Rude Awakening

Well, we are all healthy & ready for spring--thank god for wellness and for the coming of spring!

Scully is in Texas with family. Her dad is scheduled for heart surgery tomorrow. She flew down to Dallas this morning. On her way in to town she was rear-ended in the rental car. Police report--the whole works. Hamdillah, no one was hurt, the damage was minor, the car was still driveable & the other driver was clearly at fault. Additionally, if something needs to go wrong on this trip--this was a gift!

Thumper is back to being a fully-powered baby. He is in to everything like he's making up for lost time when he was sick. We had an incredible day today. Thumper & Khubz & I woke up and saw the sun and said, "YES! We WILL!" Okay, so it was actually too cold this morning to go on a long wagon ride to the park. but we said "Yes! We Will!" And when Khubz went down the slide into a puddle of cold, yucky water we not have stayed and continued to play. But we said, "Yes! We Will!" And when the children's cold, pink noses indicated that we need to take the shortest route home (which means cutting through the mall) we said, "yes! We Will!" And when Khubz pointed out that there is an indoor play area at the mall and could we go please? please? please? "Yes! We Will!"

So after all that we finally wagoned home. Quick change of clothes and we headed over to Grandma's for lunch. Thumper fell asleep immediately--he was bushed! Khubz and Maj ate and headed down for nap or "nap" depending on how we look at it.

I ran a quick errand and when I returned 30 minutes later Thumper was awake. That was it. He is no longer a baby that can be coerced back to sleep. He is a kid. A "one-shot-at-a-nap" kid. So he and I took a long walk while Khubz was sleeping.

Then Maj & Thumper & Khubz and I all headed back to our place and dug for worms in the mud and ate dinner outside on the step and played ball and played chase and played chased the ball and basically frolicked in the sun until Tia Lila picked him up.

It was such a great day.

Khubz had taken a long nap and was having problems getting to sleep. I let her curl up on my lap and we talked about what had been fun in the day and how our dear friends had gotten a puppy and how we were going to get to meet that puppy. And I said, "I had such a nice time with you today." And I scrunched my nose up against hers and gave her a kiss. The whole time I'm thinking, how did I get so lucky as to be with you every day?

She looks at me and gets sad and says, "but mom, I'm not a nice kid. I'm a rude kid."

"Who says?"

"My giant."

"Well, my giant says you're a nice kid."

"No I'm not. I'm not nice. I'm a rude kid."

"Let me check. Let's check your label." I lift up her jammie shirt and peer into her belly button. "Ops. Sorry, kiddo. It says you are nice. You are a nice kid."

And we talked a minute about what kind of dream to have and I sent her back to bed.

So an hour later as she has gotten out of bed 6 times and even tried to wake up her brother (thank jesus he is completely exhausted!) I have to remind myself of this conversation I had with her. She is getting that from somewhere and that somewhere is me.

"Only nice kids get to come on the adventure!" "You are being *rude*" "Quit! That is rude!" "Rude kids do not get to eat dinner with the family. You can be polite or you are excused."

I totally go ape-shit on her when I shouldn't. And other times I feel like I let her walk all over me in very unhelpful ways.

I don't think we have a super-nanny situation on our hands, but I do wish I had an unbiased assessment of my discipline and what I could do better.

Khubz hits me when she's angry. She kicks. Yesterday she bit me. And I've tried throwing away toys to make her think about it before she hits (this only worked for 2 days and yes, I know, kids don't get punitive punishment.) Time outs done to the super-nanny T do absolutely nothing for Khubz. Lately I've been scoping her up (as she hits me) putting her gently down on the mommy's bed and telling her she's not in time out, but it is clear she needs to think about how to be gentle. When she has gentle hands she is welcome to rejoin us. I can't tell if that is helpful at all.

So when she bit me I totally lost it on her because it took all the will in my body to not bite her back.

But I didn't. I yelled at her that she does not get to bite me. And I got right in her face (like a dog) and snarled that she was not a dog and she does not bite.

It was pretty hideous. And all her hollering and screaming then woke Thumper up which made me feel furious.

Oh, it was really hideous. In fact, I am ashamed of myself as I write this for how I acted and also ashamed that we had this enormous battle.

And all 3 year olds do battle, right? Of some sort. And all mommies lose it. And I totally did.
It makes me feel really sad that the take away for her is that she is not a nice kid.

