Sunday, December 27, 2009
Coffee Date Pix
A couple photos from a recent coffee date with our friend Dana. I must be honest and admit that I'm posting these because I think this is one of those rare photos where I look pretty good (Bryony is always cute so I post as many of her as I want), so I'm going to milk it for all I can.
Taking It At Face Value
A couple years ago, Adam went on a two-week deployment with the Navy and was put up in barracks with several other servicemembers. Adam arrived at the barracks first, and, on a whim, decided to try an experiment. He gathered the pillows from all the beds and proceeded to place them at the foot of each of the beds. Based on the arrangement, location and positioning of the beds, it was obvious where the "head" and "foot" of each bed were. However, as Adam had predicted, all of his roommates upon entering the room, lay down on the bed foot-to-head in agreement with where the pillow was placed. None of them questioned their sleeping arrangement, not even when Adam was sleeping in the complete opposite (and arguably, the "right") direction. Now some might say that Adam is weird or had too much time on his hands. He would say that he was proving a theory--that people are all too often ready to just accept what is told or shown to them. Sure, the direction you sleep in is a relatively trivial issue; however, it could be said that this is indicative of a much larger issue at hand. In short, people don't question the situation they are placed in, and subsequently, we become a very complacent people.
Americans, I've found, don't always see the value in travelling outside of the country. We have a beautiful nation, no doubt, but one of the best things about seeing the rest of the world is learning how others see you, and how they see themselves. I was abundantly surprised during my time living in England by how Brits and other Europeans are much more likely to challenge the information their news media and politicians feed them. I once heard that in France, the government fears the people more than the people fear the government, but that it's the opposite in the U.S. One example of this is bioengineered foods, or GMOs (genetically modified organisms). I had never even heard of such a thing until I lived overseas. One of my French friends told me how Americans eat foods that are spliced and diced with different genes (for example, tomatoes that are engineered with bovine growth hormones). I was repulsed by the idea, but had no idea what he was talking about. Europeans not only are aware of GMO's, but refuse to eat them, and require their governments to identify genetically modified foods. Why don't we as Americans demand this of our Food and Drug Administration? Are we that trusting of our government? Do we not care what we eat? Or are we too lax to demand the information that we deserve to know? I often wonder why we are so ready to just take things at face value, why we fail to question, look deeper, seek the truth, not just the truth-as-they-tell-us. Are we really that afraid to find things out for ourselves? Or are we just that lazy?
Americans, I've found, don't always see the value in travelling outside of the country. We have a beautiful nation, no doubt, but one of the best things about seeing the rest of the world is learning how others see you, and how they see themselves. I was abundantly surprised during my time living in England by how Brits and other Europeans are much more likely to challenge the information their news media and politicians feed them. I once heard that in France, the government fears the people more than the people fear the government, but that it's the opposite in the U.S. One example of this is bioengineered foods, or GMOs (genetically modified organisms). I had never even heard of such a thing until I lived overseas. One of my French friends told me how Americans eat foods that are spliced and diced with different genes (for example, tomatoes that are engineered with bovine growth hormones). I was repulsed by the idea, but had no idea what he was talking about. Europeans not only are aware of GMO's, but refuse to eat them, and require their governments to identify genetically modified foods. Why don't we as Americans demand this of our Food and Drug Administration? Are we that trusting of our government? Do we not care what we eat? Or are we too lax to demand the information that we deserve to know? I often wonder why we are so ready to just take things at face value, why we fail to question, look deeper, seek the truth, not just the truth-as-they-tell-us. Are we really that afraid to find things out for ourselves? Or are we just that lazy?
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Closure, Sorta
So, the mystery of Sleazy Cafe Man (SCM) has been solved...kind of. Still no information as to the whys or the hows, but at least we now know the "what happened"?
http://www.kpic.com/news/local/79538792.html
http://www.kpic.com/news/local/79538792.html
Sunday, December 13, 2009
The Truth About Cats And Dogs
Ladies and gentlemen...!!!
In this corner...
Man's best friend, the most loyal of companions, the protector, the security blanket, the jogging partner, the car passenger...ladies and gentlemen, the DOG!!!
And in this corner...
The graceful, the independent, the chic, the clever, the hunter...ladies and gentlemen, the CAT!!!
DING! ROUND ONE!
To be fair, I have had dogs for the last ten years of my life. While I always thought I was a dog-or-cat person, deep down I've always known I like dogs more. That being said, I've always enjoyed being around my friends' cats. So when Greg House came our way, it was a fairly natural assumption on my part that he would fit in well with our lifestyle. After all, dogs come with their own requisites--walks at the park, poop patrol over the lawn, rushing home from work and social outings to let them out, cleaning up accidents...how difficult can a cat be?
ROUND TWO!
I was impressed that Greg was litter trained, but that's not the same thing as being efficient at it. He usually knows to use the box, but often when he does, he shoots and misses; but bullseye on the wall! Or during his attempts to cover up his daily releases, he ends up kicking them out of the box, little balls of kitty-litter-clad fun all over the basement floor. Oh, and of course I'm the one lucky enough to get the cat with the queasy stomach, so oftentimes I'm privy to the runny piles of poo...and lo and behold, this all takes place in the house. Meanwhile,
dogs = pick up poo in plastic bag and drop in trash.
ROUND THREE!
Dogs are needy animals, hence the whole "good companion" thing. Supposedly, cats are independent, self-sufficient animals that prefer to curl up with you on their own time. I like needy animals; it makes me feel wanted. And that's why I liked Greg House from the very beginning. The little guy literally jumped into my lap the moment I first saw him. I didn't realize how very needy he'd be, though. While my terrier is content to lie on the couch next to me while I'm watching TV, knitting or talking on the phone, the cat has to be on me...all the time. It can be flattering to be wanted, loved and needed so much, but it can also be exhausting and annoying, especially when you're needed, wanted and loved by an infant, too.
ROUND FOUR!
I freely admit that this could just be my issue, but...why do cats seem to always manage to put their butt holes right in your face? Tails straight up in the air, cat climbing all over you...and butt hole face on. Even the smallest dogs seem to be able to keep their butts out of your face when they're on your lap.
ROUND FOUR!
Adam and I have travelled with our dogs the entire time we've had them. While it can be frustrating at times--dog smell in the car, dog hair entwined in the carseat fabric, water dishes spilled--there was a comfort knowing that our furry kids could accompany us on our trips instead of being left behind at a kennel. We thought the same would be true with our cat. Ummm...not so much. How do thee annoy we? Let me count the ways:
1) filthy stinking litter box in the passenger seat foot well
2) stopping at rest stops to clean out said litter box
3) cat walking all over the car (and all over us) during trip
4) cat meowing incessantly for no known reason
5) cat jumping from front seat to backseat window ledge, flying over heads and baby's car seat
6) cat walking on baby's head and requiring a swift swat on the backside in response.
TOTAL KNOCK OUT!
Don't get me wrong; I love my cat. I just wish that he were a little bit more loveable sometimes. Maybe it's just going to take a little bit more time for us to adjust to each other. Or maybe I'll teach him how to bark.
In this corner...
Man's best friend, the most loyal of companions, the protector, the security blanket, the jogging partner, the car passenger...ladies and gentlemen, the DOG!!!
And in this corner...
The graceful, the independent, the chic, the clever, the hunter...ladies and gentlemen, the CAT!!!
DING! ROUND ONE!
To be fair, I have had dogs for the last ten years of my life. While I always thought I was a dog-or-cat person, deep down I've always known I like dogs more. That being said, I've always enjoyed being around my friends' cats. So when Greg House came our way, it was a fairly natural assumption on my part that he would fit in well with our lifestyle. After all, dogs come with their own requisites--walks at the park, poop patrol over the lawn, rushing home from work and social outings to let them out, cleaning up accidents...how difficult can a cat be?
ROUND TWO!
I was impressed that Greg was litter trained, but that's not the same thing as being efficient at it. He usually knows to use the box, but often when he does, he shoots and misses; but bullseye on the wall! Or during his attempts to cover up his daily releases, he ends up kicking them out of the box, little balls of kitty-litter-clad fun all over the basement floor. Oh, and of course I'm the one lucky enough to get the cat with the queasy stomach, so oftentimes I'm privy to the runny piles of poo...and lo and behold, this all takes place in the house. Meanwhile,
dogs = pick up poo in plastic bag and drop in trash.
ROUND THREE!
Dogs are needy animals, hence the whole "good companion" thing. Supposedly, cats are independent, self-sufficient animals that prefer to curl up with you on their own time. I like needy animals; it makes me feel wanted. And that's why I liked Greg House from the very beginning. The little guy literally jumped into my lap the moment I first saw him. I didn't realize how very needy he'd be, though. While my terrier is content to lie on the couch next to me while I'm watching TV, knitting or talking on the phone, the cat has to be on me...all the time. It can be flattering to be wanted, loved and needed so much, but it can also be exhausting and annoying, especially when you're needed, wanted and loved by an infant, too.
ROUND FOUR!
I freely admit that this could just be my issue, but...why do cats seem to always manage to put their butt holes right in your face? Tails straight up in the air, cat climbing all over you...and butt hole face on. Even the smallest dogs seem to be able to keep their butts out of your face when they're on your lap.
ROUND FOUR!
Adam and I have travelled with our dogs the entire time we've had them. While it can be frustrating at times--dog smell in the car, dog hair entwined in the carseat fabric, water dishes spilled--there was a comfort knowing that our furry kids could accompany us on our trips instead of being left behind at a kennel. We thought the same would be true with our cat. Ummm...not so much. How do thee annoy we? Let me count the ways:
1) filthy stinking litter box in the passenger seat foot well
2) stopping at rest stops to clean out said litter box
3) cat walking all over the car (and all over us) during trip
4) cat meowing incessantly for no known reason
5) cat jumping from front seat to backseat window ledge, flying over heads and baby's car seat
6) cat walking on baby's head and requiring a swift swat on the backside in response.
TOTAL KNOCK OUT!
Don't get me wrong; I love my cat. I just wish that he were a little bit more loveable sometimes. Maybe it's just going to take a little bit more time for us to adjust to each other. Or maybe I'll teach him how to bark.
Pic of the Week
I woke up yesterday morning looking like this. Yes, I typically look puffy and dreadful in the morning, but not usually this bad. I think my cornea got a mild scratch the night before and so my eye got swollen. I had Adam take a picture because I figured it was blog material.
Monday, December 7, 2009
The Macabre In Me
I've always been really interested in murder-mysteries. During the '90s, my favorite show was "Unsolved Mysteries"; there was nothing better than watching Robert Stack in his trench coat, looking ominously down into the camera as he talked of missing people, mysterious deaths and unidentified bodies. Before that, I loved "Murder, She Wrote" and "Matlock". I just have a morbid fascination with the idea of mystery and intrigue.
These days my fascination takes me to watching shows like "Medium", "48 Hours Mystery" and "Dateline NBC Mystery". In fact, the perfect evening for me would be take-out dinner, a glass of wine, a happily sleeping baby and a marathon of these shows. Crazy, right? Well, perhaps the most disturbing of all my favorite shows is CBS's "Criminal Minds", about a team of FBI criminal profilers. It's a fantastic show, but they portray some of the most heinous crimes imaginable--cutting off victims' faces, holding people hostage before eventually eating them, kidnapping children to introduce them into an ancient rite of prepubsecent marriage. Yeah, I have to wonder who the writers are to think of up this stuff. They are either near-crazy themselves or just extremely creative. Or perhaps, both.
I started thinking about my own relationships with these shows a few weeks ago. One night, as I was doing a channel scan for my TV converter box, I was delighted to find that we were now receiving four additional channels. One of them, the ION channel, airs two back-to-back episodes of "Criminal Minds" every weeknight. Watching some of the early episodes, I noticed that Mandy Patinkin (aka, "My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die!" from "The Princess Bride") was one of the original characters. I started to wonder why he left, only to be replaced by Joe Mantegna's character. After doing some wikipedia digging, I found that Mandy Patinkin was so disturbed by the material on the show that he could no longer play the character. He explained that it wasn't worth it to him to study horrible crimes, even fake ones, just for the purpose of making a tv show. He also said that he can't understand how the viewing audience could find this type of stuff entertainment.
That hit me. How is it that I am so extremely interested in murder? Part of me is a little more paranoid than most that I will be the victim of crime; I'm sure this is because I spend so much of my time watching grisly, gruesome images on tv. Is something wrong with me that I find this stuff entertaining television?
Right now, I'm in a hotelroom and I've pretty much got the TV set on the A&E channel, which airs several episodes of "Criminal Minds" everyday. I've got a happily napping baby, quiet pets, lemonade and lunch. Unfortunately, I'm having a perfect afternoon.
