We're Going on a Bear Hunt

Remember that book/rhyme/game? We probably all played or read some form of it as kids. Well, my son has never read that book for some reason. But he has his own version of the bear hunt...it's called (and I quote) "Jungle Hunt". It involves E and his meek mama creeping creepily through his room, stopping frequently to comment in awed tones on various toys that have morphed into either statues or robots or treasure. 'Robots?' you say. Yes, robots. There are robots in this jungle. And they periodically come to life and chase any unsuspecting jungle travelers, forcing us to run for the trees (aka his upper bunk) and hide under the covers, clutching whatever supplies we may have packed in our trusty jungle pack close to our bosoms. It's ridiculous. And he gets a huge thrill out of it, to where it's our "special game". Probably because it's the only game Mommy's apparently any good at.

Yesterday, we played this game. And everything was going fine and dandy as usual (we found an "ancient sword" and the "ancient hands of a giant" and a mini version of said giant that cast a reddish glow and looked suspiciously like someone who would say "you won't like me when I'm angry") until the robots came to life and chased us to our treetop haven. Whereupon the game suddenly morphed to involve Bakugans.

Bakugans are currently E's favorite toy. If you don't know what the little devils are, they are literally small balls that have a magnet in them, so when you roll/pass them over special magnetized cards (one in every package!), the balls pop open to reveal tiny little anime creatures. Like Transformers, but tiny and magnetized and in balls. And more Japanese. He's obsessed, and there is apparently some form of card-trading game where exchanges of "G's" and various "powers" are made. Unfortunately, this game is unimaginably complicated when described by a five-year-old who likes to make up his own rules when the game starts going against him... Anyway, most of our games recently have been involving Bakugan (Bakugans? Bakugani?) and I was looking forward to a respite. But oh no. There we were, in our airy sanctuary, and the darn things make their appearance.

The next thing I knew, E told me we were making a "virus", which involved some ridiculous ritual of mixing the cards up, casting some spells, picking out the cards that were miraculously turned upside-down, and throwing them down on the floor while yelling "Evackirate!" at the tops of our lungs and then adding up points on the cards. This somehow equaled making a virus.

I can't explain him. I'm just there for the show.

I'd like to dedicate this post to my friend Fenny, who made me laugh with a recent blog post on the impossibilities of playing with your kids. While E and I were playing this game, I was thinking to myself "some other kid would be so much better at this than I am. I have NO idea when it's appropriate to celebrate because I've created a virus, or be scared because I've uncovered the ancient sword." So here's to us, Fenny, and our attempts to fit into their magical worlds. I don't remember how to live there, but I can watch through the windows.

Healing

Disclaimer: I'm feeling religious this evening, so don't read this if you are in the mood to roll your eyes.  Or do, because I'll provide fodder or something.  But hey, if you can't write about religion during Lent, when can you?

I went to Mass this evening, because it's Holy Thursday.  While there, I was thinking about why I've remained Catholic, in the face of all the bad rep and/or influence out there.  I was thinking about why I hate to miss Mass on Sundays, on why I drag my husband kicking and screaming, on why I do my best to bring up my son with a healthy respect for why we go to church every weekend without fail.

For me, it goes beyond wanting to please my mother any more.  Something goes missing in my weekly life when I don't make it to Mass, and something feels incomplete for the rest of the week until I can go again.

I think it is because Mass is a haven for me.  No one at Mass is judging me (at least where I can hear them) and no one is asking anything of me.  I don't have to be the perfect medical student, the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect daughter.  I don't have to interact with anyone else, don't have to present a front to the world.  I get to interact with my faith and my God only.  I get to just be me, in the silence and stillness of my own soul.  I get to reflect only on me and the positioning of my life for one precious hour.  I get the chance to voice all of my joys, my worries, my concerns, my secret fears, my sins to a God who I truly believe listens to me, even if only with half an ear (He's busy, after all, I cut Him some slack...).  In a life of unscheduled, spontaneous chaos, where my days revolve around the wishes of so many other people, the Mass is highly structured, with no uncertainty and no surprises.  It's such a relief to spend an entire hour doing something so ritualistic, something that has been the same for my entire life, for hundreds of years, something that in essence never changes and hopefully never will change. A girl likes a little stability in her life.

And in the end, I truly feel so lucky/blessed/happily predestined/whatever in this life.  I feel as if I have so much joy that I could never possibly deserve.  And if I choose to attribute that joy to a higher being, to something larger than chance, and if I choose to be grateful for that joy, what better way than to give an hour of my week over to reflecting on that gratitude?  It's only an hour.  And I receive so very much in return.

The Parents' Club is Kind of Exclusive

I love animals just as much as the next person (ok, less than some people I know...D...). But I have sort of a pet peeve. (Pun non-intentional until I reread this post...) And none of my best friends who have pets have EVER done this to me, so I don't feel bad about bringing it up here...

When people are talking about their children, I understand that it may be difficult to participate in the conversation. But let us have our time. Our children drive us crazy and make our lives difficult, it's nice to revel in our shared insanity and shared delirious joy when we can. But we don't think we're the only ones who have ever been around children, so jump in with questions, comments, whatever. At the least, we will act as a form of birth control.

