Whew! We just got done getting the house re-piped. It was kind of crazy... yesterday morning we had no shower (and didn't know ahead of time that we wouldn't -- it was a clog), the bathroom is filthy, and almost every rag and towel we have right now is out of commission (because of the fridge exploding, mostly). We still have to get the tile done, get a new toilet, get a water heater... and with me being the sort-of-contractor on this project, that means I've had to choose and purchase everything. And that includes tile, trim, grout, a curtain rod, hooks, liner, and curtain, the heater, toilet, shower and tub faucet... Frankly, I am not even done. I spent days looking for a match for my vintage tile, and I never found a color, even though I scoured the internet. I found one that would be close enough to pass muster, but it was $20 a square foot. Finally, I just gave up and went with tile squares from Overstock.com. I got a really, really good price, so I'm going to be happy, even though I didn't get exactly what I wanted. I think it will look nice in the end.
Sometime last year, Mom planted the seed that someday, a sectional couch might be just the thing for our living room. It would really make good use of the space and give us more seating room. I poked around a bit and, considering that MY favorite styles, Arts and Crafts and Spanish revival, don't really do sectionals and also that my Sweetie loves Mid-Century Modern, I decided to look at some of that. In fact, I found several things I could really go for, and when we eventually buy a new couch (I'm thinking several years from now), I'm leaning towards that style.
I decided to look around at that style a bit more, and I'm obsessing about kitchens at the moment (more on that in a minute), so I looked up mid-century modern kitchens. What?! What is this?! No way!!! With the exception of the Eichler stuff, what I found wasn't the stark, geometric, colorless birch-fests I was expecting. It was the atomic kitchen stuff I've been in love with forever! Ridiculous! Marmoleum floors? Yes! Formica countertops? Yes! Chrome dinettes? Hell to the yes! It was beautiful, and I had a revelation -- I think I have been confusing mid-century modern with Danish modern, which I still sort of hate. But okay Jenny and Sweetie... I'll give you this: I like aspects of mid-century modern. There. I said it.
Mom and I (and sometimes Boompah and others) have been going on home and garden tours for years. We mostly go in East Sac, but we've been on Christmas tours, bungalow tours, remodel tours, and more. I would say we've been on at least twenty and probably more. The Christmas home tour is fun because it's really Christmassy -- It's cold, and Christmas music is playing and everyone has scarves and festive jewelry and there are decorations galore. But what it really lacks is that you don't get a sense of the homeowners' actual style. They bring designers in and totally change the places. The remodel tour, on some years, has been a source of hilarity; one house we still talk about was entirely decorated in pink, lavender, and lacy ruffly girlness. It also had Glade plug-ins about every ten feet, so the place was just an assault on several levels. Some people take a beautiful home and do strange, strange things to it. But this year it was actually quite lovely, and the best part was that the homes weren't really touched by designers at all. Each house was just as people lived in it. And the bungalow tour we went on two weeks ago was the same. I love seeing how people choose to decorate their homes. Do they stick to the period of the home? Do they have a theme? And I love seeing the really unique, individual touches, like the shadow boxes with a child's onesie and shoes, or a display in a kitchen of vintage kitchen tools. Anyway, I guess it's a bit snoopy of me, but I love looking in people's homes and seeing how they live. I find it to be a much more authentic experience than the designer-done homes.
Sigh. I really, really try not to covet people's stuff. I don't turn green over cars, clothes, vacations, or almost anything else money could buy. And I really don't begrudge people their stuff. But these home tours... ai yi yi... they're a different story. See, we've been, as I mentioned, on a boatload of these tours, and I don't think I've seen a single kitchen (out of hundreds, mind you) without a Wolf or a Viking or an Aga stove, a giant range hood, a bar sink, a counter with stools, and a pantry for storage. And, you know, all these people just can't be cooks, can they? I admit it -- it would kind of chap my hide if these people were microwaving Lean Cuisines while their Aga sits unused. I cook five nights a week, on average, plus baking cookies, cakes, muffins, and bread, and making candy, and canning jellies and tomatoes. I would use the hell out of a good stove, and I would fill that pantry in a heartbeat. Not that I'm suffering with my kind-of-crappy kitchen; I do just fine. But I have my rice and cookbooks in the laundry room, the Crock Pot and Kitchen-Aid in the garage, the nice china in boxes, and my spices precariously balanced in a former ironing board nook. I would really benefit from having a nicely arrayed kitchen. Well, maybe someday...
In the meantime, check out Retro Renovation for some pictures to drool over. Well, if you like retro style anyway.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Holy Moly -- quick update
Lots going on -- We're getting all the plumbing re-done, because the water pressure here wasn't enough to knock pudding off a spoon. It's been a little bit of a hassle (no shower yesterday, an associated leak under the kitchen sink) for us, but a big one for my mom, who will spend her third entire day at my house with the kid and no water today. Thanks, Mom! And although we had to take whore baths yesterday, it was all made up for by today's super-powered-awesome-shower. It was the first shower I've taken in this house (and we've lived here over four years) with water pressure.
Of course, as soon as we decided to drop some big money on getting the re-pipe done (and some tile, and a tankless water heater, and a new toilet...), our refrigerator exploded. We came home Monday and noticed the rug was wet. Sometimes Zadie pushes the water dispenser button or I drop ice or something, so I just took the rug out, cleaned up the water, and went about my business. But later, there was another big pool. Sweetie and I cleaned it up (with much hilarity involving a garden hose, out attempts at siphoning, and some Gdiapers), and thought it would be fine. The drip pan had overflowed, but we got it completely empty. But in the morning, not only was there another big pool, but it was clear the floor was warped in a fairly large area. My mom called an appliance repairman, and he came out. I got a happy email mid-morning that it was taken care of.
When I got home, there was a towel on the floor, but it was "just in case." I grabbed Z and ran an errand to a tile store (I'm having a hell of a time finding a match for my 40s tile), and came home about 45 minutes later. The floor towel was soaked. I called the appliance guy back, and he said he had one more stop, but would come by later, which he did. He was a really nice guy, and he fixed it all up. So I think we're okay.
Zadie is still awesome and hilarious. This morning she caught me looking at a weird tattoo of an alien and said "Who's that freaky guy?"
She can now consistently make the number one with a crayon. She helped make her own pizza last night again (I let her roll the dough and put on the toppings). And in a new development, she was drawing with Mom yesterday, and Mom drew a stick figure Boompah. Next to it, Zadie drew a circle with sort of a smaller circle at the top, and four lines pointing out. It was her... with a head, arms and legs. That's the first time she's done that, so I think it's really cool.
Speaking of her art, I wonder whether she has a little OCD streak (I mean, I'm not paranoid, just musing). Almost every painting she ever makes, though in different colors, is exactly the same; a vertical line and several concentric circles above it and a bit to the right. We have several of these.
I've now gone to the gym 6 days a week since late July with only one exception, on a day when we were in San Francisco. I am feeling pretty good about my body, although I know I still have a lot to lose. Picture one of those movies about women in the 40s or 50s where the matronly woman of about 40 takes of her dress and is wearing just those huge high-waisted panties and torpedo bra. They didn't have personal trainers, so there's a little belly and an indication that they've had a baby and probably use real butter, but they're not fat, exactly. I kind of feel like that. Although technically, I'm almost 50 pounds over the recommended weight for my height, I am (and always have been -- it's not entirely due to exercise, but to genetics) very muscular, and I don't think anyone who saw me would guess I was that much overweight. Even carnies who guess weight for a living.
Of course, as soon as we decided to drop some big money on getting the re-pipe done (and some tile, and a tankless water heater, and a new toilet...), our refrigerator exploded. We came home Monday and noticed the rug was wet. Sometimes Zadie pushes the water dispenser button or I drop ice or something, so I just took the rug out, cleaned up the water, and went about my business. But later, there was another big pool. Sweetie and I cleaned it up (with much hilarity involving a garden hose, out attempts at siphoning, and some Gdiapers), and thought it would be fine. The drip pan had overflowed, but we got it completely empty. But in the morning, not only was there another big pool, but it was clear the floor was warped in a fairly large area. My mom called an appliance repairman, and he came out. I got a happy email mid-morning that it was taken care of.
When I got home, there was a towel on the floor, but it was "just in case." I grabbed Z and ran an errand to a tile store (I'm having a hell of a time finding a match for my 40s tile), and came home about 45 minutes later. The floor towel was soaked. I called the appliance guy back, and he said he had one more stop, but would come by later, which he did. He was a really nice guy, and he fixed it all up. So I think we're okay.
Zadie is still awesome and hilarious. This morning she caught me looking at a weird tattoo of an alien and said "Who's that freaky guy?"
She can now consistently make the number one with a crayon. She helped make her own pizza last night again (I let her roll the dough and put on the toppings). And in a new development, she was drawing with Mom yesterday, and Mom drew a stick figure Boompah. Next to it, Zadie drew a circle with sort of a smaller circle at the top, and four lines pointing out. It was her... with a head, arms and legs. That's the first time she's done that, so I think it's really cool.
Speaking of her art, I wonder whether she has a little OCD streak (I mean, I'm not paranoid, just musing). Almost every painting she ever makes, though in different colors, is exactly the same; a vertical line and several concentric circles above it and a bit to the right. We have several of these.