Because she totally is. And she is also extremely cunning, ingenious, crafty, sweet, snuggly, naughty, determined, daring, stubborn, creative and surprising.

So, back to the parenting books.

She is a nice kid. A nice three year old kid. And she needs to know that I know that.

There are these days where I feel like I am brimming over with this amazing life. I really, really love my children. We had a blast today even though we spent 2 hours in a doctor's office and the rest of the day locked in our own house. We made cut out paper flowers, played hide & seek (we truly have just two rooms to hide in--the living room & the kiddo room), doubled up on the bath, ran around the house joyously & totally naked screaming "two naked bottoms!!!"

Finally (sometimes even early) the kids are asleep.

And then its like I just feel like there is absolutely nothing more for me to give. And then I look at the kitchen or whatever I feel like I need to do next and just can't make myself care. And I am fixing some yogurt for my sick partner and I drop the whole pint which splatters all over the floor and I JUST CAN'T FUCKING BELIEVE I DROPPED THE GODDAMN MTHRFUCKING YOGURT ALL OVER THE FUCKING KITCHEN FLOOR WHICH IS DISGUSTING ENOUGH ALL READY! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

(deep breath)

Okay. Just clean it up. And get a grip.

Sometimes the thread feels a bit tenuous.

So yes, there's more to be said about this (a la womanhood) but not tonight.

fast moving pendulum

We are all okay.

But last night we had some firefighters over.

But we are all okay. And really, if you have to have a story about calling firefighters to your house at 11 pm on Thanksgiving night--this is the story to have!

Hamdillah.

So last night I was at the computer and everyone else was asleep. And I smell this foul, plastic burning smell. So I look around and can't find anything. But the smell gets worse and then a foggy, kind of smoky haze fills the living room, kitchen and study.


I look harder.

Nothing.

I wake Scully up. We both smell and see it. We cannot find anything. Basement is clear. Christmas tree lights are off. All the nightlights get unplugged. Everything looks clear. And the burning stench endures. The haze is getting worse.

Forget it.

Get the kids. Get out.

911.

Firetruck.

Siren.

Police car.


Sobbing Khubz in her jammies in the truck.


Wake up the neighbors.

Firemen come in. Boots. Hats. One guy had an axe. I am not kidding.

And they smell nothing. And see nothing.

I come back in the house with them. You don't smell that? It stinks but it is not as heavy.


"Smells like burned food." one says. Thanks but I haven't been cooking.


"Smells like potpourri to me." another says. We don't even have candles. We have kids.


"I smell it." Thank you. "It smells like there's a burned transformer outside. I think that smell must have come in."

I opened the door when I smelled it to see if the smell was coming from outside. It wasn't. But they couldn't find anything. The smoke alarms hadn't gone off. They found nothing.

They were very nice. I couldn't believe I called the fire department out for nothing. But that's what they found. Nothing. Nothing hot. Nothing smoky. Nothing.
"I am not crazy!" I tell Scully as we bring our children back in our house.

She thought it had smelled like an electrical fire.

Thumper, bless him, is asleep. He was asleep in his crib when I first smelled it. Fell back asleep in the truck after being evacuated. Slept through the lights and sirens. Fell back asleep once back in the house. And blissfully slept in his crib until six this morning.

Khubz was upset. She clung to Scully, crying in her arms because she was scared. They cuddled on the couch for an hour after the all-clear.

And then Scully and I sat on the couch. Clinging to each other with all of the "what-ifs" racing around us. And then what we need to do differently.

For example, no more sleeping naked. Or at least, I need to have some clothes handy. :(
We need to know where our keys are and make sure they are put in the same spot, easy to dash out of the house with.
Scully needs to save her dissertation work online as well as on flashdrives and our computer.
You know how this list goes.

And then we walked around the house catching faint glimpses of the previous smell.

And then. . .wait. . . the dishwasher. . .


Oh My F*ng G.

Unbelievable.

Since then I have been on a fast moving pendulum that swings back and forth between vomiting with fear that there could have been a fire in my house where my babies and my partner live--and vomiting from embarrassment for calling the fire department to my house because a goddamn tupperware lid melted against the heating element in the dishwasher. Not even a tupperware! Fucking GLADWARE!

Unbefuckinglivable.

