Not a Fan: Dirty Laundry edition

The backstory: On Instagram, I follow a woman named Jen Hatmaker.  She lives in Austin, Texas and writes about her life as a wife, mother, and Christian.  On the face of it, we don’t have much in common, but I like her sensibility and her sense of humor.  From her, I’d adopted the idea of an occasional rant about the small annoyances in life.  She calls her grievances “Not a Fan” and that rather sums it up, so my occasional rants will also arrive under that title.

I am not a fan of people who learn that I wash my teenage son’s laundry and then take the opportunity to primly explain that their children do their own laundry.  I call bullshit on that claim.  For starters, I straight up don’t believe you.  Your children don’t consistently arrive in clean clothes that they washed themselves.  I am sure that on occasion your kid goes to school in dirty socks and underwear. And if you think I don’t know of what I speak, let me remind you that I am a teacher.  I know the difference between kids who stink from lack of deodorant and kids who stink because you make them wash their own clothes and they’ve taken a pass on that option.  For fuck’s sake, wash your kid’s clothes and then brag that you do it.

And on that subject, for those of us who do fulfill minimum parenting responsibility by taking on the laundry, I’d like to speak to our children.  Child, do not place rolled up, sweaty socks in the laundry. Unroll. those. socks.

And now you’ll have to excuse me.  I have to get the laundry going.

Not a Fan: Salsa in a Jar

The backstory: On Instagram, I follow a woman named Jen Hatmaker.  She lives in Austin, Texas and writes about her life as a wife, mother, and Christian.  On the face of it, we don’t have much in common, but I like her sensibility and her sense of humor.  From her, I’d adopted the idea of an occasional rant about the small annoyances in life.  She calls her “Not a Fan” and that rather sums it up, so my occasional rants will also arrive under that title.  Today's victim: salsa in a jar.

I am not a fan of salsa from a jar.  It tastes of the vinegar used to preserve it and it’s often weirdly chunky.  Homemade salsa is incredibly easy to make, cheaper by far, and so delicious that you will sneer at jarred salsa.  Salsa is a staple in my household and homemade salsa is the only way to go.  Lest you think this is just me being oddly snooty about homemade, I will defend myself by pointing out that homemade salsa takes less than 15 minutes to make.  I use an adapted version of this Pioneer Woman recipe, swapping out one can of Ro-tel for a can of El Pato tomato sauce and adding extra cilantro and cumin.  It’s out of this world.

Not a Fan: Congressman

The backstory: On Instagram, I follow a woman named Jen Hatmaker.  She lives in Austin, Texas and writes about her life as a wife, mother, and Christian.  On the face of it, we don’t have much in common, but I like her sensibility and her sense of humor.  From her, I’d adopted the idea of an occasional rant about the small annoyances in life.  She calls her rants “Not a Fan” and that rather sums it up, so my occasional rants will also arrive under that title.

Today's "Not a Fan" rant is about the gender neutral titles.  Are you using the phrase Congressman? Cut that shit out.

I have spent my adult life teaching about American government and I have always made sure to use gender neutral descriptions of elective office.  it’s an important distinction that signals to girls and boys that these are positions that can be occupied by both women and men.  Some titles are gender neutral on their own: President, Senator, Supreme Court Judge, Governor.  They have an association with men, of course, whether because men have exclusively served in the positions (looking at you, President) or because men have most often occupied the roles (looking at you, every other office in America).

Women have made the greatest progress in elective office is positions in the state legislatures and the House of Representatives and we need to reflect that progress by being sure to use gender-free descriptions of those positions.  It’s not a Congressman; it’s a member of Congress and the title is Representative.  If your state legislature has an Assembly, don’t call a representative an Assemblyman.  Go for Representative or member of the Assembly.

Train yourself to be inclusive by default and imagine all the little girls (and boys!) who grow up to believe that there is no limit to their political aspirations.  Then, when we elect our first woman president (and that had damn well better be in my lifetime), you’ll know that you played a part in the achievement.

Not a Fan

The backstory: On Instagram, I follow a woman named Jen Hatmaker.  She lives in Austin, Texas and writes about her life as a wife, mother, and Christian.  On the face of it, we don’t have much in common, but I like her sensibility and her sense of humor.  From her, I’d adopted the idea of an occasional rant about the small annoyances in life.  She calls her rants “Not a Fan” and that rather sums it up, so my occasional rants will also arrive under that title.

1. Yoga Pants at School

Part of my job as Assistant Principal comes with the expectation that I will enforce the dress code, which forbids leggings, leotards, yoga pants, and all things of that ilk unless they are worn under a skirt, dress, or tunic top.  With the caveat that there are a near endless variations of these things that you may wear to cover your backside, I’m calling them all yoga pants.  In the world of adolescence, everything is negotiable and thus I often find myself in the unenviable position of saying to a young woman that her top is not long enough to be worn with her yoga pants.  I am not a fan of these conversations and I wish that the mothers of my school would stop this problem at the pass by not permitting their daughters to leave home in clinging yoga pants and short tops. 

2.  People Who Complain to Me About Girls Wearing Yoga Pants at School

The only thing worse than dealing with girls and their revealing yoga pants is people who complain to me about girls wearing yoga pants to school.  I enjoy these conversations even less than I enjoy speaking with the girls themselves about their yoga pants.  That the complainers are sometimes guilty of wearing yoga pants themselves makes it even better.  

3.  Yoga Pants

I do not care for the current style of wearing yoga pants all the time.  Under no circumstances do I wish to see your bootie in a pair of yoga pants.  I will tolerate it at the gym because, hey, you may be headed to yoga.  But otherwise, I feel like your yoga pants create a level of intimacy between us that I do not wish to experience.  Athleisure wear, it's time for your turn in the limelight to end.

4.  Pants at All, Actually

I personally do not enjoy wearing pants.  I prefer a skirt or a dress.  In theory, I can see that pants may be handy.  In practice, I find them binding and uncomfortable.  In the Summer, I never think about pants.  But when the weather turns cool, I imagine that pants would make life easier.  They’d be easier than putting on tights to keep my legs from turning blue, I think.  In theory, I could slip my pants on and run my errands, attend the athletic event du jour, and go countless other places where pants would be convenient.  In reality, I dislike the way pants feel, I don’t care for my appearance in them, and I feel silly when I wear them.  So pants and I are barely on speaking terms and soon enough I will be longing for warmer days when a skirt and flip flops will do the job.