But for goodness' sake, please don't ever attempt to jump into the conversation by saying: "Well, I have a four-legged child!"

Because later that day, when I tell my husband about how ridiculous you sounded, he'll say things like "Did you ask if they had considered any surgeries for it?" And then I'll laugh.

(As an aside, I'll be perfectly happy to listen to you talk about your precious pet. Believe me, I'll be jealous of how easy it was for you to potty-train it. Just pick your moments better than my classmates generally do.)

What would I do without him?

Thank God my husband was here last week.  Because it was a bad week.

In med school, certain rotations are dreaded by all.  Well, one specific rotation, really.  Both because of the intense nature of surgeons pretty much everywhere and because of the impossible work hours.  And I'm definitely not eager to start my surgery rotation at the end of the school year.

But as of tomorrow, I will have completed the rotation I was dreading the most: Neurology.

It's only a 2-week rotation (thank goodness), but the course director is one of the most terrifying men I've ever met (because he's manic and opinionated and loud and not very nice).  And neurology and I did not get off to a good start my first year of med school.  Let's just say me and the brain do not get along.  So I was NOT looking forward to this rotation.

That may have been a self-fulfilling prophecy, because sure enough, by the 2nd day, I was holding back tears.  My mind was blanking during lectures, and I was completely incapable of answering such basic questions as "What are the parts of the cerebellum?"  I mean, come on, I should know this stuff.  But I didn't.  My mind was dead and I couldn't even come up with good B.S. answers.  Needless to say, I embarrassed myself pretty thoroughly and spent the rest of the week frantically trying to improve my performance, and failing miserably.  By Friday, I was a nervous wreck.

D and I had last weekend to ourselves.  So we saw The Reader, which was very good, but made me cry.  Now, I'm the type of person who cries a lot during movies and not very much in real life (well, except for certain times...mod people, don't tell on me).  But I guess I opened the floodgates, because once we got home, I succumbed to about an hour of torrential crying.  Over stupid neuro, for goodness' sake.

I have to say, I've had some low points in my life, but I've never felt truly depressed until that night.  I felt hopeless, as if things were never going to improve, and like I was completely incapable of doing anything right.  I wanted to quit med school.  I was reminding myself of all the things I've given up in order to be where I am right now, and telling myself that it just wasn't worth it.  And in retrospect, I was just scared and exhausted and stressed and tired of holding myself together.  I just needed to let it all out, but at the time, I thought I wouldn't be able to move on from that point.

But I did.  Because D was there, holding my hand and patting my shoulder the entire time.  I was feeling so sorry for myself that my own mother probably would have given up and walked away after about 10 minutes, much less an hour.  But D stayed and said all the right things.  And he said one thing that really struck me and has been kind of a mantra for me this past week:

"The real world hasn't changed.  We're still here.  Just come back to us."

...this week was much better.  I can do this.

Stacy London, we've done something awful

I made the mistake of putting the TLC show "What Not To Wear" on our DVR list last week.  All the episodes that were running.  So by yesterday evening, I had about 12 episodes to watch, and that didn't include the repeats...  Needless to say, this weekend I spent a lot of time clearing the list.  And my poor, hapless husband and son were forced to watch with me at times.

This came back to bite me.  I was at the mall today, engaging in some intensive retail therapy.  I happened to be in a clothing store, examining the shoes, when E piped up from behind me: "Oh, no, Mom, not those."  (Now, I must admit, I'm always "involving" him in the process by asking him what he thinks, so we had established a premise for him to give fashion advice long before this.) 

"What's wrong with these?!" I gasped.  (And I'll have you know, they were adorable.)

"Remember?  'What not to wear?'" He replied, with a rather "duh, Mom, they're awful" intonation.

I'm not sure what he meant, exactly, but I know that [straight] men everywhere are screaming in horror.

Well, If It's True...

Whilst finishing up after my son's very cursory self-brushing of his teeth, I mentioned (to myself, primarily), that he needed to go to the dentist.

"WHAT?" He moaned, horror in his eyes.  "Um. You liked the dentist." I reminded him.

"Oh, yeah," He replied sheepishly.  "After all, the last time I went, she was quite....quite...."

"Quite impressed."


I should have taken him down a few pegs by informing him that if "she" had been at all impressed the last time he went to the dentist, it definitely wasn't due to his stellar tooth-brushing skills.  But I was busy trying not to laugh.

I Miss You, Mickey D

My New Year's resolution actually started before 2009. It began back in November, when I realized that my honeymoon on the beach in December was swiftly creeping up on me...I'm sure you can guess what my resolution was. So, I started counting calories (with the help of The Daily Plate) and working out (with the help of Billy). And it worked! I didn't really lost that much weight before I met the beach, and I didn't exactly develop a 6-pack. But despite the fact that I'm pretty sure I look exactly the same in the mirror, I felt better about wresting control of my health from the tyrannical rule of medical school. Believe me, the lack of free time is more influential on one's well-being than the hazard and/or motivation of being around sick people all day.

Suffice it to say that I started, and I've continued the habit into the New Year, with the aim of reaching the size I was way back when I was 17 and a soccer player. We'll see how that goes. I'd settle for being able to move fast enough to keep up with residents in the hospital stairwells.

