Today, I attended my first Intro to Computer Programming class. I was the only woman in a class of 18. Surprisingly, I don't think that I was the oldest in the class, as there was a gentleman who seemed at least my age, if not a bit older. The professor is a very large, very geeky, very socially inept man who studied computer programming when it was still called data processing (college in the 1970s).
The trouble started when I took my seat. I'd made an egregious error and sat directly next to a young man instead of sitting a seat away from him. (It was the closest seat I could get to.) He looked at me as if I'd just offered him a toasted tarantula, spun in his seat, and refused to look at me the entire class. Well all right then.
Then came the "social" aspect of the class. You all know how wonderful these are, right? Tell us about yourself, yadda yadda. In this case, the professor handed out neon yellow sheets of paper and asked us to write our names, addresses, and phone numbers on the top middle of the paper. Then, draw a 5" x 5" square in the center of the paper. (Older man in class, named Cleotis: "But I don't have a ruler!" Prof: "Just estimate." Cleotis: "Without a ruler, I can't estimate!" Prof: "Just give it your best shot. It's okay if it's not perfect." Cleotis: "It's not gonna' be perfect without a ruler.") Then, we were told to draw a self-portrait in the box. Half the class looked completely panicked; the other half thought this was hilarious. After the drawing portion of the class, he had us turn the paper over and answer a series of questions about ourselves. You know, thinks like what math classes have we had, what computer classes have we had, the names of any of our pets, etc. We turned the papers in (the kid next to me didn't even turn his head to look at me when he passed the papers my way), and then came the really fun part.
The professor stands in the front of the class and says, "Okay, now we're going to do the social part of things." He looks at me and says, "This is going to be easy for you. The social part is always easy for women. It's when we get to the programming that it's going to be hard because you have to focus on one small thing at a time, and women have a hard time with that. But that's okay, because you're going to have it so much easier with the social stuff, like now....But there are some very good women programmers out there, because women are so organized!"
He continues with, "Okay [he says okay a LOT], I want you to introduce yourself to your classmates, and learn all you can because then you're going to be introducing your classmates to everyone else when we're done. Okay? Now, go." At which point, the kid next to me immediately turned his back to me so that he could converse with the kid sitting next to him. (That kid is my favorite in the class. He's the only one who treated me like a person. His mannerisms make me think that he has Auspergers Syndrome, which may be why he didn't treat me any differently than anyone else.) I looked around and everyone had paired up, leaving me sitting at the desk looking utterly ridiculous. For several minutes, I just sat there. Then I pulled out my phone and started texting my husband, because, well why not, no one else was talking to me.
A few minutes later, the guy behind me tapped me on the shoulder and introduced himself to me. He's an older guy - well, older than the rest of the class - at around 25 or so, and very cute. He had just moved to town eight days ago from Panama so that he could take classes at this community college so he can transfer to UIUC. We chatted briefly (he hates the cold, he's living with a female friend at the moment, no family here with him) before I hit the death knell to the conversation: I brought up the fact that I was married. Almost as soon as I mentioned my husband, the guy bowed out of the conversation. Kid you not, I mentioned Max, and within two more words, he nodded out of the conversation and started talking to the guy next to him again. Huh. Well, alrighty then.
The introductions come next, and the prof started with the Panamanian, Christian, who proceeded to introduce the guy next to him. Around the room they go, sharing this and that about each other. One guy had gotten up at the start of the introductions part to "use the restroom" and didn't come back until the introductions. He got to introduce himself, so he said his name and that he's a full-time student. Next!
My favorite guy, the one who I think has Auspergers, was awesome! He introduced the guy next to me by telling everyone his full name (middle name, too), age, birthday, number of siblings (and genders), favorite video systems (and which one he owns), favorite video games, which systems his mother owned (Wii) and which ones he owned himself, what he's planning to go to school for, and his favorite color. One of the other guys said, "How'd you guys get an hour when we only got 10 minutes?"
The prof goes around the room and when he gets to me he says, "So, did anyone talk to you?" I said that yes, I'd met Christian, and indicated the guy behind me. The prof asked me to introduce Christian to the class, so I did, mentioning that he was from Panama, had just moved here, wasn't liking the cold - at which point the professor interrupted me mid-word to tell a story. He then passed on to the next guy. (And before anyone asks, no, I wasn't rambling. I had said exactly as much as I posted here before I was interrupted.) No one introduced me to the class.
The prof then moves on to start actually, you know, teaching the class. He starts out with a sports reference, moves on to a gaming reference, and from there jumps into some technical jargon about some scientific study about how programmers work. Finally, he commences with the teaching, which he did fairly well. I enjoyed the way he explained things, and he did a great job with entertaining questions and getting the class involved.
There are at least two guys who are obviously going to be messing with the prof throughout the class. They'd tried to sit in the back row, but the prof made them sit in the front row instead. They know quite a bit about computers, so this is obviously a pre-req for them and not something that they're going to learn anything in. That led to quite a bit of taunting of the prof, who mostly missed it because he's so socially inept that he didn't get it.