At least the dildos weren't out.

zits

So it goes like this.

Thumper has a double ear infection. We cannot hold this against him. I have no hard feelings that we were up from 3-5 a.m. last night. Ear aches hurt. He is a baby. These are facts, like gravity.

Khubz plows through a peanut butter sandwich for breakfast. Scully is off to catch the bus. Khubz gets in to bed and begins to harass me to, um, mother or something. So I get up. Thumper is asleep in his crib. Khubz is needing some attention.

We sit and read. We plow through all the books in the library bag and we check out 157 books at a time. But it is destined to be a hard day and not because I am doing a bad job. It is destined to be a hard day because my staff or my customers or my board of directors or whatever labor model (MT, perhaps?) you'd like to use. . . because my children today were dictatorial & unyielding ( a phrase some of you may have heard before.)

And really, this bitch session is directed at Khubz. She was maddening and we are all lucky to have made it through the day without going to jail. A few snapshots of the day.

Thumper is asleep. She has my lap all to herself. We are reading & reading. Out of the blue she gets this look in her eye. This is the look she gets when she decides, "hey, I think I'm going to act like a shithead!" (And listen, o ye loyal subjects of Khubz. I know she is your beloved. I know you are her defenders. I love her too. But really, today? You would have voted for impeachment too. Trust me.)

"What's that, mommy?" She stabs at my chin with her finger. Her finger fresh out of her mouth, thank you very much.

"What? My zit? Mommy has a zit." A great big puss-filled painful zit, actually. Get your finger away.

She scrunches up her face in disgust. "Yeah. Yuck! A zit! And hair. . . Ewww."

Are we reading a story here? Stop touching my face. We are reading a story, right? No? Okay, then you can get off my lap. Okay then--let's just keep reading. No! Stop touching my zit. No. I don't want to talk about it. Or the hair. (sigh.)

Or later when Thumper is up and nursing and nursing and nursing. And crying. And nursing. And Khubz wants to paint. I suggest shaving cream because I am brilliant. After playing at the kitchen table for a few minutes Khubz wants to move the frivolities to the bathtub. "That is a great idea, Khubz. She is in the tub. Thumper and I are having fun watching her paint her body with shaving cream. She is playing peekabo with Thumper. We have gotten this day turned around!

So Khubz looks at me and gets one of her bathtoys (a small bucket) and drinks the water. This is against the rules. "Oh. I see that you're all done." I tell her and drain the tub. She gives me a smile. That smile. And she drinks the water again. I get the towel and invite her to come out of the tub. She scurries to the far end of the tub. I put Thumper in his crib (he doesn't need to see this) and proceed to pull her wet, slippery, kicking body out of the tub. She stinks so badly of aftershave musk from the shaving cream that I almost gag. Screaming, kicking, grabbing on to the door jam and musky.

A-mazing. So I drop her in her room.

"You are welcome to throw your fit in here. Let me know when you are ready to be polite." I turn to leave the room. She screams like a tribe of banshees, "NO MOMMY! AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!" and charges at me. I am not making this shit up. What do I do? I looked in the damn parents-as-teachers book. It said nothing about a transmogrified three year old. And I was startled. So I tossed the towel at her (I didn't throw it, I promise) and it landed on her head. This stopped her in her tracks and I was able to escape. Temporarily.

Now I've been watching some supernanny and I know this is not how time out is supposed to go. But at that point we needed to be separated and it was either the towel or call the police for back up.

Its just that, for real, I tried a lot of things that would have worked great on another day and it just all went to shit today. TV backfired on me today. How does that happen? When we watch a show it is usually a 30 minute show. When it is over I ask her if she wants to turn it off or if she wants me to turn it off. She wants to and turns the tv off. I was making lunch and looked at the clock and saw that the show would be ending soon. So I asked her which of us should turn it off. "Its not over yet!" she protests. Ok. PBS often has a little talking bumper to a show or something. So I wait another minute. Then I go in there and ask again. And I see that, actually, the clock in the kitchen is slow. An entirely new show has started. And "It's NOT OVER YET!!!!" So even TV turned in to a knock-down, drag out fight.

Everything was like that.

No-nap-time is basically "how many diapers can I fill with shit in quick succession?"

Play time was basically "how many things can I take away from my brother?"

