26 July 2008
Why the baby was in the tattoo parlor, or no, it's actually not a zit on my nose
In retrospect, red was a poor choice on my part.
22 July 2008
Conflicting satires, or judge not
Disclaimers: This might not be interesting to those of you without children. Or those of you with children. And it won't make much sense without reading the links.
A few days ago, a friend sent me here. Go ahead and read it. And read the follow-up. I'll wait. To be honest, I thought it was pretty funny. I didn't get the impression that she actually hates her kids. Maybe I'm too naive, but I don't think someone who truly hated their child would go around advertising it. I think she was trying to make a point that being a mom is tough. Sometimes moms want to quit, and sometimes we might wish, just for a bit, that we didn't have to attend to someone else's needs every second of every day. And to be honest, some of my reasons for not having another child-ever-are similar to this list. I'm tired of doing laundry all the time, of seeing a basket of Legos I just picked up dumped out, again, of apologizing to waiters, waitresses, and other restaurant patrons as my child hurls his vibrator across the restaurant, again. Each time we pass through a developmental stage, I feel relieved. I love my sweet boy dearly; I think he's the most wonderful child in the world, but I also know I'm selfish. I pour so much of myself into my child (who I know adores me, most of the time), and I still feel like I come up short compared to other moms.
Then, today, I read this blog for the first time. Go ahead. I'll wait again. I read the top post ("Child Empowerment") and found myself thinking of other parents and smiling a little. Then I read some of the other posts, particularly the ones about baby wearing, online parenting forums (a godsend for me), and baby sign language. The satire wasn't quite so funny this time, probably because I am guilty (for lack of a better word) of many of the actions and sentiments this blog was targeting. (Or maybe it just wasn't funny. Husband says it's poor satire)
Both the article and the blog intend to be funny and satirical, but maybe they're ultimately just judgmental or defensive or something. I don't know. But it got me thinking about something I've been thinking about a lot lately-how easily we judge parents and their parenting techniques. Recently I've been pondering two things: first, while I started out being very open and honest and using this little blog as a way of processing my thoughts, I've come to deeply censor what I put on here; secondly, it's made me really evaluate my own thinking and speaking. I'm really quick to criticize other people, to the point where I often don't even realize I'm gossiping, but lately I've started thinking about what if what I said were to get back to them? Would I say the same thing to their face, or is what I'm thinking something I'd only say to Husband/Mr. Independent/my mother/Caroline and Leighann? If it is something I wouldn't say to their face, then should it even be said (the answer to that, in my opinion, is a resounding no way, Jose)? How would I feel if someone said this about me (the answer to this one is: I'd feel truly terrible. I would be crushed if people were to discuss my parenting behind my back)?
It's really easy to judge other parents, especially in the guise of exploring and examining my own parenting philosophies and what I will or will not do. I can come home and tell Husband about something I observed at Target and say, well, at least my kid doesn't chew gum at sixteen months, but who's to say that parent isn't going home and saying well, at least my kid doesn't stand up in the shopping cart and screech. I say things about other parents and feel like a better parent, like a better person, and then I remember, there are people out there who disagree with many of my parenting decisions, for example, diners who just wanted to eat their fucking dinner in peace and why couldn't that mother control her damn child and make him shut the hell up.
My guess is that most, if not all parents, just want to give their child the best possible life, though they way they choose to do it varies greatly. At the end of the day, parenting is hard. For all the grace and mercy we receive as parents, it is a difficult job. Is it really anyone else's business how we choose to do that job?
A few days ago, a friend sent me here. Go ahead and read it. And read the follow-up. I'll wait. To be honest, I thought it was pretty funny. I didn't get the impression that she actually hates her kids. Maybe I'm too naive, but I don't think someone who truly hated their child would go around advertising it. I think she was trying to make a point that being a mom is tough. Sometimes moms want to quit, and sometimes we might wish, just for a bit, that we didn't have to attend to someone else's needs every second of every day. And to be honest, some of my reasons for not having another child-ever-are similar to this list. I'm tired of doing laundry all the time, of seeing a basket of Legos I just picked up dumped out, again, of apologizing to waiters, waitresses, and other restaurant patrons as my child hurls his vibrator across the restaurant, again. Each time we pass through a developmental stage, I feel relieved. I love my sweet boy dearly; I think he's the most wonderful child in the world, but I also know I'm selfish. I pour so much of myself into my child (who I know adores me, most of the time), and I still feel like I come up short compared to other moms.