There's another guy who is absolutely adorable. It's obvious that he's an over-achiever type who just wants to get things done right, and the professor's inability to answer his very specific questions regarding how the grading is going to work was making him more and more agitated as the class went on. After class, he finally cornered the prof to get direct answers, but he left probably more frustrated than he had been. I felt so sorry for him because you can tell that he's going to be a mess until he gets those questions answered.
Most of the guys in the class are younger - 18 to 22 probably - with Cleotis (pronounced clee-OH-tis), Christian, and maybe one other guy older than that (he came in late and missed the introductions, lucky duck).
The topic is interesting, and the personalities are a trip, but if the prof keeps trying to be so "inclusive" of me in the class, I don't know how long I'll last. It was pretty clear that he was just trying to prove that he didn't mind women in his class, but in doing so came across so horribly. I really have no idea why, but I felt completely humiliated by the end of the whole "social" part of the class. I just wanted to crawl into a hole. His social ineptitude should not make me feel awful, and yet somehow, it did.
So the next time someone asks, "Why are there so few women in computer science?" you'll know the answer.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Change But Not
This February will mark 19 years that I've lived in Illinois. That's 14 years longer than I'd intended. Now, it looks as though I'll be stretching my time in this state out another year or two... or more.
My first reaction when my husband told me that he'd been offered a job was elation. Finally, I could hand the responsibility of our family's financial well-being off to him. He had completed his degree, and the onus fell to him. He set to work applying for hundreds of jobs from one side of the nation to the other. I knew that my time in the Midwest was drawing to a close. Then he said that the job he'd been offered would be here in Central Illinois. I didn't bother stemming the tears.
Several friends have asked me why I want to leave here, what's so awful about where we live? Nothing is awful about Central Illinois. My issue has nothing to do with the state, and everything to do with me.
You see, my goal in life has always been to travel, to see new things, learn about different cultures, find out who I am when I'm not with people just like me. Unfortunately, due to a series of life circumstances, that hasn't happened. The furthest that I've ever lived from my childhood home in Iowa is here, in the heart of Illinois. I have traveled - England (twice), Canada, and 30 of the 50 US states - but what I haven't done is lived elsewhere. Traveling has its place, and I certainly enjoy it tremendously, but a vacation is not the same as living somewhere. It's like taking a sip of ambrosia before someone whips it away from you. You get to glimpse your ignorance, only to have to leave without learning how deep it goes.
For those who are happy in the safety of what they know, this must seem odd at best, and downright bizarre at worst. I don't know how to explain it other than to say that my soul yearns to know what's on the other side of the fence, the road, the city, and beyond. That lack of knowledge taunts me, a bone in the face of a starving mutt. No distraction will pull my sights from it. I see nothing but the horizon.
Knowing how I feel - and with a bit of his own wanderlust to contend with - my husband hesitated to take the job. Though the position is ideal in nearly every way, he questioned the wisdom of accepting it. Would doing so cause more harm than good? Would I - could I - accept another year or so in the confines of cornfields and soybeans? Could he? The job would mean financial security the likes of which we'd never known in our married life. It would mean stability for our four children, and us. And most importantly of all, it would offer him a leg-up for any job he wanted down the road. How could he not take it?
So, here I sit, amid the wind-scorched acres of land, wishing that I were anywhere but in this chair, in this house, in this town. Again. Nineteen years is a long time to yearn for something, and though I often wonder if I will ever leave this place, I know that we've done the right thing. For right now, this is where we belong, for better or for worse, and we'll deal with the disappointment. For now.
My first reaction when my husband told me that he'd been offered a job was elation. Finally, I could hand the responsibility of our family's financial well-being off to him. He had completed his degree, and the onus fell to him. He set to work applying for hundreds of jobs from one side of the nation to the other. I knew that my time in the Midwest was drawing to a close. Then he said that the job he'd been offered would be here in Central Illinois. I didn't bother stemming the tears.
Several friends have asked me why I want to leave here, what's so awful about where we live? Nothing is awful about Central Illinois. My issue has nothing to do with the state, and everything to do with me.
You see, my goal in life has always been to travel, to see new things, learn about different cultures, find out who I am when I'm not with people just like me. Unfortunately, due to a series of life circumstances, that hasn't happened. The furthest that I've ever lived from my childhood home in Iowa is here, in the heart of Illinois. I have traveled - England (twice), Canada, and 30 of the 50 US states - but what I haven't done is lived elsewhere. Traveling has its place, and I certainly enjoy it tremendously, but a vacation is not the same as living somewhere. It's like taking a sip of ambrosia before someone whips it away from you. You get to glimpse your ignorance, only to have to leave without learning how deep it goes.
For those who are happy in the safety of what they know, this must seem odd at best, and downright bizarre at worst. I don't know how to explain it other than to say that my soul yearns to know what's on the other side of the fence, the road, the city, and beyond. That lack of knowledge taunts me, a bone in the face of a starving mutt. No distraction will pull my sights from it. I see nothing but the horizon.
Knowing how I feel - and with a bit of his own wanderlust to contend with - my husband hesitated to take the job. Though the position is ideal in nearly every way, he questioned the wisdom of accepting it. Would doing so cause more harm than good? Would I - could I - accept another year or so in the confines of cornfields and soybeans? Could he? The job would mean financial security the likes of which we'd never known in our married life. It would mean stability for our four children, and us. And most importantly of all, it would offer him a leg-up for any job he wanted down the road. How could he not take it?