In the morning I talked to my mom and she said "why don't you let me come pick Khubz up and you can have some one-on-one with Thumper and I'll get her out of your hair." I scoffed. "This is not an SOS," I told her. "We'll all come over this afternoon but I have a brand new can of shaving cream and we are going to turn this day around!" Fast forward a few hours. I called her back, "okay. At this point it is, in fact, an SOS."

I called Scully about 4:30. "Do you want us to pick you up on campus?" Put that through the Mommy scrambler and what I really meant was, "I cannot spend one more minute alone with these children."

We got home and Scully walked in first. "Whew! What's that smell?" "What do you mean? It's roast in the slowcooker." And I walked in. Ah. It is burned roast in the slow cooker. Burned with little burned sun dried tomatoes all burned together in one fucking burned masterpiece. Okay. Pizza it is.

We get home from pizza and I check out to write all this out. Halfway through the mommy-is-bitching guilt catches up to me and I decide I want to do bedtime for Khubz. I asked Khubz to pick her toothbrush. She ignored me. "I'm going to count to three and then it will be my turn to pick." Wailing on the floor of the bathroom when I picked green because she " wants purple!!!" Alas, that is not how we get purple toothbrush. Thirty minutes later we brush her teeth. Yes we used the green toothbrush and, yes, CPS did not swoop in to rescue her from our abusive clutches.

I finish up her bedtime song "you are my sunshine. . . and I am sunburned" and as I am singing to her she gently lifts her hand up to my face to grab at my zit.

I think she was too tired today. I also think she had too much time awake in her room this morning before I got up. She seemed bored/tired/attention seeking. She was looking for trouble all day long and trouble was everywhere. I have elaborate plans to make sure today never ever happens again. My mom says I am incorrect to assume there is a planning solution to what is basically a 3-year-old problem. "She had a bad day. She is 3."

I have decided that I need to get up earlier with Khubz so she is more tired at naptime. PBS does yoga at 6 a.m. I'm going to see if Khubz and I can make a date for some a.m. exercise. It is much more likely that it will be another hard night and I will sleep as long as I possibly can tomorrow morning.

But even if that is the case I will be warm and snug in the knowledge that I will not have to live through this exact day again. After all, tomorrow she has preschool.

Because Nabil is not Saudi Enough

So my Dad was finally allowed to check in to his flight. We were all at the counter for a good two hours while the woman behind the desk called Amsterdam and tried to call Saudi Arabia (but she couldn't get the phone to work.)

My Dad.

My Saudi Dad. With his expired Saudi passport, his expired Saudi driver's license, his Saudi identity card (with no expiration date), his expired U.S. green card, a letter of extension for his expired green card, his current U.S. driver's license. All this. Even his grandson (Thumper) was vouching for him.

Two hours.

The woman had told them he couldn't travel on his expired passport because his destination would not let him enter. "But I'm Saudi." he said. She blinked. "They cannot refuse me. I am a Saudi national." My Mom tried to clear the confusion up. "He is Saudi. He is from Saudi Arabia." Hmmm. . . Repetition did not seem to be helping.

"I can only renew my passport while I am in the country. I have to be there to renew it. It is not renewed because I am not there. I am here."

And so he was. For two hours. Here, in the DSM airport.

"They have to take me. They cannot refuse me--where would they send me? They have to let me in." It seems there is not a hot market on rejected Saudi nationals.

After two hours one of the airport managers let him check in. Hamdillah.

That was yesterday. He just called my Mom to say he made it safe and sound and is with our Uncle and his son Faisal. But, wait. . .I don't have a cousin Faisal.

Apparently my cousin Nabil changed his name to Faisal. "Nabil" was a foreign name.

Big, big sigh.

Sigh that cannot capture all of the fractured parts between us Sigh.

Isokay, mommy. 'sokay.

One of the problems with depression (in my case, pregnancy detox) is that you become unreasonable, irrational and unpredictable. It makes your memory faulty. You feel done with it but can't seem to will it away. Everyone around you feels done with it. You begin to worry that relationships can't sustain the ridiculous levels of sadness when actually you have every reason you've ever had to feel joyous. It is hard to call friends because you don't want to subject them to your misery since you can't stand being around yourself either. At the same time, staying in your house and not talking to friends and family only makes you feel more miserable. And yet you cannot logic yourself out of it.