Then, today, I read this blog for the first time. Go ahead. I'll wait again. I read the top post ("Child Empowerment") and found myself thinking of other parents and smiling a little. Then I read some of the other posts, particularly the ones about baby wearing, online parenting forums (a godsend for me), and baby sign language. The satire wasn't quite so funny this time, probably because I am guilty (for lack of a better word) of many of the actions and sentiments this blog was targeting. (Or maybe it just wasn't funny. Husband says it's poor satire)
Both the article and the blog intend to be funny and satirical, but maybe they're ultimately just judgmental or defensive or something. I don't know. But it got me thinking about something I've been thinking about a lot lately-how easily we judge parents and their parenting techniques. Recently I've been pondering two things: first, while I started out being very open and honest and using this little blog as a way of processing my thoughts, I've come to deeply censor what I put on here; secondly, it's made me really evaluate my own thinking and speaking. I'm really quick to criticize other people, to the point where I often don't even realize I'm gossiping, but lately I've started thinking about what if what I said were to get back to them? Would I say the same thing to their face, or is what I'm thinking something I'd only say to Husband/Mr. Independent/my mother/Caroline and Leighann? If it is something I wouldn't say to their face, then should it even be said (the answer to that, in my opinion, is a resounding no way, Jose)? How would I feel if someone said this about me (the answer to this one is: I'd feel truly terrible. I would be crushed if people were to discuss my parenting behind my back)?
It's really easy to judge other parents, especially in the guise of exploring and examining my own parenting philosophies and what I will or will not do. I can come home and tell Husband about something I observed at Target and say, well, at least my kid doesn't chew gum at sixteen months, but who's to say that parent isn't going home and saying well, at least my kid doesn't stand up in the shopping cart and screech. I say things about other parents and feel like a better parent, like a better person, and then I remember, there are people out there who disagree with many of my parenting decisions, for example, diners who just wanted to eat their fucking dinner in peace and why couldn't that mother control her damn child and make him shut the hell up.
My guess is that most, if not all parents, just want to give their child the best possible life, though they way they choose to do it varies greatly. At the end of the day, parenting is hard. For all the grace and mercy we receive as parents, it is a difficult job. Is it really anyone else's business how we choose to do that job?
17 July 2008
The no-car experiment: days 1 and 2
I am exhausted. I smell bad. It takes a minimum of 90 minutes to grocery shop.
15 July 2008
Continuing to bitch, but doing something about it
Disclaimer: I recognize that we're all saturated with discussion (bitching and moaning) about gas prices, where the blame lies, and what to do about them. I'm adding to it anyway.
I remember talking to Leighann on the phone almost three years ago, right after Hurricane Katrina, and fretting over having just paid $30 to fill up my Civic. I fretted to Leighann because I'd already called Husband, and he wasn't sufficiently outraged. She was. I felt outraged by the cost of fuel, especially as I commuted 120 miles a day to work, but I adopted Husband's what are you going to do about it attitude. They-the void that held responsibility for the gas prices-had us by the balls, and the realities of our lives prevented us from doing anything about it or even caring to do anything about it other than bitch.
Now, almost three years later, I've unexpectedly found myself in a position where I'm outraged enough and physically able to do something about gas in my own little way.
I started riding my bike to class because I felt a little panickier each time I filled up my Civic and watched the numbers slowly tick towards, then past $40. $40! It's a fucking Civic! $40! I knew it wouldn't be much, but I figured it would be something.
I found I enjoyed biking and soon started nagging Husband until he finally begrudgingly agreed to let me purchase a baby seat for my bike.
