Monday, June 29, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
We sometimes get in bad patterns, all of us do, right?
So Khubz has been going to bed later and later. This is partly due to the sun being up so much later and also due to our lax attitude. So we've started the crackdown because we can't have the two year old staying up later than the mommies.
We put her to bed and she asks for water, a different stuffed animal, she poops in the diaper, she wants to see what Thumper is doing, she needs her brother!! Whatever.
Tonight I tell her I don't want her coming out of her room unless she has pooped or needs to poop.
So she poops, I change her and tuck her back in bed.
She comes back out to see "what you doin, mommy?"
I tell her to go to bed.
She goes to her room. The light pops on.
I turn the light off.
She tells me she needs me to put the blanket on her.
I tell her no. When I tucked you in I told you I wouldn't come back in to do your blanket.
She wails. I leave. The light pops on. I ignore it. She beings kicking the wall with her feet.
I go to her room and turn the light off. "You do not get to kick our walls." (internal mommy: what the fuck will I do if she persists? How does one put the wall in time out??)
Okay Mommy. I leave. The light pops on.
I open her door walk in and turn the light off at the pull chord (which she cannot reach.)
Khubz looked at me, cocked her head and said, "Hmpf."
I shit you not. She "hmpf"ed me.
I left the room. She asked me to put her blanket on. I almost did I was so impressed with her use of the "hmpf" but I held my ground.
All seems quiet in there now but Thumper. . .Scully just finished his bath and Thumper is definitely in need of a beer. "Mommy! Get! In! Here! Now!!!"
I told Scully, "three minutes! Give me three more minutes!"
I heard Thumper's silent hmpf as well.
Okay, I'm off.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
My beloved Scully is back from a 4 day work trip out of state. While she was gone about 42 of my people (not kidding) gathered at Mom's house for family reunion of sorts. 16 of those people were under 13 years of age. It actually went really well. Khubz had a blast with her cousins, was thoroughly adored by tias and tios, and Mommy even got a nap (wow!)
Thumper's ear infection seems to be on the mend. My sinus infection is just about cleared up. The antibiotics have given me a helluva yeast infection but that's to be expected, right?
There's a lot of stories to tell, but as usual, I have other plans.
Scully, Khubz, Thumper and I all went out to a nearby lake. It has a great meandering path around it and it was a beautiful evening. While there a man on a bike slowed down behind me (even though we always clear out of the way) and finally he said, "Eh. . . 'scuz me? Fruit'femme?" only he used my real name (pronounced correctly.)
Ah. . . Ghazzi. One of my dad's old friends (or used-to-be-friends? I can't tell if they had a falling out or just lost touch.) I remember Ghazzi from when I was a kid. The last time I saw him was one sister's weddings where he was taking the photos.
"You remember me?" he asked in well spoken, Arabic-accented-English.
"Oh, yes. Yes--how are you?"
And so it begins. How are you. How is your Dad? How is your Mom? How is K? T? N? J?
I answer all questions briefly, everyone is good. I'm holding Khubz hand and I have not introduced her. Scully (because she is unbelievably fucking wonderful) has smiled generically and taken two steps back with Thumper in the stroller. She gets very busy giving him his pacifier. I don't introduce Scully. Or Thumper. I act like there's nothing to say about the family around me. My family.
And please, no menacing me with a damn rainbow flag. This is not about a lack of pride on my part. Actually, I am completely and often obnoxiously proud of my family--which includes feeling proud of my dad.
It is one of the things that has made moving back here very complicated. Sharing a community with my dad. More than that--his friend, ex-friend, whatever, walking along the lake suddenly turns our nice little stroll into a complex chemistry formula with respect for Dad's boundaries, understanding culture, what does/does not need to be explained, representing my family, teaching Khubz and Thumper, being around an occasional Arab who may/may not know my dad and what that may/may not change for us (all of us) as a family. . . Mix all of this up in a test tube and wait for something to pop.
It is way too fucking complicated.
We go over to my parent's house every day. We just had a fucking family reunion and my dad's best friend (my godfather) was holding my son and laughing about how beautiful he is. This is the man that came to be with my father when Scully and I got married so my dad would not be alone that weekend. Khubz was calling them "The Grandpas." I don't feel like my dad needs to prove anything and I don't want him to feel like I'm crowding him.
We spend a lot of time dancing around each other's hurt feelings. I just don't think we need to introduce potentially flammable other people into the mix.
It just makes me feel shitty though.
Just completely shitty.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Okay, he's down again.
Posted by the fruitfemme at 6:00 AM
Khubz is 80% potty trained. We put a diaper on at bedtime and naptime. I think we'll be preschool ready by September.
Thumper found his feet two days ago. This is unbelievable fun! He can't yet munch on his toes but that's coming.
Thumper has an ear infection and I have a sinus infection. We are both on antibiotics--fun times. Everyone in the house is alseep right now (it's 9pm) except me. I am exhausted but I never have the house or my arms to myself and I'm not going to waste this opportunity!
Thumper is eating rice cereal and applesauce. He loooves the applesauce. This also means that we no longer have newborn diapers. Bring on the baby poop.
And, as is obligitory, Thumper has just woken up. Unbelievable.
Okay, I'm off
Posted by the fruitfemme at 5:10 AM
Saturday, June 6, 2009
We say it all the time. "Oh, man--that is blog-worthy!" But, as you may have noticed, I blog a whole lot less than I used to. And I miss it. And I have things to say.
Dr. Tiller was murdered. I was speechless. I rented an old documentary on anti-choice fundamentalists (I've been asked to stop calling them fetuses extremists.) It is all terrifying. And though I have seen media calling the fundies "terrorists" I haven't seen this documented as an "honor killing" or questions about how their flawed, violent, patriarchal culture/religion makes them this way. I am so sad that he was murdered. If you don't know about the Peggy Bowman Second Chance Fund, go visit and donate if you can. They helped women directly and worked with the clinic in Wichita.
"The worm is broken. The worm broked. I have two wormz." We took the kids fishing tonight and Khubz got to adopt a worm. It is her pet or, I guess now, her pets. She had a blast. And now she is blissfully passed out in her bed.
Her brother, of course, is exercising his lungs.
So though there is much more that's blog worthy. . .
Posted by the fruitfemme at 5:35 AM