I've now gone to the gym 6 days a week since late July with only one exception, on a day when we were in San Francisco. I am feeling pretty good about my body, although I know I still have a lot to lose. Picture one of those movies about women in the 40s or 50s where the matronly woman of about 40 takes of her dress and is wearing just those huge high-waisted panties and torpedo bra. They didn't have personal trainers, so there's a little belly and an indication that they've had a baby and probably use real butter, but they're not fat, exactly. I kind of feel like that. Although technically, I'm almost 50 pounds over the recommended weight for my height, I am (and always have been -- it's not entirely due to exercise, but to genetics) very muscular, and I don't think anyone who saw me would guess I was that much overweight. Even carnies who guess weight for a living.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Navel-gazing with semi-obscure music references. On second thought, maybe you should skip it.
Whoa, oh, what I want to know is, are you kind? -- Grateful Dead
I can distinctly remember, in my early twenties, deciding who and what and how I wanted to be. I always tell the students not to worry about what they want to major in, but to try everything and see what their passion is. It's true, I think, and good advice, but not really advice I followed. Although I waffled in about the eighth grade, I was always pretty sure I wanted to be a teacher. But in some ways, what you want to be is one of the lesser things you have to worry about. I mean, you are a doctor or janitor or strawberry picker or whatever for maybe 8 hours a day. What are you the other 16? And I remember clearly thinking, "I just hope people remember me as kind." In fact, I remember thinking that a really awesome headstone inscription (not that I've ever wanted a headstone, but you know...) would be "Count Mockula: 1976- 20?? She was kind."
I eat for two, walk for two, breathe for two now. -- 10,000 Maniacs*
But then! Oh my god! Just after I had the baby I wrote that a Big Bang of love had gone off in my heart. And in an instant I realized, through my sleep-deprived new mommy brain, that being kind wasn't enough. I had to be a good mother, too. And that involved a lot more than kindness. As I wrote in one of my recent posts, I have to teach her my values by living them. And although Sweetie and I are ironic, jaded, technophilic, sarcastic 30-somethings, I think both of us have strong moral values. A few years ago, he started trying to up the number of volunteer hours he was doing, mainly for his work resume. I tagged along, partly because I was going to drop him off anyway, right? But after a few of these volunteer sessions, we quietly expressed to each other that it felt good to do them, too. And as you know if you've been following this for any length of time, I try to live up to my convictions in other ways, too, particularly as a steward of the earth. (Whoa, that sounded REALLY hippie.)
God Money's not looking for the cure. God Money's not concerned about the sick among the pure. -- Nine Inch Nails
To that end, I've been learning about something called urban homesteading. Although there are a lot of individual things people can do, like growing more food, using less energy, and building community, one idea that keeps popping up is that of contributing less to corporate culture. Stop making the rich people richer, as it were, and build what you can build, grow what you can grow, contribute to the wealth of your community. Barter, re-use, buy used goods, make things from scratch instead of buying them... I have been doing some of these things, although I think this is an area that needs a lot more attention on my part.
I've been surprisingly invested in a book called Radical Homemakers, which I picked up on the suggestion of a friend. On the front cover is a picture of a woman triumphantly holding up a rolling pin. I thought it would be full of portraits of people living closer to the earth. I was surprised, then, to find that the first half of the book is a pretty academic treatise on how homemaking came to be de-valued and how it was replaced by consumerism. Super-Cliff's-Notes version? People used to make all their own stuff (men and women together). Then the industrial revolution** came and men had to go get jobs outside the house. When it was women alone doing the homemaking, the work was less appreciated. Marketers jumped on the opportunity to sell them products to make the home-making easier and faster (although many of them ended up requiring MORE maintenance and more work). Women become consumers instead of producers, leading to the whole Feminine Mystique thing (essentially, women felt worthless because they weren't doing much of value at home). To remedy that, they went out into the work force, so now we pay people to bake our bread and sew our clothing, increasing the consumerism even more.
Also interesting are the statistics the author presents about how much money we make vs. how happy we actually are. There are some really good arguments that mo' money does, in fact, create mo' problems. One striking statistic was that once a family makes over about $10,000 per person per year, there is no reported increase in happiness no matter how much more money they make.
And there's something in particular that makes me not want to make the rich richer right now: about 90% of them are whiny fucking greedy bastards. Obama so much as suggests ending a tax cut (not raising taxes, mind you, but ending a cut), and they go all "You're Hitler!" on him. Taxes on the wealthiest 1% are lower than they were in many other eras in our history, and the first $250,000 they make each year isn't taxed at all (more than pretty much anyone I know makes, by the way). Warren Buffet admits publicly that his secretary pays more in taxes than he does. Bankers get bailouts for fucking up their businesses (and not just accidentally, but maliciously in many cases), and then they throw a big stomping tantrum when someone suggests limiting their bonuses. And there are so many other ways the government makes being rich really goddamn convenient. If you buy a fancy SUV and you're a business owner, guess how much of a tax deduction you can get for it? Up to $35,000. Guess how much of a tax deduction a single mom can get for buying a used Honda Civic?
Do you have some shoes that you really love? Ones that you feel so flash in. -- Donovan
I love stuff. I don't even know where my love of stuff came from, but stuff is really important to me. Twice today I had occasion to reflect on this. First, I was going through some of Zadie's things for Goodwill. She suggested that I put a blanket in the bag, and my heart stopped. "No! We can't give that away! Someone we love made that for you. We can give away things that aren't meaningful to us, but I like to keep the things that people made us because they love us." I put the blanket back with the other two drawers' worth of hand-made blankets.
Then in the grocery store, I let her take a book in. She read it in the cart, and when we got back into the car, I buckled her into her car seat, and I held on to the book for a moment while I did. She asked "Why did we leave the book in the store?" She was clearly upset at the idea of losing the book. I had to show it to her twice before she settled down. I flashed back to my childhood, and the almost crippling fear I had of losing my toys. I remember once taking a Tazmanian Devil toy on a road trip, and refusing to roll down the window all the way for fear that the wind would pick up "Tazzy" and pull him out into the void.
I may need to confront some of these feelings. Not only do I love stuff and feel attached to it, I constantly bring it back into the house. Not Hoarders-style, but a lot. I recently started boycotting Target***. I went there every couple weeks and bought toothpaste, floss, cat litter, cleaning supplies, toys, batteries, snack foods, clothes, accessories... basically, my list would be about three items long, but since I was there anyway, I'd mosey down the aisles and pick up other things. I'd think "Oh, I need this!" and throw it in the cart. I rarely left Target with a receipt reflecting less than $100, even if my list had been cat litter and Listerine.
Initially, I participated in a group keeping track of things they bought elsewhere and how much money they hadn't given to Target. I bought things at CVS instead, or at Costco. But as time has worn on, I've found that I really didn't need all that crap I was buying, and I stopped participating in the group because, well, I'm not buying stuff elsewhere as much. I'm just not buying stuff as much at all****.
That doesn't mean I'm going to go all minimalist on you. I knew a guy once who got rid of almost everything he owned. I was horrified, and I still am. My home offers me a lot of comfort. I like to look around after we clean on a Saturday morning and see all the things we've collected and sit on my comfy couch and admire my Alice teapots. I like to serve food on my Fiestaware. I like the convenience of chopping all the ingredients for salsa in my Cuisinart. Does stuff make me happy? Yeah, kind of. And I'm not the kind of person who has big fancy stuff to impress other people. I have the stuff because I like it. Having a nice home means a lot to me, and in fact, in the Radical Homemakers book, the author mentions that most of the people had gone to a great deal of trouble to have a comfortable, personalized home. That's all I want. I don't want the model home. I want a place that is unique to the three of us, and I want our guests to feel at home.
In an anti-stuff moment I was having the other day, I thought about deleting my Amazon wish list. I thought that I could ask people, for Christmas and my birthday, to make me something homemade, or write me a letter, or take me on a weekend trip. I could go to the library for books! But that thought quickly passed. I like my stuff. I know not everyone has time to make something by hand or to write a letter. Still, I know I don't need to bring home $100 worth of junk every two weeks. I can curb that.
Punk rock girl, let's go slam dance. We'll dress like Minnie Pearl. -- Dead Milkmen
Re-using stuff is a great way to get a foot out the door of corporate culture. When I buy a vintage dress on eBay, the money isn't going to Sam Walton or to China. It's going to some gal in Nevada. When I buy a vintage dress at a shop here in town, it's going to someone who is going to spend more money here in town. I can feel good about that. Even more so, because according to that book, $1 spent locally has three times the local impact of $1 given to a chain. And I've already told you how good I feel in vintage clothes. The problem is that I can't really (and don't want to) wear vintage all the time. I want to go camping, and work in the yard, and those things require shorts and jeans and t-shirts. I want to look professional, and though it's possible to look professional in vintage, it always stands out, doesn't it? The other day I was wearing a vintage dress and I got called in to a serious meeting. I looked fabulously cute, but did I really want to be the faculty member's union representative in gaudy florals?
So it may not always be appropriate, but I'll at least try to buy less stuff new. The author of Made From Scratch points out that a box grater sitting in the antique store has been working for forty years, so it will likely serve you for a few more years, too. Unlike, of course, my Target model, whose handle has already come loose.