When you do get a bit of good sleep it is just enough to make you feel like you can access your skills at biting sarcasm (and your skills are considerable. )

The justified complaints get tangled up in the ridiculous ones. Or they get tied up in defensiveness from other things. It is difficult and complicated.

And sometimes, you just really need a reminder that you are actually having a good time in this world that you've spent so many years wishing for.

I don't do so good with the "positive messaging" for myself. My mother busted out the word "castigate" when describing how I am talking to myself.

But I do know I'm not going to remember very much of this (just cause I'm not sleeping much) and I'll be sad that the memory I do have is (shudder) "that sucked!" Because it isn't all unreasonable sad feelings.

There are occasional 2 am moments when I look at Stinky and feel real camaraderie with him like, okay. Its two am and we're going to have to get through this night together. Just us and the herb detectives.

And Khubz, for all the boundary testing, is very fun. It's not all purple sharpie marker on Gramma and Grampa's bedroom carpet (and tv remote and laundry basket and box springs and telephone and exercise bike.) For real--we are having fun together too. And look, I have proof!

Good job, Mommy, Good Job: Sticky Square

Take a length of contact paper & tape it sticky side up to the carpet. Let the frivolity begin.

This kept her busy (on and off) for an hour (!!) And I felt like a good mommy for turning the tv off. And I felt like a really good mommy when she started doing all this imaginary play with the box being a pool, having her animals tromp through there and get stuck in the mud, taking a bath and needing soap etc.

So today's mission is to do something fun: all four of us. Something purely fun. All of us. Together. Fun.

And to try and get a bit more sleep. Here's the inspiration for that one:

On Strategy

Apologies for another ((sigh)) post. Anyway, here goes.

I saw a very good friend on Monday. She was living far away but is only 2 hours away now. I still haven't seen her much, largely because I suck & am curmudgeonly. But I was out there Monday and got to have coffee with her & really realized how much I miss her.

I told her this story I'd heard about a place we used to work together.


Our mutual sisterfriend (let's call her Fauzia Faidi, or FF for short) asked the receptionist to make some hotel arrangements at a hotel. The woman did and sent an email saying, "let me know if you get there & its unacceptable. If there's anything wrong with the place just call & I'll get you in someplace better!"

So FF goes up to get the paperwork and to inquire. "So, is there anything that's making you worry about the place? Like, did they say, yes I'm sure the exterminators will have lifted the quarantine by Monday night?"

And the woman says, "Well, I don't think of myself as racist or anything but some hotels are not well maintained."

Let's go with puzzled. It is more effective than pissed, right? The ff replies, "I think I'm confused. What does that have to do with race?"

"Oh, well, you know, its just that there's a certain group of people from a certain place" she looked around to avoid eye contact, "and they tend to buy up a lot of hotels and don't take care of them."

"Huh. Well, I've stayed in some really crappy hotels in Dodge that were all run by white people. Is that what you mean?"

"What? Er, oh, of course. It's just that on the phone, it was just, they sounded. . .i don't know"

"Is this about someone on a phone having an accent?"

"yes. yes. i'm so sorry! i don't know these things and i'm really not like that and its just that you hear people talking about these hotels and i don't know anything and you know so much and. . .and. . .and. . ."

So this whole conversation was low-level impact. No one was denied services, housing or healthcare. Our friend the FF was not worried about loss of her job, custody of her daughter blah blah blah. It was tiring, something to address & sigh about. The woman felt terrible and expressed every hour on the hour afterwards how terrible she felt. This only made the FF more tired.

So my good friend and I were parsing through this story.

"OMFG. You are making that up!" (I have been known to exaggerate, on occassion)

"In fact, I'm not."

"I just wish people would keep to the strategic racism. At least you don't have to deal with all their apologies afterwards."

Not the same thing at all.

There is something to be said for exposure and that some folks have simply not had much exposure to good information. There is something to being able to say "wow. that logic actually doesn't even make sense." Why waste energy on being surprised, shocked and outraged by what is logical consequence of the whiteness all around us? Respond, of course, but don't lose sleep over it.

And then I think about our last national election.
Fear and hatred of queers and arabs meant that more people voted for a hate-mongering, war-mongerer fuck than voted against him.

And then I think about where the above woman gets her information, who feeds it to her, who ensures it is the dominant cultural discourse, who maintains whiteness as we know it.

It's all strategy, isn't it?