Two lovely friends of mine (and occasionally my mother and sister) have been helping me stay motivated by joining me for group sessions in the evenings after my son has been banished to his bed. Our combined collection of workout videos includes such gems as Hip Hop Abs and "Bollywood Booty". In the former, we get to shake our backsides to the Pussycat Dolls, and the in the latter, we get to practice our "Bollywood vogue" hands. Seriously. And if anything's going to keep me pointed straight toward my goal, it's the joy of dancing to Indian music with two of my best friends and laughing our butts off as we "paint the world with love".

Being Green

On our way to the house to change for dinner (out of nice clothes into t-shirts and jeans, ironically), E was calmly eating a bag of M&Ms in the back seat. Yes, I give him candy before dinner. If I do it, I can't expect him not to...

Anyway, so he's eating the devil dots, and the next thing I know, he says "Mama, can we recycle this M&M bag?"

I was instantly overcome with pride. My obsession with searching out every single recyclable item in our lives had been picked up by my five-year-old son! O frabjous day! (My mom made me memorize that poem when I was about 11 and I can still recite it 13 years later. So don't blame me, blame my crazy literature-obsessed homeschooling mom.)

I answer, "Probably," immediately trying to categorize to myself which bin that little bag is going to end up in (help me out: it's paper, right?). Then E says "Good. Because I tore it up."

And sure enough, as I whip around to cast my gimlet eye upon him, he's cradling a pile of tiny M&M bag scraps in his chubby hands, cherubically grinning at me.

"Why would you DO that?" I gasped. "What are we going to do with that NOW?!"

"Mom!" He frowned at my failure to immediately grasp the silver lining. "We're going to use them for CREATIONS!"

.......

So I suppose the point got across...just not in the way I had imagined.

Mama Bear

Child development is one of my very favorite subjects. Between my-mother-the-baby-doctor, a much-beloved college course, and of course, medical school, I've had a lot of exposure to what should normally be expected at which ages.

Therefore, it baffles me that my five-year-old refused to wear his dark blue hoodie with dogs on it because his 'friends' at school would make fun of it. Was it babyish, you ask, and therefore deserving of derision? I reply with an emphatic no. Despite my natural (I think) desire to preserve my son's babyhood for as long as possible, I left behind (most) of the cutesy clothes a long time ago. If I hadn't, his firm personal preferences would have overwhelmed me quite effectively by wearing the same Spiderman shirt every day...

So I don't get it. I sort of blame older siblings. Developmentally, it's expected that preadolescents and adolescents become hyper-aware of how they look/act/etc. in comparison to other people. So it's entirely plausible that they are passing their insecurities down to their younger brothers and thereby bequeathing their teen angst to poor E. I blame parents, too, though. If I've heard one parent try to guide their child's preferences, gently or otherwise, I've heard a million. And done it myself, on occasion. (But my child's opinions are more firmly set in stone than my mother's, and therefore possess strength superior to that of my own.) I mean, how often do you hear parents saying "don't play with that, that's for babies," etc. And partly that's good, because we want our children to mature in their tastes. But they'll do that on their own, and too soon for most of us, so why put such pressure on them to grow up before they're ready?

My son is an avid Thomas the Tank Engine fan. We own several Thomas movies, a dozen or more Thomas books, and the only reason we don't have a ton of Thomas toys is because they're overpriced and I'm stingey. A couple of months ago, Thomas actually came to town, so of course we packed up and went off to see him. We had a great time, and managed to survive the inevitable visit to the sales tent without burning too big of a hole in our collective pocket. E even fell in love with a battery-operated Thomas set complete with waterfall, and managed to keep from whining too much about how much he wanted it.

Well, last night, while we were slaving over his Christmas list, the memory of that toy was brought to bear by the doggone Target and Walmart toy magazines. His excitement was immediately apparent, as he almost hyperventilated at being reunited with this long-desired (for a 5-year-old) toy. "I love Thomas, Mom!" he exclaimed, practically bouncing with joy. And then, a second later, he deflated like a sad, child-shaped balloon.

Upon gentle questioning, this is what I got: "My friends make fun of me because I like Thomas. I don't ever want them to come over to my house, because they'll make fun of my room." Single sad, sad tear.

Yeah, it's a learning opportunity, and of course I lectured my son on how he shouldn't care so much about other peoples' opinions. But he's five. And I was hyperdefensive of my siblings (who, let's face it, I really didn't like that much...kidding...).

So in closing: I love children, all children, without reservation. But you little cretins had better watch your backs.

(I really hope my son doesn't go around teasing other kids about the toys they like and the clothes they wear. Just because I don't witness it doesn't mean karma won't come around to bite me in the maternally overprotective rear.)

Wearing Your Heart On Your Blog

I'm a pretty frequent reader of a certain very popular Mommy Blog. The author writes with a lot of openness and humor about her journey through maternity, and it makes me feel a little better to know that there are other people who have hard(er) times with their kids. Admittedly, that has more to do with her having 3 times as many than with there being any superiority to my mothering, but still...

