If a day comes that I am to be judged, it won't be a judgement of the time I spent in genuflection or paying lip service. It will not be for my political or social views. In fact, I don't think it will even have to do with whether or not I think any sort of god exists or what exactly I think "god" is.
It will be for the dirt under my fingernails from nurturing my garden and the Earth.
It will be for the callouses on my hands from working hard for myself and my family.
It will be the paint smudge on my nose from giving light to my creative spirit.
It will be for my stretch marks and the beauty of giving life.
It will be for my scars, both visible and non, as proof that I took risks, failed, and had the strength to heal.
It will be for the egg on my face from daring to be myself in a society of conformity.
It will be for the lines around my eyes from daring to laugh, even at times when I feel like crying.
It will be for the bags underneath my eyes from late nights with my lover and much-too-early mornings with my children.
It will be for my tear-stained sleeve from offering a shoulder to cry on.
It will be for the wine spilled on my dress from celebrating everything and nothing at all.
To live life simply jumping through hoops for the pretense of a life after death misses the point of the life we are given now, which is the only thing any of us can be sure of.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Thursday, September 30, 2010
a caffeinated romance
When I first wake to the fading pastels of dawn, when the chill of the dark is still settled on the world, before I can even begin to think about my day, I reach for my sultry Sumatran lover. I wrap myself around this radiating warmth as my senses awaken one by one. Oh how I love the full body, dark and rich, with just the right amount of sweet. I am not the only one taking solace in this strength each morning, and I do not mind. Millions share our passion and understand my need. They are lining up at Starbucks and in break rooms to embrace in routine rendezvous. I am referring, of course, to coffee. Also known lovingly as mud, sludge, rocket fuel, java, or plain ol’ cuppa joe. Just like me, people worldwide have found themselves immersed in this caffeinated romance.
And who can blame us? Like a Siren’s song, its robust aroma pulls you in, but not to rocky cliffs, instead into warm inviting kitchens and trendy coffeehouses. For centuries this seemingly simple little seed has stimulated the world. Stimulating global trade, starting from Arabia, going to Italy and radiating around the world. Stimulating our bodies, driving the workforce of the planet—construction workers, scientists, white-collar executives. Stimulating the creative minds of students, of artists, of inventors. It even inspired Johan Sebastian Bach to write a “Coffee Cantata.”
It is undeniable that there is something special about coffee. Its presence is found in religious realms, not only gaining notoriety amongst certain Christian and Muslim branches, but being exalted in religious rites and indigenous folklore. Its complexity and diversity has given a home to the brooding counter-culture of the beatnik, and birthed the social status associated with, say, a Venti Triple Half-caf Skinny Macchiato with Light Foam. Yet its simplicity has facilitated the dating game, alleviating the stress of a dinner date with it’s non-committal counterpart “Let’s grab a coffee sometime.”
Coffee is the proverbial ‘man for all seasons’ generously igniting the flame that starts each day, rekindling it with an afternoon pick me up, and giving fodder for a fire burning late into the night. It is as casual as a quick sip and a chat in the break room, as fun as a frozen treat for midsummer swelter, and as sophisticated as a layered cappuccino served with a silver spoon. Coffee has given selflessly to the world, and to me. I can honestly say that without coffee, I would not be here today—I would still be asleep in bed.
And who can blame us? Like a Siren’s song, its robust aroma pulls you in, but not to rocky cliffs, instead into warm inviting kitchens and trendy coffeehouses. For centuries this seemingly simple little seed has stimulated the world. Stimulating global trade, starting from Arabia, going to Italy and radiating around the world. Stimulating our bodies, driving the workforce of the planet—construction workers, scientists, white-collar executives. Stimulating the creative minds of students, of artists, of inventors. It even inspired Johan Sebastian Bach to write a “Coffee Cantata.”
It is undeniable that there is something special about coffee. Its presence is found in religious realms, not only gaining notoriety amongst certain Christian and Muslim branches, but being exalted in religious rites and indigenous folklore. Its complexity and diversity has given a home to the brooding counter-culture of the beatnik, and birthed the social status associated with, say, a Venti Triple Half-caf Skinny Macchiato with Light Foam. Yet its simplicity has facilitated the dating game, alleviating the stress of a dinner date with it’s non-committal counterpart “Let’s grab a coffee sometime.”