A Missed Opportunity for Applied Physics

I woke up this morning at 4:30. When I was expecting Khubz I used to wake up every morning about 3 am. Sometimes I could get back to sleep, sometimes I couldn't. This morning I decided to give up trying and go downstairs.

The air is chilly. Scully was sleeping in her flannel pants. It is baking weather.

So I whip up some banana wheat germ muffins. A pan of regular muffins and a pan of mini-muffins. Mini muffins went in first. Use of applied physics would have spared me what followed. Burned muffins. Burned, burned, burned.

Goodbye lovely scent of baking banana bread. Hello stench of burned wheat germ. Hello crusted, burned out mini muffin pan that now has to soak and will require a delicate recovery period. Hello wasted morning. I should have just showered and gone downstairs to blog.

Mini muffins, of course, take less time to bake than regular muffins. This has something to do with surface area perhaps? Big sigh. On to the regular muffins. Which also burn. Not as badly--just enough that I shaved off the bottoms and will serve them with a side of sheepish apologies (but serve them anyway.)

As for the mini muffins? I scooped up what could be salvaged and served Khubz a bowl of "muffin guts." Why grimace? She ate them.

good news. . . bad news

Okay, it is Sept. 11th which has lots & lots of painful reverberations, so many people lost their lives on this day and still are losing their lives from the bullshit war that continues, previously well-integrated arabs and naive muslims everywhere looked around and said "wow. . . you really hate us. . . "

i can't talk articulately about any of that so instead let me speak on a completely trivial & unrelated note:

Good news: The plumber that is here to fix our leaky toilet is nice, not creepy, respectful & explains things and has not made me feel afraid to be alone in the house with him.

The bad news: "Well. . . I think I've found another plumbing problem for you. . ."

Really? Because I thought the upstairs toilet leaking through my dining room ceiling sort of met my quota for plumbing problems. Apparently not. (sigh)

Good thing this doesn't really matter. Good thing we have an emergency fund for just such emergencies. Good thing we have really excellent friends like "Rainbow" who (when she thought she'd be coming for a fabulous Ramadhan spread) was greeted by a stressed out ff, a screaming Khubz, no dinner and a tirade about not being able to get behind the toilet because the bean wouldn't get out of the way to let me reach back there. (Honesty asterisk: I am a big girl but the just-me-bigness is at least flexible and I can smoosh my belly out of the way when necessary. The bean is not so accommodating.)

Whew. In truth this is not so bad. Could be much worse. And leaky toilets, plumbing problems. . . Well. It happens.

Yet here's a spot

How to quell anxiety at this late hour?


I have already gone to the grocery store to get supplies for the influx of the tribe this weekend. Accomplishing that task only makes me keenly aware of how much else is on my to-do list. None of this is the root of my anxiety, in truth. But this is not the time, nor the place.

I am just going to go upstairs, put on an episode of Foyle's War and cut out "Dig, Ivan, Dig!" pictures until I am overcome by sleep.

(deep breath) Sphere of influence. . . Sphere of control. . . Sphere of influence. . .

Hold it together, man!

Out, Out Damned Anxiety!

First off, apologies to Mrs. Macbeth (as my dad always called her) for taking liberties with the title of the post.

I am feeling pretty anxious tonight. Things in iowa are rough--some in the family are struggling a lot. I worry about everyone's resiliancy especially since some things (like, say, oh a mental health disability or aging or the breakdown of the bicultural mind) aren't going to go away. Ever. I'm feeling a bit far away even though I was there three days ago and even though many in the family will be here in two days.

Things in Texas are also rough. Scully lost an uncle last weekend and her parents are in Mexico now. They made it just in time for the funeral but I cannot imagine how far away they must be feeling as well.

It is too late in the evening to be feeling this anxious or I'll never get to sleep. Khubz went to sleep promptly at 7:30. Scully followed her at 8:30 (she's not feeling well.)

I am left with one device to quell my anxiety. Here you go:

Khubz + chocolate icecream

(at least it's not poop--yet!)

Post-bath Magic!

Wouldn't you want to smell those clean hands?

A year ago this was Khubz & her comrade, MajPaj

They would never put up with that now.
Instead, they are out to investigate the world on their own (well, together, really.)

And one more piece of randomness. Have you seen the two ponies?

All grown up.