These days my fascination takes me to watching shows like "Medium", "48 Hours Mystery" and "Dateline NBC Mystery". In fact, the perfect evening for me would be take-out dinner, a glass of wine, a happily sleeping baby and a marathon of these shows. Crazy, right? Well, perhaps the most disturbing of all my favorite shows is CBS's "Criminal Minds", about a team of FBI criminal profilers. It's a fantastic show, but they portray some of the most heinous crimes imaginable--cutting off victims' faces, holding people hostage before eventually eating them, kidnapping children to introduce them into an ancient rite of prepubsecent marriage. Yeah, I have to wonder who the writers are to think of up this stuff. They are either near-crazy themselves or just extremely creative. Or perhaps, both.
I started thinking about my own relationships with these shows a few weeks ago. One night, as I was doing a channel scan for my TV converter box, I was delighted to find that we were now receiving four additional channels. One of them, the ION channel, airs two back-to-back episodes of "Criminal Minds" every weeknight. Watching some of the early episodes, I noticed that Mandy Patinkin (aka, "My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die!" from "The Princess Bride") was one of the original characters. I started to wonder why he left, only to be replaced by Joe Mantegna's character. After doing some wikipedia digging, I found that Mandy Patinkin was so disturbed by the material on the show that he could no longer play the character. He explained that it wasn't worth it to him to study horrible crimes, even fake ones, just for the purpose of making a tv show. He also said that he can't understand how the viewing audience could find this type of stuff entertainment.
That hit me. How is it that I am so extremely interested in murder? Part of me is a little more paranoid than most that I will be the victim of crime; I'm sure this is because I spend so much of my time watching grisly, gruesome images on tv. Is something wrong with me that I find this stuff entertaining television?
Right now, I'm in a hotelroom and I've pretty much got the TV set on the A&E channel, which airs several episodes of "Criminal Minds" everyday. I've got a happily napping baby, quiet pets, lemonade and lunch. Unfortunately, I'm having a perfect afternoon.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Around The Block
The last week has been wrought with procrastination; this might also be called writer's block. While loads seems to be going on in my life on a day-to-day basis, none of it seems worthy of updating into the blogosphere, hence my weeklong hiatus. It's funny because I get so many really-great-ideas! during the course of the week, and think that I know exactly what my next blog post will be. But I don't carry around a pad to write my thoughts down, so inevitably, I always forget my great blog ideas and am at a lost for what to write when next I'm behind the keyboard. I hate that. Especially thinking about all of the really great stories and post ideas that have fallen into the abyss that is my forgetfulness, never to be read by anyone.
But, as I said, there is a lot going on. First, there was Thanksgiving. We had a really nice dinner with our friends Sarah and Max (and Sarah's mum) here in Lansing. I spent the previous night cooking and baking--pumpkin tarts, dressing and an eggplant-caper salad. Thanksgiving morning I woke up early to bake a cranberry bread, a soda bread and roasted rosemary potatoes. I was exhausted by the end of food preparation, but it was totally worth it when we made it to Sarah and Max's and sat down to dinner. They were extremely sweet and took care to make dairy-free food options for me, because of my near-vegan diet of late. Bryony (I think) had a nice time; she kept reaching otu to grab all the food, so I think she's pretty close to her big introduction to solid foods! *sigh*
We got a cat habitat for Greg House this weekend and the poor guy nearly had a kittygasm. I couldn't believe the way he flipped for the hanging toys, the scratching post and the different levels to play on. We totally should have gotten this for him a long time ago; maybe he would have given the furniture a bit of a reprieve from the scratching.
The latest and greatest no-news is that we are currently waiting to see if Adam gets orders to Virginia for two weeks in December. The Army indicated that he had been selected to work a detail in Roslyn, VA, which would be great because Bryony and I could accompany and visit my family during that time. However, in typical Army fashion, since the initial offer, the orders for this detail have been changed, postponed and put on hiatus several times, leaving us wondering if we will be going at all. Since we had not planned to travel east for the holidays, we were excited by the idea of unexpectedly getting to see family during the holiday season after all; now, it's just been one disappointment after the next, with the D.C.-area family (and even the NYC family, as we had hoped to take a trip there, too, since we'd be on the east coast) wondering if indeed we'll be in town. What a cluster.
But, since the cosmos always keep the world in balance, we know that there is never just chaos and disorder without some sense of harmony and peace. In my case, in the presence of frustration and aggravation (Army stuff) there is also humor and laughter. My good friend Noi sent me this graphic tonight and I am so in love with it that I just had to share. Hope it brings a smile to your day as it did mine. Thanks, Noi, for lifting my spirits!
But, as I said, there is a lot going on. First, there was Thanksgiving. We had a really nice dinner with our friends Sarah and Max (and Sarah's mum) here in Lansing. I spent the previous night cooking and baking--pumpkin tarts, dressing and an eggplant-caper salad. Thanksgiving morning I woke up early to bake a cranberry bread, a soda bread and roasted rosemary potatoes. I was exhausted by the end of food preparation, but it was totally worth it when we made it to Sarah and Max's and sat down to dinner. They were extremely sweet and took care to make dairy-free food options for me, because of my near-vegan diet of late. Bryony (I think) had a nice time; she kept reaching otu to grab all the food, so I think she's pretty close to her big introduction to solid foods! *sigh*
We got a cat habitat for Greg House this weekend and the poor guy nearly had a kittygasm. I couldn't believe the way he flipped for the hanging toys, the scratching post and the different levels to play on. We totally should have gotten this for him a long time ago; maybe he would have given the furniture a bit of a reprieve from the scratching.
The latest and greatest no-news is that we are currently waiting to see if Adam gets orders to Virginia for two weeks in December. The Army indicated that he had been selected to work a detail in Roslyn, VA, which would be great because Bryony and I could accompany and visit my family during that time. However, in typical Army fashion, since the initial offer, the orders for this detail have been changed, postponed and put on hiatus several times, leaving us wondering if we will be going at all. Since we had not planned to travel east for the holidays, we were excited by the idea of unexpectedly getting to see family during the holiday season after all; now, it's just been one disappointment after the next, with the D.C.-area family (and even the NYC family, as we had hoped to take a trip there, too, since we'd be on the east coast) wondering if indeed we'll be in town. What a cluster.
But, since the cosmos always keep the world in balance, we know that there is never just chaos and disorder without some sense of harmony and peace. In my case, in the presence of frustration and aggravation (Army stuff) there is also humor and laughter. My good friend Noi sent me this graphic tonight and I am so in love with it that I just had to share. Hope it brings a smile to your day as it did mine. Thanks, Noi, for lifting my spirits!
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Gotta Go, Gotta Go, Gotta Go Right Now
I guess I am really and truly a mother now. I got up early Saturday morning to run out to the Mom-2-Mom sale, which is basically a big rummage sale where mothers sell gently used baby/kid clothes for a small charge. It's nice because these parents make a little of their money back and new parents like me get nice items without paying store prices. I couldn't believe how much fun I was having shopping for Bryony. Ne'er did I think the day would come when I'd have just as much fun shopping for my child as I do shopping for myself. I got her winter coat--a nice mauve fleece-lined coat--for just $1, and a couple pairs of slacks, sleep n plays, onesies and a sweater, all for only $8 more. The piece de resistance was the old-fashioned rocking horse, originally priced at an absurdly low $8, which I ended up getting for $4 once prices were slashed mid-day. I was so excited to bring that home; Adam loved it, but we agreed it's still a little big for her, and since her bedroom is small, we're putting it down in the basement until she's a little older.
So that was the beginning of the day. After coming home with my baby booty (pun intended), I played with Bryony while Adam finished packing for a weekend business trip. As we were on the road to the airport, I realized that I needed to visit the porcelain throne; since Bryony and I were on our way to a party afterward, however, I figured I would wait until we got there to "go." The party was actually a luncheon sponsored by a community center that I've volunteered for in the past; they were acknowledging all of their volunteers with lunch and an awards ceremony. It was very nice. However, I quickly realized that of the few people in attendance that I actually knew, all of them seemed busy with working, socializing or eating, and therefore not able to watch Bryony so I could run to the restroom. I decided to worry about pottying later, and to just go ahead and eat lunch. And what a good lunch it was--salad, garden-on-a-stick (veggies, kabob-style), corn salad, potato salad, sandwiches, hummus and pita...a healthy plethora of uber-fibrous delectables, all of which were helping my plumbing right along. Oh, and I shouldn't forget to mention that Bryony got hungry midway through my meal, so I decided to breastfeed her at the table. Normally, that's no big deal, but lately I've been having some..."leakage" issues...and well, before I knew it, I had two huge milk stains on either side of my shirt. And wouldn't you know it, it was just then that my name was called to come up front to accept my award! Since I had to carry Bryony with me, I tried (successfully? I don't know) to position her in the sling so the big wet spots were hidden. Luckily, it's a pretty liberal, forgiving crowd so I'm sure folks who noticed were just kind enough not to comment.
After the lunch was over, and I had spoken to a few friends and acquaintances, it was time to leave. On my way out, I remembered my bathroom issue. Oh yeah, that! I looked around the room. By that time, people were in clean-up-and-leave mode and it really would have been an imposition to ask someone to hold Bryony while I went to the bathroom. So, I decided to wait...again. I walked outside and realized that I wanted to stop by my friends George and Emily's house to return their housekey to them, so I'd just use the bathroom there. I called Emily's phone--which she picks up 9 times out of 10--and wouldn't you know it, there was no answer. Hoping she'd simply not heard her phone ring, I decided to drive the couple blocks to their house anyway and see if they were home. Boy, was I ever relieved to see their truck in the driveway when I got there! I hopped out of the car, leaving Bryony in her carseat, and knocked on the door. I figured Emily could watch Bryony while I ran inside to poo. I heard a cat meowing from behind the door. I knocked again. The cat meowed again. I thought I heard footsteps coming to the door, only to realize it was a guy walking down the ramp of the moving truck parked across the street. Seriously?? I could feel myself "prairie-dogging" as I squirmed and tried as hard as I could to tighten all relevant muscles. Momentarily, I considered using the housekey I was clutching in my fist to just let myself inside. On the chance that they were actually there, and didn't hear me knocking or were ignoring the door, I didn't want to just walk into their house uninvited. I had mental images of walking in on them at a most inopportune moment and the thought made me X out the idea. Defeated, I realized sadly that I would have to high-tail it back to my own house to do my business. The idea of sitting down, even for the five-minute drive, was almost too much. But, I jumped in the car and plowed on. I drove the one mile to my house, of course hitting the one stoplight that exists between our houses, and gratefully pulled into my driveway. I got Bryony out of her carseat...only to discover that a baby poo smell was emanating--quite strongly--from her diaper. Seriously???? Who would I attend to first--her or myself? Just as I stepped inside the house, I saw a frantic Kika, clad in her own doggie-diaper (because she's been having accidents lately), motioning to the door. Seriously???? With a triage mentality, I quickly prioritized the bathroom order--me, Kika, Bryony; after all, Bryony had already poo'd her pants. Kiks and I still had a chance.
Without going into too much detail, I'll just say it was one of the most grateful bathroom experiences I've ever had...probably because I was thankful just to have made it there in time. When I changed Bryony's diaper, I discovered that after a few days of constipation, she'd blown out a massive poo explosion. When I mentioned this to her, she threw her head back and giggled. Well, better her than me.
So that was the beginning of the day. After coming home with my baby booty (pun intended), I played with Bryony while Adam finished packing for a weekend business trip. As we were on the road to the airport, I realized that I needed to visit the porcelain throne; since Bryony and I were on our way to a party afterward, however, I figured I would wait until we got there to "go." The party was actually a luncheon sponsored by a community center that I've volunteered for in the past; they were acknowledging all of their volunteers with lunch and an awards ceremony. It was very nice. However, I quickly realized that of the few people in attendance that I actually knew, all of them seemed busy with working, socializing or eating, and therefore not able to watch Bryony so I could run to the restroom. I decided to worry about pottying later, and to just go ahead and eat lunch. And what a good lunch it was--salad, garden-on-a-stick (veggies, kabob-style), corn salad, potato salad, sandwiches, hummus and pita...a healthy plethora of uber-fibrous delectables, all of which were helping my plumbing right along. Oh, and I shouldn't forget to mention that Bryony got hungry midway through my meal, so I decided to breastfeed her at the table. Normally, that's no big deal, but lately I've been having some..."leakage" issues...and well, before I knew it, I had two huge milk stains on either side of my shirt. And wouldn't you know it, it was just then that my name was called to come up front to accept my award! Since I had to carry Bryony with me, I tried (successfully? I don't know) to position her in the sling so the big wet spots were hidden. Luckily, it's a pretty liberal, forgiving crowd so I'm sure folks who noticed were just kind enough not to comment.