There are some posts I don't like to read, however. And those are the posts where she writes about her fights with her husband. My parents (and the wonderful couple who did our premarital counseling) always emphasized that what lies between you and your spouse is intensely personal and that no one should be privy to your marriage issues (well, except for God, who should already know about them...). It's kind of like the tattling that my son and I struggle with on almost a daily basis. Yes, it's vindicating to tell on someone when you feel they're not behaving properly, but if you can deal with the situation yourself, who else needs to know? (Disclaimer: this does not include griping about coworkers/mothers/schoolmates/friends/enemies/children/strangers/siblings/bosses/anyone else. 99.9% of the internet's blogs would have to be shut down if we couldn't be entirely open about every single aspect of our other relationships...)

Don't get me wrong: I know that there are times when you need to tell a grown-up. When you need to bring in outside help. And I definitely feel like she and her husband are at that point. Although by outside help I mean that of professionals, not a bunch of nebulously sympathetic blog-readers like myself. If you feel you absolutely need to get your problems off your chest before you smother with the unfairness of it all, it's probably better to tell carefully-selected friends rather than toss your emotional cookies all over the World Wide Web, too.

But that's not my only deterrent from reading her "He's such a dirty dog, no?" posts. Mostly, I avoid them because they make me sad and angry that a man could say such hurtful things to his wife. It's bad enough to launch personal attacks on your wife's weight/looks/clothing/sex drive or whatever. And it's another thing entirely to attack her abilities as a mother. Which he does with startling regularity. Of course, I only know one side (although admittedly eloquent) of the story. (Which leads back to the main issue with inviting your friends into your marital woes. We just can't be totally impartial.)

However, we can be grateful.

D is my biggest fan and my staunchest support, which is a constant unlooked-for joy in my life. Plus, he thinks I'm the best mother in the world. Right up there with his own. I think my only one-up is that I sleep with him. She cooks for him, though, so we might be tied... ;-)

A Noodle By Any Other Name...

This is just going to be a quick, minor rant (hopefully), because I really can't describe who/where/when I heard what I'm about to rant...about:

I hate when parents teach their kids silly, stupid names for their body parts (and I can't describe which body parts, because then, knowing the internet, I'll get some nasty person trolling for horrible things looking at my blog...).  But I heard a mother today (a very educated lady who I know has taken anatomy and should therefore be comfortable with all the ins and outs of the human body) describe her daughter as calling her body part a "front bottom".  I almost threw up in my mouth.

Someone tried to teach him to call it a wee-wee, pee-pee, noodle, and only God knows how many other things.  (You don't call a bottom a "poo-poo", so why would you use "wee-wee" as a nickname?)  I nipped that in the bud, believe me.  Luckily, by the time he came home with those words, I had already taught him the correct term.  Or I would have suffered.  A lot.  From the moment my son became aware that he had more going on downstairs than his feet, I was determined that he would know the actual word for it.  It probably had something to do with the fact that I was entering medical school at the time, but let's not be picky.

I really can't figure out why parents teach nicknames.  As children, my sibs and I called a certain anatomical part a "squirt".  But, admittedly, that's funny, so maybe my parents just let us call it that so they could secretly laugh every time it came up in conversation (which was how often???).  I don't remember a point at which I learned the correct terms, so maybe we knew them at a young age, but just were not encouraged to use them.

I suppose some parents do it so that other adults won't be like "OH MY GOD!" when your son yells "Ow, I hurt my PEN15!" in public.  But if you're just trying to avoid embarrassment, it's not any more subtle when  the same child hollers "Ow, I hurt my pee-pee!"  Really not.  Sorry. That just makes me laugh more.  Which is really not what a small boy wants to have happen when he's just been injured in such a sensitive spot, after all.  My son's had his share of those moments, and yes, they're not the best parental memories, but children have to be taught that there are things you don't talk about in public anyway.  So why subject yourself to hearing "front bottom" in private...?

Anyway, I can't really express why I hate bodily nicknames.  But I think they're inappropriate and degrading, and feed into this horrible societal impulse to treat every normal bodily thing like it is shameful and sinful.  Isn't it a better idea to just teach our children, rather than hide our fear behind silly nicknames?

Ok, I'm done now.  Commence eye-rolling.

Aspirations...

Tonight, while driving home from basketball practice: "Mom, I'd like my job to be a person who helps people cross the streets.  There's one of those guys at my school, and I'd like to do that."

Admittedly, that's an improvement from his latest Life Goal.  He dropped this bomb on me last week: "I'm not going to have work when I grow up.  I'll be too busy with basketball and soccer and guitar and all my activities I'm going to be doing.  I might be in the Olympics, but maybe not because it's really hard.  So I'm not going to have a job, because I don't want to take other people's money.  I don't care about money.  I just want to have my own money, so I can do my activities I want to do."

I gotta admit, he has a point.  There's a very good outlook on life in there.  Somewhere.

Spring? Cleaning? and Other Laments of Passing Time

Seeing as how I'm currently on the Extremely-(But Not Really...At All)-Time-Consuming rotation of dermatology, I have been rather more energetic than of late.