Coffee is the proverbial ‘man for all seasons’ generously igniting the flame that starts each day, rekindling it with an afternoon pick me up, and giving fodder for a fire burning late into the night. It is as casual as a quick sip and a chat in the break room, as fun as a frozen treat for midsummer swelter, and as sophisticated as a layered cappuccino served with a silver spoon. Coffee has given selflessly to the world, and to me. I can honestly say that without coffee, I would not be here today—I would still be asleep in bed.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
a short essay on productivity
Becoming a mother has epitomized the word “productive” for the last five years of my life. Ask any parent and they will likely tell you that having a child is, by far, their hardest yet most rewarding accomplishment. On the surface it seems so idyllic, one more part of the American Dream, but really, it’s a messy job at best. During the course of a typical day I spend much time trying to get something, anything done--trying to feel productive--but what it comes down to is simply trying to keep up with the two adorable, counterproductive, tornadoes I call my boys.
One could say that this recent phase of productivity has my world turned upside down, however, I’m a “glass half full” kind of person, so I will say it finally turned things right-side up. It redefined so many aspects of life, from loving and giving, to being and doing. I gave up opportunities to be productive in other ways and in their place found a love that is so easy to give and receive, yet that makes me want to work harder than ever to cultivate it. I gained new perspective on being: being mindful, patient, forgiving, and being in the moment, which they have taught me is invaluable. And last but not least, it redefined “doing” which is a list a million miles long; a daunting task, even to the most super-human, vacuum-toting, apron-heels-and-lipstick wearing, Stepford Wife. I have added to that interminable to-do list a part-time job (sometimes two), volunteer work, and, now, a college degree with aspirations of a career.
So, sometimes being productive is a real, tangible thing, noted (unglamorously, I might add) by clothing washed, bills paid, groceries procured, and meals prepared. Mostly, though, I have found it to be abstractly measured in toys mended, owies kissed, noses wiped, morning hugs and kisses good night. I still have goals and dreams, most notably my education and career. I still aspire to better the status quo, at least for my little corner of the world. And, I will keep checking things off of my to-do list. But for me, for now, my most productive days are those that I survive until bedtime, where I tuck in those precious little bodies tired from doing what they do best-- giving me a reason to be productive.
One could say that this recent phase of productivity has my world turned upside down, however, I’m a “glass half full” kind of person, so I will say it finally turned things right-side up. It redefined so many aspects of life, from loving and giving, to being and doing. I gave up opportunities to be productive in other ways and in their place found a love that is so easy to give and receive, yet that makes me want to work harder than ever to cultivate it. I gained new perspective on being: being mindful, patient, forgiving, and being in the moment, which they have taught me is invaluable. And last but not least, it redefined “doing” which is a list a million miles long; a daunting task, even to the most super-human, vacuum-toting, apron-heels-and-lipstick wearing, Stepford Wife. I have added to that interminable to-do list a part-time job (sometimes two), volunteer work, and, now, a college degree with aspirations of a career.
So, sometimes being productive is a real, tangible thing, noted (unglamorously, I might add) by clothing washed, bills paid, groceries procured, and meals prepared. Mostly, though, I have found it to be abstractly measured in toys mended, owies kissed, noses wiped, morning hugs and kisses good night. I still have goals and dreams, most notably my education and career. I still aspire to better the status quo, at least for my little corner of the world. And, I will keep checking things off of my to-do list. But for me, for now, my most productive days are those that I survive until bedtime, where I tuck in those precious little bodies tired from doing what they do best-- giving me a reason to be productive.
Monday, November 9, 2009
simply
In this moment I am
the shadows dancing on the wall
of the sun and leaves
blissfully unaware that each could not be
without the other one.
In this moment I am
calm and peace and light
from the soft breath of babes in dreams
knowing only a love that grows
nurtured in the gentle rocking of a chair
In this moment I am
not the laundry in the hall,
nor tomorrow's shimmering gleams,
devoid of dwelling on how we disagree
or where this all began
In this moment I
simply
am.
the shadows dancing on the wall
of the sun and leaves
blissfully unaware that each could not be
without the other one.
In this moment I am
calm and peace and light
from the soft breath of babes in dreams
knowing only a love that grows
nurtured in the gentle rocking of a chair
In this moment I am
not the laundry in the hall,
nor tomorrow's shimmering gleams,
devoid of dwelling on how we disagree
or where this all began
In this moment I
simply
am.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
hello, my name is Tahirih and I'm an addict
I have been an addict for two and a half years.
I used to find release in it, a way to feel more connected to the world. I found that there were others like me. we could joke about our "addiction." I can quit anytime I want. It's like an off switch, just flip it and I'm done. Right? I just don't want to be done yet.
I enjoy it.
If I'm having a bad day, I can just sit down and unwind for a while. If the kids are screaming, I have an excuse to ignore them for a bit.
Until that little bit became more and more.
It started infringing upon my daily activities. chores. cooking. cleaning. You know, all those things that are part of maintaining a household.
Now I do it even when my husband is around. My 3 year old has started commenting on my habit.
I feel bad. I know I should stop. Just walk away. But. But. Just one more?
Just one more.
Until that one becomes two. three. four.