After the lunch was over, and I had spoken to a few friends and acquaintances, it was time to leave. On my way out, I remembered my bathroom issue. Oh yeah, that! I looked around the room. By that time, people were in clean-up-and-leave mode and it really would have been an imposition to ask someone to hold Bryony while I went to the bathroom. So, I decided to wait...again. I walked outside and realized that I wanted to stop by my friends George and Emily's house to return their housekey to them, so I'd just use the bathroom there. I called Emily's phone--which she picks up 9 times out of 10--and wouldn't you know it, there was no answer. Hoping she'd simply not heard her phone ring, I decided to drive the couple blocks to their house anyway and see if they were home. Boy, was I ever relieved to see their truck in the driveway when I got there! I hopped out of the car, leaving Bryony in her carseat, and knocked on the door. I figured Emily could watch Bryony while I ran inside to poo. I heard a cat meowing from behind the door. I knocked again. The cat meowed again. I thought I heard footsteps coming to the door, only to realize it was a guy walking down the ramp of the moving truck parked across the street. Seriously?? I could feel myself "prairie-dogging" as I squirmed and tried as hard as I could to tighten all relevant muscles. Momentarily, I considered using the housekey I was clutching in my fist to just let myself inside. On the chance that they were actually there, and didn't hear me knocking or were ignoring the door, I didn't want to just walk into their house uninvited. I had mental images of walking in on them at a most inopportune moment and the thought made me X out the idea. Defeated, I realized sadly that I would have to high-tail it back to my own house to do my business. The idea of sitting down, even for the five-minute drive, was almost too much. But, I jumped in the car and plowed on. I drove the one mile to my house, of course hitting the one stoplight that exists between our houses, and gratefully pulled into my driveway. I got Bryony out of her carseat...only to discover that a baby poo smell was emanating--quite strongly--from her diaper. Seriously???? Who would I attend to first--her or myself? Just as I stepped inside the house, I saw a frantic Kika, clad in her own doggie-diaper (because she's been having accidents lately), motioning to the door. Seriously???? With a triage mentality, I quickly prioritized the bathroom order--me, Kika, Bryony; after all, Bryony had already poo'd her pants. Kiks and I still had a chance.
Without going into too much detail, I'll just say it was one of the most grateful bathroom experiences I've ever had...probably because I was thankful just to have made it there in time. When I changed Bryony's diaper, I discovered that after a few days of constipation, she'd blown out a massive poo explosion. When I mentioned this to her, she threw her head back and giggled. Well, better her than me.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Dueling With Duality
I spent one night last weekend roaming up and down my street, lifting and carrying off my neighbors' big brown bags of raked leaves. At one point, with Bryony and Kika in the car (at one in the morning, no less), I jumped out, flipped open the trunk and started heaving huge bags of leaves inside. And then into the backseat next to Bryony's car seat. And in the passenger seat, almost on top of Kika. My heart was pounding, as I could already imagine the neighbor's porch light flicking on, a dark silhouette in the doorway, a shotgun branded, and a menacing voice saying, "What the hell do you think you're doing???". Okay, I live in suburban Michigan, not backwoods Arkansas, but still...I was scared. And so why was I willing to brave the wrath of my neighbors in the middle of the night for bags of leaves? I'm trying to get rid of the overabundance of weeds in my yard, and the best way to (naturally, sans pesticides) choke them out is with a thick layer of leaves. Once they're on the ground, I'll mow over them to make sure they are ground up and truly form a carpet over my lawn. I'm excited. Most people think I'm a little crazy. Well, I am a tree-hugging, vegetarian environmentalist, so the crazy label probably isn't too far off.
Part of this one a.m. skulking might just be a way to stop thinking about my current employment predicament...in that, I'm not gainfully employed. I'm love-LOVE-LOVING staying home with Bryony, but for our family, this arrangement just won't be financially feasible for much longer. So, I've been applying to different positions--had an interview a couple weeks ago, but didn't get the job--and am remaining fairly optimistic. But I realize that for every job I apply to, there are at least another 50-100 people applying to the same opening. In Adam's profession, it's even worse. He's been told that the State of Michigan gets 300-500 resumes for every legal position that's posted. What I've come to realize is that getting a job (particularly in this economy) has a lot to do with who you know. Most of my friends who have great jobs either had a friend who let them know about the position, a colleague who put in a good word for them, or a mentor who pulled strings. I have loads of good friends and while I'm not asking for or expecting any huge favors from them, I'm told the best way to get a job is to tell everyone you know that you're looking. So here you go...I'm looking for a job, preferably as a Wildlife Biologist, Ecologist, Program Manager, etc. at a state, federal, non-profit, or private agency/organization that does ecological/biological work. While Michigan would be the easiest place for me to work, since I already live here, I am willing to relocate for the right job.
One of the real downsides of pinching pennies and not spending money is that I've started to become very critical of our lifestyle, particularly now when I can't afford to do anything about it. I hate our living room furniture, which feels like stuff from my undergrad days. Consequently, I get really uptight when I visit the homes of people who have really nice stuff, and then I start to wonder why our situation is such that we can't afford to have nicer things. Then, I get upset with myself for being so shallow and materialistic; after all, I've always been the crunchy near-hippie who didn't care about that type of stuff, right? I guess some of Adam's prophecies are starting to ring true after all: The older you get, the more you care about your stuff...having it, keeping it, and getting more of it. I HATE that I'm even close to falling into that category of people, but I do admit that very unfortunately, I've started to worry about what other people think. It's an exercise in duality, because on the one hand, I LOVE our little house, but on the other hand, I HATE our neighborhood, the smallness of the house and how even one item out of place can make the whole house look messy. I love the idea of not caring what other people think, but I find myself increasingly concerned, especially as Adam and I are associating more with people who have money. I love the idea of not being materialistic and being content with what I have, and yet I find myself wishing my belongings were different, better, costlier. I hate duality (and yet, I love it on some other level!).
NPR did a spot some months ago about people--some of whom used to be major big-wigs prior to the recession--who are now jobless, homeless and living in tent cities (essentially, shantytowns) across the U.S. It was mind-bending to even think of; truly and unbelievably sad. I try to remember those folks when I get sad about the fact that we only have a futon instead of a nice sofa. I find myself thinking of the "have-nots" a lot these days to derail negative thoughts about what we don't have. It's kind of depressing.
We are lucky. We have health care (and we have our health!). We have families who love us and are very supportive. We have great friends. We have solid educational backgrounds that inevitably will work in our favor to allow us to acquire decent-paying jobs. We are lucky.
And there is nothing in the world that can duel with that.
Part of this one a.m. skulking might just be a way to stop thinking about my current employment predicament...in that, I'm not gainfully employed. I'm love-LOVE-LOVING staying home with Bryony, but for our family, this arrangement just won't be financially feasible for much longer. So, I've been applying to different positions--had an interview a couple weeks ago, but didn't get the job--and am remaining fairly optimistic. But I realize that for every job I apply to, there are at least another 50-100 people applying to the same opening. In Adam's profession, it's even worse. He's been told that the State of Michigan gets 300-500 resumes for every legal position that's posted. What I've come to realize is that getting a job (particularly in this economy) has a lot to do with who you know. Most of my friends who have great jobs either had a friend who let them know about the position, a colleague who put in a good word for them, or a mentor who pulled strings. I have loads of good friends and while I'm not asking for or expecting any huge favors from them, I'm told the best way to get a job is to tell everyone you know that you're looking. So here you go...I'm looking for a job, preferably as a Wildlife Biologist, Ecologist, Program Manager, etc. at a state, federal, non-profit, or private agency/organization that does ecological/biological work. While Michigan would be the easiest place for me to work, since I already live here, I am willing to relocate for the right job.
One of the real downsides of pinching pennies and not spending money is that I've started to become very critical of our lifestyle, particularly now when I can't afford to do anything about it. I hate our living room furniture, which feels like stuff from my undergrad days. Consequently, I get really uptight when I visit the homes of people who have really nice stuff, and then I start to wonder why our situation is such that we can't afford to have nicer things. Then, I get upset with myself for being so shallow and materialistic; after all, I've always been the crunchy near-hippie who didn't care about that type of stuff, right? I guess some of Adam's prophecies are starting to ring true after all: The older you get, the more you care about your stuff...having it, keeping it, and getting more of it. I HATE that I'm even close to falling into that category of people, but I do admit that very unfortunately, I've started to worry about what other people think. It's an exercise in duality, because on the one hand, I LOVE our little house, but on the other hand, I HATE our neighborhood, the smallness of the house and how even one item out of place can make the whole house look messy. I love the idea of not caring what other people think, but I find myself increasingly concerned, especially as Adam and I are associating more with people who have money. I love the idea of not being materialistic and being content with what I have, and yet I find myself wishing my belongings were different, better, costlier. I hate duality (and yet, I love it on some other level!).
NPR did a spot some months ago about people--some of whom used to be major big-wigs prior to the recession--who are now jobless, homeless and living in tent cities (essentially, shantytowns) across the U.S. It was mind-bending to even think of; truly and unbelievably sad. I try to remember those folks when I get sad about the fact that we only have a futon instead of a nice sofa. I find myself thinking of the "have-nots" a lot these days to derail negative thoughts about what we don't have. It's kind of depressing.
We are lucky. We have health care (and we have our health!). We have families who love us and are very supportive. We have great friends. We have solid educational backgrounds that inevitably will work in our favor to allow us to acquire decent-paying jobs. We are lucky.
And there is nothing in the world that can duel with that.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Hands Clean
I'm the first to admit that I can get a little obsessive about certain things. And Adam swears I'm a hypochondriac if he ever did know one (I tend to dispute this charge myself...). But, I've just not been overresponsive to the swine flu issue of late. I realize it can be problematic for some and that it's not something to be taken lightly, but since the vast majority of folks experience mild symptoms, I'm just not overly worried. However, I am fiercely protective of Bryony's health and safety, and have been really floored by the lack of common sense that many people use in their interactions with her.
Bryony's head full of hair attracts a lot of attention, so we frequently get stopped at the mall, at the grocery store, at restaurants, at the park...just about anywhere. I know that the majority of people's intentions are kind and well-meaning, but I cannot count the number of strangers who have reached out to stroke her hair, rub her cheeks, grasp her hands, without asking me first if they can touch my child. And they are fast. Even when I think I see it coming--and have an appropriate word of dissuasion ready to keep them from touching her--their hands are already all over her. It's hard to tell the sweet little old lady to get her grimy, swine-flu-infected hands off my child, so I always just end up taking wet wipes to her hands and cheeks as soon as the offending person has walked away. I've been tempted to hang a sign from her stroller that says "Please don't touch me; I can't handle your germs!"
The biggest offense came a few weeks ago at a visit to Sam's Club. I was carrying a sleeping Bryony in the sling (which means I was "wearing" her), and while standing in a line at a register, a random woman came up, tried to move the fabric aside and grab Bryony! I was caught so off-guard that I immediately backed away, turned my body to the side with a huff and gave the woman the look of death. She laughed self-consciously and asked "Is there a baby in there?" It was very bizarre that she would not only disturb my child but also invade my personal space; I had to assume the woman was not quite right in the head.
When Bryony was only about 4 weeks old, my mother came to town to meet her new granddaughter and to help us out. We were at the local grocery store and I was carrying a sleeping Bryony around in a Baby Bjorn, which meant her legs were dangling. A couple--the woman appeared to be of Indian origin and the man hispanic--walked by, and I noticed the woman admiring the baby. Before I had time to react, she reached out as we passed by and grabbed Bryony's leg. I was so startled that I let out a cry of disgust and pulled away. Who do people think they are? But my mother, who works with the public everyday, made an observation that I had not thought of. She commented that it might have been a cultural difference; Americans are much more into their personal space than people from some other countries are, and so if this woman were indeed from another country (she did have an accent, so I assume she was), perhaps it is commonplace for strangers to touch each other--and their babies--without a second thought. I tried to be openminded about it, but there is just a primal need to protect your offspring that cannot be overcome, despite my best attempts.
Last weekend Adam and I went to Traverse City, Michigan for the weekend. As we were about to get on the road to travel back home, we stopped at a hotel to use the bathroom--and change Bryony's diaper--before getting in the car. While I was in the bathroom changing her diaper, I heard a woman in one of the stalls making a great deal of noise--moans, grunts and sighs followed by toilet explosions that embarassed even me, the queen of potty humor. I was trying to finish with the diaper-changing as quickly as possible so as not to have to come face-to-face with this woman of energetic bathroom goings-on. But, alas! I was not fast enough, and unfortunately she came out of the stall and made a beeline for the sink right next to where I was changing the baby. And of course, she noticed Bryony, her head of hair, her sweet smile and with her poo-infested, germy bathroom hands, started to gesture to my precious baby. She was an elderly woman, but this was too much; there was no way she was touching my child. I used my body to block her from Bryony and kept up very minimal conversation to make it clear that neither Bryony nor I were to be considered fair game. Luckily, she seemed to get the hint, and she thoroughly washed her hands. I was grateful for that much, but of course, my timing was poor, and I finished up with the diaper changing at the exact moment the woman was drying her hands, so she followed us--very closely--out the door, trying to keep up conversation the entire way. I hate to be rude--especially to little old ladies--but come on!