As in, last night, I handwashed a load (not, like, literally, but as in = a lot) of dishes (because our dishwasher is disgusting and I'm just hoping D can figure out a way to 'accidentally' break it so our landlord will replace it), scrubbed the crap (ok, not literally this time either) out of our stove top (including drip pans, which is usually D's job! I am a cleaning goddess!), and effing MOPPED THE FLOOR. Worship me. I don't mop. I sweep, and I vacuum when necessary, but unless I've just hosted or am about to host The Party of the Century (which, admittedly, all of my parties are), I don't mop the kitchen floor. It just doesn't ever need it. But I did last night. Be proud.

So, my uber-cleaning mood was continued today into the realm of my son's closet. Or plastic dresser, rather. Where, while casually rifling through his shorts to determine which ones needed to be given away and which consigned to the "Will Probably Fit Next Year, So Find a Box To Store In For a Whole Year, Even Though That Doesn't Make Much Sense Either Practically or Monetarily, Really" pile, I happened to glance at a label and see this:



....along with 4 other pairs of shorts, 1 pair of pants, and a couple of shirts labeled the same. Most of which he's worn in the past 2 or 3 months, apparently without me noticing too-short-pantlegs and too-short-sleeves. Yes, you are not losing your mind, my son is indeed 5 and a half years old. And before the pediatricians, endocrinologists and geneticists among you freak out, he does have (and regularly wears) clothing labeled with a proper 5T. Admittedly, shirts are still mostly 3T and 4T, because he looks like he's trying to wear MY shirts if I thrust him into a 5. But pants he can handle. As long as they have veeeeeeeery adjustable waists. What can I say, the kid is super-skinny. I do feed him, he just grows up, not out. We should all be so lucky. Although, at my rate, I'd be over 6 feet tall by now...

Anyway, that label may look sad/pathetic/terrible/scary/damnable/disgusting/horrible/amusing/horrendous/faulty/condemnable/lazy or just like bad parenting to you. But to me, it's just an excuse to go shopping! Good thing I'm on derm, huh?

Patriotism

Today, while sitting around in the derm office listening to my attending tell stories to his rapt all-female audience (seriously, there is one male resident.  ONE.  8 other residents, all 10 or so nurses, and 2 PAs are all female.  What is WRONG with that program?!?), he was chatting about watching protesters in Portland, OR.  "They're all the same, you know, just looking for attention.  They protest week after week, just pick different things."  All the girls (except me) laughed and agreed, with various corroborating statements.

Now, I have to admit that I have never walked in a protest, or stood in a demonstration.  It's not that I've never had the opportunity to do so: my church is constantly staging vigils outside of women's clinics to pray for the end to abortion.  And it's not that I don't support peaceful protesters.  I honk like an idiot when I pass sign-wavers on street corners.  It's just that I suppose I've never felt passionately enough about something to stand on a busy street letting strangers ogle me all day, and I've never gotten over the horribly sad feeling I get when I imagine myself begging a troubled 16-year-old girl not to take the only way out she thinks she has (Yes, I'm a coward, and that's another issue, which we'll address later.  Save your comments). 

But I will passionately defend the right and the effectiveness of protests.  Perhaps the method of protesting has gotten a little lost along the way (PETA can be a bit ridiculous...), but the essence of what it means to protest something has remained the same.  Look at how protesting has played such a significant part in our country's evolution, from the Boston Tea Party to the Civil Rights Movement.  No one should be belittled for choosing to participate in a demonstration, even if they're carrying a sign that says "Friends Don't Leash Friends" (I've never seen such a sign, but if I had, I would have laughed, since it has significantly sexual undertones...).

These thoughts came later, though, after I'd had time to reflect on the little "How-Pathetic" party my attending was throwing.  At the time, all I thought of was this: over spring break this year, my family and I went to Colorado to go skiing.  One evening, we watched through a store window as a bunch of people marched through downtown, carrying signs calling for peace and an end to the war in Iraq.  I lifted up E, pointed through the window at the marchers, and taught him what it means to desire peace. 

Maybe all demonstrators are the same people, protesting some new fad injustice every week.  And maybe these marches do or do not change anyone's mind, or have any impact on the world at large.  But maybe protests speak to something at the very core of what it means to be American.  And maybe, just maybe, a march will live on in someone's heart as a very proud memory. 

On that day, as a photographer for some local paper trailed along behind the protesters, he paused to capture the sight of my 4-year-old son, who was peering solemnly through the window and making the peace sign.

Bratz

I am terrified of having daughters.  Ever.

Just walking through the mall and engaging in simple observation gives me the heebie jeebies and makes me feel a little sick.  I can just see myself in a screaming match with a 13-year-old Mini Me, refusing to let her out of the house unless she washes off the caked-on makeup, changes out of the shorts that say "Famous" on the ass, puts a sweater over the skimpy tank that proudly states "Flirt", and returns my Victoria's Secret credit card from whence she stole it.

When I was 13, I was ugly.  There is just no other word for it.  I was awkward both physically and socially, I never cared about my appearance, and didn't give a damn about my clothes.  My socially-conscientious mother wouldn't let us by clothing from Gap, Old Navy, or Nike (sweatshops, people...), which was pretty much the kiss of death for a teenager in the 90s.  I inherited some horrible vampire canines, which were yanked into position by a series of braces.  I was shy and inarticulate and friends with a bunch of girls a year behind me in school.  I didn't have a very good high school experience...