So, here I sit, amid the wind-scorched acres of land, wishing that I were anywhere but in this chair, in this house, in this town. Again. Nineteen years is a long time to yearn for something, and though I often wonder if I will ever leave this place, I know that we've done the right thing. For right now, this is where we belong, for better or for worse, and we'll deal with the disappointment. For now.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Parenting 101: Advice is for newbs
As the mother of four kids - all nearly grown now - I am often asked for advice from new parents. Everything from how do I get them to sleep through the night to when is the right time to start potty-training to what age does grounding lose meaning has been brought up. I am considered an expert, I think, simply because all of my children survived childhood relatively in-tact, and I haven't gone completely insane in the process. It was hard going, to be sure, and I am proud of how all of my kids turned out. And yes, along the way, I picked up some really good parenting tips that I occasionally share. The best advice I can give, though, is that advice is worthless.
My first child was a set of twin boys. Talk about a parental boot camp! Not only did none of the advice written in the most popular books apply to us, it was pure nonsense when dealing with multiples. I don't know how often I laughed at statements like, "Let your child dictate his own schedule. It will make both you and he happier and healthier." I'm sure that could work with one baby, but with two it would have caused apoplexy. The only way I ever got a meal or more than three minutes of sleep in a row was because I put both boys on the same schedule and stuck to it fairly rigidly. My days were structured around mealtimes, naptimes, and bedtimes, and we were all much happier and healthier because of it. While useful advice for some, it just didn't apply to our family.
Then, nineteen months later, my third son arrived just as we'd planned him. (Yes, I'm a glutton for punishment.) A very large bundle at 9 pounds 4 ounces, he was nonetheless very sick when he was born. He spent his first eight days in NICU fighting a nasty bout of bacterial meningitis. I spent those days recovering from his delivery and reading the parenting magazines all NICUs seem to have in abundance. One article in particular sticks with me. It was on how to introduce new siblings into the household. I was to bring the new baby home, let the boys see him, touch him, and spend time with him so that they would see him not as a rival, but as a new friend. It would also help if the new baby "bought" the boys some toy and "gave" it to them. The problem for us, of course, was that this new baby would be covered in tubes and bandages from his antibiotic treatments. And how was I supposed to find the time and the energy to buy gifts for the boys when I'd yet to figure out how to wash my hair during that week? By the time we brought the little guy home, I just wanted to collapse into my bed. I'm sure the child-psychologist who wrote the article meant well, but it just wasn't going to happen. Instead, we fumbled through the first meeting, gave lots of hugs and kisses, and hoped for the best. (To date, the elder two boys haven't scarred the younger one irrevocably, so far as I know.)
By the time my daughter came into the picture three and a half years later, I'd had more than my share of helpful advice. I'd stop reading parenting books and magazines, ignored the overly solicitous grandmothers at the grocery store, and just went about my business the only way I knew how: My Way. The Girl was breastfed until she and I decided we were done, around nine months. She got solids when she seemed interested, at six months, and I threw away the bottles by a year because I'd grown tired of washing them and she didn't seem to mind.
As far as the boys went, we were doing just fine, if not magazine-worthy. I spanked them when I thought it was warranted, taught them "please" and "thank-you", and we laughed... a lot. I didn't potty-train them until they were almost four because they didn't seem all that interested until then. I didn't feel the need to push it, since that just made all of us miserable. They ran outside bare-footed, climbed trees that were too tall for them, and generally broke all of the normal rules. It was fun.
I was home with them during this time and we enjoyed spending time together, the five of us. I know that I made mistakes - probably a lot of them - but overall, the kids and I were happy enough to ignore the occasional disapproving stares and comments from our neighbors, friends, and family. The reason, I believe, is because we lived our lives in the way that best fit our family. We made it up as we went along, and it worked.
Nowadays, when new parents ask my advice, I tell them to trust their instincts and follow the kids' lead when it seems appropriate. So long as what they're doing makes sense to them, it's probably not wrong. There are limits, of course. Beatings, while great in theory, rarely give the desired results. Doctors often have good suggestions and are worth listening to, but shouldn't be followed blindly. And most of the time, you'll find out what works by doing what doesn't. Don't beat yourself up over it; just learn from it and move on.
Sometimes I'll hear "experienced" parents offering advice, and I cringe a little inside. They are, almost always, young parents with only one or two children who haven't yet learned that advice is worthless. What works for one slugger may not work for another, and insisting that it's full-proof just leads to confusion, guilt, and frustration for the new parents.... as if they don't already feel that often enough! Instead of doing that, I tell the new moms and dads what worked for me, and remind them that every child is different. Even my identical twins wanted to be comforted differently.
The reason I'm posting this is because I'm rather tired of the judgmental attitude about parenting that seems so rampant. The truth is that no two parents handle things exactly the same way, and that's not a bad thing. Children are as individual as their parents, and families have to work things out in a way that seems right together. Ultimately, they have to figure out how to live and function as a unit, and well-meaning advice often causes more harm than good. By all means, share your stories when asked, but understand when the advice hidden within isn't followed. You may be right, but it's up to the new parents to work that out for themselves, and for you to be patient, loving, and kind while they do so.