I think my shining moment of utter protective motherhood was at a party, when an elderly woman I'd never met before exclaimed, "I've been watching your precious baby all afternoon, and I just had to come over and give this baby a kiss before you leave!" All throughout the party, I'd had to deal with various people stroking her hair, touching her cheeks and grabbing her hands (which go right in her mouth because she sucks on them). The idea of some strange lady kissing my then-four month old was just too much. I didn't care who this lady might be related to, and who I might offend; I put my foot down. I told her--my voice shaking a bit with nervousness but also indignation--that she would NOT be kissing my child when there were so many germs floating around and Bryony's immune system was still so fragile. The woman seemed taken aback at first, but then she nodded and smiled and apologized. She said, "You're absolutely right. I should have known better. You're a good mother, protecting your new baby like that!" I felt empowered and very strong for my daughter's sake. I felt proud.
But, none of this means that I'll have the nerve (or quick timing) to stop strangers from touching her in the future. Instead, I think I'll have to break out the cardboard and thick black marker, and start working on our sign:
Before you touch me: Get me sick, pay my medical bills.
We'll see if that keeps 'em away.
Bryony's head full of hair attracts a lot of attention, so we frequently get stopped at the mall, at the grocery store, at restaurants, at the park...just about anywhere. I know that the majority of people's intentions are kind and well-meaning, but I cannot count the number of strangers who have reached out to stroke her hair, rub her cheeks, grasp her hands, without asking me first if they can touch my child. And they are fast. Even when I think I see it coming--and have an appropriate word of dissuasion ready to keep them from touching her--their hands are already all over her. It's hard to tell the sweet little old lady to get her grimy, swine-flu-infected hands off my child, so I always just end up taking wet wipes to her hands and cheeks as soon as the offending person has walked away. I've been tempted to hang a sign from her stroller that says "Please don't touch me; I can't handle your germs!"
The biggest offense came a few weeks ago at a visit to Sam's Club. I was carrying a sleeping Bryony in the sling (which means I was "wearing" her), and while standing in a line at a register, a random woman came up, tried to move the fabric aside and grab Bryony! I was caught so off-guard that I immediately backed away, turned my body to the side with a huff and gave the woman the look of death. She laughed self-consciously and asked "Is there a baby in there?" It was very bizarre that she would not only disturb my child but also invade my personal space; I had to assume the woman was not quite right in the head.
When Bryony was only about 4 weeks old, my mother came to town to meet her new granddaughter and to help us out. We were at the local grocery store and I was carrying a sleeping Bryony around in a Baby Bjorn, which meant her legs were dangling. A couple--the woman appeared to be of Indian origin and the man hispanic--walked by, and I noticed the woman admiring the baby. Before I had time to react, she reached out as we passed by and grabbed Bryony's leg. I was so startled that I let out a cry of disgust and pulled away. Who do people think they are? But my mother, who works with the public everyday, made an observation that I had not thought of. She commented that it might have been a cultural difference; Americans are much more into their personal space than people from some other countries are, and so if this woman were indeed from another country (she did have an accent, so I assume she was), perhaps it is commonplace for strangers to touch each other--and their babies--without a second thought. I tried to be openminded about it, but there is just a primal need to protect your offspring that cannot be overcome, despite my best attempts.
Last weekend Adam and I went to Traverse City, Michigan for the weekend. As we were about to get on the road to travel back home, we stopped at a hotel to use the bathroom--and change Bryony's diaper--before getting in the car. While I was in the bathroom changing her diaper, I heard a woman in one of the stalls making a great deal of noise--moans, grunts and sighs followed by toilet explosions that embarassed even me, the queen of potty humor. I was trying to finish with the diaper-changing as quickly as possible so as not to have to come face-to-face with this woman of energetic bathroom goings-on. But, alas! I was not fast enough, and unfortunately she came out of the stall and made a beeline for the sink right next to where I was changing the baby. And of course, she noticed Bryony, her head of hair, her sweet smile and with her poo-infested, germy bathroom hands, started to gesture to my precious baby. She was an elderly woman, but this was too much; there was no way she was touching my child. I used my body to block her from Bryony and kept up very minimal conversation to make it clear that neither Bryony nor I were to be considered fair game. Luckily, she seemed to get the hint, and she thoroughly washed her hands. I was grateful for that much, but of course, my timing was poor, and I finished up with the diaper changing at the exact moment the woman was drying her hands, so she followed us--very closely--out the door, trying to keep up conversation the entire way. I hate to be rude--especially to little old ladies--but come on!
I think my shining moment of utter protective motherhood was at a party, when an elderly woman I'd never met before exclaimed, "I've been watching your precious baby all afternoon, and I just had to come over and give this baby a kiss before you leave!" All throughout the party, I'd had to deal with various people stroking her hair, touching her cheeks and grabbing her hands (which go right in her mouth because she sucks on them). The idea of some strange lady kissing my then-four month old was just too much. I didn't care who this lady might be related to, and who I might offend; I put my foot down. I told her--my voice shaking a bit with nervousness but also indignation--that she would NOT be kissing my child when there were so many germs floating around and Bryony's immune system was still so fragile. The woman seemed taken aback at first, but then she nodded and smiled and apologized. She said, "You're absolutely right. I should have known better. You're a good mother, protecting your new baby like that!" I felt empowered and very strong for my daughter's sake. I felt proud.
But, none of this means that I'll have the nerve (or quick timing) to stop strangers from touching her in the future. Instead, I think I'll have to break out the cardboard and thick black marker, and start working on our sign:
Before you touch me: Get me sick, pay my medical bills.
We'll see if that keeps 'em away.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Jersey Girl
Bryony made her first visit out to the NY/NJ area last weekend to visit the Mittman side of the family. This also coincided with Halloween, which we were lucky enough to celebrate with Aunt Christine and her family. It was such a pleasure to spend time with the Mittmans and many thanks to Uncle Scott and Aunt Christine for putting us up (or rather, putting up with us)! See you again really soon!
Aunt Christine picked us up from the airport and entertained us for the evening. Bryony LOVED her aunt!
Meeting Dad's brother Uncle Scott...he's so silly!
Just by coincidence, Dad's cousin Adrian was in town visiting his fiancee Wendy. We were happy Bryony got a chance to meet them.
Bryony really took to Wendy.
Grandpa Cal was so happy to meet his granddaughter; and she was so happy to meet him!
Uncle Scott is trying to steal Bryony's brains...!
Grandpa, you're not really leaving now, are you? The night is young!
Christine's mum lent Bryony a Tigger costume for Halloween. We had such fun trick-or-treating, even if we didn't collect any candy!
Christine's mum enjoyed having a little baby in the house
Aunt Christine got into the Halloween spirit as Yo-gabba-gabba
Uncle Joe is so gentle and sweet that Bryony fell asleep on his chest.
Hanging out with Aunt Christine near evening's end.
Saying good-bye to Uncle Scott and Aunt Christine before heading to the airport.
Back in Lansing airport, Mama took a picture of us in the ladies' bathroom.
Mama and Bryony, two travellin' gals, home again, home again.
Aunt Christine picked us up from the airport and entertained us for the evening. Bryony LOVED her aunt!
Meeting Dad's brother Uncle Scott...he's so silly!
Just by coincidence, Dad's cousin Adrian was in town visiting his fiancee Wendy. We were happy Bryony got a chance to meet them.
Bryony really took to Wendy.
Grandpa Cal was so happy to meet his granddaughter; and she was so happy to meet him!
Uncle Scott is trying to steal Bryony's brains...!
Grandpa, you're not really leaving now, are you? The night is young!
Christine's mum lent Bryony a Tigger costume for Halloween. We had such fun trick-or-treating, even if we didn't collect any candy!
Christine's mum enjoyed having a little baby in the house
Aunt Christine got into the Halloween spirit as Yo-gabba-gabba
Uncle Joe is so gentle and sweet that Bryony fell asleep on his chest.
Hanging out with Aunt Christine near evening's end.
Saying good-bye to Uncle Scott and Aunt Christine before heading to the airport.
Back in Lansing airport, Mama took a picture of us in the ladies' bathroom.
Mama and Bryony, two travellin' gals, home again, home again.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
I've Gotta Be Me
I've been surprised time and time again over the last couple years by the number of folks who actually follow my blog. First of all, a heartfelt and genuine THANKS--it's always great to know that people appreciate your efforts! I am even more surprised, however, by the "who factor", as in, who actually reads my blog. Aunts, uncles, friends of my mother, former teachers...sometimes, after I've written a particularly..well, let's say "Pico De Gallo"-esque blogpost, I'm more than a little red in the face to find out that my ninth grade English teacher probably read it. While these more candid posts tend to receive a lot of attention ("What Not To Do When Making Pico De Gallo" is still my most popular post to date, as folks will still refer to it, now more than a year later), I have to admit that even I get a little weirded out from time to time. Have I offended anyone's delicate sensibilities? Maybe my aunt didn't want to know about Drunken TV Antenna Man's very frank discussions about misshapen syringes and his manparts. Then I get narcissistic and paranoid, thinking that certain friends who haven't returned my phone call after two or three days must have been completely horrified by the comparisons I made between labor contractions and sexual desire. I psyche myself out sometimes.
But what I've come to learn (and even appreciate, I guess) is that I've gotta just keep being me. The last 2 1/2 years of blog posts have been the true, unadulterated Lauren. It's not always (or even often, for that matter) pretty, but it's honest. And, I suppose if folks didn't like it, they'd stop reading.
So, my heartiest thanks (and apologies) to my aunts, uncles, friends-of-my-mother, former teachers and anyone else out there who is reading my blog and is getting a tickle (or a heart attack) from what I've written. Stay tuned...
But what I've come to learn (and even appreciate, I guess) is that I've gotta just keep being me. The last 2 1/2 years of blog posts have been the true, unadulterated Lauren. It's not always (or even often, for that matter) pretty, but it's honest. And, I suppose if folks didn't like it, they'd stop reading.
So, my heartiest thanks (and apologies) to my aunts, uncles, friends-of-my-mother, former teachers and anyone else out there who is reading my blog and is getting a tickle (or a heart attack) from what I've written. Stay tuned...
Friday, October 23, 2009
If I'm Lost You Can Look And You Will Find Me
Not that I've had my head in a hole for the last several years (or for all 32 years of my life for that matter), but I was still a little jolted by the article that I read a couple days ago, nonetheless. It would seem that merely due to the color of my skin, if I were to go missing or be murdered, this crime would be less likely to be reported in the news, than say, if one of my white girlfriends befell the same bad luck. Not to say that the police would not open and investigate a case, but the media would be less likely to have a story on the evening news, online or in the newspaper. This means that the vital first few days that I or my kidnapper/killer could be found would go by without the benefit of media attention, which could alert the public to the situation.
Let's face it; love it or hate it, we've all heard of Lacy Peterson, Natalee Holloway, Chandra Levy, Stacy Peterson, amongst other young, pretty, white women who have gone missing or turned up dead. But why do we not hear about the many women of color who meet the same awful fate? For example, about two years ago, there was a young, black college student who was in a club in Florida during summer break, only to go missing. I literally saw one article about her on CNN. I can't even remember her name because of how little media coverage has been done. I've just done a google search to try to find an article about this young woman; after conducting a few more searches, I was able to find out that a suspect has been arrested in her murder. Does anyone have to do a google search to find out what happened to Lacy, Natalee, Chandra or their killers?
Listen, I realize that there are thousands of women of all races that go missing or are murdered every year, and that only a very small fraction of those become the media sensation that Lacy Peterson was. But the issue is more that we hardly ever hear about desperate searches or investigations for black or hispanic women in trouble. The case of the Rocky Mount (North Carolina) murders is a case in point. Over the span of six years, ten women have turned up murdered in what experts believe is the work of a serial killer, and yet only $20,000 has been managed to be pulled together for information in the case. To put this in perspective, $20,000 was pulled together within a day of Yale graduate student Annie Le's disappearance. Granted, this is an Ivy League school, but still, why has it taken six years and ten murders for the same amount of money to be raised for the women of Rocky Mount? I think that it's fair to say that if ten white women had been found murdered over the last six years, the media would be all over this story.
I realize I'm on my soapbox here, but for good reason. I am pretty partial to staying alive, and my family and friends love me just as much as any other woman's friends and family. Shouldn't I have the same benefit of media coverage if I were to be kidnapped so that public awareness might save me? Or, if I'm already dead, shouldn't my loved ones have the benefit of the public attention in helping to find my killer?
The murder of any innocent person is awful. Not giving the case its fair due because of the victim's race is tragedy upon tragedy.
Let's face it; love it or hate it, we've all heard of Lacy Peterson, Natalee Holloway, Chandra Levy, Stacy Peterson, amongst other young, pretty, white women who have gone missing or turned up dead. But why do we not hear about the many women of color who meet the same awful fate? For example, about two years ago, there was a young, black college student who was in a club in Florida during summer break, only to go missing. I literally saw one article about her on CNN. I can't even remember her name because of how little media coverage has been done. I've just done a google search to try to find an article about this young woman; after conducting a few more searches, I was able to find out that a suspect has been arrested in her murder. Does anyone have to do a google search to find out what happened to Lacy, Natalee, Chandra or their killers?