Mr. Independent and I have been getting used to doing our normal activities on bike rather than by car. If I get just what I need for that evening's dinner, I can sort of fit everything into my basket. We can bike to a couple of playgrounds, play until he starts throwing mulch, and ride home while he kicks and screams and gives off the general impression to strangers that I am, in fact, torturing him. I (and I think he) know that I will inevitably forget to strap his feet in on the ride home, and we will spend the return trip fighting over which has more right to the seat, his feet or my ass. We biked to the library and Five Guys and the farmers market. Since it's summer, I can spare 2 hours to bike to the grocery store for a half gallon of milk.
And once I proved to myself that I can realistically get around town on my bike, I started working on Husband. I proposed that we pick a week and go as car free as possible. He could make an exception for work, because he works at a bookstore and understandably doesn't want to be a sweat monster in front of customers, but other than that, we needed to either do without or figure out a way of getting there without using our cars.
Our week starts tomorrow. I hope that this experience will cause us to actually be active and creative, but I fear that we'll just become shut-ins for a week, ordering all our meals from Papa John's. I don't have any predictions, other than I predict that our house will kind of smell like a gym for a week. I'll try to do a day-by-day update, and feel free to check in and hold me accountable. I really want to make this work.
I remember talking to Leighann on the phone almost three years ago, right after Hurricane Katrina, and fretting over having just paid $30 to fill up my Civic. I fretted to Leighann because I'd already called Husband, and he wasn't sufficiently outraged. She was. I felt outraged by the cost of fuel, especially as I commuted 120 miles a day to work, but I adopted Husband's what are you going to do about it attitude. They-the void that held responsibility for the gas prices-had us by the balls, and the realities of our lives prevented us from doing anything about it or even caring to do anything about it other than bitch.
Now, almost three years later, I've unexpectedly found myself in a position where I'm outraged enough and physically able to do something about gas in my own little way.
I started riding my bike to class because I felt a little panickier each time I filled up my Civic and watched the numbers slowly tick towards, then past $40. $40! It's a fucking Civic! $40! I knew it wouldn't be much, but I figured it would be something.
I found I enjoyed biking and soon started nagging Husband until he finally begrudgingly agreed to let me purchase a baby seat for my bike.
Mr. Independent and I have been getting used to doing our normal activities on bike rather than by car. If I get just what I need for that evening's dinner, I can sort of fit everything into my basket. We can bike to a couple of playgrounds, play until he starts throwing mulch, and ride home while he kicks and screams and gives off the general impression to strangers that I am, in fact, torturing him. I (and I think he) know that I will inevitably forget to strap his feet in on the ride home, and we will spend the return trip fighting over which has more right to the seat, his feet or my ass. We biked to the library and Five Guys and the farmers market. Since it's summer, I can spare 2 hours to bike to the grocery store for a half gallon of milk.
And once I proved to myself that I can realistically get around town on my bike, I started working on Husband. I proposed that we pick a week and go as car free as possible. He could make an exception for work, because he works at a bookstore and understandably doesn't want to be a sweat monster in front of customers, but other than that, we needed to either do without or figure out a way of getting there without using our cars.
Our week starts tomorrow. I hope that this experience will cause us to actually be active and creative, but I fear that we'll just become shut-ins for a week, ordering all our meals from Papa John's. I don't have any predictions, other than I predict that our house will kind of smell like a gym for a week. I'll try to do a day-by-day update, and feel free to check in and hold me accountable. I really want to make this work.
Five
July and August are really important months to me. They are the months that I met and fell in love with my husband. Five days ago, July 10, was the five year anniversary of the day I met my husband, or as I like to refer to it: the day I just wanted him to shut the fuck up and stop talking to me so I could listen to my ipod and read my People magazine. Coincidentally, July 10 is also the anniversary of the day I found out I was knocked up.