Ch-ch-ch-changes. Don't want to be a richer man... Just gonna have to be a different man... Time may change me. -- David Bowie
Back to mentoring my students for a moment: I have been helping them write personal statements for college applications, and the kinds of questions I've been asking them to consider are "Who are you? What kind of qualities are you presenting to the reader of this? What is it you want to say about yourself?" Obviously, my personal introspection shows that I don't believe we're ever done asking those questions. I was interested in the environment when I was in high school, but I know so much more now about the consequences of my actions and all the little changes I can make on a daily basis. Back then, I harangued my grandparents into recycling. Now, I talk to friends about line drying my clothes or composting. This blog post is of great length -- I know, and I'm sorry. I am willing to bet that most of you will skim and skip parts instead of reading it all, and that's fine. Really, it's just a way for me to express and record my thoughts. But I think the introspection is important. If we aren't constantly re-evaluating what we can do better, and why we are making the choices we make, are we continuing to grow? And if not, what's the opposite, stagnation? I hope I am seventy someday and am questioning the choices I make.
Radical Homemakers has prompted a lot of thinking, but I don't suspect I'm going to quit my job and grow blueberries. A lot of the ideas are impractical for me. I can't really have an '85 Buick, because I don't know how to maintain it, so I'd pay a lot to do so. I can't make all our food, because I have obligations, like a job. And I won't quit my job, because I don't think of myself as just a wage slave: I really believe I'm doing good in the world by helping these students be better communicators and better readers, not just of written material, but of the world at large. If I was making $30,000 doing data entry, I might think about it. But I read once that a child needs only three things to escape from a difficult life, and one of them is an adult, any adult, who cares about them. If I can be that to some of my students -- one a year, even -- then I am doing more good there than I would be at home. So I am going to do what I always do: taking what works for me and leaving aside, but with respect, those that don't. Sometimes I worry that may be my biggest problem: I am diplomatic and balanced and whatever to the point that I lack conviction. I'll have to shield myself with the words of William Butler Yeats: "The best lack all conviction, while the worst/ are full of passionate intensity."
*Although "Eat for Two" is a sad song about the woman's "folly" in getting pregnant, I have always loved that line and interpret it in an entirely different way.
** I had a college professor once who said that if you ever didn't know the answer to something, you should answer "the industrial revolution," because there would be a pretty good chance that you'd be right.
*** Their CEO gave $150,000 to a political campaign closely allied with some hate groups. I personally am boycotting on behalf of gay rights, but many fellow Target boycotters are doing so on the general principal that corporations shouldn't try to influence elections at all. I think that's a valid point, but giving corporations the opportunity to do so was totally Congress' fault, and I kind of feel like we ought to boycott their asses for that.
**** Today was an exception. I went to Smart and Final and spent an assload on storage containers, because we have those infernal moths that get in your dry goods, and we can't, for the life of us, figure out what they're in. I bought enough containers to put almost all our non-refrigerated food in. If you've ever had those moths, though, you won't blame me.
I can distinctly remember, in my early twenties, deciding who and what and how I wanted to be. I always tell the students not to worry about what they want to major in, but to try everything and see what their passion is. It's true, I think, and good advice, but not really advice I followed. Although I waffled in about the eighth grade, I was always pretty sure I wanted to be a teacher. But in some ways, what you want to be is one of the lesser things you have to worry about. I mean, you are a doctor or janitor or strawberry picker or whatever for maybe 8 hours a day. What are you the other 16? And I remember clearly thinking, "I just hope people remember me as kind." In fact, I remember thinking that a really awesome headstone inscription (not that I've ever wanted a headstone, but you know...) would be "Count Mockula: 1976- 20?? She was kind."
I eat for two, walk for two, breathe for two now. -- 10,000 Maniacs*
But then! Oh my god! Just after I had the baby I wrote that a Big Bang of love had gone off in my heart. And in an instant I realized, through my sleep-deprived new mommy brain, that being kind wasn't enough. I had to be a good mother, too. And that involved a lot more than kindness. As I wrote in one of my recent posts, I have to teach her my values by living them. And although Sweetie and I are ironic, jaded, technophilic, sarcastic 30-somethings, I think both of us have strong moral values. A few years ago, he started trying to up the number of volunteer hours he was doing, mainly for his work resume. I tagged along, partly because I was going to drop him off anyway, right? But after a few of these volunteer sessions, we quietly expressed to each other that it felt good to do them, too. And as you know if you've been following this for any length of time, I try to live up to my convictions in other ways, too, particularly as a steward of the earth. (Whoa, that sounded REALLY hippie.)
God Money's not looking for the cure. God Money's not concerned about the sick among the pure. -- Nine Inch Nails
To that end, I've been learning about something called urban homesteading. Although there are a lot of individual things people can do, like growing more food, using less energy, and building community, one idea that keeps popping up is that of contributing less to corporate culture. Stop making the rich people richer, as it were, and build what you can build, grow what you can grow, contribute to the wealth of your community. Barter, re-use, buy used goods, make things from scratch instead of buying them... I have been doing some of these things, although I think this is an area that needs a lot more attention on my part.
I've been surprisingly invested in a book called Radical Homemakers, which I picked up on the suggestion of a friend. On the front cover is a picture of a woman triumphantly holding up a rolling pin. I thought it would be full of portraits of people living closer to the earth. I was surprised, then, to find that the first half of the book is a pretty academic treatise on how homemaking came to be de-valued and how it was replaced by consumerism. Super-Cliff's-Notes version? People used to make all their own stuff (men and women together). Then the industrial revolution** came and men had to go get jobs outside the house. When it was women alone doing the homemaking, the work was less appreciated. Marketers jumped on the opportunity to sell them products to make the home-making easier and faster (although many of them ended up requiring MORE maintenance and more work). Women become consumers instead of producers, leading to the whole Feminine Mystique thing (essentially, women felt worthless because they weren't doing much of value at home). To remedy that, they went out into the work force, so now we pay people to bake our bread and sew our clothing, increasing the consumerism even more.
Also interesting are the statistics the author presents about how much money we make vs. how happy we actually are. There are some really good arguments that mo' money does, in fact, create mo' problems. One striking statistic was that once a family makes over about $10,000 per person per year, there is no reported increase in happiness no matter how much more money they make.
And there's something in particular that makes me not want to make the rich richer right now: about 90% of them are whiny fucking greedy bastards. Obama so much as suggests ending a tax cut (not raising taxes, mind you, but ending a cut), and they go all "You're Hitler!" on him. Taxes on the wealthiest 1% are lower than they were in many other eras in our history, and the first $250,000 they make each year isn't taxed at all (more than pretty much anyone I know makes, by the way). Warren Buffet admits publicly that his secretary pays more in taxes than he does. Bankers get bailouts for fucking up their businesses (and not just accidentally, but maliciously in many cases), and then they throw a big stomping tantrum when someone suggests limiting their bonuses. And there are so many other ways the government makes being rich really goddamn convenient. If you buy a fancy SUV and you're a business owner, guess how much of a tax deduction you can get for it? Up to $35,000. Guess how much of a tax deduction a single mom can get for buying a used Honda Civic?
Do you have some shoes that you really love? Ones that you feel so flash in. -- Donovan
I love stuff. I don't even know where my love of stuff came from, but stuff is really important to me. Twice today I had occasion to reflect on this. First, I was going through some of Zadie's things for Goodwill. She suggested that I put a blanket in the bag, and my heart stopped. "No! We can't give that away! Someone we love made that for you. We can give away things that aren't meaningful to us, but I like to keep the things that people made us because they love us." I put the blanket back with the other two drawers' worth of hand-made blankets.
Then in the grocery store, I let her take a book in. She read it in the cart, and when we got back into the car, I buckled her into her car seat, and I held on to the book for a moment while I did. She asked "Why did we leave the book in the store?" She was clearly upset at the idea of losing the book. I had to show it to her twice before she settled down. I flashed back to my childhood, and the almost crippling fear I had of losing my toys. I remember once taking a Tazmanian Devil toy on a road trip, and refusing to roll down the window all the way for fear that the wind would pick up "Tazzy" and pull him out into the void.
I may need to confront some of these feelings. Not only do I love stuff and feel attached to it, I constantly bring it back into the house. Not Hoarders-style, but a lot. I recently started boycotting Target***. I went there every couple weeks and bought toothpaste, floss, cat litter, cleaning supplies, toys, batteries, snack foods, clothes, accessories... basically, my list would be about three items long, but since I was there anyway, I'd mosey down the aisles and pick up other things. I'd think "Oh, I need this!" and throw it in the cart. I rarely left Target with a receipt reflecting less than $100, even if my list had been cat litter and Listerine.
Initially, I participated in a group keeping track of things they bought elsewhere and how much money they hadn't given to Target. I bought things at CVS instead, or at Costco. But as time has worn on, I've found that I really didn't need all that crap I was buying, and I stopped participating in the group because, well, I'm not buying stuff elsewhere as much. I'm just not buying stuff as much at all****.