Listen, I realize that there are thousands of women of all races that go missing or are murdered every year, and that only a very small fraction of those become the media sensation that Lacy Peterson was. But the issue is more that we hardly ever hear about desperate searches or investigations for black or hispanic women in trouble. The case of the Rocky Mount (North Carolina) murders is a case in point. Over the span of six years, ten women have turned up murdered in what experts believe is the work of a serial killer, and yet only $20,000 has been managed to be pulled together for information in the case. To put this in perspective, $20,000 was pulled together within a day of Yale graduate student Annie Le's disappearance. Granted, this is an Ivy League school, but still, why has it taken six years and ten murders for the same amount of money to be raised for the women of Rocky Mount? I think that it's fair to say that if ten white women had been found murdered over the last six years, the media would be all over this story.
I realize I'm on my soapbox here, but for good reason. I am pretty partial to staying alive, and my family and friends love me just as much as any other woman's friends and family. Shouldn't I have the same benefit of media coverage if I were to be kidnapped so that public awareness might save me? Or, if I'm already dead, shouldn't my loved ones have the benefit of the public attention in helping to find my killer?
The murder of any innocent person is awful. Not giving the case its fair due because of the victim's race is tragedy upon tragedy.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
So Long SCM, Hello DTVAM!!!
So once there was Sleazy Cafe Man who skulked around the internet cafe in Oregon, creeping out me and many other unsuspecting women in Roseburg. And then, one day, he disappeared, ne'er to be seen again...
Now, a new breed of creepy man has surfaced...Drunken TV Antenna Man. For the last year or so, our TV antenna (yes, we still have rabbit ears; we can't/won't/refuse to invest in cable tv) has been picking up the voice of a rough-voiced, drunk-sounding man who rambles on and on (to who? we don't know) about various topics. Recently, the reception for DATVM has gotten so clear that we can hardly hear whatever TV program is on at the time. So, rather than continue my futile attempts at fiddling with the antenna to avoid his wavelengh, instead I've started listening to him.
A few nights ago, he was talking about a bunch of marijuana and I started to get nervous that he might be confessing to something I shouldn't hear. In fact, everytime I hear him talking, I know that I might be witnessing (well, hearing) something--like a crime--that I might have an ethical obligation to report. You don't know how much I really don't want that to happen. Already I'm worried that DTVAM is closer to my house than I'd like to imagine, and that somehow he'll find out that we've been hearing him. Crossed wires, overheard plotting of a crime, the innocent witness becoming the prey...sort of like that movie "Sorry, Wrong Number" if you've ever seen it. Creepiness at its finest.
But, then again, he might be a likeable type of drunk guy. After all, last night he was talking about how "it feels like a square-shaped syringe in my scrotum!". Adam winced when he heard that one...and I knew I had a bit of material for the blog.
Good night. :-)
Now, a new breed of creepy man has surfaced...Drunken TV Antenna Man. For the last year or so, our TV antenna (yes, we still have rabbit ears; we can't/won't/refuse to invest in cable tv) has been picking up the voice of a rough-voiced, drunk-sounding man who rambles on and on (to who? we don't know) about various topics. Recently, the reception for DATVM has gotten so clear that we can hardly hear whatever TV program is on at the time. So, rather than continue my futile attempts at fiddling with the antenna to avoid his wavelengh, instead I've started listening to him.
A few nights ago, he was talking about a bunch of marijuana and I started to get nervous that he might be confessing to something I shouldn't hear. In fact, everytime I hear him talking, I know that I might be witnessing (well, hearing) something--like a crime--that I might have an ethical obligation to report. You don't know how much I really don't want that to happen. Already I'm worried that DTVAM is closer to my house than I'd like to imagine, and that somehow he'll find out that we've been hearing him. Crossed wires, overheard plotting of a crime, the innocent witness becoming the prey...sort of like that movie "Sorry, Wrong Number" if you've ever seen it. Creepiness at its finest.
But, then again, he might be a likeable type of drunk guy. After all, last night he was talking about how "it feels like a square-shaped syringe in my scrotum!". Adam winced when he heard that one...and I knew I had a bit of material for the blog.
Good night. :-)
Friday, October 16, 2009
Flat Iron Press
So, since not a lot has been going on in my current life (other than wake up at 11am, breastfeed, wash the baby, change baby's diaper, play with baby, breastfeed baby, put baby down for a nap, MAYBE get some housework done, take care of baby for the rest of the day, put baby to bed for the night, go online for a couple hours, go to bed, get up 3-4 times per night to nurse or check on baby, rinse and repeat), I'm forced to write about my past to keep you entertained. Well, at least my 20s were mildly fascinating to have provided fodder for these considerably more sanguine years of my 30s.
Anyway, in the summer of 1997, right after my sophomore year of college, I decided to stay in Manhattan to work rather than head back home to Virginia. Even though I stayed in the dorms, they were expensive enough that I took all sorts of odd jobs to afford my rent and meal plan. Today's post is just a memory of the many things I was once willing to do to stay in the city
I was already working as a baby-sitter for a nanny agency, so I kept my evenings free to continue working for my uptown clients. In addition, I also answered ads to be a "door opener" for a young couple's party. Their front door was downstairs from their condo and they couldn't hear guests ringing the bell over the music, so they hired me (twice!) to sit by the door and answer it as guests arrived. I got paid $50and a glass of wine (I was only 19 at the time so that was pretty cool for me) for my efforts.
I also got a temporary job working at the design department of the clothing company Van Heusen. A friend of mine at the time was a freelance clothing designer and she had been working with Van Heusen off and on, and heard they needed some temporary help during that summer. I think I got paid $30/hour, so I was more than willing to work on the Upper East Side, get a rare view into the world of fashion design, and pay my bills at that. It turned out to be pretty boring work. I was hired to cut out copies of designs and affix them to sheets of paper to be filed away later. The women who actually worked at the company were uber-snooty and NEVER brown-bagged their lunch, so I was always a little snubbed for being the poor college student temp who brought her lunch to work. Whatever. I got loads of money, and that's all I really cared about.
My longer-lasting job that summer was working for a temp agency. I remember going in and having to show my typing proficiency, which I later learned, did not include any backspacing I might do to correct errors. After ascertaining that I was no typist, they ended up assigning me to St Martins Press, which I didn't realize until my first day of work is located in the historic Flatiron Building at 23rd St where Broadway and Fifth Avenue intersect. I was in awe. In fact, I got to work early enough that first morning that I sat in the park just east of the building for a few minutes, admiring its beauty, watching traffic and the world go by.
I ended up working for a woman (Caroline? Ann? Helen?) in her 40s who was brusk but friendly. She introduced me to the girl I was filling in for, who had decided to go of to graduate school. I soon found out why. The work, which mostly involved finding plot summaries for books that were published there, making copies of those and then putting them into alphabetized files, was mind-numbingly boring. In fact, I literally fell asleep over my work on a number occasions. I actually fell asleep standing up over the copy machine it was so boring. But I did find one interesting part of the job--reading the plot summaries for the books. St Martins Press publishes a wide variety of books, from fiction to autobiographical to self-help, and I passed the slow periods by reading the plot descriptions of some of the books with more interesting titles. Over and over again, I'd come across the titles "Surfing the Himalayas" and "Snowboarding to Nirvana" which I could only imagine was about an extreme-sports enthusiast with a wild imagination. I was pretty absorbed with the murder-mystery book titles and some of the other fiction. On one of my last days working at St Martins Press, my boss told me that I could select some books that were almost-finalized hardback copies that needed a bit more editing. I was psyched to be able to take some books home, so I took one really long novel called "Tully" and another, by the same author, called "Red Leaves." Both were pretty good. Despite my boredom by the job and my little habit of falling asleep over my work, I apparently did a bangup job because my boss offered to hire me on permanently. I had to refuse since I was returning to college in a few weeks, but I was kind of flattered that she liked me, and was willing to serve as a reference for me for future job prospects. I've never forgotten that job and that big old odd-shaped building. Oh yeah, I almost forgot to mention that the Flatiron building has a really old rickety elevator that I was sure was going to break and caue me to fall to my death.
So, that's that. Everytime I'm back in Manhattan and walk past the Flatiron Building I can't help but want to walk in (use the OTHER elevator that's a little more stable) and see what's become of St Martins Press. But instead, I remain content just looking up at the building, in all its wonder. It is satisfying enough on its own.
Anyway, in the summer of 1997, right after my sophomore year of college, I decided to stay in Manhattan to work rather than head back home to Virginia. Even though I stayed in the dorms, they were expensive enough that I took all sorts of odd jobs to afford my rent and meal plan. Today's post is just a memory of the many things I was once willing to do to stay in the city
I was already working as a baby-sitter for a nanny agency, so I kept my evenings free to continue working for my uptown clients. In addition, I also answered ads to be a "door opener" for a young couple's party. Their front door was downstairs from their condo and they couldn't hear guests ringing the bell over the music, so they hired me (twice!) to sit by the door and answer it as guests arrived. I got paid $50and a glass of wine (I was only 19 at the time so that was pretty cool for me) for my efforts.
I also got a temporary job working at the design department of the clothing company Van Heusen. A friend of mine at the time was a freelance clothing designer and she had been working with Van Heusen off and on, and heard they needed some temporary help during that summer. I think I got paid $30/hour, so I was more than willing to work on the Upper East Side, get a rare view into the world of fashion design, and pay my bills at that. It turned out to be pretty boring work. I was hired to cut out copies of designs and affix them to sheets of paper to be filed away later. The women who actually worked at the company were uber-snooty and NEVER brown-bagged their lunch, so I was always a little snubbed for being the poor college student temp who brought her lunch to work. Whatever. I got loads of money, and that's all I really cared about.
My longer-lasting job that summer was working for a temp agency. I remember going in and having to show my typing proficiency, which I later learned, did not include any backspacing I might do to correct errors. After ascertaining that I was no typist, they ended up assigning me to St Martins Press, which I didn't realize until my first day of work is located in the historic Flatiron Building at 23rd St where Broadway and Fifth Avenue intersect. I was in awe. In fact, I got to work early enough that first morning that I sat in the park just east of the building for a few minutes, admiring its beauty, watching traffic and the world go by.
I ended up working for a woman (Caroline? Ann? Helen?) in her 40s who was brusk but friendly. She introduced me to the girl I was filling in for, who had decided to go of to graduate school. I soon found out why. The work, which mostly involved finding plot summaries for books that were published there, making copies of those and then putting them into alphabetized files, was mind-numbingly boring. In fact, I literally fell asleep over my work on a number occasions. I actually fell asleep standing up over the copy machine it was so boring. But I did find one interesting part of the job--reading the plot summaries for the books. St Martins Press publishes a wide variety of books, from fiction to autobiographical to self-help, and I passed the slow periods by reading the plot descriptions of some of the books with more interesting titles. Over and over again, I'd come across the titles "Surfing the Himalayas" and "Snowboarding to Nirvana" which I could only imagine was about an extreme-sports enthusiast with a wild imagination. I was pretty absorbed with the murder-mystery book titles and some of the other fiction. On one of my last days working at St Martins Press, my boss told me that I could select some books that were almost-finalized hardback copies that needed a bit more editing. I was psyched to be able to take some books home, so I took one really long novel called "Tully" and another, by the same author, called "Red Leaves." Both were pretty good. Despite my boredom by the job and my little habit of falling asleep over my work, I apparently did a bangup job because my boss offered to hire me on permanently. I had to refuse since I was returning to college in a few weeks, but I was kind of flattered that she liked me, and was willing to serve as a reference for me for future job prospects. I've never forgotten that job and that big old odd-shaped building. Oh yeah, I almost forgot to mention that the Flatiron building has a really old rickety elevator that I was sure was going to break and caue me to fall to my death.
So, that's that. Everytime I'm back in Manhattan and walk past the Flatiron Building I can't help but want to walk in (use the OTHER elevator that's a little more stable) and see what's become of St Martins Press. But instead, I remain content just looking up at the building, in all its wonder. It is satisfying enough on its own.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
If You Are Confused Like I Was...
Here is a link that explains the trouble our country is facing under our current healthcare insurance system, and what is being proposed by Obama, and by Congress, to reform it. What a shame such a detailed explanation of the U.S. situation was provided by the BBC News instead of a U.S. news outlet. But anyway:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/8160058.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/8160058.stm
Ramona, Forever
Sometimes through the years, I've wondered what my younger self would think of my adult self if she could gain a window to my current world. What would she think about Adam? Shabbi, Kika? Living in Michigan? Being a wildlife biologist? When I was a young girl, I always imagined I would travel the world, globe-trotting from one country to the next as a citizen of the world. I would have many "lov-ahs" (lovers, with a European accent), settle down with none of them, and do really important work at the international scale. Wow. I guess my younger self would be really disappointed with my current self.
I'm especially curious about my younger self in recent days, because I've figuratively gone back in time...I've resurrected copies of the "Ramona Quimby" series and have been reading them to Bryony. It's been eye-opening to read these books again after so many years (I think I read the last one when I was nine or ten); many of the words and situations that left me confused as a child have been uproaringly hilarious to me now as an adult. I think about myself as a kid, reading these books and siding with poor little Ramona in her constant battle to be respected by her family, teachers and classmates. Now, I can laugh along at her misadventures while still remembering why I empathized with her so many years ago.