Today marks another five year anniversary: five years of blogging for me. I think only two or three people know that I blogged long before this. I know I haven't blogged continually for five years, but it was five years ago today that I first ventured onto the bloggy scene. I did it because my friend Kara had visited me and shown me her blog. I loved her blog, and at the time I was certain that I was being called to write, so I signed up myself. It's odd-kind of unsettling-to go back and look at what I wrote as a hopeful almost 23 year old graduate student living in the Bronx. I was so certain then.
Today marks another five year anniversary: five years of blogging for me. I think only two or three people know that I blogged long before this. I know I haven't blogged continually for five years, but it was five years ago today that I first ventured onto the bloggy scene. I did it because my friend Kara had visited me and shown me her blog. I loved her blog, and at the time I was certain that I was being called to write, so I signed up myself. It's odd-kind of unsettling-to go back and look at what I wrote as a hopeful almost 23 year old graduate student living in the Bronx. I was so certain then.
13 July 2008
Pickin'
Last weekend I decided to take Mr. Independent berry picking. In retrospect I was stupid to think that it would be a good idea to do this alone, but as I was angry with my entire family, and Husband had some chores to do for my parents, I had to fly solo.
We drove 40 minutes to the Westmoreland Berry Farm and bought our buckets.
We saw goats while we waited for the tractor to come take us to the fields. Despite me explaining to him several times that the animals he kept trying to run to were goats, Mr. Independent insisted that they were "daaaaaw." Each time I corrected him he got louder until he yelled "DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWW!" so loudly that judgmental strangers with well-behaved children shot me judgmental looks that said I'd never allow my child to yell like that, but of course, I am a good parent, and she's obviously not.
We rode on the tractor to the fields.
This is us on the tractor. Again, it probably would have been better to have another adult there.
We had the option of picking cherries and blackberries, but we opted for just the blackberries. Some strangers let us sample some of their cherries, and of course, Mr. Independent demanded more. It would have been hypocritical of me to explain the don't take candy from strangers rule just then.
We got to the blackberry fields and got to work.
It was tough trying to corral a 15 month old and pick three buckets o'blackberries, so we gave up and headed home after one bucket full.
On the way home, one of us fell asleep, and one of us listened to Caedmon's Call and got us lost.
In my defense, the directions were wrong.
Mr. Independent's haul
My haul
Husband and I enjoyed a delicious blackberry cobbler that evening.
We drove 40 minutes to the Westmoreland Berry Farm and bought our buckets.
We saw goats while we waited for the tractor to come take us to the fields. Despite me explaining to him several times that the animals he kept trying to run to were goats, Mr. Independent insisted that they were "daaaaaw." Each time I corrected him he got louder until he yelled "DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWW!" so loudly that judgmental strangers with well-behaved children shot me judgmental looks that said I'd never allow my child to yell like that, but of course, I am a good parent, and she's obviously not.
We rode on the tractor to the fields.
This is us on the tractor. Again, it probably would have been better to have another adult there.
We had the option of picking cherries and blackberries, but we opted for just the blackberries. Some strangers let us sample some of their cherries, and of course, Mr. Independent demanded more. It would have been hypocritical of me to explain the don't take candy from strangers rule just then.
We got to the blackberry fields and got to work.
It was tough trying to corral a 15 month old and pick three buckets o'blackberries, so we gave up and headed home after one bucket full.
On the way home, one of us fell asleep, and one of us listened to Caedmon's Call and got us lost.
In my defense, the directions were wrong.
Mr. Independent's haul
My haul
Husband and I enjoyed a delicious blackberry cobbler that evening.
12 July 2008
Gone churchin', or I *heart* this city
Husband, Toddler, and I did something completely out of character a couple weeks ago. We went to a church picnic. Going to a church picnic would be out of character for us even if we were active, involved members of an established church, as we tend to be nervous in situations where we don't know anyone. We're not so much church picnic type people; we're more cookouts in our own backyard or game night in our living room type of people. So attending a picnic where we literally knew no one, for a church that hasn't actually been established was a little odd for us.
