I've been putting this off for awhile, simply because I've had so many thoughts going through my head about what I want to say, I haven't had the energy to sit down and put them all down into words. However, seeing as this has been the week we celebrated Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., perhaps it's finally time to write what I've been thinking.
I've decided to do a four-part post entitled "The Race Card," where I will chronicle my experiences (and my thoughts) growing up and living in this nation as a black American. Why "The Race Card"? Well, I've always thought that was an interesting phrase for someone to use. "Ahh...there they go again, pulling out the race card!" as if one's race were the Crazy Eight in a stack of fifty-two...as if people of a certain ethnicity are constantly sitting on the special card they were dealt upon their birth for the purpose of pulling it out and flashing it around at the most convenient time. So, there you go, "The Race Card."
So, in Part One, "The Cream in the Middle," I'll talk a little bit about what it was like growing up trying to be "black enough" for black America and "white enough" for white America. Part two, "Good Hair," will be a continuation of the discussion of black hair in the Chris Rock movie of the same title. Part Three, "America Beyond the Color Line," (based on Dr. Henry Louis Gates' PBS documentary of the same title) will be a perspective on contemporary issues in American race relations. Finally, Part Four, "American Family" will look at my experiences being in an interracial relationship (and now marriage) and having a child of combined ethnicities.
My plan is to be as honest as I possibly can without offending anyone or being overly political. This is just supposed to be a narrative of what my experiences and perspectives have been thus far. Give you guys a window into my world for a little while. I hope you enjoy.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Disclaimer
My 8 January blog post entitled "Little Earthquakes" was written and posted several days before the terrible earthquake that hit Port-au-Prince, Haiti. I realized the title could be perceived to have been in poor taste considering its temporal proximity to these most recent events.
That's all.
That's all.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Battle Scar
I find myself absent-mindedly touching my C-section scar a lot these days. Maybe it's because the scar is still relatively new to my body. Or, perhaps it's because the incision, which got infected in the weeks after the surgery, took a really long time to heal, and so I still subconsciously worry about it. I really think, though, it's because I am self-conscious about the scar; actually, I really hate it. I hate that I have this permanent reminder of my inability to birth my baby naturally. I hate that while I'm still losing the last of the baby weight, I have a weird crease above my groin that my belly fat hangs over, like dough falling slowly over a ledge. I hate that when I touch the scar there's a weird numb sensation, which the doctor told me might remain forever.
I know, I know. I'm supposed to be proud of my battle scar. After all, four long days of labor with Bryony merits some sort of pride in having a physical reminder, right? But I'm not proud; I just feel butchered and sliced, like I consented to being a turkey on Thanksgiving Day.
Adam, however, has been excellent about my insecurities regarding the scar. He is sympathetic about everything that I went through and gives me all the hand-holding I need when I feel down about how things ended. He reinforces this by emphasizing that Bryony's and my safety might have been compromised if I hadn't had the surgery. While we'll never know if this is true (we were both doing just fine when I consented to the surgery), it still makes me feel a little better.
A few years ago, I read a quote by Angelina Jolie, where she referred to Brad Pitt and her post-pregnancy body: "I’m with a man who’s evolved enough to look at my body and see it as more beautiful because of the journey it has taken and what it has created. He genuinely sees it that way. So I genuinely feel sexier." I don't know if she had a Cesaerean section, but I would assume that not even Angelina Jolie's body looks the same after a pregnancy (especially after carrying twins!). I'm pretty sure that Adam appreciates my body more for the baby it has made, carried and delivered, and he certainly treats me as though I'm beautiful. So the issue is all mine. Evidently, while I have yet to achieve Angelina's mindset about how to view a post-partum (or post-Cesaerean) body, my Adam, surprisingly enough, is channeling Brad Pitt.
No wonder I love him so much.
I know, I know. I'm supposed to be proud of my battle scar. After all, four long days of labor with Bryony merits some sort of pride in having a physical reminder, right? But I'm not proud; I just feel butchered and sliced, like I consented to being a turkey on Thanksgiving Day.
Adam, however, has been excellent about my insecurities regarding the scar. He is sympathetic about everything that I went through and gives me all the hand-holding I need when I feel down about how things ended. He reinforces this by emphasizing that Bryony's and my safety might have been compromised if I hadn't had the surgery. While we'll never know if this is true (we were both doing just fine when I consented to the surgery), it still makes me feel a little better.