My first child was a set of twin boys. Talk about a parental boot camp! Not only did none of the advice written in the most popular books apply to us, it was pure nonsense when dealing with multiples. I don't know how often I laughed at statements like, "Let your child dictate his own schedule. It will make both you and he happier and healthier." I'm sure that could work with one baby, but with two it would have caused apoplexy. The only way I ever got a meal or more than three minutes of sleep in a row was because I put both boys on the same schedule and stuck to it fairly rigidly. My days were structured around mealtimes, naptimes, and bedtimes, and we were all much happier and healthier because of it. While useful advice for some, it just didn't apply to our family.
Then, nineteen months later, my third son arrived just as we'd planned him. (Yes, I'm a glutton for punishment.) A very large bundle at 9 pounds 4 ounces, he was nonetheless very sick when he was born. He spent his first eight days in NICU fighting a nasty bout of bacterial meningitis. I spent those days recovering from his delivery and reading the parenting magazines all NICUs seem to have in abundance. One article in particular sticks with me. It was on how to introduce new siblings into the household. I was to bring the new baby home, let the boys see him, touch him, and spend time with him so that they would see him not as a rival, but as a new friend. It would also help if the new baby "bought" the boys some toy and "gave" it to them. The problem for us, of course, was that this new baby would be covered in tubes and bandages from his antibiotic treatments. And how was I supposed to find the time and the energy to buy gifts for the boys when I'd yet to figure out how to wash my hair during that week? By the time we brought the little guy home, I just wanted to collapse into my bed. I'm sure the child-psychologist who wrote the article meant well, but it just wasn't going to happen. Instead, we fumbled through the first meeting, gave lots of hugs and kisses, and hoped for the best. (To date, the elder two boys haven't scarred the younger one irrevocably, so far as I know.)
By the time my daughter came into the picture three and a half years later, I'd had more than my share of helpful advice. I'd stop reading parenting books and magazines, ignored the overly solicitous grandmothers at the grocery store, and just went about my business the only way I knew how: My Way. The Girl was breastfed until she and I decided we were done, around nine months. She got solids when she seemed interested, at six months, and I threw away the bottles by a year because I'd grown tired of washing them and she didn't seem to mind.
As far as the boys went, we were doing just fine, if not magazine-worthy. I spanked them when I thought it was warranted, taught them "please" and "thank-you", and we laughed... a lot. I didn't potty-train them until they were almost four because they didn't seem all that interested until then. I didn't feel the need to push it, since that just made all of us miserable. They ran outside bare-footed, climbed trees that were too tall for them, and generally broke all of the normal rules. It was fun.
I was home with them during this time and we enjoyed spending time together, the five of us. I know that I made mistakes - probably a lot of them - but overall, the kids and I were happy enough to ignore the occasional disapproving stares and comments from our neighbors, friends, and family. The reason, I believe, is because we lived our lives in the way that best fit our family. We made it up as we went along, and it worked.
Nowadays, when new parents ask my advice, I tell them to trust their instincts and follow the kids' lead when it seems appropriate. So long as what they're doing makes sense to them, it's probably not wrong. There are limits, of course. Beatings, while great in theory, rarely give the desired results. Doctors often have good suggestions and are worth listening to, but shouldn't be followed blindly. And most of the time, you'll find out what works by doing what doesn't. Don't beat yourself up over it; just learn from it and move on.
Sometimes I'll hear "experienced" parents offering advice, and I cringe a little inside. They are, almost always, young parents with only one or two children who haven't yet learned that advice is worthless. What works for one slugger may not work for another, and insisting that it's full-proof just leads to confusion, guilt, and frustration for the new parents.... as if they don't already feel that often enough! Instead of doing that, I tell the new moms and dads what worked for me, and remind them that every child is different. Even my identical twins wanted to be comforted differently.
The reason I'm posting this is because I'm rather tired of the judgmental attitude about parenting that seems so rampant. The truth is that no two parents handle things exactly the same way, and that's not a bad thing. Children are as individual as their parents, and families have to work things out in a way that seems right together. Ultimately, they have to figure out how to live and function as a unit, and well-meaning advice often causes more harm than good. By all means, share your stories when asked, but understand when the advice hidden within isn't followed. You may be right, but it's up to the new parents to work that out for themselves, and for you to be patient, loving, and kind while they do so.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Feeling Necessary
For the last few weeks, I've been struggling with my job. For reasons beyond my control, I am in the position of working as a temporary employee for the time being. It's been fairly educational to me in a lot of ways, not in the least is in how I deal with my work environment.
I have worked in a myriad of positions in my lifetime. In fact, it's somewhat frightening to think about all of the different types of work that I've done since I started working at the age of 14. Now, at 42, I count among my "careers" stints as a clown, phone operator, waitress, ambulance dispatcher, toffee maker, fast food server, receptionist, and many, many other fun and exciting jobs. Is it any wonder that I'm still in the "barely above minimum wage" range? I change career paths more often than my teenagers do their sheets.