I read about the picnic on a local mom's online forum, and I checked out the church's website. There wasn't anything on the website that seemed to indicate that attendees should bring their own snakes, so I told Husband that Toddler and I would be going. In a moment of I don't know what-stupidity? kindness? mega-brain fart?-Husband said, "Do you want me to go with you? I'll go with you if you want." Now, Husband tends to be very supportive of my crazy schemes-after mocking them and convincing me to give up on them-then he becomes supportive-so I immediately accepted his offer. I didn't even do that thing that I do where I muddle over it and say things like, Well, if you want to, or You really don't have to, or No, we'll be fine, you just do what you want to do.
We arrived at the park, and I for one, had a vomit-inducing knot in my stomach. We sat in the parking lot debating turning the car around, going home, and having a quiet afternoon in which we'd take turns trying to get the baby to sleep. I'm not sure what kept me from telling Husband to back out of the parking space and drive home as fast as he could. I got out of the car, slapped sunscreen on Toddler and clung to Husband's hand.
We made awkward small talk with new people for about 90 minutes, while we ate cookout food including some of the most amazing spoonbread I'd ever tasted in my life, and I tried to keep my child from terrorizing other small children. Sidenote: he really really really really really really really likes to share, but he also really really really really really really really really likes to take things that other people are currently using or eating.
Husband and I were basically just waiting for the talk where we'd learn more about the church and its mission. Eventually the prospective pastor began his talk*:
I've always felt called to start a church. And we thought about a lot of different cities. We looked at some really cool cities, cities that are kind of sexy, attractive. And then there's our city. And all I can really say is that in comparison, well, our city's got a great personality. We've got great restaurants, mediocre public transportation, in the summer it feels like we're living inside a dog's mouth, and then there's the crime and crippling poverty.
You walk around and see people wearing those shirts that say "I Heart New York." And it's true. Everyone hearts NY. It's easy to heart NY. What we want is people who heart this city as much as other people heart NY. That's what we want our church to do. We want to really reach out and love this city. We believe that this church can really impact this city for the better.
The pastor's words really resounded with me. This, I thought, is what I've been feeling. This is what I've been trying to express all these months. These are sentiments I can get behind.
I sort of felt like a failure when we moved back to my hometown. I was supposed to go out and travel the world and live in fabulous cities, and there was no room in this for a husband, a child, or a house, and there was definitely no room for coming back home. But I did. And I fell passionately in love with my hometown in a way that shocked me and in a way that I could not articulate. I have no friends here. We're not living in one of the more urban areas of the city. I got yelled at my a crazy man while on my bike this afternoon. People use the sidewalks as their own personal rubbish bins, and I'm constantly dodging shit and broken glass when I bike or run or go on walks. I heart this city for reasons I cannot comprehend, and I am excited that there are people out there who feel the same way.
*paraphrased a few weeks after the fact
I read about the picnic on a local mom's online forum, and I checked out the church's website. There wasn't anything on the website that seemed to indicate that attendees should bring their own snakes, so I told Husband that Toddler and I would be going. In a moment of I don't know what-stupidity? kindness? mega-brain fart?-Husband said, "Do you want me to go with you? I'll go with you if you want." Now, Husband tends to be very supportive of my crazy schemes-after mocking them and convincing me to give up on them-then he becomes supportive-so I immediately accepted his offer. I didn't even do that thing that I do where I muddle over it and say things like, Well, if you want to, or You really don't have to, or No, we'll be fine, you just do what you want to do.
We arrived at the park, and I for one, had a vomit-inducing knot in my stomach. We sat in the parking lot debating turning the car around, going home, and having a quiet afternoon in which we'd take turns trying to get the baby to sleep. I'm not sure what kept me from telling Husband to back out of the parking space and drive home as fast as he could. I got out of the car, slapped sunscreen on Toddler and clung to Husband's hand.
We made awkward small talk with new people for about 90 minutes, while we ate cookout food including some of the most amazing spoonbread I'd ever tasted in my life, and I tried to keep my child from terrorizing other small children. Sidenote: he really really really really really really really likes to share, but he also really really really really really really really really likes to take things that other people are currently using or eating.