She's turning two on Monday. My girlchild will be two years old. Scully and I will celebrate our second anniversary of becoming Mommies. I know I should be over the weepiness and the "she changed everything in my life" and the stunned sanctity of it all by now. I'm not. There are certainly plenty of glad-she-goes-to-daycare moments or "go! go see mama!" moments or "Ouch! Stop pinching me! That hurts Mommy! Khubz! Ya Khubz! We do NOT pinch Mommy! Mommy is a real person with feelings and it hurts when you pinch!" moments. Sure. But this moment, right now, is not one of those moments.

It is instead one of these moments:

Clearly, no real problems

I need to start by saying that this blogpost will prove to the basket that I have no real problems. Anyone with actual problems would never devote any energy to bitching like this.

There is someone in my world who is making me bat-shit crazy.
The conversation goes like this.

We need to pick something up for lunch. She only eats soup for lunch so I start by saying, "okay, soup. Where would you like to get some soup." Twenty minutes later I try to shorten the conversation by offering concrete suggestions.

"Well, there's a Red Lobster. They have chowder and bisque. Would you like Red Lobster?"

"You know. . . I have only ever eaten at a Red Lobster once in my life. My entire life. I can't even tell you which one I ate at. I know that sounds funny, but I can explain. You see it was when I was working for blahblah doing contract work on the blahblah in blahblah county which is in blah part of the state. And I can tell you which county I was in but it was one of those places that you only know you're in a new town because you pass a small sign that says, "welcome to blah town." So it was one of those places and I guess I wasn't paying attention to the signs because I have no idea which Red Lobster it was that I ate at."

they're all the same! that's what's wrong with america, right?! the same exact restaurants no matter which town you're in! it doesn't MATTER which FUCKING RED LOBSTER IT WAS! they all have the same menu that's why they have the SAME NAME!

"Oh well, we've passed it. I know Applebees has soup. Let's pull in."

We pull up to the Applebee's to go and have a 15 minute conversation about how remarkable it is that they have a "to go" parking area. And they have the phone number posted so you can just call it in, but how do you know what they have? Surely they have a different soup each day, don't you think. . . . ?

Or consider that we are two hours away from home. Our meeting gets done an hour early. We go to "pick up some coffee" on our way out of town before heading home. FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER we are actually getting in the car to head home.

At some point, I just can't engage any more. Scully bought me an i-tunes card specifically so I could download old this american life episodes. She did this specifically so I didn't have to converse as much on these lengthy and frequent work trips. And that works, it works well. But sometimes it backfires.

We were listening to one called "Family Physics." The short version, a woman is dating a white guy while also screwing around with a black guy. She gets pregnant & isn't sure who the father is. Her family makes her marry her boyfriend (the white guy) and the baby is born looking "white enough." The truth comes out 20 years later, the family does fine and the biracial kid meets his bio dad etc.

She looks at me stunned. "What a good story. Really good story." pause & I know its coming. "Do you suppose that's why adopted kids sometimes seek out their birth parents? Do you think its about identity?"

I couldn't even make eye contact. "I don't know. I guess I don't know." because I was simply unwilling to engage in a conversation about identity, race, adoption, family etc. for the next FOUR HOURS that it would have taken.

There's more. There's so so much more.

See? No real problems.

Wondering if

Things are still shitty around the fruit basket? Yes. Yes, actually they are.

And that conference call earlier in the week? It lasted TWO HOURS. I shit you not. TWO HOURS.

But it's not all shitty conference calls this week. There's also the report that will not go quietly into that good night. And there was an all day meeting yesterday where a completely different woman got so pissed off at me that she couldn't look me in the eyes. Not only that. She just couldn't look at me. At all. Even when we were talking to each other.

On the way back from that meeting I plowed into a bird. I was going 80 mph and he thought he was flying high enough over the interstate. Splat. Feathers, everything all over my windshield.

But it's all okay. Really. It's all totally okay.

Bean is great. Khubz won't stop talking. Scully asked me not to write about the things I'm praising her for right now. (wink) Also I'm off the progesterone which means I no longer leave oily stains of melted petroleum jelly on the couch. Yea! What's to kvetch about anyway?

There's lots of news that's not mine to tell. Really, except for the life-sucking black hole of current work-related activities, its pretty exciting around here lately.

what are we doing on the phone still?????

update

they don't care

and neither do I!!!!!!