A few years ago, I read a quote by Angelina Jolie, where she referred to Brad Pitt and her post-pregnancy body: "I’m with a man who’s evolved enough to look at my body and see it as more beautiful because of the journey it has taken and what it has created. He genuinely sees it that way. So I genuinely feel sexier." I don't know if she had a Cesaerean section, but I would assume that not even Angelina Jolie's body looks the same after a pregnancy (especially after carrying twins!). I'm pretty sure that Adam appreciates my body more for the baby it has made, carried and delivered, and he certainly treats me as though I'm beautiful. So the issue is all mine. Evidently, while I have yet to achieve Angelina's mindset about how to view a post-partum (or post-Cesaerean) body, my Adam, surprisingly enough, is channeling Brad Pitt.
No wonder I love him so much.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Little Earthquakes
So, remember a few posts back when I mentioned that I'd be taking our Christmas tree down the following day? Yeah, well, that never happened. Mostly because I've been so busy with the wee one during the day to even give it a thought, but also partly because I still get great joy from flicking on the lights every evening and having the evergreen tree smell lingering in the air. But it's starting to get a little embarrassing now that it's the second week of January, so tomorrow it goes...really...
Tonight I set my oven on fire. But it wasn't my fault, really! There was some grease on the bottom of the oven that I hadn't noticed because the broiler rack was covering it. Anyway, whilst making one of my signature dishes--eggplant parmesan, sans the parmesan--I noticed smoke billowing from out of the oven. Upon opening the oven door, I discovered a fire inside. All I could think of was the flame somehow finding a random stream of gas in the air and igniting the entire house. Luckily, I still had the good sense to find the baking soda and not the sink spray nozzle. Adam ended up extinguishing the fire, and we held our doors open to the cold (15 degrees F) Michigan winter air while we allowed the smoke to exit. What was most amazing, however, was that Bryony slept through the entire debacle, smoke alarms blaring and all.
So if setting my kitchen on fire wasn't enough of a tremor tonight, then this next one takes the cake. My husband actually joined Facebook after several months of my prodding. It actually had nothing to do with me, though. After being ripped on by many of his friends for not having a profile, the final push was taking a class that suggested joining Facebook (and/or Twitter, LinkedIn, etc.) if you are job hunting. Since we are nearing the point of whoring ourselves out on a street corner, Adam must have thought Facebook was an easy alternative. So there he was tonight, getting all situated, friending people left and right, posting comments, arranging his settings. He done made me proud.
This weekend, for various reasons, is sure to provide a few more little quakes. I'm just hoping to maintain my footing.
Tonight I set my oven on fire. But it wasn't my fault, really! There was some grease on the bottom of the oven that I hadn't noticed because the broiler rack was covering it. Anyway, whilst making one of my signature dishes--eggplant parmesan, sans the parmesan--I noticed smoke billowing from out of the oven. Upon opening the oven door, I discovered a fire inside. All I could think of was the flame somehow finding a random stream of gas in the air and igniting the entire house. Luckily, I still had the good sense to find the baking soda and not the sink spray nozzle. Adam ended up extinguishing the fire, and we held our doors open to the cold (15 degrees F) Michigan winter air while we allowed the smoke to exit. What was most amazing, however, was that Bryony slept through the entire debacle, smoke alarms blaring and all.
So if setting my kitchen on fire wasn't enough of a tremor tonight, then this next one takes the cake. My husband actually joined Facebook after several months of my prodding. It actually had nothing to do with me, though. After being ripped on by many of his friends for not having a profile, the final push was taking a class that suggested joining Facebook (and/or Twitter, LinkedIn, etc.) if you are job hunting. Since we are nearing the point of whoring ourselves out on a street corner, Adam must have thought Facebook was an easy alternative. So there he was tonight, getting all situated, friending people left and right, posting comments, arranging his settings. He done made me proud.
This weekend, for various reasons, is sure to provide a few more little quakes. I'm just hoping to maintain my footing.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Cringe
My favorite NPR show, "This American Life", did an episode back in 2006 called "Cringe". Essentially, it was a show that talked about the stories in our lives that, when we look back on them, make us cringe with embarrassment or horror or plain old "Please erase this event from my memory (not to mention my record)!". I have SO many of these types of stories that I thought I would embarrass myself by recounting just a few for your reading enjoyment...