Husband and I were basically just waiting for the talk where we'd learn more about the church and its mission. Eventually the prospective pastor began his talk*:
I've always felt called to start a church. And we thought about a lot of different cities. We looked at some really cool cities, cities that are kind of sexy, attractive. And then there's our city. And all I can really say is that in comparison, well, our city's got a great personality. We've got great restaurants, mediocre public transportation, in the summer it feels like we're living inside a dog's mouth, and then there's the crime and crippling poverty.
You walk around and see people wearing those shirts that say "I Heart New York." And it's true. Everyone hearts NY. It's easy to heart NY. What we want is people who heart this city as much as other people heart NY. That's what we want our church to do. We want to really reach out and love this city. We believe that this church can really impact this city for the better.
The pastor's words really resounded with me. This, I thought, is what I've been feeling. This is what I've been trying to express all these months. These are sentiments I can get behind.
I sort of felt like a failure when we moved back to my hometown. I was supposed to go out and travel the world and live in fabulous cities, and there was no room in this for a husband, a child, or a house, and there was definitely no room for coming back home. But I did. And I fell passionately in love with my hometown in a way that shocked me and in a way that I could not articulate. I have no friends here. We're not living in one of the more urban areas of the city. I got yelled at my a crazy man while on my bike this afternoon. People use the sidewalks as their own personal rubbish bins, and I'm constantly dodging shit and broken glass when I bike or run or go on walks. I heart this city for reasons I cannot comprehend, and I am excited that there are people out there who feel the same way.
*paraphrased a few weeks after the fact
Time
I picked up Mr. Independent (yeah, we're changing his name again)from a visit with Aunt Jen last week, and found my sweet boy's hair in ponytails.
Husband and I decided it was time. We spent the next several days arguing over who would do the deed. I first advocated taking him somewhere, then advocated having someone we know do it, then advocated taking him somewhere that another mom said had done a good job with her kid, and finally succumbed to the lowest common denominator and suggested taking him to Hair Cuttery (I imagine a shudder from anyone who reads this). The whole time, Husband insisted that he could do it himself. Doubting his skill as a barber, I secretly emailed the other mom to get the scoop on her barber.
Then, I stepped out of the shower on Tuesday afternoon. Husband walked over to me and told me to hold out my hand. I obliged, and he shoved a wad of Mr. Independent's hair into my palm. I screamed, and they laughed.
I thought you wanted me to do it, Husband insisted. I was trying to do something nice for you. I was just trying to give you a nice surprise.
Uh...you know how I feel about surprises, I replied.
It would be a lot easier if he'd just stand still, Husband complained. We put Mr. Independent into his chair and strapped him down. I grabbed the camera, and Husband got to work.
It took some getting used to, and Husband insisted that I could take it somewhere to get it fixed, but I'm going to leave it. He's 15 months old, not running for best hair of the year.
Husband and I decided it was time. We spent the next several days arguing over who would do the deed. I first advocated taking him somewhere, then advocated having someone we know do it, then advocated taking him somewhere that another mom said had done a good job with her kid, and finally succumbed to the lowest common denominator and suggested taking him to Hair Cuttery (I imagine a shudder from anyone who reads this). The whole time, Husband insisted that he could do it himself. Doubting his skill as a barber, I secretly emailed the other mom to get the scoop on her barber.
Then, I stepped out of the shower on Tuesday afternoon. Husband walked over to me and told me to hold out my hand. I obliged, and he shoved a wad of Mr. Independent's hair into my palm. I screamed, and they laughed.
I thought you wanted me to do it, Husband insisted. I was trying to do something nice for you. I was just trying to give you a nice surprise.
Uh...you know how I feel about surprises, I replied.
It would be a lot easier if he'd just stand still, Husband complained. We put Mr. Independent into his chair and strapped him down. I grabbed the camera, and Husband got to work.
It took some getting used to, and Husband insisted that I could take it somewhere to get it fixed, but I'm going to leave it. He's 15 months old, not running for best hair of the year.
01 July 2008
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