Oh, back to my point. For the last eight months I have been working for an insurance company in a temporary capacity. I was offered full-time employment but was unable to take it due to family considerations. (We may be moving out of the area soon, and I felt it was bad form to take the job and then run six months later.) I love the company, and in general feel as though the management is very good at what they do. Were we to stay, I would definitely consider staying with this company. So why have I been struggling lately?
The truth is, I haven't felt necessary. The jobs that I've been doing have been benign and mostly meaningless. I've sorted, stuffed, and sent out mail. I've logged returned mail into a spread sheet. The majority of my time was spent in doing all of the things that need to be done... at some point. It was demoralizing. At no time did I feel as though my being at the office really mattered to anyone. Should I take an hour, a day, or a week off, I doubted that anyone would notice. In fact, I often wondered why my boss continued to carry my temp contract since most of what I did mattered so little.
Then, this week my boss began to train me to help some of her more over-burdened employees. The job I was tasked with was actually very important, not only to my over-worked counter-parts, but to the members who hired us to insure them as well. If the work didn't get done in a timely fashion, the members would find themselves uninsured for an ungodly amount of time, especially for these particular members: those who were uninsurable. Because of the current health care act, these members could now buy insurance despite their pre-existing conditions, and at a very reasonable premium. Their medications would be covered, medical supplies, and any necessary tests, some for the first time in years. So it was essential that the paperwork be done as quickly as possible. Suddenly, it mattered again if I were actually at my desk on any given day. And the moment that I realized this, I realized just how important that is to me.
At one point in my previous position, I bought a lottery ticket with the potential to win $155m. Like everyone else, I thought about what I would do if I won even a portion of that amount, and I decided that even if I won, I wouldn't be able to quit my job immediately. Not only did I enjoy the work that I did, but I felt like I couldn't just walk out and leave everyone holding the bag. I couldn't walk out and leave my co-workers and bosses struggling to take up the slack without some warning. Nor could I just walk out and leave potentially thousands of people wondering why their policies weren't effective when they thought they would be. What I did mattered to all of those people, and getting up and walking out without notice wasn't an option for me no matter how much money I may have won.
Bosses wonder what it takes to keep butts in seats (to put it somewhat crudely). How do they maintain their employees, and keep them from abusing time off? The simple answer is to make sure that their employees feel like a necessary part of what makes the company run. I'm not paid much - certainly not enough to run a household of six - and sure, that's a factor to me. We all need to eat. That being said, what matters more to me is to knowing that what I do matters to someone somewhere. If I'm gone, someone would notice.
Would the company fold without me? No, and that's not what I mean. What I mean is that at the end of the day, I can feel as though I've accomplished something, I've done some good. It may not be saving a life or figuring out the next great software, but someone benefited from what I did, and that feels damn good at the end of the day.
I have worked in a myriad of positions in my lifetime. In fact, it's somewhat frightening to think about all of the different types of work that I've done since I started working at the age of 14. Now, at 42, I count among my "careers" stints as a clown, phone operator, waitress, ambulance dispatcher, toffee maker, fast food server, receptionist, and many, many other fun and exciting jobs. Is it any wonder that I'm still in the "barely above minimum wage" range? I change career paths more often than my teenagers do their sheets.
Oh, back to my point. For the last eight months I have been working for an insurance company in a temporary capacity. I was offered full-time employment but was unable to take it due to family considerations. (We may be moving out of the area soon, and I felt it was bad form to take the job and then run six months later.) I love the company, and in general feel as though the management is very good at what they do. Were we to stay, I would definitely consider staying with this company. So why have I been struggling lately?
The truth is, I haven't felt necessary. The jobs that I've been doing have been benign and mostly meaningless. I've sorted, stuffed, and sent out mail. I've logged returned mail into a spread sheet. The majority of my time was spent in doing all of the things that need to be done... at some point. It was demoralizing. At no time did I feel as though my being at the office really mattered to anyone. Should I take an hour, a day, or a week off, I doubted that anyone would notice. In fact, I often wondered why my boss continued to carry my temp contract since most of what I did mattered so little.
Then, this week my boss began to train me to help some of her more over-burdened employees. The job I was tasked with was actually very important, not only to my over-worked counter-parts, but to the members who hired us to insure them as well. If the work didn't get done in a timely fashion, the members would find themselves uninsured for an ungodly amount of time, especially for these particular members: those who were uninsurable. Because of the current health care act, these members could now buy insurance despite their pre-existing conditions, and at a very reasonable premium. Their medications would be covered, medical supplies, and any necessary tests, some for the first time in years. So it was essential that the paperwork be done as quickly as possible. Suddenly, it mattered again if I were actually at my desk on any given day. And the moment that I realized this, I realized just how important that is to me.
At one point in my previous position, I bought a lottery ticket with the potential to win $155m. Like everyone else, I thought about what I would do if I won even a portion of that amount, and I decided that even if I won, I wouldn't be able to quit my job immediately. Not only did I enjoy the work that I did, but I felt like I couldn't just walk out and leave everyone holding the bag. I couldn't walk out and leave my co-workers and bosses struggling to take up the slack without some warning. Nor could I just walk out and leave potentially thousands of people wondering why their policies weren't effective when they thought they would be. What I did mattered to all of those people, and getting up and walking out without notice wasn't an option for me no matter how much money I may have won.