That doesn't mean I'm going to go all minimalist on you. I knew a guy once who got rid of almost everything he owned. I was horrified, and I still am. My home offers me a lot of comfort. I like to look around after we clean on a Saturday morning and see all the things we've collected and sit on my comfy couch and admire my Alice teapots. I like to serve food on my Fiestaware. I like the convenience of chopping all the ingredients for salsa in my Cuisinart. Does stuff make me happy? Yeah, kind of. And I'm not the kind of person who has big fancy stuff to impress other people. I have the stuff because I like it. Having a nice home means a lot to me, and in fact, in the Radical Homemakers book, the author mentions that most of the people had gone to a great deal of trouble to have a comfortable, personalized home. That's all I want. I don't want the model home. I want a place that is unique to the three of us, and I want our guests to feel at home.
In an anti-stuff moment I was having the other day, I thought about deleting my Amazon wish list. I thought that I could ask people, for Christmas and my birthday, to make me something homemade, or write me a letter, or take me on a weekend trip. I could go to the library for books! But that thought quickly passed. I like my stuff. I know not everyone has time to make something by hand or to write a letter. Still, I know I don't need to bring home $100 worth of junk every two weeks. I can curb that.
Punk rock girl, let's go slam dance. We'll dress like Minnie Pearl. -- Dead Milkmen
Re-using stuff is a great way to get a foot out the door of corporate culture. When I buy a vintage dress on eBay, the money isn't going to Sam Walton or to China. It's going to some gal in Nevada. When I buy a vintage dress at a shop here in town, it's going to someone who is going to spend more money here in town. I can feel good about that. Even more so, because according to that book, $1 spent locally has three times the local impact of $1 given to a chain. And I've already told you how good I feel in vintage clothes. The problem is that I can't really (and don't want to) wear vintage all the time. I want to go camping, and work in the yard, and those things require shorts and jeans and t-shirts. I want to look professional, and though it's possible to look professional in vintage, it always stands out, doesn't it? The other day I was wearing a vintage dress and I got called in to a serious meeting. I looked fabulously cute, but did I really want to be the faculty member's union representative in gaudy florals?
So it may not always be appropriate, but I'll at least try to buy less stuff new. The author of Made From Scratch points out that a box grater sitting in the antique store has been working for forty years, so it will likely serve you for a few more years, too. Unlike, of course, my Target model, whose handle has already come loose.
Ch-ch-ch-changes. Don't want to be a richer man... Just gonna have to be a different man... Time may change me. -- David Bowie
Back to mentoring my students for a moment: I have been helping them write personal statements for college applications, and the kinds of questions I've been asking them to consider are "Who are you? What kind of qualities are you presenting to the reader of this? What is it you want to say about yourself?" Obviously, my personal introspection shows that I don't believe we're ever done asking those questions. I was interested in the environment when I was in high school, but I know so much more now about the consequences of my actions and all the little changes I can make on a daily basis. Back then, I harangued my grandparents into recycling. Now, I talk to friends about line drying my clothes or composting. This blog post is of great length -- I know, and I'm sorry. I am willing to bet that most of you will skim and skip parts instead of reading it all, and that's fine. Really, it's just a way for me to express and record my thoughts. But I think the introspection is important. If we aren't constantly re-evaluating what we can do better, and why we are making the choices we make, are we continuing to grow? And if not, what's the opposite, stagnation? I hope I am seventy someday and am questioning the choices I make.
Radical Homemakers has prompted a lot of thinking, but I don't suspect I'm going to quit my job and grow blueberries. A lot of the ideas are impractical for me. I can't really have an '85 Buick, because I don't know how to maintain it, so I'd pay a lot to do so. I can't make all our food, because I have obligations, like a job. And I won't quit my job, because I don't think of myself as just a wage slave: I really believe I'm doing good in the world by helping these students be better communicators and better readers, not just of written material, but of the world at large. If I was making $30,000 doing data entry, I might think about it. But I read once that a child needs only three things to escape from a difficult life, and one of them is an adult, any adult, who cares about them. If I can be that to some of my students -- one a year, even -- then I am doing more good there than I would be at home. So I am going to do what I always do: taking what works for me and leaving aside, but with respect, those that don't. Sometimes I worry that may be my biggest problem: I am diplomatic and balanced and whatever to the point that I lack conviction. I'll have to shield myself with the words of William Butler Yeats: "The best lack all conviction, while the worst/ are full of passionate intensity."
*Although "Eat for Two" is a sad song about the woman's "folly" in getting pregnant, I have always loved that line and interpret it in an entirely different way.
** I had a college professor once who said that if you ever didn't know the answer to something, you should answer "the industrial revolution," because there would be a pretty good chance that you'd be right.
*** Their CEO gave $150,000 to a political campaign closely allied with some hate groups. I personally am boycotting on behalf of gay rights, but many fellow Target boycotters are doing so on the general principal that corporations shouldn't try to influence elections at all. I think that's a valid point, but giving corporations the opportunity to do so was totally Congress' fault, and I kind of feel like we ought to boycott their asses for that.
**** Today was an exception. I went to Smart and Final and spent an assload on storage containers, because we have those infernal moths that get in your dry goods, and we can't, for the life of us, figure out what they're in. I bought enough containers to put almost all our non-refrigerated food in. If you've ever had those moths, though, you won't blame me.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Why did you stop?
This morning I dilly-dallied a little. Then when I actually needed to get a move on, I realized I needed a coat. And Zadie needed a coat. And my bag was too heavy to carry everything in one trip, so I carried it out to the car first, and then I needed some jewelry, because it was back to school night, and then I checked to make sure I had my lunch, and, well, you know how it goes. I was running late.
On Folsom Blvd. at about 42nd, I saw a car stopped half-way around the corner. I didn't see anything impeding his progress, so I looked more closely to see what he was doing. Then I saw the man lying in the street in front of the car.
I hesitated. I really did. I was so busy, and the driver was already getting out, and many more people would drive by in just a moment... and I was SO late.
But I pulled over, put on my hazards, got the camera application on my phone ready, got out, took a quick picture of the car's license plate, and walked around to see what was going on. By that time, the guy on the ground, a cyclist, was getting up and walking his bike across the street to the sidewalk. The driver said he had offered him help and he had refused. Since the cyclist was leaving the scene, I figured I wasn't needed, and I went back to the car.
This is something I might have... probably would have done before Zadie. In fact, motherhood in many ways just makes me less likely to help. I don't want to leave her alone in the car. I don't trust other drivers not to hit the car while I'm not in it.
But the questions she asked me afterwards made me realize something. I will always have to follow my best impulses. She needed to know why we stopped. Why we had the hazard lights on. Was the cyclist a bad guy? Was he okay? What did I do?
And answering those questions honestly was a learning experience, and, although I knew it intellectually before, I really realized in my gut that I am not teaching her values through what I say. I am teaching her values through what I do. So I have to do what's right. Even when it's inconvenient. Even when I'm in a hurry. Especially then. Because it shows that it matters.
On Folsom Blvd. at about 42nd, I saw a car stopped half-way around the corner. I didn't see anything impeding his progress, so I looked more closely to see what he was doing. Then I saw the man lying in the street in front of the car.
I hesitated. I really did. I was so busy, and the driver was already getting out, and many more people would drive by in just a moment... and I was SO late.
But I pulled over, put on my hazards, got the camera application on my phone ready, got out, took a quick picture of the car's license plate, and walked around to see what was going on. By that time, the guy on the ground, a cyclist, was getting up and walking his bike across the street to the sidewalk. The driver said he had offered him help and he had refused. Since the cyclist was leaving the scene, I figured I wasn't needed, and I went back to the car.
This is something I might have... probably would have done before Zadie. In fact, motherhood in many ways just makes me less likely to help. I don't want to leave her alone in the car. I don't trust other drivers not to hit the car while I'm not in it.
But the questions she asked me afterwards made me realize something. I will always have to follow my best impulses. She needed to know why we stopped. Why we had the hazard lights on. Was the cyclist a bad guy? Was he okay? What did I do?
And answering those questions honestly was a learning experience, and, although I knew it intellectually before, I really realized in my gut that I am not teaching her values through what I say. I am teaching her values through what I do. So I have to do what's right. Even when it's inconvenient. Even when I'm in a hurry. Especially then. Because it shows that it matters.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Ooh, and the logic...
We're not the kind of parents who will let a kid argue any point. But damn, does she ever try. The other night we told her it was almost time for bed, because it was getting dark. She said "But I can see the trees."
She was eating her healthy snack at pre-school yesterday, when a mom came by with a cookie. Zadie abandoned the crackers in favor of the cookie, and my mom said "You should finish your snack first." Zadie said "But she gave it to me!"
And man, when she wants something, she sure as hell tries to get it. Tonight it was all pathos. I suggested to Sweetie that he take her to the Daddy and Me soccer at our nearby park. It's on Saturday mornings, which is our cleaning morning, so he started to decline. She said "Oh, but I want to play soccer with you, Daddy, because you're my GREAT DADDY and I love you!"
She was eating her healthy snack at pre-school yesterday, when a mom came by with a cookie. Zadie abandoned the crackers in favor of the cookie, and my mom said "You should finish your snack first." Zadie said "But she gave it to me!"
And man, when she wants something, she sure as hell tries to get it. Tonight it was all pathos. I suggested to Sweetie that he take her to the Daddy and Me soccer at our nearby park. It's on Saturday mornings, which is our cleaning morning, so he started to decline. She said "Oh, but I want to play soccer with you, Daddy, because you're my GREAT DADDY and I love you!"