Each day I can find a new reason to keep coming back. I know that time is slipping through my fingers. Sliding faster and faster. Each grain of sand a moment. Wasted? But nonetheless one I cannot get back.
I contemplate it each morning, afternoon and evening. Is this what I should be doing right now?
But I am attracted to it, like a moth to a flame. I look for that comforting glow, that soothing click. click.
click.
click.
clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick
click.
All I have to do is find that little red 'X'. That's all.
But my fingers look for one more thing. That's all. Just one more.
I will do better tomorrow. That is all I can tell myself.
Hi. My name is Tahirih, and I'm addicted to the internet.
I used to find release in it, a way to feel more connected to the world. I found that there were others like me. we could joke about our "addiction." I can quit anytime I want. It's like an off switch, just flip it and I'm done. Right? I just don't want to be done yet.
I enjoy it.
If I'm having a bad day, I can just sit down and unwind for a while. If the kids are screaming, I have an excuse to ignore them for a bit.
Until that little bit became more and more.
It started infringing upon my daily activities. chores. cooking. cleaning. You know, all those things that are part of maintaining a household.
Now I do it even when my husband is around. My 3 year old has started commenting on my habit.
I feel bad. I know I should stop. Just walk away. But. But. Just one more?
Just one more.
Until that one becomes two. three. four.
Each day I can find a new reason to keep coming back. I know that time is slipping through my fingers. Sliding faster and faster. Each grain of sand a moment. Wasted? But nonetheless one I cannot get back.
I contemplate it each morning, afternoon and evening. Is this what I should be doing right now?
But I am attracted to it, like a moth to a flame. I look for that comforting glow, that soothing click. click.
click.
click.
clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick
click.
All I have to do is find that little red 'X'. That's all.
But my fingers look for one more thing. That's all. Just one more.
I will do better tomorrow. That is all I can tell myself.
Hi. My name is Tahirih, and I'm addicted to the internet.
Monday, September 7, 2009
the irony of baby proofing
I decided to baby proof my kitchen today. This is a tricky endeavor for a several reasons. One, I am more than likely to forget that I've done it, yank a door open and inevitably break a fingernail. And, knowing me, it will happen more than once. Two, I live with two adult males who can barely manage to get dishes put away as it is, let alone with any further obstacles. We have solid oak cabinets-- not so friendly to the cheap little screws that come with the cabinet latches. And, furthermore, I have decided to attempt this endeavor while both kids are awake and no other adults are present. *Disclaimer- do not try this at home*
So it begins....
Door number one: Glass bakeware and plastic baggies.
I get the kit open, find my ratcheting screwdriver, glance at the instructions. Okay Ms. Fix-it, here we go! I reach for a matching hook and clasp and peel the adhesive strips from their backing, then from my finger, then from my other finger, then... it's time to peel the second side, but I miss the wax paper and peel the whole strip off. Then repeat. And repeat. I get the pieces aligned and right side up, reach for a screw. They are preserved better than the original Declaration of Independence in their hermetically sealed baggie. I grasp the sides.... pulling.... stretching.... almost.. there.. POP! The bag erupts as forcefully as a host body in a Sigorney Weaver film sending tiny, sharp, little screws bouncing and rolling around my kitchen. My kids dive for them as though a parade float has just rolled by. (Did I mention this package is big enough to proof every cabinet in the house with four screws apiece?) I'm on the floor. Scrambling, grunting, reaching, grabbing, knocking children over like a fat kid under the pinata...
Door number two: Trash and cleansers. This time I'm on top of things. I have four screws neatly aligned, complete mastery of sticky adhesive squares, hammer for starting screws aside one small nail, handy-dandy ratcheting screw driver, and I'm off! "MOM!!! I'M STUCK!!!" I look up to see my three year old with one of my belts around his naked waist and its tail looped, tucked and knotted to the cupboard below the fish tank. He's yanking and flailing and the fish are preparing for a tsunami as I rush over. Untying him, taking enough time only to shake my head and smile; I no longer bother asking what, why, or how. Determined to get through this project I head back to the kitchen where my toddler has suddenly become interested in carpentry. We wrestle over the hammer and I shoo him away. Screeching like a toddler scorned, he finds the lazy susan. It's too late to intervene now. I've got the screws in, I'm working muscles I didn't know I have forcing this screw into loudly protesting cabinetry. Zinging past my head, out come the noodles, out comes the flour, baking powder and cheese sauce. Out comes the cocoa mix, and, like a shark smelling blood, Lakai appears. "Don't open that, please, sweetie," I say, my sugary sweet words falling on voluntarily deaf ears, no match for the promise of a chocolatey treat. "Please don't open tha--" Ttttthhhhhwak, the seal breaks. I'm turning the screw fervently, but not fast enough. "Look, mom! I dipped my fingers. It tateses good. You want some?"
