all.

But, because they had stars, all the Star-Belly Sneetches
Would brag, ‘We’re the best kind of Sneetch on the beaches.’
With their snoots in the air, they would sniff and they’d snort
‘We’ll have nothing to do with the Plain-Belly sort!’
And, whenever they met some, when they were out walking,
They’d hike right on past them without even talking.”

The Sneetches, Dr. Seuss

In the epic, divisive and frankly disturbing conversation in the comments over at Stirrup Queens, it’s clear that there is a lot of trouble brewing in ALI-land. The trigger is PAIL.

This is worth saying many times: Mel has put her heart and soul into building an incredibly inclusive and powerful community. She created a place for anyone in the Adoption/Loss/Infertility community to gather and make their voice heard. Not enough is said about her technical skills: LFCA is a very cool application that is incredibly easy to use. She built a huge blogroll from scratch and maintains it. She created and hosts a monthly event, International Comment Leaving Week, that is incredibly popular. She creates the buttons and the banners for all of these things. She hosts a yearly event, the Creme de la Creme awards, where bloggers pull their best posts of the year out. Finally is the Blog Round-up, hosted every week and curated by Mel, in which the best posts as picked by readers and Mel.

In addition to all that, she reads thousands of ALI blogs. And runs Prompt(ly), a blogging prompt service for our community. Plus, she also is an editor at BlogHer, manages NaBloPoMo for them and writes bestselling novels. She’s also an exemplary mother to twins and does much volunteer work. And she blogs so, so well, daily.

Writing all that down makes me feel like I waste a lot of time

She has also been a good friend to me. She worked tirelessly to help me get my blog back up. Mel is one of the kindest people on the planet. I admire her tremendously. I wish I could BE her. Seriously.

Mel mentioned “Sneetches” in her post, and I had to look it up because my experience with Dr. Seuss is limited to “The Cat in the Hat” and “Green Eggs and Ham.” She worried that the formation of PAIL is a “Sneetches” moment.

“When the Star-Belly children went out to play ball,
Could a Plain Belly get in the game? Not at all.
You only could play if your bellies had stars
And the Plain-Belly children had none upon thars.

When the Star Belly Sneetches had frankfurter roasts
Or picnics or parties or marshmallow toasts,
They never invited the Plain-Belly Sneetches
They left them out cold, in the dark of the beaches.
They kept them away. Never let them come near.
And that’s how they treated them year after year.”

Elphaba and I are also friends. I admire her a lot: one of her posts, about the Facebook meme, went viral amongst the world at large, and gained her a general audience. Outside influence is a big key to educating the world at large about ALI. Because we know the mainstream media sure as hell isn’t doing that, right MacLeans?!? Elphaba has also been a tremendous source of support for her ALI friends both publicly and privately. Seeing such negative remarks about her in the comments of Mel’s post is hurtful to me.

Here’s where it gets super complicated. It was maybe this post which caused Elphaba to really get motivated to form PAIL.

In it, I tried to answer the question, brought up by MoJo Working, is there an expiration date on an ALI blog? And what the heck is my blog? My passion is “Faces of ALI”: my next post is being written, and I apologize it’s taking so long. I hope that I bring a journalistic slant to the table, and I try to educate people about ALI so we don’t have to all feel so misunderstood.

“Then ONE day, it seems while the Plain-Belly Sneetches
Were moping and doping alone on the beaches,
Just sitting there wishing their bellies had stars,
A stranger zipped up in the strangest of cars!

‘My friends’, he announced in a voice clear and clean,
‘My name is Sylvester McMonkey McBean.
And I’ve heard of Your troubles. I’ve heard you’re unhappy.
But I can fix that, I’m the Fix-It-Up Chappie.’ “

Elphaba’s response reminded me that deep down, I do want to talk about parenting after IF, sometimes. The challenges of it. The feeling of parenting under a cliff that may fall on you at any time, because you have known and seen loss and, frankly, you are traumatized by the time you spent in the trenches trying to get pregnant. The use of wartime analogies is, according to a therapist I saw, appropriate. We have seen the “war” of infertility and loss. A lot of us have PTSD, from the NICU, from our miscarriages and losses. I would love to see a support group for us to navigate our way through this uncertain land. And that’s what I thought PAIL ultimately was: an additional tool in the ALI community. A robust group that would help me when I need it, just like LFCA and ICLW help me when I need it. I was thinking that I would pop in and out of discussion there, and title any posts “PAIL” so people could skip those posts if they chose.

To be honest, I thought of PAIL as a group similar to the “Open Adoption Roundtables” I often see written about on some blogs I read.

I assumed it was cool with everyone. I was wrong. Mel was very upset and hurt. And this is painful to see. Stirrup Queens is the hub of ALI land, the Grand Central Station, if you will. I don’t want that to change. I didn’t expect that to change. I assumed that would never change.

Mel is upset because she thinks PAIL used her ideas to create a universe where some members of ALI are excluded. She called it a “Sneetches moment”, because she already had created a blogroll of parenting after IF blogs. And she doesn’t want anyone to be excluded.

“Changing their stars every minute or two. They kept paying money.
They kept running through until the Plain nor the Star-Bellies knew
Whether this one was that one or that one was this one. Or which one
Was what one or what one was who.

Then, when every last cent of their money was spent,
The Fix-It-Up Chappie packed up. And he went.
And he laughed as he drove In his car up the beach,
‘They never will learn. No. You can’t Teach a Sneetch!’

But McBean was quite wrong. I’m quite happy to say.
That the Sneetches got really quite smart on that day.
The day they decided that Sneetches are Sneetches.
And no kind of Sneetch is the best on the beaches.
That day, all the Sneetches forgot about stars and whether
They had one, or not, upon thars.”

What’s become clear is that those in the parenting after IF community FEEL excluded. People are afraid of losing readers by talking about parenting, or else they say they have lost members because they talk about parenting.

My own personal take is I don’t want to have to trade in my ALI citizenship. I really don’t. I’d like to be able to visit PAIL, though: a community where I can talk about parenting. I might not reside there all the time or even most of the time, but it would really, really hurt to have to choose. I am a Sneetch after all.

What do you think?

PLEASE NO PERSONAL ATTACKS ON EITHER MEL OR ELPHABA. I WILL NOT TOLERATE THAT.

UPDATED: I feel the need to add that so many of us (me included) are worried about Mel being upset. But the truth is we are ALL upset: somehow this has triggered feelings of exclusion amongst almost every group on the ALI spectrum. These feelings must have been below the surface, waiting for something to blow. I feel like that is what is ultimately being expressed in the comments: people are worried of what their place is: whether it’s TTC, whether you are single, married, gay, TTC after parenting, adopting, parenting after infertility, going through cycles, going through loss, living childless/childfree after loss and or infertility, or surrogacy. I’m sure I’m leaving someone out and that’s the point: Mel includes everyone, at the hub. The problem is: how do we convince others that while we may need additional help from time to time among peers we would NEVER exclude anyone? That seems VERY clear: from even the harshest comments on there, NO ONE wants to exclude anyone. We are all Sneetches. So how can this be resolved? I have no fucking clue. Please. If you have any ideas, jot them down below.

All excerpts from The Sneetches copyrighted by Dr. Seuss.