And needless to say, I don't want my daughters' teenaged lives to be miserable.  I just don't want them to be whorish.  There has GOT to be a happy medium.  I've just got to find it.  And if I can't, they will just have to be social outcasts.

I know I won't escape it entirely, even without having girls.  But if my son ever comes home with a dolled-up, tramped-out little girlfriend, you can bet I will make their lives miserable, in the time-honored traditions of motherhood.

State of the Union

Your need to protect your
oh-so-holy marriage
from gays, devils, sinners
(or gays = ?)
is pathetic

God
(Whom you think you know so well by reading a book
written in mortal words by mortal hands
passed down through centuries
and interpreted in modern tongues and modes of thought)
denounced physical love between
your women and between your men
Too bad science holds the opinion
that the human mind (our God-given
Difference
from the lowly beasts)
may not always have the same Sex
as biology imposes on our bodies
In children, we treat it with hormones and surgery
In adults, we shun it because it's a choice by then, right?
But then, science and God have never gotten along
In human comprehension, at least

But I see no legalese describing
the Desecration of God's Covenant
by drive-through wedding chapels and
"I Do"s said before judges
Where is your holy uproar against
the words "forever and for always" said
by unwilling children with unwanted children
already growing under satin gowns?
How did you figure out you could wash away sin
with a different last name?
I suppose, if they get divorced in the end,
God never said anything about that...

Does a gay person really threaten your holiness?
Does having married gays
cheapen your marriage by extension?
How blessed could such a sacrament possibly be,
if an Evil you supposedly don't even practice
can threaten the sanctity of the vows
you said in the Presence of God (or Elvis)?

Please find a better word for me and mine, then
My skin is brown and I married
(Oops, should I have asked the
Conservative Confused for permission?)
a man
the color of bleached sand
Not so long ago, we were in the law books as
forbidden and wrong
Have we really progressed?
Should we rename our love
(suggestion: "gene pool diluters")
and leave
the holy connotations of MARRIAGE
to those of you with perfect biological compatibility
in every nook and cranny and act of your marital bed?
This desire to be involved in someone else's
bedroom decisions
is so Saintly of you
God is omnipresent and therefore so should you be

But how kind of you to hide your hatred behind
concessions like "hospital visitation"
After all, felons have visitations
and child-rapists can marry whom they please
Do you give yourself a pat on the back
for your tolerance?!
(Memo - Headaches are tolerated
Not people)

But by God, as gays are less human/holy than thou,
their commitments are less than yours
and instead of Marriages
(because Christianity created that word and holds the patent)
therefore, they shall be called Unions
because that is a broken word

And in this imperfect Union of unsettled States
sometimes I am deeply ashamed
of what we come together to create
in our fear and our misunderstanding
and our tolerance

Geography

We took E to see Madagascar 2 last night, which was actually pretty funny. The last kids' movie we'd seen before this was Igor, which was outright horrible. Probably one of the most terrible movies I've ever seen. I thought that I was getting too old and/or cynical for the simple joys of children's film. But such is not the case, I am happy to report! Admittedly, the saving grace of M2 was all of the adult humor cleverly disguised behind the slapstick kid stuff. Which is how it's supposed to be, after all. I don't want to ruin it for you, you'll just have to see it for yourself!

But anyway, towards the end of the movie (which is set in AFRICA, keep in mind...), someone on the screen mentioned New York City. I suppose E thought the implication was that the story was set in New York. And he apparently knows the difference between skyscrapers and wide open plains with waving grasses. Because he announced, quite loudly and rather derisively: "That's not New York! That's TEXAS."

History

It is election day 2008. There is joy in my household. And so much joy in my heart.

Music to My Ears

I'm bored, and listening to some good music, so I thought I'd just throw some of this out there for those of you who I know listen to lesbian music like I do! And not all of it's lesbian music. Some of it is just...good. But they're some less-well-known artists, and I wish they were slightly better known, just so they'll keep making fantastic music. If you go through and download every track I mention in this blog, you'll have enough for a whole cd. Burn it to a blue disc, write my name on it in Sharpie, and think of me every time you play it. ;-)

1. Rachael Yamagata - Happenstance I admit I'm biased. I love me some half-Asian girls. She's a singer-pianist with a low, husky, sexy-as-hell voice. She writes coffeehouse music, frankly. Mostly mellow, with some jazzy and/or upbeat numbers thrown in for fun. The single from this album is "Worn Me Down", but if I were you, I'd listen to "I'll Find a Way". Because that's my favorite track from this album. She also has a new cd out, which I'm downloading as we speak, because a certain friend's bootlegged iTunes m4a's or whatever they were wouldn't open. It may be fantastic, from what I've heard.
2. Charlotte Martin - On Your Shore Another singer-pianist, with a voice kind of like Jewel's. The producing and instrumentation of some of her songs remind me of Sara Bareilles, for those of you who can't hear "Love Song" without practically peeing your pants with joy (ok, I might be one of them). Some of her songs are more experimental and arty than I prefer for daily-listening, but it's still a solid album. Find "Every Time It Rains". And then listen to it when it's raining, obviously. You might love it. She also does a fantastic, emotional cover of the Stones' "Wild Horses".
   