I've been thinking lately about what Ramona would be like as an adult. Would she fulfill the dreams her child self had conjered for her? Or would little Ramona be disappointed with the way her life turned out?
All I can say is that whatever my younger self might have thought, my adult self is pretty darn satisfied. How can I complain about having a wonderful family, a fulfilling job and general overall happiness? So what if I never became Lauren of Arabia? I like to think I'm making some positive impacts here at the local level. Besides, I think I've still got a few more good years left in me to cash in my frequent flyer miles...and break some foreign hearts, once they catch sight of my wedding band.
I'm especially curious about my younger self in recent days, because I've figuratively gone back in time...I've resurrected copies of the "Ramona Quimby" series and have been reading them to Bryony. It's been eye-opening to read these books again after so many years (I think I read the last one when I was nine or ten); many of the words and situations that left me confused as a child have been uproaringly hilarious to me now as an adult. I think about myself as a kid, reading these books and siding with poor little Ramona in her constant battle to be respected by her family, teachers and classmates. Now, I can laugh along at her misadventures while still remembering why I empathized with her so many years ago.
I've been thinking lately about what Ramona would be like as an adult. Would she fulfill the dreams her child self had conjered for her? Or would little Ramona be disappointed with the way her life turned out?
All I can say is that whatever my younger self might have thought, my adult self is pretty darn satisfied. How can I complain about having a wonderful family, a fulfilling job and general overall happiness? So what if I never became Lauren of Arabia? I like to think I'm making some positive impacts here at the local level. Besides, I think I've still got a few more good years left in me to cash in my frequent flyer miles...and break some foreign hearts, once they catch sight of my wedding band.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Light A Little Candle For My Baby
It's been two years since we lost our dear sweet baby Shabbi. To this day, we miss her terribly and speak of her often. Tonight, Adam lit a candle in her memory. We wonder from time to time if Kika thinks of and/or misses her big sister. Our biggest regret is that Shabbi didn't live to see her little sis Bryony. We think she would have done very well with a baby in the house.
For those of you who knew Shabbi-girl, I just ask for you to take a moment to remember her. She touched so many people and we still honor her with our thoughts.
We love you, sweet girl.
Mum, Daddy and Kika
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
The Freaks Come Out At Night...And During The Day
These are strange times indeed...Michigan State football beat Univ. of Michigan two years in a row (Go Green, Go White!)...David Letterman (kinda) got caught with his pants down...Adam and I managed to start and finish a house project within a week...someone actually read and responded to the Ask-A-Question-Thursdays post...and my child is a little over a month away from being half a year old. Wow.
But the weirdness abounded a month or so ago. Adam and I were shopping at Horrocks, our local produce store, trolling the aisles in search of the "good rice" (basmati and/or jasmine). From around the corner of the aisle came a young woman, her eyes large and bright, walking purposefully up to us. The way she was approaching made me think she knew us, but I couldn't place her face. Then I got the over-protective mother instinct and immediately thought she might be brazen enough to try to steal Bryony right in front of us, so I stood my ground, waiting to see what she'd do. Adam looked up at her as she planted herself in front of us.
Girl: "Oh my God! Do you guys remember the second 'Back To The Future' movie when they show the bottle of Pepsi in the future?"
Adam, ever the gentleman, even to psycho strange women who come out of nowhere to quiz us on 1980s movie trivia, replies: "Yeah...? Kind of...oh, yeah, sure!"
I'm looking incredulously at this whole exchange, still trying to figure out how this girl found us out of everyone in the store to swap movie memoribilia with.
Lauren: I never saw "Back To The Future 2".
Girl (to Adam): Doesn't this bottle totally look like that bottle from the movie, the one in the future?
Adam, still being nice even though he's totally perplexed: Yeah, it kinda does...it's been awhile since I've seen that movie...
Girl, looking fondly at the Pepsi bottle in her hand, continues to ramble on about its similarity to the one in the movie.
Adam and Lauren say very fast good-byes and move on.
It wasn't until a few weeks later that Adam and I finally remembered to discuss the incident. We were both completely floored by the fact that she actually found us from another aisle of the store. It would have been a lot less disconcerting if we were shopping next to her and she had struck up conversation with us, but it's like she somehow tracked us down. In fact, now that I think of it, the section of the store we were in is nowhere near the soda aisle. Where the heck did she come from?
Perhaps the weirdest thing of all these days is the fact that I'm a little happy about staying in Michigan for the time being. Yup, that's right, the move is a no-go for us. Georgia has been cancelled, and so has Virginia. Don't get me wrong; I'm bummed by the prospect of a secure income coming our way, but I do like a Michigan fall, and I love my friends here. The idea of moving away, while something we've always looked forward to, has suddenly become a slightly bitter taste in the back of my throat. Perhaps having a support system here--friends to hang out with, loads of honorary aunts and uncles for Bryony, and a sense of comfort and stability that we've assumed over the last seven years--is the draw. I don't know. Of course, eventually we'll leave, but for now, for this autumn, we're here and I can't wait to enjoy all that Michigan has to offer--apple picking, pumpkin patches, gorgeous fall foliage, not to mention "Silver Bells in the City".
We're here for the time being, and freakishly, I'm okay with that.
But the weirdness abounded a month or so ago. Adam and I were shopping at Horrocks, our local produce store, trolling the aisles in search of the "good rice" (basmati and/or jasmine). From around the corner of the aisle came a young woman, her eyes large and bright, walking purposefully up to us. The way she was approaching made me think she knew us, but I couldn't place her face. Then I got the over-protective mother instinct and immediately thought she might be brazen enough to try to steal Bryony right in front of us, so I stood my ground, waiting to see what she'd do. Adam looked up at her as she planted herself in front of us.
Girl: "Oh my God! Do you guys remember the second 'Back To The Future' movie when they show the bottle of Pepsi in the future?"
Adam, ever the gentleman, even to psycho strange women who come out of nowhere to quiz us on 1980s movie trivia, replies: "Yeah...? Kind of...oh, yeah, sure!"
I'm looking incredulously at this whole exchange, still trying to figure out how this girl found us out of everyone in the store to swap movie memoribilia with.
Lauren: I never saw "Back To The Future 2".
Girl (to Adam): Doesn't this bottle totally look like that bottle from the movie, the one in the future?
Adam, still being nice even though he's totally perplexed: Yeah, it kinda does...it's been awhile since I've seen that movie...
Girl, looking fondly at the Pepsi bottle in her hand, continues to ramble on about its similarity to the one in the movie.
Adam and Lauren say very fast good-byes and move on.
It wasn't until a few weeks later that Adam and I finally remembered to discuss the incident. We were both completely floored by the fact that she actually found us from another aisle of the store. It would have been a lot less disconcerting if we were shopping next to her and she had struck up conversation with us, but it's like she somehow tracked us down. In fact, now that I think of it, the section of the store we were in is nowhere near the soda aisle. Where the heck did she come from?
Perhaps the weirdest thing of all these days is the fact that I'm a little happy about staying in Michigan for the time being. Yup, that's right, the move is a no-go for us. Georgia has been cancelled, and so has Virginia. Don't get me wrong; I'm bummed by the prospect of a secure income coming our way, but I do like a Michigan fall, and I love my friends here. The idea of moving away, while something we've always looked forward to, has suddenly become a slightly bitter taste in the back of my throat. Perhaps having a support system here--friends to hang out with, loads of honorary aunts and uncles for Bryony, and a sense of comfort and stability that we've assumed over the last seven years--is the draw. I don't know. Of course, eventually we'll leave, but for now, for this autumn, we're here and I can't wait to enjoy all that Michigan has to offer--apple picking, pumpkin patches, gorgeous fall foliage, not to mention "Silver Bells in the City".
We're here for the time being, and freakishly, I'm okay with that.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
You Know What Thursdays Are...
Ask-A-Question-Leave-An-Answer Thursdays has returned for another installment. Y'all know the drill!
1. Why is my Jewish husband obsessed with Christmas music? Literally, he hums it around the house without even realizing it, and now he has downloaded a bunch of commerical Christmas tunes on ITunes for MY listening enjoyment...yeesh!
2. Why do tsunamis always seem to hit the already-poorest parts of the world? Just seems like rubbing salt in the wound...
3. I asked before and I'll ask again...can horses mate with ponies??
4. What are babies thinking when a perfectly good laughing session morphs suddenly and drastically into a big screamfest?
5. If terrorits are really planning attacks in the name of Allah and they are doing his work, then why deny it to a grand jury once they're caught? Seems like you'd be like, "Yes! I planned it, and although it went horribly wrong and I got caught, I still did it in the name of Allah and I'm proud, dammit!"
6. Is going to post-secondary school a total waste of time? 'Cause it kinda feels that way, seeing as how my family and friends with less education have way better jobs than I do that pay way better.
7. Is Patrick Swayze's ghost going to come back to make another movie?
8. Why did they make smelly markers when we were kids (I LOOOOOOVED the cinnamon....uhhhhhhh!!!!!) and then expect that we wouldn't continue smelling markers and other noxious fumes when we were teens?
9. Is New York City really still New York City now that cars can't drive through Times Square?
10. What is the meaning behind DeVo's video for "Whip It"? I mean, the cowboy, the Mexican woman, the cross-eyed Asian woman, the guy with the weird construction cone on his head...seriously????
1. Why is my Jewish husband obsessed with Christmas music? Literally, he hums it around the house without even realizing it, and now he has downloaded a bunch of commerical Christmas tunes on ITunes for MY listening enjoyment...yeesh!
2. Why do tsunamis always seem to hit the already-poorest parts of the world? Just seems like rubbing salt in the wound...
3. I asked before and I'll ask again...can horses mate with ponies??
4. What are babies thinking when a perfectly good laughing session morphs suddenly and drastically into a big screamfest?
5. If terrorits are really planning attacks in the name of Allah and they are doing his work, then why deny it to a grand jury once they're caught? Seems like you'd be like, "Yes! I planned it, and although it went horribly wrong and I got caught, I still did it in the name of Allah and I'm proud, dammit!"
6. Is going to post-secondary school a total waste of time? 'Cause it kinda feels that way, seeing as how my family and friends with less education have way better jobs than I do that pay way better.
7. Is Patrick Swayze's ghost going to come back to make another movie?
8. Why did they make smelly markers when we were kids (I LOOOOOOVED the cinnamon....uhhhhhhh!!!!!) and then expect that we wouldn't continue smelling markers and other noxious fumes when we were teens?
9. Is New York City really still New York City now that cars can't drive through Times Square?
10. What is the meaning behind DeVo's video for "Whip It"? I mean, the cowboy, the Mexican woman, the cross-eyed Asian woman, the guy with the weird construction cone on his head...seriously????
Monday, September 28, 2009
Lauren Bailey, This Is Your Life!
I've been floored by how many Lauren Baileys there are in the world. Growing up, I never knew any other Laurens (other than knowing of Lauren Bacall and Lauren Hutton), thereby leading me to think it was a relatively original name. Then, 7th grade came, and there was another Lauren in my class, who of course was much prettier and more popular than I was...years later, I interviewed for a guy who had a daughter named Lauren, which led to me being hired for the job (sometimes sharing a name pays, I guess). Anyway, several months ago when I joined Facebook, I decided to search to see how many other Lauren Baileys there were...I didn't have the time to get through them all. It was strange how the majority of them are young, blonde, white girls in the Midwest who play soccer. Seriously. Photo after photo shows different girls who all seem the same. One weird outcome of my "Lauren Bailey" search, however, is that I found another Lauren Alexis Bailey, and believe it or not, she's black! I was floored that she existed, and after contacting her and ultimately friending her, I found that she was completely underwhelmed by my existence. I believe her exact response to my revelation was "Ha! LOL! That's funny! " But then again, she's only 19 years old and is probably just too young to appreciate the true significance of this type of thing. Or maybe I have too much time on my hands.
Random thought...have you ever noticed how photos from the 70s and early 80s always seem to be dark and blurry? Even the school photos taken by professional photographers (the ones where there's a head-on shot with a profile shot to the side) always have an eerie shadow effect to them, making it seem as though the person is trapped in some weird 1970s time zone, smiling serenely with a bad hairdo into eternity. Sometimes when I look at old photos like these, I have to wonder if the 1970s just really looked like that--dark, blurry, shadowy. Did people back then walk around seeing a slightly abstract world and just not realize it?
So, in other news, this is my life...as of this week. We got the official word last Thursday that we are NOT moving to Ft. Gordon, GA, after all. After being jerked around by the Army for the last four months or so (essentially a "yes, you'll be reporting for duty on 21 August" to a "Make it mid-September" to a "15 September is definitely the date", then a "Your paperwork is taking longer than usual, so you probably won't report till late-September", which made way for "Well, you were supposed to have gotten this medical exam done six months ago, so until you get it, your deployment is on hold!" to "The guy who can upload your medical records is off on vacation and no one can do it except for him" and finally ended with a "Looks like you'll be reporting sometime in October, if the person you're filling in for isn't already back by then" and "It's a no-go, sorry!"), we are fed up, a little fatigued and definitely jaded. However, since the job front isn't looking so bright here in Michigan, and no one else is pounding down our doors, we're still open to military options. The latest and greatest news is that there is an opportunity for a one-year stint at Ft. Eustis, Virginia, near Newport News. This would be good news, as it's only about a 3-hour drive from my family, and we'd be closer to Adam's family, too. But we're also not holding our breaths, since we are now tuned in on the Army's way of doing things.