My awesome kid.
Have I told you lately how awesome Zadie is? Well, she totally is.
She went to ArtBeast the other day and made two paintings. Mom asked her to tell me what they were, and she said "This one is a poppy and this one is the sun in the jungle." Pretty cool, huh?
I don't even need to label which is which, 'cause I bet you can tell.
Also this week, she was drawing, and she said "I drawed an A!" Mom looked at the paper, and sure enough, she had drawn an A. She went on to make am M and another letter. She had made a Z a few weeks ago, but I thought it was a fluke.
Furthermore, she made a picture for Sweetie, helped pick out all the foam letters and glued them on. She only got one D backwards, but otherwise it was a perfect "DADDY."
And then at pre-school, she not only sat through all the songs and everything, but get this: when she was playing with a toy, another kid came over and grabbed it. The other kid's dad started to give her the whole "we don't grab stuff" lecture, and Zadie said (this is a direct quote, according to Mom), "That's okay. We can be friends. Let's share."
Also, she is still hysterical. The other day, she was playing with Boompah and Mom went in the room. Zadie said "Uh, Grandma, we want some privacy." Mom complied, and as she was walking out, heard Zadie say "Why did I tell your wife to leave?"
Sweetie got a statue of Cthulu, the monster-thing from the H. P. Lovecraft horror stories. Zadie kind of likes it, and she learned its name. So today, we were listening to Three Dog Night's "Joy to the World." She asked why they were saying "boys and girls," and I answered that they were saying joy to everyone. She asked "Are they saying joy to Great Cthulu, too?" I busted up laughing, but then agreed that if Cthulu was in the world, I guess they were saying joy to him, too. Then she asked about indricotherium, and how indricotherium and Cthulu were different and alike, and just why tentacles were creepy. I remember talking to my friend Fiona years ago about how much of what we say has already been said by someone else, but I'm guessing no one has ever had that conversation before.
She went to ArtBeast the other day and made two paintings. Mom asked her to tell me what they were, and she said "This one is a poppy and this one is the sun in the jungle." Pretty cool, huh?
I don't even need to label which is which, 'cause I bet you can tell.
Also this week, she was drawing, and she said "I drawed an A!" Mom looked at the paper, and sure enough, she had drawn an A. She went on to make am M and another letter. She had made a Z a few weeks ago, but I thought it was a fluke.
Furthermore, she made a picture for Sweetie, helped pick out all the foam letters and glued them on. She only got one D backwards, but otherwise it was a perfect "DADDY."
And then at pre-school, she not only sat through all the songs and everything, but get this: when she was playing with a toy, another kid came over and grabbed it. The other kid's dad started to give her the whole "we don't grab stuff" lecture, and Zadie said (this is a direct quote, according to Mom), "That's okay. We can be friends. Let's share."
Also, she is still hysterical. The other day, she was playing with Boompah and Mom went in the room. Zadie said "Uh, Grandma, we want some privacy." Mom complied, and as she was walking out, heard Zadie say "Why did I tell your wife to leave?"
Sweetie got a statue of Cthulu, the monster-thing from the H. P. Lovecraft horror stories. Zadie kind of likes it, and she learned its name. So today, we were listening to Three Dog Night's "Joy to the World." She asked why they were saying "boys and girls," and I answered that they were saying joy to everyone. She asked "Are they saying joy to Great Cthulu, too?" I busted up laughing, but then agreed that if Cthulu was in the world, I guess they were saying joy to him, too. Then she asked about indricotherium, and how indricotherium and Cthulu were different and alike, and just why tentacles were creepy. I remember talking to my friend Fiona years ago about how much of what we say has already been said by someone else, but I'm guessing no one has ever had that conversation before.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Swimmingly
Well, everything is going pretty well just at the moment. School has started and I have a good group of kids. Well, five good groups! My juniors are a huge relief... I had a few of them as freshmen and they were AWFUL; low skills, no motivation. And I knew that the sophomore teacher had had the same issues or worse. So I expected to get the same this year, but in fact, the makeup of the class has totally changed, and the students are surprisingly capable. My seniors, who were my awful juniors last year, have been allocated in such a way that they aren't all together (and getting on each others' nerves) all day, so that helps. And my honors classes are who they are, you know?
I have been experimenting with my classroom, making some changes to the seating chart, to the way I present things in the room (like work on the walls), to the shelves where they keep their binders, etc. You know how sometimes you make some change in your house, like you move the silverware drawer, and then you're like "Jeez, why haven't I had it like this forever?!" It's all sort of working out that way.
I've decided to work on organization as a personal goal, and I'm getting those kinds of things in order, too. I know it's only the second week of school, but I'm getting on top of things, setting up an efficient system, and in general, I'm feeling good about that.
The early gym time is still working great, and I FINALLY seem to have broken out of that plateau. I'm not saying I'm losing quickly, but I have a new number in the tens place again, and I'm about the same weight I was when I got pregnant. Now, please understand, I was fat when I got pregnant. So to say that I have lost the baby weight doesn't mean I'm back to Angelina Jolie proportions, but my mom assures me that it is something. So I'll say it: I've lost the baby weight.
And speaking of the baby! I know I talk a lot about her, but what may not be apparent is how much she has changed in the last few months. At the end of spring, she was really being an asshole a lot of the time. The terrible twos, we figured. She would tell us to go away, that she didn't like us. She would vengefully pee. She would scream and kick and hit. She was having so many time outs she had permanent time-out-chair embroidery patterns on her butt (okay, not really, but close). But starting in mid-summer, she really, really chilled out. She became pleasant to be around. She does what we ask her most of the time. She hardly ever has time-outs. She spontaneously tells us she loves us. It feels like she was just advanced there, too... her terrible twos lasted from 18 months to 28 months. Not that she doesn't have her moments: she threw a fit just the other day because I wouldn't let her wear an outfit she wanted to. But she also helps me cook dinner every night, helps clean up messes, can "read" quietly for a while, and can be talked to reasonably about most things. It's cool.
And of course, this never changes or fluctuates: I still have the greatest husband around.
I hope everything is going as swimmingly for you.
I have been experimenting with my classroom, making some changes to the seating chart, to the way I present things in the room (like work on the walls), to the shelves where they keep their binders, etc. You know how sometimes you make some change in your house, like you move the silverware drawer, and then you're like "Jeez, why haven't I had it like this forever?!" It's all sort of working out that way.
I've decided to work on organization as a personal goal, and I'm getting those kinds of things in order, too. I know it's only the second week of school, but I'm getting on top of things, setting up an efficient system, and in general, I'm feeling good about that.
The early gym time is still working great, and I FINALLY seem to have broken out of that plateau. I'm not saying I'm losing quickly, but I have a new number in the tens place again, and I'm about the same weight I was when I got pregnant. Now, please understand, I was fat when I got pregnant. So to say that I have lost the baby weight doesn't mean I'm back to Angelina Jolie proportions, but my mom assures me that it is something. So I'll say it: I've lost the baby weight.
And speaking of the baby! I know I talk a lot about her, but what may not be apparent is how much she has changed in the last few months. At the end of spring, she was really being an asshole a lot of the time. The terrible twos, we figured. She would tell us to go away, that she didn't like us. She would vengefully pee. She would scream and kick and hit. She was having so many time outs she had permanent time-out-chair embroidery patterns on her butt (okay, not really, but close). But starting in mid-summer, she really, really chilled out. She became pleasant to be around. She does what we ask her most of the time. She hardly ever has time-outs. She spontaneously tells us she loves us. It feels like she was just advanced there, too... her terrible twos lasted from 18 months to 28 months. Not that she doesn't have her moments: she threw a fit just the other day because I wouldn't let her wear an outfit she wanted to. But she also helps me cook dinner every night, helps clean up messes, can "read" quietly for a while, and can be talked to reasonably about most things. It's cool.
And of course, this never changes or fluctuates: I still have the greatest husband around.
I hope everything is going as swimmingly for you.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Just taking dictation.
It was a... I want to tell a CInderella story. And Cinderella was quite confused so she brought over a pumpkin and she... and she went away to her castle. And she was happily every after.
Do you want a Princess and a skeleton and a ghost story? And maybe a pumpkin? And a Cinderella story? Do you like Cinderella? And do you also like pumpkins? "Are you a bad witch or a good witch?" Now be Dorothy! I'll be the mean witch.
[Tell me a story, mean witch.]
Uh, I'm kind of old, so I can't. I'm sorry, I can't tell you a story. Stories are for other children, um, like, Annabel. I'm the mean witch. Yes, I am.
I'm a good witch. Of course I'm a good witch. I'm a good witch! I'm the good witch in the Wizard of Oz.
Do you want a Princess and a skeleton and a ghost story? And maybe a pumpkin? And a Cinderella story? Do you like Cinderella? And do you also like pumpkins? "Are you a bad witch or a good witch?" Now be Dorothy! I'll be the mean witch.
[Tell me a story, mean witch.]
Uh, I'm kind of old, so I can't. I'm sorry, I can't tell you a story. Stories are for other children, um, like, Annabel. I'm the mean witch. Yes, I am.