3. Charlotte Sometimes - Waves and the Both of Us I finally had to stop listening to this cd on repeat, because my husband almost went insane. I got to hear them live recently, which was pretty exciting, especially since I'm pretty sure I was the only person in the audience who knew all the songs by heart. ;-) She doesn't have a fantastic voice, and it might drive you crazy if you don't like Nelly Furtado. But the way she uses her voice is phenomenal, and her lyrics are outstanding. Her music is a pretty wide mix of styles. It hurts me to pick a favorite track, so I won't. I'll pick two: "Build the Moon" and "Sweet Valium High". Warning: the 2nd track isn't safe to listen to in front of mothers and/or children. So don't. I warned you.
   
4. Belle & Sebastian - If You're Feeling Sinister Their music is very...gentle. It's described on Wiki as "wistful pop", which is completely apt. This is a good album for background music, It makes me feel like a little kid when I listen to Belle & Sebastian. I'm not quite sure why, but it might be because the lead singer's voice reminds me a little bit of Art Garfunkel ala Scarborough Fair. Put this on your iPod and every self-respecting indie rock fan will love you a little more. Lend an ear to "Judy and the Dream of Horses". But don't expect it to make sense.
   
5. Cyndi Thomson - My World This is an old album, and you might recognize her if you listen to country music. But even if you hate country with a passion, give her a listen. She keeps the ol' twang to a minimum, and her songs are just good. They're simplistic, but sweet, and they're fun to sing along to in the car. When no one else is around. Unfortunately, she never made another album, as she stepped down from the music scene right after releasing this one, which makes me die a little bit inside. The single from this was "What I Really Meant to Say", which is a fantastic song, but my favorite one is "If You Could Only See".
   
6. Elliott Smith Really, any of his albums are good. If you haven't heard of him, start out with the most recent one, New Moon. But be careful, don't fall too much in love, because he's dead. Figures, huh? He has a ton of material, though, and New Moon was actually released posthumously. He's considered a genius songwriter, which you will probably agree with, if you're not too literal-minded. Most of his albums have a really raw feel to them, which is highly desirable if you're a true indie connoisseur ;-). His voice is sweet and very poignant, which, combined with a lyrical style that reflects his very real depression, doesn't make for happy listening. So don't listen to Elliott for an upper if you're just starting out. My very favorite song by him is "Twilight", which is from the album From a Basement on the Hill. Absolute perfection.
   
7. Feist - The Reminder I first started listening to Feist via The Kings of Convenience, then Broken Social Scene, and snatched up her most recent solo album the instant it came out. She has since become an indie darling. Her voice is enchanting, in that it always sounds like it's on the verge of breaking off into bits of rainbows and sunshine. It's lovely and heartbreaking. This is another album where it's difficult for me to pick a favorite. The excellent single (and there may have been more than one) is "1 2 3 4". The track that a certain friend of mine should listen to is "Sea Lion Woman", for reasons she knows. But I will choose "My Moon My Man" as my favorite. Mostly because I looked up the words on www.songmeanings.net and found a suggestion for a hidden meaning that had not even occurred to me. And I thought it amusing...
8. Mae - The Everglow This album is unabashedly emo. And I still love it. This album is obviously meant for tweeners and long-haired boys wearing skinny jeans, but I forgive it anyway (but I never forgive the skinny jeans. Ever.). The very first music track on this album ("We're So Far Away") is somewhat deceptive, in that it sounds like it came straight out of a Ben Folds mix tape. The rest of the album is nowhere near as ballad-y and piano-driven, which makes me curious as to why they put it at the very beginning, because it sounds like something you would throw in as a hidden track. But whatever. Listen to it anyway, and then listen to "Someone Else's Arms" and you'll get what I'm talking about. And remember, I warned you what type of music it is, so don't blame me when you find yourself brushing your carefully-slanted bangs out of your heavily-black-lined eyes.
   
9. Gemma Hayes - Night on My Side This is another old album, and you may not even be able to find the version that I like, because I bought this in London and came away with the "UK version". I think it's stupid that record companies do that, like they really think people from different countries will like different songs. What's next, the Southern US version of an album, specially geared to Bible Belt junkies? Or even an Oklahoma version, with songs that only country music fans would prefer? Ridiculous. But anyway, I love this girl. Her USA claim to fame is apparently a song on the Season 2 Grey's Anatomy soundtrack...whatever. I love her anyway. Check out "Back of My Hand."
   
10. Kim Richey - Chinese Boxes Kim Richey reminds me of a less growl-y Brandi Carlile. Mostly because her music is slightly country-tinged, just like Ms. Carlile's. Her album is more mellow, though, and acoustic guitar-driven, with less electric stuff. Her lyrics are really good, and her voice is beautiful. With one exception, this album is perfect. I won't tell you the exception, because inevitably, when I do that, people love that one track. So you'll just have to make up your own mind. But you should listen to "The Absence of Your Company." Don't be in a good mood, though, because you might be crying after a few listens in a row. Like I was. I get emotional over good songs.
    