This is probably my all-time, most cringe-inducing story that makes me go red (even if I'm in bed under the covers all by myself) every time I think of it. Years ago, when I was a graduate student, I was told of a certain professor from another university who did research that I was interested in. I tracked him down at a conference later that year, introduced myself and ended up having lunch with him. A year or so later, I arranged to have him come to my university as a guest speaker. When I picked him up from the airport, he met me at my car and...I...went...to...hug him...just as he stuck out his hand for a handshake. It was so awkward and embarrassing, even moreso when, realizing my inappropriate greeting, I tried to shake his hand, and he tried to hug me. Then we were both bumbling and mortified. I only made things worse when the next day, I introduced him before he gave his lecture. Instead of just listing his credentials like most people do, I started rambling on about how I'd met him at the conference the previous year, had had lunch with him and kept in touch with him, and how I hoped he was not just my mentor, but also my friend. First of all, he had never offered to be my mentor or my friend, and even if he had, it's not exactly the type of information I needed to be spouting during his seminar introduction. The audience looked at me like I was a moron, and I quickly realized my credibility as a scientist, a student and as a rational human being was quickly descending. Even now, as I write about all this, I just want to crawl into a hole somewhere. Yuck.
A close second was when Adam and I were hanging out with his parents, and my father-in-law and I were swapping stories about weird people we knew back in high school and college. Just as he finished a particularly entertaining story about a kid who set himself on fire, I decided to try to one-up him by telling a story about a girl in junior high who always smelled like she didn't wash very well during that time of the month. The look on my mother-in-law's face was enough to make a bison stampede come to a grinding halt. Her exact words were, "Lauren...I did NOT need to hear that!" Imagine that said with utter disgust. From your mother-in-law. Right before she walks out of the room.
Here are two that are particularly cringe-worth stories for me, because they have to do with my childhood obsession with food (not to mention the extra weight that accompanied).
When I was in elementary school, the teacher would take students out to lunch if they had not had any demerits against them for the entire semester. They'd always take us to Frisch's Big Boy for the requisite burger, fries and soda. Well, one particular semester, I was out with my 4th grade teacher, Mrs. Thomas, and a small group of students, and we were just finishing up lunch. I had already cleaned my plate and eaten the leftover french fries on my friend's plate, too. Mrs. Thomas asked everyone if we were done, or if we were still hungry. I greedily (squirm!) exclaimed that I was still hungry! Everyone turned to look at me, wondering how I could be the only one at the table who was still hungry. Mrs. Thomas took her time responding; I was at the same time embarrassed but also anticipating what treat she might have in store! I believe she stopped at a convenience store on the way back to school and bought us all ice cream bars. Leave it to the piggly little brown girl to demand more food. Where's that hole for me to crawl in again?
When I was in junior high, I used to hang out at the mall a lot with my girlfriends. One day, we had all decided to get baskets of french fries at a little food shop for lunch. My girlfriends left for a few moments to wash their hands, and left me with three baskets of fries in front of me. I thought long and hard about how, if I was quick enough, I could steal a few of their fries and still have my full basket ready and waiting for me when they came back. Well, I took too long to decide, because by the time I made my move, they were already on their way back to the table and they caught me trying to steal fries from their baskets. I was humiliated. Greedy, deceitful and humiliated. I still am--humiliated, that is--all these years later. *Snort, snort*
This is probably my all-time, most cringe-inducing story that makes me go red (even if I'm in bed under the covers all by myself) every time I think of it. Years ago, when I was a graduate student, I was told of a certain professor from another university who did research that I was interested in. I tracked him down at a conference later that year, introduced myself and ended up having lunch with him. A year or so later, I arranged to have him come to my university as a guest speaker. When I picked him up from the airport, he met me at my car and...I...went...to...hug him...just as he stuck out his hand for a handshake. It was so awkward and embarrassing, even moreso when, realizing my inappropriate greeting, I tried to shake his hand, and he tried to hug me. Then we were both bumbling and mortified. I only made things worse when the next day, I introduced him before he gave his lecture. Instead of just listing his credentials like most people do, I started rambling on about how I'd met him at the conference the previous year, had had lunch with him and kept in touch with him, and how I hoped he was not just my mentor, but also my friend. First of all, he had never offered to be my mentor or my friend, and even if he had, it's not exactly the type of information I needed to be spouting during his seminar introduction. The audience looked at me like I was a moron, and I quickly realized my credibility as a scientist, a student and as a rational human being was quickly descending. Even now, as I write about all this, I just want to crawl into a hole somewhere. Yuck.
