The Time I Was Called a Feminist: How We Use Labels as Weapons

My mom is the queen of organization.

Even with seven kids still at home, her house is always nearly pristine. I say nearly in case she reads this and texts me about stray underwear one of my seven brothers probably has wedged between his bedframe and the wall. But, between you and me, it’s pristine.

I remember one Christmas she was dropping hints left and right about a label-maker. “It would just keep everything so organized!” she sighed dreamily. “We could use it in the pantry –the homeschool room –the….”

“We would all wake up tomorrow morning with our bedrooms labeled,” I quipped. “A place for everything, and everything in its place.”

“We’d all wake up with labels on our heads,” my dad joined in, laughing.

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