11. Lavender Diamond - Imagine Our Love The lead singer for this quartet has a ridiculously angel-like voice. It's almost childlike in it's purity and simplicity. And the music is similar, with highly repetitive lyrics and simple melodies that will sound vaguely familiar the very first time you listen to them. I like this album for when I want to sing along with something without thinking about it too much. The lyrics don't ever make sense to me, which I guess is another tie-in with the childlike nature of the music, so it's ok. Clap along to "Open Your Heart" and prepare to be put in a good mood immediately.
12. Tristan Prettyman - twentythree This girl is a former flame of Jason Mraz, and you can tell. Her music is very similar in style. Except that it's a girl singing, of course (although he does sing a duet with her for one track, so don't get mad at me if you hear a little testosterone crop up). She's a little more mellow than M(c)raz(y), but is overall just a solid representation of girly singer-songwriters. Her lyrics need work, but I forgive her because she wrote "Electric", which you should listen to. Immediately.
    
13. Veda/Vedera - Weight of an Empty Room One of my very favorite albums of all time. This girl is smoking hot, for one thing, and the way she sings gives me chills. She isn't backed up by virtuoso musicians, but they're a solid indie-rock band, and her wailing, incredible voice sets them apart. Her songs are very singable, which is always a quality I look for (since I spend most of my time plotting how best to drive my husband insane by singing in small cars at the top of my lungs). This album is definitely the most rockish of the ones on this list, so if you're after a mellow afternoon spent fostering your feminine side by reading Sylvia Plath, this is not the soundtrack for it. But if you're after some more forceful woman power, download this, and listen to "Moments Rewound".
    
14. Vienna Teng - Warm Strangers An Asian singer-pianist. Her playing will probably remind you strongly of Vanessa Carlton, but her voice doesn't have that irritating nasal whininess (sorry, "Thousand Miles" fans. But the song was never the same for me after "White Chicks" anyway). She deals with some pretty deep subject matter on this album, but never in an opinionated way. She puts the subjects out there, but more in a thoughtful manner rather than an aggressive one (unlike some female songwriters...). She also has some love ballads and a really sweet lullaby. Check out "Harbor".
    
15. dredg - El Cielo This is some man-music for you. Just in case you're feeling a little too girly. Dredg likes to make concept albums, so that should give you an idea of the type of rock they make. It's more experimental, and it's definitely not your typical feel-good music. The lead singer's voice is dreamy, but if you're someone who gets caught up in being able to figure out what a song is about, or even how to pronounce the track titles, don't try this band. I included them mainly because I plan on going to a show of theirs fairly soon, and in case you really love them, you should come. They're really good live, as an aside. The album is better listened to all at one go, but I'd pick "Triangle" as my favorite track. And yes, it's weird. That's why it's art rock!
    
16. Explosions in the Sky - How Strange, Innocence A little instrumental post-rock is good for the soul. If you like to turn music up really loudly and drown in the sound, listen to this album. This is not an album to listen to on your laptop. This band is incredible live, so if they're ever around, go. I've seen them once, and I would pay double to see them again, that's how fantastic they are. Be prepared for chills, though. I highly recommend this album for storm-watching, as it's very climactic. And I'm sure you could find some other ways to employ this album as background music ;-). I actually used to sleep to this, as it's pretty hypnotic. Yes, sleep. Shut up. I will admit that instrumental tracks tend to run together in my brain, which is why this is best for the overall experience. But check out "A Song for Our Fathers" if you need a sample before diving in.
    
17. Susie Suh - Susie Suh Ok, ok, yes, I'm incredibly biased toward the Asian girls. Pretty much all an artist needs is slanted eyes or an Asian-sounding name, and I'll be a fan for life. So suh me (I couldn't resist). Unlike her cousins-by-different-ancestors, Rachael and Vienna, Susie's music is guitar-based. I know, you're shocked: an Asian who doesn't play piano. This album is incredibly hard to find (at least, it is if you're going by...alternative routes), because it was released under one of Sony-The-Devil's No-Copying restrictions. In those days, I was still a cd-purchaser. So I bought the cd, copied it the requisite 3 times, before it locked the hell up on me, and I promptly lost all 3 copies. Yes, it sucks. But those of you who move in more popular circles may find this more easy to find. Her voice is husky and sexy, and her songs are gorgeously lush. Find "All I Want" and give it a try. Then you'll love Asian girls too.

Alright, I think I've blown your mind enough for tonight. I like reviewing music for my own benefit, though, so check for future updates. I have a lot of music. ;-)

Food Critic

Tonight, it was just E and me eating, so I broached the subject of a peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich for dinner. Now, I know what you're thinking, but in my defense, we're both sick, and we'd been snacking on and off throughout the afternoon, so I knew neither of us was very hungry. And I figured, PB&J, pretty innocuous, this shouldn't be too much of a struggle.

Well, first, E goes "I just want a sandwich with peanut butter. No jelly."
And I'm like, well, that's weird. What normal kid wants that? So I said "Have you ever HAD jelly?"
He goes "No, but one time I saw a bug in this movie at Aunt Sarah's house...have you ever seen that movie with Little Foot? Well, there was a bug with ink that came out of it like this," [imagine him scrunching up his face, mashing his hands together, and making disgusting squishing noises with his mouth] "and it looked just like jelly."

And despite the fact that I personally love jelly and was already salivating over the thought of the sweetness in my mouth, for a second, I knew exactly what he was thinking of, and it was disgusting.

We didn't have PB&J for dinner.