All of this, however, brings me to some thoughtful self-reflection. I've realized lately that much of my current state of mind has been framed by envy. This is really hard for me to admit, not because I have problems admitting flaws in my character, but because I didn't expect envy to be one of them. I've become envious of others' jobs, wealth, success (in whatever form they might have attained it), homes (because mine, at 790 square feet, is very small), travelling opportunities, other women's post-pregnancy waistlines and thighs, and whatever else they might have that I wish I had. I realize now that I've been obsessing about these things for quite awhile now, and that I never realized that it's all based on my own self-destructive envious feelings. Taking a look at my gorgeous baby finally rescued me from the black hole called envy that I was falling, endlessly it seemed, through. I have absolutely nothing to be unhappy about. Maybe we're not making the millions we thought we'd be, but there's still time, right? Maybe we don't live in a house with more wiggle room, but I never wanted a mansion to begin with (can you say carbon footprint??), and we've spent a lot of time and effort lately renovating our little house, so that it's finally at the point where we can really enjoy it. Maybe I still haven't shed those last 10-15 lbs of baby weight that I never expected to still be toting around...but I did manage to get into my "skinny" jeans today...they didn't look exactly the way I wanted them to, but I'm getting back into my walking and jogging now that I'm finally healed from the C-section, so my ideal waist and thighs can't be too far away! And maybe I don't have my dream job as a politically-connected ecological consultant for urban areas...but I've got a pretty darn good job now as mum to a wildly energetic and fascinating 4-month old...and I am so incredibly happy for the time I get to spend with her, my first-born, as she grows and changes and begins to exhibit her personality. And, I might add, I have a pretty awesome husband who is super-excited to be a dad, is more hands-on than I could have ever asked for, and is supportive of my desire to work outside the home, but also celebrates the time I spend with our daughter. How could I ask for anything more than the life I have?
We are taking tons and tons and tons of photos of Bryony as she gets older and changes from day to day. One day, I hope that as she looks through the aged, darkened and blurry shots from 2009 (although I suppose digital photos will never age, right?) she'll see past the photo quality to the sheer and blissful happiness her parents had in these still frames of time.
This is my life.
Random thought...have you ever noticed how photos from the 70s and early 80s always seem to be dark and blurry? Even the school photos taken by professional photographers (the ones where there's a head-on shot with a profile shot to the side) always have an eerie shadow effect to them, making it seem as though the person is trapped in some weird 1970s time zone, smiling serenely with a bad hairdo into eternity. Sometimes when I look at old photos like these, I have to wonder if the 1970s just really looked like that--dark, blurry, shadowy. Did people back then walk around seeing a slightly abstract world and just not realize it?
So, in other news, this is my life...as of this week. We got the official word last Thursday that we are NOT moving to Ft. Gordon, GA, after all. After being jerked around by the Army for the last four months or so (essentially a "yes, you'll be reporting for duty on 21 August" to a "Make it mid-September" to a "15 September is definitely the date", then a "Your paperwork is taking longer than usual, so you probably won't report till late-September", which made way for "Well, you were supposed to have gotten this medical exam done six months ago, so until you get it, your deployment is on hold!" to "The guy who can upload your medical records is off on vacation and no one can do it except for him" and finally ended with a "Looks like you'll be reporting sometime in October, if the person you're filling in for isn't already back by then" and "It's a no-go, sorry!"), we are fed up, a little fatigued and definitely jaded. However, since the job front isn't looking so bright here in Michigan, and no one else is pounding down our doors, we're still open to military options. The latest and greatest news is that there is an opportunity for a one-year stint at Ft. Eustis, Virginia, near Newport News. This would be good news, as it's only about a 3-hour drive from my family, and we'd be closer to Adam's family, too. But we're also not holding our breaths, since we are now tuned in on the Army's way of doing things.
All of this, however, brings me to some thoughtful self-reflection. I've realized lately that much of my current state of mind has been framed by envy. This is really hard for me to admit, not because I have problems admitting flaws in my character, but because I didn't expect envy to be one of them. I've become envious of others' jobs, wealth, success (in whatever form they might have attained it), homes (because mine, at 790 square feet, is very small), travelling opportunities, other women's post-pregnancy waistlines and thighs, and whatever else they might have that I wish I had. I realize now that I've been obsessing about these things for quite awhile now, and that I never realized that it's all based on my own self-destructive envious feelings. Taking a look at my gorgeous baby finally rescued me from the black hole called envy that I was falling, endlessly it seemed, through. I have absolutely nothing to be unhappy about. Maybe we're not making the millions we thought we'd be, but there's still time, right? Maybe we don't live in a house with more wiggle room, but I never wanted a mansion to begin with (can you say carbon footprint??), and we've spent a lot of time and effort lately renovating our little house, so that it's finally at the point where we can really enjoy it. Maybe I still haven't shed those last 10-15 lbs of baby weight that I never expected to still be toting around...but I did manage to get into my "skinny" jeans today...they didn't look exactly the way I wanted them to, but I'm getting back into my walking and jogging now that I'm finally healed from the C-section, so my ideal waist and thighs can't be too far away! And maybe I don't have my dream job as a politically-connected ecological consultant for urban areas...but I've got a pretty darn good job now as mum to a wildly energetic and fascinating 4-month old...and I am so incredibly happy for the time I get to spend with her, my first-born, as she grows and changes and begins to exhibit her personality. And, I might add, I have a pretty awesome husband who is super-excited to be a dad, is more hands-on than I could have ever asked for, and is supportive of my desire to work outside the home, but also celebrates the time I spend with our daughter. How could I ask for anything more than the life I have?
We are taking tons and tons and tons of photos of Bryony as she gets older and changes from day to day. One day, I hope that as she looks through the aged, darkened and blurry shots from 2009 (although I suppose digital photos will never age, right?) she'll see past the photo quality to the sheer and blissful happiness her parents had in these still frames of time.
This is my life.
Monday, September 21, 2009
So As Not To Be Confused
Here's a link to the explanation and pronunciation of Bryony's name, as several people still seem to be having a bit of trouble. Hope this helps:
Bryony - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Bryony - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Friday, September 18, 2009
Linguistically Speaking, Amended
At the risk of sounding like an old curmudgeon, I'm following my last post with yet another persnickety I-can't-stand-it-when-peoople-do post. These pet peeves, however, are not my fault; I'm the daughter of a former English teacher. I've seen these common linguistic mistakes everywhere from college term papers to NPR newscasts. I'll admit that I even find myself violating #3, #4 and #8 from time to time.
1. When people misuse the word "myself." For example (and I hear this all the time), when people say, "It really meant a lot to Tom and myself that you came to our party tonight." That should have been "It really meant a lot to Tom and me that you came to our party tonight." Myself should be used to refer back to the same person from whom the action was made. For example, "I gave myself an unfortunate haircut when I was three years old."
2. When people talk about themself and another person by saying, "Me and Nate..." Don't we all know that should be "Nate and I..."???
3. Similarly, when folks use the the proper form of #2 in the accusatory and dative forms. For instance, "Becky gave Nate and I her lunch money" or "Becky thanked Nate and I for our help". These should have read "Becky gave Nate and me her lunch money" and "Becky thanked Nate and me for our help."
4. I can't stand how so few people use the proper response of "You're welcome" after they've been thanked. Have you noticed how everyone answers "Thank you" with "Thank you" these days?
5. Far too many people misspell the word lose. Lose means to misplace something; or to not win something. Loose refers to something not being tight.
6. You're = You are
Your = belonging to you
7. There = A distance from here
Their = Belonging to them
They're = They are
8. I hate when (and I readily admit that I do this myself) folks use the word "there's" when they should use "there are". For example: "I know somewhere in this pile there's fifty one dollar bills" should be "I know somewhere in this pile there are fifty one dollar bills"
9. Lay or Lie? I cannot stand that song by Snow Patrol where the singer warbles "If I lay here, I just lay here..." He should be using "lie" instead of lay. Lay would only work if he were singing in the past tense, and the rest of the lyrics suggest that he's not. To lay is to perform the action of putting something down, whether it's an object or yourself, for example: "Now I lay me down to sleep" or "Would you please lay the covers over the bed?" To lie is to be in a still (sometimes sleeping) position, for example, "I lie here thinking about all the chores I should be doing right now" or "The cookbook always lies next to the cutting board in Grandma's house."
I know, I know, I'm a snob, which I don't even have a right to be, considering I violate many of the linguistic rules I hold so dear. But I am a linguiphile (a lover of languages) and so I am very aware of when grammatical and syntactical rules are violated. I guess, I too, belong to the Hypocrite Party.
1. When people misuse the word "myself." For example (and I hear this all the time), when people say, "It really meant a lot to Tom and myself that you came to our party tonight." That should have been "It really meant a lot to Tom and me that you came to our party tonight." Myself should be used to refer back to the same person from whom the action was made. For example, "I gave myself an unfortunate haircut when I was three years old."
2. When people talk about themself and another person by saying, "Me and Nate..." Don't we all know that should be "Nate and I..."???
3. Similarly, when folks use the the proper form of #2 in the accusatory and dative forms. For instance, "Becky gave Nate and I her lunch money" or "Becky thanked Nate and I for our help". These should have read "Becky gave Nate and me her lunch money" and "Becky thanked Nate and me for our help."
4. I can't stand how so few people use the proper response of "You're welcome" after they've been thanked. Have you noticed how everyone answers "Thank you" with "Thank you" these days?
5. Far too many people misspell the word lose. Lose means to misplace something; or to not win something. Loose refers to something not being tight.
6. You're = You are
Your = belonging to you
7. There = A distance from here
Their = Belonging to them
They're = They are
8. I hate when (and I readily admit that I do this myself) folks use the word "there's" when they should use "there are". For example: "I know somewhere in this pile there's fifty one dollar bills" should be "I know somewhere in this pile there are fifty one dollar bills"
9. Lay or Lie? I cannot stand that song by Snow Patrol where the singer warbles "If I lay here, I just lay here..." He should be using "lie" instead of lay. Lay would only work if he were singing in the past tense, and the rest of the lyrics suggest that he's not. To lay is to perform the action of putting something down, whether it's an object or yourself, for example: "Now I lay me down to sleep" or "Would you please lay the covers over the bed?" To lie is to be in a still (sometimes sleeping) position, for example, "I lie here thinking about all the chores I should be doing right now" or "The cookbook always lies next to the cutting board in Grandma's house."
I know, I know, I'm a snob, which I don't even have a right to be, considering I violate many of the linguistic rules I hold so dear. But I am a linguiphile (a lover of languages) and so I am very aware of when grammatical and syntactical rules are violated. I guess, I too, belong to the Hypocrite Party.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
A Three Party System
So, the Dems have the donkey, the GOP has the elephant, but...what animal does the Hypocrite party have? The hippo?
The Hypocrite Party...you know, that party full of Democrats and Republicans who tow their party lines, spout party rhetoric, and then do the exact opposite in their own lives. For example, how Republicans champion fiscal responsibility! to anyone who will listen, and yet the Bush administration racked up more national debt than just about any other president in history. Or, how they scream for family values! and yet 1) we've dropped countless errant bombs on civilian families in Iraq (or maybe non-American families don't count, they're just collateral damage?, 2) this purposeless war has not only led to increased suicide rates amongst service members because of the lack of psychological support they receive after tours of duty, but it has also led to an increase in divorce rates amongst deployed troops (Up with family, GOP!).
But don't think I'm ripping solely on the Republicans. Noooo, the Democrats are equal inductees into the Hypocrite Party. I love how Democrats like to point the finger at Republicans for being the party of aristocrats who don't understand "the common folk." Actually, Democrats tend to be more affluent and more highly educated than the Republican base or their elected officials, hence the "Latte-drinking Liberal" slam we heard during the last election. What about the Democratic adherence to Change! during Obama's run for office? If that wasn't the buzzword of the decade, I don't know what was. But what happens when the guy gets elected to office? He tries to implement change--asking a far-right conservative Evangelical pastor to deliver the prayer at the inauguration ceremony--and Democrats go crazy. How DARE he do something like that? How could he possibly reach across the aisle to someone he (and his supporters) don't agree completely with and invite the man to pray for the country? It's unheard of! I guess Democrats wanted to be able to dictate what types of change Obama would be making, because if it included cooperating with the conservative right, then Dems didn't want any part in it.