Bosses wonder what it takes to keep butts in seats (to put it somewhat crudely). How do they maintain their employees, and keep them from abusing time off? The simple answer is to make sure that their employees feel like a necessary part of what makes the company run. I'm not paid much - certainly not enough to run a household of six - and sure, that's a factor to me. We all need to eat. That being said, what matters more to me is to knowing that what I do matters to someone somewhere. If I'm gone, someone would notice.
Would the company fold without me? No, and that's not what I mean. What I mean is that at the end of the day, I can feel as though I've accomplished something, I've done some good. It may not be saving a life or figuring out the next great software, but someone benefited from what I did, and that feels damn good at the end of the day.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Taxing the Wealthy vs. a Business Tax Cut
I've been trying to keep up on the whole Buffett Rule argument, but I admit that there's a part of me that has kind of given up. Both the Republican and Democratic parties decided long ago that what's best for the country isn't nearly as important as thumbing their noses at their opponents. Anyone who claims otherwise just isn't paying attention. Worse yet, there's nowhere to get an unbiased view on how this tax will really affect the economy. The media is no less one-sided than Congress.
It seems to me that the Democrats have a point. It really is ridiculous that those making money entirely through investments don't pay very much in taxes. I understand that the hope is that millionaires will invest that money back into the economy, helping everyone. The problem with that is that it hasn't worked like that. Since the time of Reagan, the idea of a "trickle down" economy hasn't done much to help the middle or lower classes. Instead, by all reports, the gap between the wealthy and the average has grown to ridiculous proportions.
Of course, the Republicans have a point, too. To counter the Buffett Rule, Republicans have presented their own plan to help the economy. They want to give businesses a massive tax cut in order to stimulate them into a hiring frenzy. They make the point that so long as businesses are worried about having to pay hefty taxes for every employee they hire, they just won't hire. That's sure as hell not going to benefit anyone, but most especially the unemployed masses. It appears to me that the Republicans are just as right as the Democrats.
Now, it seems like the smart thing to do is a combination of both the Buffett Rule and the Business Tax Cut. They can balance one another out, plus encourage economic growth. Right? I mean, I'm no expert, and there could be some huge holes in this plan, but it doesn't matter. This could be the most brilliant economic plan ever, and it would never happen. Because in order for the Tax the Rich/Cut Business Taxes plan to work, the Democrats and the Republicans would have to *gasp* work toward something other than bringing the other party down. And that's what frustrates me!
I don't trust a single member of the House or the Sentate to do what's right. They are so caught up in what's right for their party that what's right for the country doesn't even enter into it. And the longer this goes on, the more I find myself dead set against our two-party system. We need more options, more strong options, beyond the two we are currently stuck with. The only way that's going to happen is for our current government to stop officially supporting just the Democrats and the Republicans. No more $1 donations on our tax forms for just one or the other. The Electoral College should be revamped completely, and there should be better financial controls over election parties. And we, as a people, need to make the time to read up on candidates beyond The Big Two.
It should no longer be a throw-away vote if one opts for the Green Party or Libertarian Party. Being an independent shouldn't mean we're prime meat for the Republicans or the Democrats. It should mean that we're looking for the best candidate regardless of which party he or she belongs to.
So my challenge to you is to really take a look at who is out there to vote for. Don't take the easy route of voting for the party just because it's always who you vote for. Know what each candidate - from ALL of the parties - stands for, and vote on the issues rather than brand recognition. And for heaven's sake, don't get all of your news from one or two sources. Look around! Find different perspectives. Take the time to educate yourself before you punch that card in November, because when it comes down to it, it's our fault when it all goes left, and quite frankly, I'm tired of the mess we've managed to create for ourselves.
It seems to me that the Democrats have a point. It really is ridiculous that those making money entirely through investments don't pay very much in taxes. I understand that the hope is that millionaires will invest that money back into the economy, helping everyone. The problem with that is that it hasn't worked like that. Since the time of Reagan, the idea of a "trickle down" economy hasn't done much to help the middle or lower classes. Instead, by all reports, the gap between the wealthy and the average has grown to ridiculous proportions.
Of course, the Republicans have a point, too. To counter the Buffett Rule, Republicans have presented their own plan to help the economy. They want to give businesses a massive tax cut in order to stimulate them into a hiring frenzy. They make the point that so long as businesses are worried about having to pay hefty taxes for every employee they hire, they just won't hire. That's sure as hell not going to benefit anyone, but most especially the unemployed masses. It appears to me that the Republicans are just as right as the Democrats.
Now, it seems like the smart thing to do is a combination of both the Buffett Rule and the Business Tax Cut. They can balance one another out, plus encourage economic growth. Right? I mean, I'm no expert, and there could be some huge holes in this plan, but it doesn't matter. This could be the most brilliant economic plan ever, and it would never happen. Because in order for the Tax the Rich/Cut Business Taxes plan to work, the Democrats and the Republicans would have to *gasp* work toward something other than bringing the other party down. And that's what frustrates me!