I'm a good witch. Of course I'm a good witch. I'm a good witch! I'm the good witch in the Wizard of Oz.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Who wants Zadie pictures? You do? Okay!
Are you shocked that she put this lipstick on all by herself?
For no apparent reason (ahem, yeahright), we get a lot of action shots.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
So much I haven't mentioned...
I'm back at school. I seem to have a pretty good group. The juniors include some of the really rough class I had two years ago, but it's a better mix, I think. The seniors are pretty great, overall. I have two IB senior classes and two college prep senior classes. One class has four, ahem, under-motivated kids in it. I had them last year and let it slip a little to the point that they were disrupting others' learning. This year, I believe I have shown them that's not going to fly, but since they didn't magically transform over the summer, I know I have a battle ahead and will have to stay on top of it. They're definitely testing to see if I'm serious.
Zadie has started pre-school! Mom put her on a waiting list for a nearby pre-school program when she was just tiny (it's a long waiting list) and earlier this summer I was getting the occasional phone call along the lines of "Do we have your correct email?" and "Did you already pay the pre-registration fee?" Then they emailed to say that pre-school was starting, Z was in, and we had to have immunization records, TB tests, a money order, birth certificate, etc. and come to a meeting. But they didn't announce when the class actually started. Finally I got an email this week that it started Friday! I plan to take about one day a month off to attend, and Mom is going most of the rest of the time (Sweetie is going to try when he's not so busy teaching). Mom took her yesterday, and she had a great time. She made some art, played with some toys, participated in the song/dance circle for about 2 1/2 songs, and then had a snack and played outside. She REALLY didn't want to leave. I talked to her on the phone at lunchtime, and she said "I had SO MUCH FUN!" She also keeps asking if she can go back.
I posted some photos, but I didn't mention that she has her first big girl haircut. We went to the Sweet Salon (where, incidentally, every single other kid on our street gets their hair cut). We had heard good things, and they were all true. She got a great cut for $17, and they kept her entertained/distracted the entire time (whereas I can't usually get her to sit still to simply brush her hair). She looks so grown up, and I personally think the cut looks great on her.
Life around here is pretty good. The weather has been freakish. Like, it went from 112 to 75 to 102 to raining in the last couple weeks. I have to check the weather every morning before I get dressed.
I had a poetry reading at the end of August, and because I hadn't written anything since my last poetry reading a few years ago, I made a goal of writing a poem a night from the time I got invited until the reading. I was a little nervous that I had lost it or was out of practice or had had a limited amount of talent and used it all up. But the audience seemed appreciative, so maybe it was okay. I have slacked off again, but I am going to try writing more. I even joined a writers' group. We haven't met yet, but I think it will motivate me.
I'm blogging more at Count Broccula again (check the sidebar for a link) if you're interested in cooking stuff. I also got interviewed for an internet-friend's blog. We should have a name for internet friends. E-pal? Interfriend? Webuddy?
Zadie seems to be getting over the nursing thing. She hasn't asked about it in a few days, and apparently she's been working it out a lot with Grandma, clarifying things like that when babies get bigger, they don't nurse anymore. And we are still cuddling and enjoying closeness. Naptimes are harder, because I used to boob her to sleep, and now I have to put her in the crib (I wish she'd stay in her bed, but she won't). On the other hand, that means I'm not immobilized by a sweaty sleeping baby for two hours, either.
I bought another vintage dress on eBay. I think I probably have as many now as I did in my early 20s, before I gave a bunch away when I lost weight. I love wearing vintage. I know, of course, that there are other women (and men) who wear vintage clothes beautifully (there are whole Flickr groups devoted to the subject), but I still feel unique when I do. You know, everyone else is dressed in muted tones, and I get to wear vivid florals. Everyone else is in boot-cut tailored slacks and I'm wearing a full circle skirt. It's fun.
Finally, today is September 11. I didn't forget. I've re-written something 3 or 4 times. I just don't know what to say. The banners that say "Never Forget" seem so redundant. How could we? All over Facebook are people recounting what they were doing when they heard. But it isn't about me getting ready for work, is it? It isn't about any of us. It's about all of us.
Zadie has started pre-school! Mom put her on a waiting list for a nearby pre-school program when she was just tiny (it's a long waiting list) and earlier this summer I was getting the occasional phone call along the lines of "Do we have your correct email?" and "Did you already pay the pre-registration fee?" Then they emailed to say that pre-school was starting, Z was in, and we had to have immunization records, TB tests, a money order, birth certificate, etc. and come to a meeting. But they didn't announce when the class actually started. Finally I got an email this week that it started Friday! I plan to take about one day a month off to attend, and Mom is going most of the rest of the time (Sweetie is going to try when he's not so busy teaching). Mom took her yesterday, and she had a great time. She made some art, played with some toys, participated in the song/dance circle for about 2 1/2 songs, and then had a snack and played outside. She REALLY didn't want to leave. I talked to her on the phone at lunchtime, and she said "I had SO MUCH FUN!" She also keeps asking if she can go back.
I posted some photos, but I didn't mention that she has her first big girl haircut. We went to the Sweet Salon (where, incidentally, every single other kid on our street gets their hair cut). We had heard good things, and they were all true. She got a great cut for $17, and they kept her entertained/distracted the entire time (whereas I can't usually get her to sit still to simply brush her hair). She looks so grown up, and I personally think the cut looks great on her.
Life around here is pretty good. The weather has been freakish. Like, it went from 112 to 75 to 102 to raining in the last couple weeks. I have to check the weather every morning before I get dressed.
I had a poetry reading at the end of August, and because I hadn't written anything since my last poetry reading a few years ago, I made a goal of writing a poem a night from the time I got invited until the reading. I was a little nervous that I had lost it or was out of practice or had had a limited amount of talent and used it all up. But the audience seemed appreciative, so maybe it was okay. I have slacked off again, but I am going to try writing more. I even joined a writers' group. We haven't met yet, but I think it will motivate me.
I'm blogging more at Count Broccula again (check the sidebar for a link) if you're interested in cooking stuff. I also got interviewed for an internet-friend's blog. We should have a name for internet friends. E-pal? Interfriend? Webuddy?
Zadie seems to be getting over the nursing thing. She hasn't asked about it in a few days, and apparently she's been working it out a lot with Grandma, clarifying things like that when babies get bigger, they don't nurse anymore. And we are still cuddling and enjoying closeness. Naptimes are harder, because I used to boob her to sleep, and now I have to put her in the crib (I wish she'd stay in her bed, but she won't). On the other hand, that means I'm not immobilized by a sweaty sleeping baby for two hours, either.
I bought another vintage dress on eBay. I think I probably have as many now as I did in my early 20s, before I gave a bunch away when I lost weight. I love wearing vintage. I know, of course, that there are other women (and men) who wear vintage clothes beautifully (there are whole Flickr groups devoted to the subject), but I still feel unique when I do. You know, everyone else is dressed in muted tones, and I get to wear vivid florals. Everyone else is in boot-cut tailored slacks and I'm wearing a full circle skirt. It's fun.
Finally, today is September 11. I didn't forget. I've re-written something 3 or 4 times. I just don't know what to say. The banners that say "Never Forget" seem so redundant. How could we? All over Facebook are people recounting what they were doing when they heard. But it isn't about me getting ready for work, is it? It isn't about any of us. It's about all of us.
Wednesday, September 08, 2010
I love my Laptop Lunch
(Just FYI, I'm not popular or cool enough to get shit sent to me for review, so any products I ever mention are things I've paid for my damn self.)
Anyway, I got one of these a few weeks ago, and I've been taking my lunch to school in it. I have every intention of making myself something different every week, but this week I made cooked black beans and cooked, diced sweet potato. I put that mix in one of the medium size containers, put a little sauce in the tiny one (one day I used spicy barbecue sauce, another day I used salsa verde, and for tomorrow I packed a teriyaki), cut fruit for the other medium one, and in the remaining containers, I put my chocolate cat cookies in one and another treat in the other. So far I've had mixed nuts, goldfish crackers, and in tomorrow's lunch are olives.
It's good in terms of portion control and variety, it keeps my fruit from getting smooshed, I can heat things in it without worrying about toxic chemicals disrupting my endocrine system, and there's no waste! I guess that's an endorsement, huh?
Tuesday, September 07, 2010
Working out
Hey, how's working out working out? It's actually going pretty well. At one point a while back, I could have told you exactly how many weeks in a row I had worked out 5 or more days a week. But I can't even tell you anymore, because it's no longer remarkable, it's just routine. I work out 6 days a week, but if I miss a day, I don't kick my own butt over it. I'm still going at 5 am, which seemed crazy and impossible three weeks ago, and is instead the new normal.
So how did I make the change? Well, I would say there were two factors. First, I was just really determined. I made up my mind that I was going to do it, and I did it.
Second, I've been trying hard to set myself up for success. All the things that might have been obstacles before, I have eliminated. My alarm clock is unreliable? I recruited my husband to wake me. I don't want to wake the baby by digging gym clothes out of drawers? I set my clothes out the night before. Can't work out if I don't have music? I've been careful to recharge my iPod whenever it gets to half power. Need something to read? Instead of trying to remember to take the book from my nightstand, I'm just reading two books concurrently and keeping one in my gym bag so I can't forget it.