A close second was when Adam and I were hanging out with his parents, and my father-in-law and I were swapping stories about weird people we knew back in high school and college. Just as he finished a particularly entertaining story about a kid who set himself on fire, I decided to try to one-up him by telling a story about a girl in junior high who always smelled like she didn't wash very well during that time of the month. The look on my mother-in-law's face was enough to make a bison stampede come to a grinding halt. Her exact words were, "Lauren...I did NOT need to hear that!" Imagine that said with utter disgust. From your mother-in-law. Right before she walks out of the room.
Here are two that are particularly cringe-worth stories for me, because they have to do with my childhood obsession with food (not to mention the extra weight that accompanied).
When I was in elementary school, the teacher would take students out to lunch if they had not had any demerits against them for the entire semester. They'd always take us to Frisch's Big Boy for the requisite burger, fries and soda. Well, one particular semester, I was out with my 4th grade teacher, Mrs. Thomas, and a small group of students, and we were just finishing up lunch. I had already cleaned my plate and eaten the leftover french fries on my friend's plate, too. Mrs. Thomas asked everyone if we were done, or if we were still hungry. I greedily (squirm!) exclaimed that I was still hungry! Everyone turned to look at me, wondering how I could be the only one at the table who was still hungry. Mrs. Thomas took her time responding; I was at the same time embarrassed but also anticipating what treat she might have in store! I believe she stopped at a convenience store on the way back to school and bought us all ice cream bars. Leave it to the piggly little brown girl to demand more food. Where's that hole for me to crawl in again?
When I was in junior high, I used to hang out at the mall a lot with my girlfriends. One day, we had all decided to get baskets of french fries at a little food shop for lunch. My girlfriends left for a few moments to wash their hands, and left me with three baskets of fries in front of me. I thought long and hard about how, if I was quick enough, I could steal a few of their fries and still have my full basket ready and waiting for me when they came back. Well, I took too long to decide, because by the time I made my move, they were already on their way back to the table and they caught me trying to steal fries from their baskets. I was humiliated. Greedy, deceitful and humiliated. I still am--humiliated, that is--all these years later. *Snort, snort*
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Completely Random Secret...
...that for some reason, at 2:00 in the morning, I feel compelled to share. I'll likely regret this candidness as soon as the first person brings it up in polite (or raunchy) conversation.
Anyway...I sometimes act out my own commercials...in the mirror, when I'm sitting on the toilet, lying in bed, driving in the car, pretty much anywhere. I'll make up a script in my head and then act out the commercial--in my head, silently mouthing the words if there are people around, or out loud if I'm by myself. Here's my latest incarnation:
"Every child deserves to believe their mother is the most beautiful woman in the world, and they shouldn't have to work too hard to believe it." Then I'd go into some common sense talk about eating right, exercising, and using some wonderful, all-natural, paraben-free skin product guaranteed to keep your skin youthful and soft, keeping your child giddy and confident that s/he indeed has the most beautiful mum in the world. I've practiced this one several times in front of the bathroom mirror when I'm rinsing a scrub off my face.
Sometimes, it's not a commercial, but rather an awards show. I love accepting a Grammy for "Best New Artist" for my eclectic and ground-breaking new album...that is, until an invisible Kanye West intercepts my acceptance speech.
Good night, y'all!
Anyway...I sometimes act out my own commercials...in the mirror, when I'm sitting on the toilet, lying in bed, driving in the car, pretty much anywhere. I'll make up a script in my head and then act out the commercial--in my head, silently mouthing the words if there are people around, or out loud if I'm by myself. Here's my latest incarnation:
"Every child deserves to believe their mother is the most beautiful woman in the world, and they shouldn't have to work too hard to believe it." Then I'd go into some common sense talk about eating right, exercising, and using some wonderful, all-natural, paraben-free skin product guaranteed to keep your skin youthful and soft, keeping your child giddy and confident that s/he indeed has the most beautiful mum in the world. I've practiced this one several times in front of the bathroom mirror when I'm rinsing a scrub off my face.
Sometimes, it's not a commercial, but rather an awards show. I love accepting a Grammy for "Best New Artist" for my eclectic and ground-breaking new album...that is, until an invisible Kanye West intercepts my acceptance speech.
Good night, y'all!
Red Year, Blue Year, Old Year, New Year
Happy 2010, everyone! And no, we are NOT in a new decade, but rather at the end of the current one! But who's keeping track?