I don't trust a single member of the House or the Sentate to do what's right. They are so caught up in what's right for their party that what's right for the country doesn't even enter into it. And the longer this goes on, the more I find myself dead set against our two-party system. We need more options, more strong options, beyond the two we are currently stuck with. The only way that's going to happen is for our current government to stop officially supporting just the Democrats and the Republicans. No more $1 donations on our tax forms for just one or the other. The Electoral College should be revamped completely, and there should be better financial controls over election parties. And we, as a people, need to make the time to read up on candidates beyond The Big Two.
It should no longer be a throw-away vote if one opts for the Green Party or Libertarian Party. Being an independent shouldn't mean we're prime meat for the Republicans or the Democrats. It should mean that we're looking for the best candidate regardless of which party he or she belongs to.
So my challenge to you is to really take a look at who is out there to vote for. Don't take the easy route of voting for the party just because it's always who you vote for. Know what each candidate - from ALL of the parties - stands for, and vote on the issues rather than brand recognition. And for heaven's sake, don't get all of your news from one or two sources. Look around! Find different perspectives. Take the time to educate yourself before you punch that card in November, because when it comes down to it, it's our fault when it all goes left, and quite frankly, I'm tired of the mess we've managed to create for ourselves.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Ann Romney and SaHMs
I've been following the flack about Hilary Rosen's comments regarding Ann Romney, and have been pretty disappointed. I agree that Ms. Rosen's comments were poorly thought out, but the sentiment was on target.
As a former Stay-at-Home-Mom (SaHM), I was originally pretty irritated with Rosen. For eight years, I struggled with raising my three sons and one daughter while maintaining the house, taking care of the bills, and in general, keeping life moving for our young family. It was hard, unending work that never gave me a day off. There were few breaks, no lunch hours, and the overtime was a killer. On top of that, I had to deal with career moms saying things like, "You sure have it easy being at home." I do what?? Obviously, these women didn't have a clue, Hilary Rosen included.
Then, something occurred to me: my husband didn't have $250,000,000 to fall back on if things got rough. I couldn't hire a sitter to take a day off; we were on a tight budget since I wasn't working. If it had been a particularly tough day, there was no ordering pizza for dinner. Again, we just couldn't afford it. And no one was going to come in on a part-time basis to do my laundry, dust my shelves, or sweep my floors. It was all me, all of the time. On top of that, our family of six were crammed into a tiny, two-bedroom townhouse with very little room to put any of us, much less our stuff. Keeping things organized and clean was a huge challenge every day.
My experiences as a SaHM do not equate to Ms. Romney's in any way, whether they hired nannies, cooks, or housekeepers on a regular basis or not. She has options not available to the typical one-income family; options that can make or break a mother's mental ability to get through the freaking week. Believe me, I know. I nearly lost it multiple times when I was at home because it was hard work. Really, really hard work.
Then, 10 years ago, I divorced my husband and became a working mom. Wow. Yes, staying at home to take care of the kids was hard work. Really hard work. Being a working mom makes that seem a bit like a vacation. At least for me, that's how it seemed, and still does. Because all of that work that I was able to string out over the course of a full day, every day, I now have to cram into the few hours I have at the end of an already full day at the office. Nothing has changed for me at home except the time that I have to get all of it taken care of. Sure, I get two 15-minute breaks and a 30-minute lunch now, but I also have a 40-minute commute one-way, and am busy from the minute I step foot in the office until the minute I leave it. Then I get to go home and start in on my second job.
The benefit is that now I have a little bit of extra money for those niceties that we lacked when I was home. My new husband is a student, so we're still a single-income family, but money isn't quite as tight as before. We can occasionally have a meal out. The kids are older, so sitters aren't necessary, and they do - rarely - help out with the household chores. Nonetheless, the majority of the household tasks haven't changed despite the fact that I am no longer home to do them every day.
Do I think that SaHMs work hard? Yes, yes I do. Do I think that working moms work harder? Yes, yes I do. I don't particularly care for the way that Ms. Rosen voiced her opinion, but I do agree with the sentiment.
Ms. Romney, even as a working SaHM, isn't in a position to advise her husband on what average women are looking for in the economy because she just doesn't live in the same economy most of the rest of us do. She hasn't felt the pinch of an increase in the cost of groceries, and how that changes what ends up on the table. She hasn't made her own laundry soap to save $10 a month so that the kids can go out with their friends every once in a while. For all the respect that I give Ms. Romney for not hiring a couple of nannies and a cook while she stayed home, I can't put her in the same league as the strapped, single-income SaHMs that I know.
Mr. Romney, if you really want to know what we want, ask us. Open a dialog without hiding behind your wife. Take your tie off, put on a pair of sneakers, and meet us in the kitchen for a cup of coffee. We'll be happy to tell you what worries us about our homes, our kids, and our lives. All you have to do is ask.
As a former Stay-at-Home-Mom (SaHM), I was originally pretty irritated with Rosen. For eight years, I struggled with raising my three sons and one daughter while maintaining the house, taking care of the bills, and in general, keeping life moving for our young family. It was hard, unending work that never gave me a day off. There were few breaks, no lunch hours, and the overtime was a killer. On top of that, I had to deal with career moms saying things like, "You sure have it easy being at home." I do what?? Obviously, these women didn't have a clue, Hilary Rosen included.