I think that's a powerful lesson for me. If I really want something, I have to not simply give it a good shot, I have to set up the whole situation so that it is easy for me to follow through.
And is it paying off? Well, in a lot of ways, it is. I have a lot more energy. In fact, even though I've been getting up so early, I don't generally feel tired at all. Also, I am proud of myself for sticking with it. I feel accomplished, which is certainly something. Am I losing weight? Well... no. But it would appear that I'm gaining muscle. My body is changing, I've lost a dress size, and today several students told me I looked "hecka skinny."
One of the biggest changes? When I used to work out on the bike, I would carefully avoid looking in the mirror, because the sight of my body was so discouraging. Now? If I get too hot, I take my shirt off and work out in my sports bra, and you know what? I look good! Sure, I'm still 30 pounds (or more, depending on how you measure) overweight, but I'm not roly-poly anymore -- now I'm "thick." Let's just say that I think the old Mexican guys are going to start looking again.
So how did I make the change? Well, I would say there were two factors. First, I was just really determined. I made up my mind that I was going to do it, and I did it.
Second, I've been trying hard to set myself up for success. All the things that might have been obstacles before, I have eliminated. My alarm clock is unreliable? I recruited my husband to wake me. I don't want to wake the baby by digging gym clothes out of drawers? I set my clothes out the night before. Can't work out if I don't have music? I've been careful to recharge my iPod whenever it gets to half power. Need something to read? Instead of trying to remember to take the book from my nightstand, I'm just reading two books concurrently and keeping one in my gym bag so I can't forget it.
I think that's a powerful lesson for me. If I really want something, I have to not simply give it a good shot, I have to set up the whole situation so that it is easy for me to follow through.
And is it paying off? Well, in a lot of ways, it is. I have a lot more energy. In fact, even though I've been getting up so early, I don't generally feel tired at all. Also, I am proud of myself for sticking with it. I feel accomplished, which is certainly something. Am I losing weight? Well... no. But it would appear that I'm gaining muscle. My body is changing, I've lost a dress size, and today several students told me I looked "hecka skinny."
One of the biggest changes? When I used to work out on the bike, I would carefully avoid looking in the mirror, because the sight of my body was so discouraging. Now? If I get too hot, I take my shirt off and work out in my sports bra, and you know what? I look good! Sure, I'm still 30 pounds (or more, depending on how you measure) overweight, but I'm not roly-poly anymore -- now I'm "thick." Let's just say that I think the old Mexican guys are going to start looking again.
Sunday, September 05, 2010
Conflicted on the weaning thing.
I was kind of hoping that Z would transition pretty easily into this new phase, but she's fighting it tooth and nail. In the past few days, I've heard:
Can I nurse?
Please?
Can I pretend nurse?
Can I really nurse?
Why can't I have boobie time?
I need boobie time before my nap.
I'm touching your boobie.
But I want to nurse. I need to!
I'm not a big girl; I'm a teeny, tiny baby.
And once, she asked if she could just see them, so I figured "what the hell." I slipped my tank top down and she lunged, mouth-first, at my boob.
Here's why I'm conflicted: when I transitioned her into her crib, that was hard for her, but I absolutely knew it was for the best -- she wasn't getting good sleep in our bed, and she started sleeping better right away in the crib. When we potty trained, she was reluctant, but it cleared up her diaper rash issues immediately. Everything I've done, to the best of my ability, has been in her best interest and had her specific needs in mind. I don't know about this, though.
I mean, I know it won't HURT her not to nurse beyond 2 1/2. I know she's no longer getting nutrition or immunity benefits from it. But the lack of badness doesn't equal goodness. I feel like I'm keeping her from something that she really wants, that she feels she needs, and for no other reason than that I think I'm done. Is that selfish? Is it an okay kind of selfish to be?
I believe in extended breastfeeding. I believe in allowing a child to self-wean. And everything I heard from people who say things like "once a kid can ask for it, they're too big to nurse," made no sense to me. The American Academy of Pediatrics and the World Health Organization both support extended breastfeeding, and so did my doctor. But, you know, I have to admit that I didn't expect a potty-trained kid who can take ballet classes, tell fairy tales, and roll out her own pizza dough to still want to curl up for booby time. I'm a little worried that if we continue nursing once she starts pre-school, she might let it slip and the other kids would think it was weird.
I just feel bad at how many (many, many) times I've had to gently say "no" over the last few days, and I'm wondering whether it's the right thing to do to deny her something that gives her so much comfort, for the sole reason that I don't really feel like it anymore. Don't feel like giving my kid comfort. Is that rotten or what?
Can I nurse?
Please?
Can I pretend nurse?
Can I really nurse?
Why can't I have boobie time?
I need boobie time before my nap.
I'm touching your boobie.
But I want to nurse. I need to!
I'm not a big girl; I'm a teeny, tiny baby.
And once, she asked if she could just see them, so I figured "what the hell." I slipped my tank top down and she lunged, mouth-first, at my boob.
Here's why I'm conflicted: when I transitioned her into her crib, that was hard for her, but I absolutely knew it was for the best -- she wasn't getting good sleep in our bed, and she started sleeping better right away in the crib. When we potty trained, she was reluctant, but it cleared up her diaper rash issues immediately. Everything I've done, to the best of my ability, has been in her best interest and had her specific needs in mind. I don't know about this, though.
I mean, I know it won't HURT her not to nurse beyond 2 1/2. I know she's no longer getting nutrition or immunity benefits from it. But the lack of badness doesn't equal goodness. I feel like I'm keeping her from something that she really wants, that she feels she needs, and for no other reason than that I think I'm done. Is that selfish? Is it an okay kind of selfish to be?
I believe in extended breastfeeding. I believe in allowing a child to self-wean. And everything I heard from people who say things like "once a kid can ask for it, they're too big to nurse," made no sense to me. The American Academy of Pediatrics and the World Health Organization both support extended breastfeeding, and so did my doctor. But, you know, I have to admit that I didn't expect a potty-trained kid who can take ballet classes, tell fairy tales, and roll out her own pizza dough to still want to curl up for booby time. I'm a little worried that if we continue nursing once she starts pre-school, she might let it slip and the other kids would think it was weird.
I just feel bad at how many (many, many) times I've had to gently say "no" over the last few days, and I'm wondering whether it's the right thing to do to deny her something that gives her so much comfort, for the sole reason that I don't really feel like it anymore. Don't feel like giving my kid comfort. Is that rotten or what?
Friday, September 03, 2010
Watching her think
It's kind of cool to know a little bit about thinking and learning, then watch it in action in my kid. There's this thing called "Bloom's Taxonomy" that talks about the different levels of thinking, starting with knowledge, going to comprehension, then onwards and upwards to things like synthesis, analysis, and evaluation. Someone with knowledge of the pledge of allegiance, for example, might know all the words. But to have comprehension, you'd have to be able to put it into your own words, explaining, for example, what "allegiance" actually meant. Evaluation might involve writing a critique or a defense of the pledge.
Anyway, Zadie is obviously always learning and shifting through these modes, but sometimes they just flash and whack me in the face with their obviousness. And then I feel lucky to know what I'm seeing. Like this morning at breakfast; Zadie was happily eating when she picked up a chunk of scrambled egg and held it out high toward the side of the table. She grinned. I had no earthly idea what she was doing, so I asked. She said "I'm holding it up to the sunflower because they're both yellow." I agreed, and we talked about what other yellow things we could see, but inside I was thinking "holy shit, she's not just recognizing colors -- she's classifying items into groups based on color. That's hot shit... and it's analysis!"
At ArtBeast later, she was banging on pots with a stick. There's a whole setup for that, and there are trays, strainers, pots, bowls, etc. After a good deal of banging, she pointed to one, gave it a good whack, and told me "This one's the loudest." Which is analysis again -- she's comparing, but I think it's also poking at the highest level, evaluation.
Some of the things she does are just cool, too. Today she had two boats in the water table, and was picking them up, sinking them, pouring out the water, etc. She said "I have two boats." I agreed. Then she said "And now I'm going to have three boats." She picked up another and put it next to the first two. Hell, that's pretty good math.
We were in Beers Books the other day, and she had a Garfield book in her hand. She threw it down and told her that no, we had to put it back. She picked it up and put it on the wrong shelf, and I said no again. "Can you see a pile of books that are closer to the same shape and size as that one? It goes there." She thought for a second, then put it with the other Garfield books. The guy working was impressed. But that's what she's all about -- she can totally think.
She is absolutely fascinated by stories, too. More than almost anything else, she wants to be told stories. And she is figuring out that she has some amount of creative control. First, she just wanted a story. Then she would specifically request the Cinderella story. Then she wanted the Cinderella story but with no wicked step-sisters. Now, no matter what story I tell, she has some input. She wants a story about a princess and a hedgehog (or a shark, a raccoon, an astronaut...). She wants a story about a princess and a goose, and the princess should be named Ariel and the goose should be named Goose Friend, and there should be a cat... with paws. I told the princess and the shark one day with the shark being a friendly non-man-eater, and the next day when she asked for the story again, she specified that he should be a scary, mean shark. A few days ago, I ended a story without having introduced a romantic subplot, and she told me that it wasn't finished because I hadn't told the prince part. (I informed her that not ALL stories revolved around affairs of the heart, but then I added a prince, too.) On Monday she asked me to tell a story about a princess and a skeleton, and I turned it around and asked her to tell it to me instead. She did, complete with dialogue and the important features of the fairy tale genre, like "Once upon a time." Badass, huh?