2009 was full of firsts for us...first wedding anniversary, first pregnancy, first kid, first Xmas with the kid. Oh, and the very end of 2009 brought the kid's first bout with illness. Yup, that was fun, right around the holidays, too. But now we're in 2010, the holidays are over, the kid is feeling better and we're prepping for whatever's in store for us, like the kid's sleeping schedule changing. Ahhhh, yes...nstead of the 4-5 uninterrupted hours she typically sleeps during the night, now she's sleeping only 1-1 1/2. Yeah, my legs and breasts are getting a good workout as I limp to her room several times a night to nurse.
Last year held another first for me--my first foray into the world of knitting! A new friend invited me to join her knitting group, and I've totally surprised myself by how much I love it...the knitting part as well as the socializing part. I just finished my first project--a totally shapeless series of increasing and decreasing stitches that I was able to fold into some semblance of a purse. My knitting friends are way more impressed than they should be by the fact that my first project is a purse; it was literally a ginormouse mass of nothingness that I just tried to make into something productive. However, now that I know what I'm doing (mostly), I'm taking a step backward and making the proverbial beginning knitter's scarf. Look out family! Xmas 2010 presents are in the works!
Adam and I are looking forward to 2010, hoping that it will bring us some gainful employment, perhaps a new location, and a feeling of stability. We are definitely wanting to set down roots someplace now that Bryony is in the picture. If that's Lansing, that's cool; if it's somewhere else (Oregon, Oregon, please let it be Oregon!) that'd be pretty cool, too. I am also feeling a new rejuvenation, a new sense of self and self-confidence. I'm ready to create my own destiny, whatever that means...perhaps I'll fully divulge those details in a later post. For now, however, I'll stay a bit vague.
Right now I'm looking at one vestige of 2009--our beautiful Frasier fir Christmas tree, only the second I've ever had as an adult. The white lights are twinkling and the tree is still giving off the intoxicating scent of evergreen sap, a reminder of the holiday that's passed. Tomorrow I'll take the tree down and stow all of the ornaments and decorations back down in the basement until next year. But tonight, I'll sit here, with my sweet baby sleeping soundly (for now) in the next room, and knit a few stitches on somebody's future scarf by the comforting white lights of O Christmas Tree.
Happy New Year, everyone.
2009 was full of firsts for us...first wedding anniversary, first pregnancy, first kid, first Xmas with the kid. Oh, and the very end of 2009 brought the kid's first bout with illness. Yup, that was fun, right around the holidays, too. But now we're in 2010, the holidays are over, the kid is feeling better and we're prepping for whatever's in store for us, like the kid's sleeping schedule changing. Ahhhh, yes...nstead of the 4-5 uninterrupted hours she typically sleeps during the night, now she's sleeping only 1-1 1/2. Yeah, my legs and breasts are getting a good workout as I limp to her room several times a night to nurse.
Last year held another first for me--my first foray into the world of knitting! A new friend invited me to join her knitting group, and I've totally surprised myself by how much I love it...the knitting part as well as the socializing part. I just finished my first project--a totally shapeless series of increasing and decreasing stitches that I was able to fold into some semblance of a purse. My knitting friends are way more impressed than they should be by the fact that my first project is a purse; it was literally a ginormouse mass of nothingness that I just tried to make into something productive. However, now that I know what I'm doing (mostly), I'm taking a step backward and making the proverbial beginning knitter's scarf. Look out family! Xmas 2010 presents are in the works!
Adam and I are looking forward to 2010, hoping that it will bring us some gainful employment, perhaps a new location, and a feeling of stability. We are definitely wanting to set down roots someplace now that Bryony is in the picture. If that's Lansing, that's cool; if it's somewhere else (Oregon, Oregon, please let it be Oregon!) that'd be pretty cool, too. I am also feeling a new rejuvenation, a new sense of self and self-confidence. I'm ready to create my own destiny, whatever that means...perhaps I'll fully divulge those details in a later post. For now, however, I'll stay a bit vague.
Right now I'm looking at one vestige of 2009--our beautiful Frasier fir Christmas tree, only the second I've ever had as an adult. The white lights are twinkling and the tree is still giving off the intoxicating scent of evergreen sap, a reminder of the holiday that's passed. Tomorrow I'll take the tree down and stow all of the ornaments and decorations back down in the basement until next year. But tonight, I'll sit here, with my sweet baby sleeping soundly (for now) in the next room, and knit a few stitches on somebody's future scarf by the comforting white lights of O Christmas Tree.
Happy New Year, everyone.
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