Then, something occurred to me: my husband didn't have $250,000,000 to fall back on if things got rough. I couldn't hire a sitter to take a day off; we were on a tight budget since I wasn't working. If it had been a particularly tough day, there was no ordering pizza for dinner. Again, we just couldn't afford it. And no one was going to come in on a part-time basis to do my laundry, dust my shelves, or sweep my floors. It was all me, all of the time. On top of that, our family of six were crammed into a tiny, two-bedroom townhouse with very little room to put any of us, much less our stuff. Keeping things organized and clean was a huge challenge every day.
My experiences as a SaHM do not equate to Ms. Romney's in any way, whether they hired nannies, cooks, or housekeepers on a regular basis or not. She has options not available to the typical one-income family; options that can make or break a mother's mental ability to get through the freaking week. Believe me, I know. I nearly lost it multiple times when I was at home because it was hard work. Really, really hard work.
Then, 10 years ago, I divorced my husband and became a working mom. Wow. Yes, staying at home to take care of the kids was hard work. Really hard work. Being a working mom makes that seem a bit like a vacation. At least for me, that's how it seemed, and still does. Because all of that work that I was able to string out over the course of a full day, every day, I now have to cram into the few hours I have at the end of an already full day at the office. Nothing has changed for me at home except the time that I have to get all of it taken care of. Sure, I get two 15-minute breaks and a 30-minute lunch now, but I also have a 40-minute commute one-way, and am busy from the minute I step foot in the office until the minute I leave it. Then I get to go home and start in on my second job.
The benefit is that now I have a little bit of extra money for those niceties that we lacked when I was home. My new husband is a student, so we're still a single-income family, but money isn't quite as tight as before. We can occasionally have a meal out. The kids are older, so sitters aren't necessary, and they do - rarely - help out with the household chores. Nonetheless, the majority of the household tasks haven't changed despite the fact that I am no longer home to do them every day.
Do I think that SaHMs work hard? Yes, yes I do. Do I think that working moms work harder? Yes, yes I do. I don't particularly care for the way that Ms. Rosen voiced her opinion, but I do agree with the sentiment.
Ms. Romney, even as a working SaHM, isn't in a position to advise her husband on what average women are looking for in the economy because she just doesn't live in the same economy most of the rest of us do. She hasn't felt the pinch of an increase in the cost of groceries, and how that changes what ends up on the table. She hasn't made her own laundry soap to save $10 a month so that the kids can go out with their friends every once in a while. For all the respect that I give Ms. Romney for not hiring a couple of nannies and a cook while she stayed home, I can't put her in the same league as the strapped, single-income SaHMs that I know.
Mr. Romney, if you really want to know what we want, ask us. Open a dialog without hiding behind your wife. Take your tie off, put on a pair of sneakers, and meet us in the kitchen for a cup of coffee. We'll be happy to tell you what worries us about our homes, our kids, and our lives. All you have to do is ask.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Well-Meant Intentions
Before I went to bed last night, I looked around my house and cringed. It had been several days since I'd even bothered to pick up, much less do any real cleaning. Dishes were stacked on the counter ready for a good bath, the floor was cluttered with random items strewn about by not-so-young children, and my stacks of craft supplies were overflowing the various places I had set them. I knew, before I ever lay my head to rest, that I was going to have to clean today.
Today is Saturday. I do not have to go to work, and other than to attend an event this evening for my son's State Competition in Science Olympiad, I had no reason not to clean. None other than the complete and utter ennui that enveloped me the moment I woke up.
I thought to cuddle back down into my bed, but I knew that I had things to do, and this pulled me creaking and snapping into a damp, gray world. Oh, I don't mean that in the ugly, horrible way. No, this damp, gray world sparkled with endless crystals, and it smelled of a freshness that no artificial atomizer can create. The air was crisp enough to warrant a sweater. Beautiful purple, blue, and pink flowers drank in the sweet droplets, splashes of color in an otherwise dreary picture. Enough to give the day beauty but not so much to lift the desire to lapse into a state of near unconscious.
It's raining that lovely spring-y rain that I love. It patters on the roof and sidewalks; cars whoosh through puddles as they rush down my street. This is the kind of rain that makes you - almost involuntarily - settle into a comfortable place to read and relax. It's not intentional. It just... happens. These days are agonizingly sweet to me, and I resented having to ruin it by cleaning. So I didn't.
Instead, I allowed my intentions to fall by the wayside. The dishes still pine for a soapy swim, and my floor still wonders how to shake free of its clutter. Even a disturbing call to my bank didn't shake me from this cocoon of comfort I allowed myself to fall into. In a few hours, I'll be crawling out from under my blanket and getting ready to cheer my son on. Groceries will need to be bought, and yes, the dishes will need to be washed in order to make dinner. But I will have spent a wonderful day doing nothing, and I can't say that I'm sorry for it. So much of my life is taken up by having to do something for someone at some time, that when I allow myself this kind of luxury - even amid a house of chaos - I revel in it... completely guilt-free.
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