Oh, and she likes to pretend to be characters. Usually one of us is a witch and the other is a princess (surprisingly, she vacillates between who she wants to be and is frequently the witch). Today I was the mean step-sister in Cinderella, and she was asking if she could go to the ball. I said no, because she didn't have a beautiful dress. She said she did; the mice had made her one. I had to demand to know whether that was MY lace she had used, and when she admitted that it was, it's my job to tear the dress to rags. But she flummoxed me today, telling me I couldn't tear her dress, because she had glued it to herself. She asked if she could go to the ball again. I said no, because we didn't have room in the coach. She said "Yes you do. There's an empty seat right there!" How do you argue with that? She's got good reasoning and problem-solving skills (although hopefully she doesn't actually glue herself into a dress anytime soon).
I'm not saying she's a genius or a prodigy or anything. I do recognize (as objectively as I can be) that she is very bright. But this isn't so much about her being bright as it is about just having my socks knocked off by watching someone acquire knowledge and higher thought processes. It's freakin' cool.
Anyway, Zadie is obviously always learning and shifting through these modes, but sometimes they just flash and whack me in the face with their obviousness. And then I feel lucky to know what I'm seeing. Like this morning at breakfast; Zadie was happily eating when she picked up a chunk of scrambled egg and held it out high toward the side of the table. She grinned. I had no earthly idea what she was doing, so I asked. She said "I'm holding it up to the sunflower because they're both yellow." I agreed, and we talked about what other yellow things we could see, but inside I was thinking "holy shit, she's not just recognizing colors -- she's classifying items into groups based on color. That's hot shit... and it's analysis!"
At ArtBeast later, she was banging on pots with a stick. There's a whole setup for that, and there are trays, strainers, pots, bowls, etc. After a good deal of banging, she pointed to one, gave it a good whack, and told me "This one's the loudest." Which is analysis again -- she's comparing, but I think it's also poking at the highest level, evaluation.
Some of the things she does are just cool, too. Today she had two boats in the water table, and was picking them up, sinking them, pouring out the water, etc. She said "I have two boats." I agreed. Then she said "And now I'm going to have three boats." She picked up another and put it next to the first two. Hell, that's pretty good math.
We were in Beers Books the other day, and she had a Garfield book in her hand. She threw it down and told her that no, we had to put it back. She picked it up and put it on the wrong shelf, and I said no again. "Can you see a pile of books that are closer to the same shape and size as that one? It goes there." She thought for a second, then put it with the other Garfield books. The guy working was impressed. But that's what she's all about -- she can totally think.
She is absolutely fascinated by stories, too. More than almost anything else, she wants to be told stories. And she is figuring out that she has some amount of creative control. First, she just wanted a story. Then she would specifically request the Cinderella story. Then she wanted the Cinderella story but with no wicked step-sisters. Now, no matter what story I tell, she has some input. She wants a story about a princess and a hedgehog (or a shark, a raccoon, an astronaut...). She wants a story about a princess and a goose, and the princess should be named Ariel and the goose should be named Goose Friend, and there should be a cat... with paws. I told the princess and the shark one day with the shark being a friendly non-man-eater, and the next day when she asked for the story again, she specified that he should be a scary, mean shark. A few days ago, I ended a story without having introduced a romantic subplot, and she told me that it wasn't finished because I hadn't told the prince part. (I informed her that not ALL stories revolved around affairs of the heart, but then I added a prince, too.) On Monday she asked me to tell a story about a princess and a skeleton, and I turned it around and asked her to tell it to me instead. She did, complete with dialogue and the important features of the fairy tale genre, like "Once upon a time." Badass, huh?
Oh, and she likes to pretend to be characters. Usually one of us is a witch and the other is a princess (surprisingly, she vacillates between who she wants to be and is frequently the witch). Today I was the mean step-sister in Cinderella, and she was asking if she could go to the ball. I said no, because she didn't have a beautiful dress. She said she did; the mice had made her one. I had to demand to know whether that was MY lace she had used, and when she admitted that it was, it's my job to tear the dress to rags. But she flummoxed me today, telling me I couldn't tear her dress, because she had glued it to herself. She asked if she could go to the ball again. I said no, because we didn't have room in the coach. She said "Yes you do. There's an empty seat right there!" How do you argue with that? She's got good reasoning and problem-solving skills (although hopefully she doesn't actually glue herself into a dress anytime soon).
I'm not saying she's a genius or a prodigy or anything. I do recognize (as objectively as I can be) that she is very bright. But this isn't so much about her being bright as it is about just having my socks knocked off by watching someone acquire knowledge and higher thought processes. It's freakin' cool.
Thursday, September 02, 2010
I am quoting Zadie exactly.
"I have to tell you something. I think that you are very sweet to me and I love you. And I have to tell you something. You are very creative and smart."
I mean, it almost makes me want to cry. Someone point me back to this on the bad days. And the decade when she's a teenager.
By the way, today was the first full day of no nursing. She did ask for it at naptime, and I said no (she actually said "Just one more boobie? One, two, three boobies? Can I have four boobies?"). Then she didn't ask again. She also didn't nap, but maybe that will get better. She has always napped at Mom's house without boobie assistance.
I mean, it almost makes me want to cry. Someone point me back to this on the bad days. And the decade when she's a teenager.
By the way, today was the first full day of no nursing. She did ask for it at naptime, and I said no (she actually said "Just one more boobie? One, two, three boobies? Can I have four boobies?"). Then she didn't ask again. She also didn't nap, but maybe that will get better. She has always napped at Mom's house without boobie assistance.
Wednesday, September 01, 2010
Oh, she's not done yet.
We were leaving Cafe Capricho after lunch, where she had a chicken taco. She was feeling just a little grumpy, and said "I'm going to BITE!" Trying to deflect, I said "Are you going to bite a chicken taco?" She said, "No, I'm going to bite a chicken!"
A few minutes later, when we were driving, she said, "I'm crossing my fingers. Why am I crossing my fingers?" I suggested "Maybe you're hoping for something." She said "I am. I'm hoping you don't die." I sputtered, then said "Oh, good; I'm hoping that too." She then said "Why are you crossing your fingers?" (I wasn't.) I said, "I'm hoping you have a happy life and get to be whatever you want to be." She replied thoughtfully, "I want to be Cinderella." Well, that's one career path.
For those of you not following closely, we talked about a "Barbie for Boobie" program, wherein when she weaned, she would get a new Barbie. I wasn't going to do it until next weekend, but we were in the area of Toys R Us today, so we went in. Oddly (for those who have known me for a long time, you'll know why), she chose a Barbie with purple streaks in her hair, cat-eye glasses, and shoes that are suspiciously like purple Chuck Taylors. Swear to God. It's a real trade, I guess!
I don't know whether she totally gets it yet. I'm waiting to see what happens next time she announces "Boobie time," and I have to explain that there is no more boobie time.
Wish us luck.
A few minutes later, when we were driving, she said, "I'm crossing my fingers. Why am I crossing my fingers?" I suggested "Maybe you're hoping for something." She said "I am. I'm hoping you don't die." I sputtered, then said "Oh, good; I'm hoping that too." She then said "Why are you crossing your fingers?" (I wasn't.) I said, "I'm hoping you have a happy life and get to be whatever you want to be." She replied thoughtfully, "I want to be Cinderella." Well, that's one career path.
For those of you not following closely, we talked about a "Barbie for Boobie" program, wherein when she weaned, she would get a new Barbie. I wasn't going to do it until next weekend, but we were in the area of Toys R Us today, so we went in. Oddly (for those who have known me for a long time, you'll know why), she chose a Barbie with purple streaks in her hair, cat-eye glasses, and shoes that are suspiciously like purple Chuck Taylors. Swear to God. It's a real trade, I guess!
I don't know whether she totally gets it yet. I'm waiting to see what happens next time she announces "Boobie time," and I have to explain that there is no more boobie time.
Wish us luck.
Zadie-isms for September 1st.
Z: Mina can't come in here.
Me: Why?
Z: Because this is not her house.
Me: But it is. I invited her to come and live with us.
Z: Why did you take her away from her cat family?
Also, Z wanted to put her own panties on today. Then she did it - perfectly. Right-side-out and not backwards and one leg per hole and everything. I said "Wow!" She said "Why are you so amazed that I can put my big girl panties on all by myself?" Good question, kid.
Oh yeah, and on the subject of Mina, today Z told Mina "You're cute, Mina. You're a cute-cumber. That means I want to eat you."
Me: Why?
Z: Because this is not her house.
Me: But it is. I invited her to come and live with us.
Z: Why did you take her away from her cat family?
Also, Z wanted to put her own panties on today. Then she did it - perfectly. Right-side-out and not backwards and one leg per hole and everything. I said "Wow!" She said "Why are you so amazed that I can put my big girl panties on all by myself?" Good question, kid.
Oh yeah, and on the subject of Mina, today Z told Mina "You're cute, Mina. You're a cute-cumber. That means I want to eat you."
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