Which leads me to a few people I know (who shall remain nameless). I'm constantly mystified by how supportive they are of their party line until they have to practice what they preach. For example, one of my very good friends is a hard and fast Liberal who supports Affirmative Action...until the policy meant that her husband's promotion might have been kaiboshed so that a person from an underrepresented group got the position instead. Another Liberal friend is all for universal health care...except if it means she has to give up the very choice health insurance plan she and her family currently enjoy. Several of my nose-to-the-ground, so-called-activist-minded Liberal friends are all about community development and organizing...as long as they don't have to actually live in any of the neighborhoods that need help. While Adam and I recognize that we don't live in the nicest of neighborhoods, I'd like to think that we've done our part to improve it in some way; amongst even our most progressive friends, our neighborhood is a joke that they wouldn't even consider living in, not even to help improve things.
And what about my Republican friends? Okay, I get the whole religious right aspect to much of modern-day conservatism. However, I still don't believe that that trumps the original tenants of the Republican Party--small government that stays out of the people's business. Whether you personally do or don't support homosexuality, it seems completely hypocritical to me that as a Republican one could believe that government has any role in who sleeps with whom, who gets married, who inherits property, who can adopt needy children (with the exception of pedophiles and axe murderers). Isn't government involvement the anti-Republican stance? Being the biologist that I am, my all-time favorite hypocrisy is Republicans and the environment. Teddy Roosevelt, a Republican, was one of the original leaders of the environmentalism movement! Back then, the natural resources this nation provided were respected, cherished and conserved. Under current Republican administrations, they are cut down, excavated, overhunted and polluted. Roosevelt supported Gifford Pinchot, the first Chief of the US Forest Service, who advocated for conservation and wise use of natural resources. Current Republican administrations advocate for cutting trees to make way for more logging roads in national forests. How did the GOP go from Teddy Roosevelt refusing to shoot a bear to Sarah Palin shooting wolves from a helicopter?
So all hail the lastest inductees into America's latest, albeit unrecognized, party! All hail to the Hypocrite Party!
The Hypocrite Party...you know, that party full of Democrats and Republicans who tow their party lines, spout party rhetoric, and then do the exact opposite in their own lives. For example, how Republicans champion fiscal responsibility! to anyone who will listen, and yet the Bush administration racked up more national debt than just about any other president in history. Or, how they scream for family values! and yet 1) we've dropped countless errant bombs on civilian families in Iraq (or maybe non-American families don't count, they're just collateral damage?, 2) this purposeless war has not only led to increased suicide rates amongst service members because of the lack of psychological support they receive after tours of duty, but it has also led to an increase in divorce rates amongst deployed troops (Up with family, GOP!).
But don't think I'm ripping solely on the Republicans. Noooo, the Democrats are equal inductees into the Hypocrite Party. I love how Democrats like to point the finger at Republicans for being the party of aristocrats who don't understand "the common folk." Actually, Democrats tend to be more affluent and more highly educated than the Republican base or their elected officials, hence the "Latte-drinking Liberal" slam we heard during the last election. What about the Democratic adherence to Change! during Obama's run for office? If that wasn't the buzzword of the decade, I don't know what was. But what happens when the guy gets elected to office? He tries to implement change--asking a far-right conservative Evangelical pastor to deliver the prayer at the inauguration ceremony--and Democrats go crazy. How DARE he do something like that? How could he possibly reach across the aisle to someone he (and his supporters) don't agree completely with and invite the man to pray for the country? It's unheard of! I guess Democrats wanted to be able to dictate what types of change Obama would be making, because if it included cooperating with the conservative right, then Dems didn't want any part in it.
Which leads me to a few people I know (who shall remain nameless). I'm constantly mystified by how supportive they are of their party line until they have to practice what they preach. For example, one of my very good friends is a hard and fast Liberal who supports Affirmative Action...until the policy meant that her husband's promotion might have been kaiboshed so that a person from an underrepresented group got the position instead. Another Liberal friend is all for universal health care...except if it means she has to give up the very choice health insurance plan she and her family currently enjoy. Several of my nose-to-the-ground, so-called-activist-minded Liberal friends are all about community development and organizing...as long as they don't have to actually live in any of the neighborhoods that need help. While Adam and I recognize that we don't live in the nicest of neighborhoods, I'd like to think that we've done our part to improve it in some way; amongst even our most progressive friends, our neighborhood is a joke that they wouldn't even consider living in, not even to help improve things.
And what about my Republican friends? Okay, I get the whole religious right aspect to much of modern-day conservatism. However, I still don't believe that that trumps the original tenants of the Republican Party--small government that stays out of the people's business. Whether you personally do or don't support homosexuality, it seems completely hypocritical to me that as a Republican one could believe that government has any role in who sleeps with whom, who gets married, who inherits property, who can adopt needy children (with the exception of pedophiles and axe murderers). Isn't government involvement the anti-Republican stance? Being the biologist that I am, my all-time favorite hypocrisy is Republicans and the environment. Teddy Roosevelt, a Republican, was one of the original leaders of the environmentalism movement! Back then, the natural resources this nation provided were respected, cherished and conserved. Under current Republican administrations, they are cut down, excavated, overhunted and polluted. Roosevelt supported Gifford Pinchot, the first Chief of the US Forest Service, who advocated for conservation and wise use of natural resources. Current Republican administrations advocate for cutting trees to make way for more logging roads in national forests. How did the GOP go from Teddy Roosevelt refusing to shoot a bear to Sarah Palin shooting wolves from a helicopter?
So all hail the lastest inductees into America's latest, albeit unrecognized, party! All hail to the Hypocrite Party!
Friday, September 11, 2009
The Prodigal Granddaughter
A number of pix from Bryony's first trip to the D.C. area to see the maternal relatives...we had a great time getting spoiled by everyone! There are quite a few pix here (I had a hard time not posting ALL of them, they're so precious!), so you might pace yourself. Thanks to all the relatives and friends who worked to make this visit so wonderful for us. It was such a delight to introduce my daughter to you all!
Much love,
Lauren
At the airport, Bryony is looking out of the Baby Bjorn...she was EXCELLENT on both legs of the trip, and we had such good seatmates to help us along!
First shot of Aunt Tyuana and Cousin Alex meeting "My Bry-ny" (as he called her all weekend). He was shy but ever so excited...so were we!!
Alex was so loving and gentle with his wee cousin...he offered her goldfish crackers and fruit snacks and wanted to share all his toys with her. One day the two of them will love these pix...
After a long day out and about, the cousins crash while thunderstorms raged outside...
Uncle Walt and Bryony
Alex and Bryony enjoying each other's company
Grandma (or MoMa as Alex calls her, or Marmee as Bryony will call her) with her grandkids
Lauren with her two favorite kids
Aunt Shantz makes wee Bryony giggle!
Bryony with Marmee and Aunt Nella
Bryony and Aunt Daniela...so THAT'S where all those curly dark locks came from!!!
"Travellin' is old hat to me, y'all"
"I'm so bored!"
Visiting with Mum's oldest friend, Aunt Katie, and her kids...here is a pic of Bryony with Baby Lucy, who was born exactly one month before Bryony. These girls will be just as close friends as their mums...and we didn't even put them up to holding hands!!
Bryony chillin' out in the Bumbo..
Aunt Katie and Lucy surprised us with a sling while we were in town! This worked out incredibly well for the flights home, as she was able to stay in the sling during the trip. Thanks Katie and Lucy!!!
We couldn't leave Virginia without getting a little lovin' time with Uncle Jake!
Much love,
Lauren
At the airport, Bryony is looking out of the Baby Bjorn...she was EXCELLENT on both legs of the trip, and we had such good seatmates to help us along!
First shot of Aunt Tyuana and Cousin Alex meeting "My Bry-ny" (as he called her all weekend). He was shy but ever so excited...so were we!!
Alex was so loving and gentle with his wee cousin...he offered her goldfish crackers and fruit snacks and wanted to share all his toys with her. One day the two of them will love these pix...
After a long day out and about, the cousins crash while thunderstorms raged outside...
Uncle Walt and Bryony
Alex and Bryony enjoying each other's company
Grandma (or MoMa as Alex calls her, or Marmee as Bryony will call her) with her grandkids
Lauren with her two favorite kids
Aunt Shantz makes wee Bryony giggle!
Bryony with Marmee and Aunt Nella
Bryony and Aunt Daniela...so THAT'S where all those curly dark locks came from!!!
"Travellin' is old hat to me, y'all"
"I'm so bored!"
Visiting with Mum's oldest friend, Aunt Katie, and her kids...here is a pic of Bryony with Baby Lucy, who was born exactly one month before Bryony. These girls will be just as close friends as their mums...and we didn't even put them up to holding hands!!
Bryony chillin' out in the Bumbo..
Aunt Katie and Lucy surprised us with a sling while we were in town! This worked out incredibly well for the flights home, as she was able to stay in the sling during the trip. Thanks Katie and Lucy!!!
We couldn't leave Virginia without getting a little lovin' time with Uncle Jake!
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Paradox
As many of my friends are only too happy to remind me, it was only a few short years ago that I proudly professed to anyone who would listen that I would never get married or have kids. Then, I transitioned into maybe-I-can-get-married-but-why-would-anyone-have-kids? mode before a year or so later entering the maybe-kids-don't-completely-ruin-your-life zone. Then I got married, admittedly a bit unconventionally, but I did enter into the forays of matrimony. Only half a year later, I found out I was pregnant. I guess that's what the old sages mean when they say that people change.
In fact, I've changed more than I could have ever imagined. I am completely in love with my little girl. While there are stressful days (like this morning, when I realized she'd poo'd all over her outfit, and after changing her diaper and outfit, she managed to vomit three times, requiring two more diaper changes), most of my time with her is filled with wonder and joy as I see her growing, learning and progressing into the next stages of childhood. It's wild. It's moments like this that make the idea of returning to work paralyzing; the idea of someone else--a stranger--getting to see her "firsts" and her growth makes me sick to my stomach. But at the same time, I still feel passionately about my work as a biologist. The idea of not returning to workforce outside the home feels just as unbearable. So what to do? Stay at home with my child and feel like I'm missing out on the work I spent 4 1/2 years of grad school preparing for OR return to work and feel like I'm missing out on the single most important experience of my life (ie--motherhood)?
So, for now, I'm trying not to sweat it, and am just enjoying the time I have with Bryony. She is already over 3 months old, and I can hardly believe that I would've been back to work over a month already if I'd been on matenity leave. She still seems SO small and young and the idea of her being at day care just seems unimaginable to me, even though I know that most people do it.
I have applied for a couple of jobs down in Georgia, so I am actively pursuing employment for the near future. As supportive as Adam is of my taking care of our child, we'ver never had an expectation that we'd be a single-income household, at least not permanently. So, I am trying to enjoy each moment with the little miss in the meantime, assuming that I will be putting her into daycare sometime soon.
One thing about this situation comforts me--the notion that my daughter will see her mother as a mother and a biologist. It's important to me for my children to know that not just daddies can work outside the home and make a difference in the world; mums can, too. So, I want to set this example for my daughter, so that she'll know that one day it could be an option open for her, too, if she so chooses.
But that doesn't mean that I won't have a little hole in my heart to know that the special smiles that she gives me everyday will go to someone else during the eight hours I'm away from her.
But I guess no one ever said any of this was supposed to be easy.
In fact, I've changed more than I could have ever imagined. I am completely in love with my little girl. While there are stressful days (like this morning, when I realized she'd poo'd all over her outfit, and after changing her diaper and outfit, she managed to vomit three times, requiring two more diaper changes), most of my time with her is filled with wonder and joy as I see her growing, learning and progressing into the next stages of childhood. It's wild. It's moments like this that make the idea of returning to work paralyzing; the idea of someone else--a stranger--getting to see her "firsts" and her growth makes me sick to my stomach. But at the same time, I still feel passionately about my work as a biologist. The idea of not returning to workforce outside the home feels just as unbearable. So what to do? Stay at home with my child and feel like I'm missing out on the work I spent 4 1/2 years of grad school preparing for OR return to work and feel like I'm missing out on the single most important experience of my life (ie--motherhood)?
So, for now, I'm trying not to sweat it, and am just enjoying the time I have with Bryony. She is already over 3 months old, and I can hardly believe that I would've been back to work over a month already if I'd been on matenity leave. She still seems SO small and young and the idea of her being at day care just seems unimaginable to me, even though I know that most people do it.
I have applied for a couple of jobs down in Georgia, so I am actively pursuing employment for the near future. As supportive as Adam is of my taking care of our child, we'ver never had an expectation that we'd be a single-income household, at least not permanently. So, I am trying to enjoy each moment with the little miss in the meantime, assuming that I will be putting her into daycare sometime soon.
One thing about this situation comforts me--the notion that my daughter will see her mother as a mother and a biologist. It's important to me for my children to know that not just daddies can work outside the home and make a difference in the world; mums can, too. So, I want to set this example for my daughter, so that she'll know that one day it could be an option open for her, too, if she so chooses.
But that doesn't mean that I won't have a little hole in my heart to know that the special smiles that she gives me everyday will go to someone else during the eight hours I'm away from her.
But I guess no one ever said any of this was supposed to be easy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)