STOP TALKING

notes from a conference call

when your full of hate & having a hard time focusing. . .

RELAX.

NONE OF THIS MATTERS.

Cheers & Jeers!

Yehaw! We paid off my car yesterday! Yea US!!!!!

Eeech! In less than one year I've put 22,000 miles on the car. SHIT.

amost live blogging

Well, i'm here in KY, Louisville specifically. Lovely city. We've had amazing food. Very kind people. 16th largest us city, did you know? So my problems are not about louisville or ky even. It's just that

i'm away from my family for a week. Blech.

Khubz has an ear infection, again. We are taking her to an ENT doc next to talk about tubes. This is her seventh ear infection since last september.

it's primary night in ky and where is hillary holding her primary night gala?
at. this. hotel.
for. real.

We've all been issued wrist bands to prove we're in the country (hotel) legally. Secret service are crawling all over this place, which frankly is fucking creepy enough all ready because the fucking NRA is having some sort of meeting here today. THE HOTEL IS GOING ON LOCKDOWN THIS EVENING.

I feel like in some ways this may be a missed opportunity for live event blogging but I don't think I'd be able to stomach it.

Instead let me widge on about my pregnancy. I'm feeling much better, not nearly as naseuas this week. We found a great bistro a couple blocks from the hotel and I had an amazing salad of spinach, walnuts, strawberries and goat cheese crutons. YUM. I also had some salmon. I get to check off 3 major food groups: leafy greens, protein, & omega-3 fats. Great.

I cannot wait to talk to a nutritionalist about what I should/not be eating during this pregnancy. Mostly because I want to actively avoid gestational diabetes and I would like these babies to come safely into the world and I would like to stay safely in the world. I have obligations already, you know?

Alright, I'm signing off. Thanks for listeneing.

Break Up

National Public Radio and I are not exclusive, but we have been going steady for a good long time. I know NPR sees a lot of people. And I'm not lonely-- Democracy Now! is more like my primary lover when it comes to media outlets. But NPR and I have a nice, stable relationship. We each have our own rooms. We see other people. We travel a lot together along I-35 and I-70. We wake up together except when Scully puts a Selena CD into the alarm clock/radio. So. . . no monogamy. But dependably together at some point each week & usually each day. Think nice, reliable, friendly sex.

So what the fuck is this about?

This photo montage to women enduring the shame of their husbands? Politely titled "Spouses in Scandal" on the website but "Standing By Their Men" when you open the gallery?

Let's walk through why our attention is being focused on this (& no, I don't actually think it is more evidence of a cultural/media plot against Hillary Clinton proving--proving!--that sexism is so much worse than racism. But is it sexism? Sure)

I hear all the time from westerners about how arab/middle eastern/non-western/two-thirds world women experience "honor crimes" because the culture (all one culture, you know) holds women responsible for upholding the community's honor & essentialized values.

So what is the point of that photo gallery?

A demonstration project of women as the platform for shame, pity, disgust, humiliation and dishonor.

oooohh, can you imagine the shame? another man! a prostitute! how humiliated she must be? my god, i just, i don't know what i would do. i don't know how she can stand there next to him. . . . . . . . .

It just feels so dishonest, so jerry springer, so needless. What are we supposed to gleam from looking at these pictures of men--and "their women"? Are we supposed to look at those pictures and deconstruct the ways this culture expects women to civilize men, shore up their dignity, connect them to state-sanctioned family structures so they aren't running wild or having secret liaisons with men in airport bathrooms? Are we supposed to look at "these women" who utterly failed in their highest social obligation to put forth a pretty image of a happy family?

I don't have any idea why that gallery was up there or what anyone is supposed to do with it.

Hmpf. I know I'll be back. But NPR? You're on the couch for now.

Yesterday

Was a hard day.

Khubz slammed her finger in the door at daycare and they couldn't get her to calm back down. We took her to the doctor and it's not broken but it is gross and her fingernail is going to fall off (ichhhhh.) I also took my fine self to the doctor seeking a simple anti-viral flu prescription and walked out with a pneumonia diagnosis. WTF? So we got through yesterday and today Khubz is going to daycare and I'm staying home. Scully is out in Wichita this evening so I'm hoping for an early bedtime (for both me & Khubz)

I'm just kind of wiped out.