Door number three: Tupperware. (Not that this drawer contains anything dangerous or breakable, I'm just tired of picking dog hair out of my leftovers.) This is actually a drawer, posing new angles and new obstacles. I pull the drawer completely out and place it on the floor next to me. I turn my head to the side, tongue pointing deliberately from the corner of my mouth, like a curious puppy. I size up the angles, and begin. Again, my progress is brought to a screeching halt as the two brothers begin rolling, pushing, pinching, screaming. "Are you really fighting over an empty cup?" So I referee, tuck in my whistle and head back to the kitchen, Jevan following, leaving his glowering brother safely behind. He spots the loose drawer and immediately recognizes his favorite playthings. I'm balancing a screw on the tip of the driver, ineptly attempting to complete my task. Jevan the opportunist climbs into the drawer, and one by one uproots the containers once neatly stacked by shape and size, tossing them jubilantly watching how far they roll and bounce around our workspace, marveling at how much dog hair they amass on a freshly swept floor. I sigh and look up to a proud, toothy grin. I go to check on a crash from another room and return as my husband walks in the door. Looking concerned he asks, "What happened here?" "Baby-proofing," I reply simply. He laughs. "No, I'm serious..."
So it begins....
Door number one: Glass bakeware and plastic baggies.
I get the kit open, find my ratcheting screwdriver, glance at the instructions. Okay Ms. Fix-it, here we go! I reach for a matching hook and clasp and peel the adhesive strips from their backing, then from my finger, then from my other finger, then... it's time to peel the second side, but I miss the wax paper and peel the whole strip off. Then repeat. And repeat. I get the pieces aligned and right side up, reach for a screw. They are preserved better than the original Declaration of Independence in their hermetically sealed baggie. I grasp the sides.... pulling.... stretching.... almost.. there.. POP! The bag erupts as forcefully as a host body in a Sigorney Weaver film sending tiny, sharp, little screws bouncing and rolling around my kitchen. My kids dive for them as though a parade float has just rolled by. (Did I mention this package is big enough to proof every cabinet in the house with four screws apiece?) I'm on the floor. Scrambling, grunting, reaching, grabbing, knocking children over like a fat kid under the pinata...
Door number two: Trash and cleansers. This time I'm on top of things. I have four screws neatly aligned, complete mastery of sticky adhesive squares, hammer for starting screws aside one small nail, handy-dandy ratcheting screw driver, and I'm off! "MOM!!! I'M STUCK!!!" I look up to see my three year old with one of my belts around his naked waist and its tail looped, tucked and knotted to the cupboard below the fish tank. He's yanking and flailing and the fish are preparing for a tsunami as I rush over. Untying him, taking enough time only to shake my head and smile; I no longer bother asking what, why, or how. Determined to get through this project I head back to the kitchen where my toddler has suddenly become interested in carpentry. We wrestle over the hammer and I shoo him away. Screeching like a toddler scorned, he finds the lazy susan. It's too late to intervene now. I've got the screws in, I'm working muscles I didn't know I have forcing this screw into loudly protesting cabinetry. Zinging past my head, out come the noodles, out comes the flour, baking powder and cheese sauce. Out comes the cocoa mix, and, like a shark smelling blood, Lakai appears. "Don't open that, please, sweetie," I say, my sugary sweet words falling on voluntarily deaf ears, no match for the promise of a chocolatey treat. "Please don't open tha--" Ttttthhhhhwak, the seal breaks. I'm turning the screw fervently, but not fast enough. "Look, mom! I dipped my fingers. It tateses good. You want some?"
Door number three: Tupperware. (Not that this drawer contains anything dangerous or breakable, I'm just tired of picking dog hair out of my leftovers.) This is actually a drawer, posing new angles and new obstacles. I pull the drawer completely out and place it on the floor next to me. I turn my head to the side, tongue pointing deliberately from the corner of my mouth, like a curious puppy. I size up the angles, and begin. Again, my progress is brought to a screeching halt as the two brothers begin rolling, pushing, pinching, screaming. "Are you really fighting over an empty cup?" So I referee, tuck in my whistle and head back to the kitchen, Jevan following, leaving his glowering brother safely behind. He spots the loose drawer and immediately recognizes his favorite playthings. I'm balancing a screw on the tip of the driver, ineptly attempting to complete my task. Jevan the opportunist climbs into the drawer, and one by one uproots the containers once neatly stacked by shape and size, tossing them jubilantly watching how far they roll and bounce around our workspace, marveling at how much dog hair they amass on a freshly swept floor. I sigh and look up to a proud, toothy grin. I go to check on a crash from another room and return as my husband walks in the door. Looking concerned he asks, "What happened here?" "Baby-proofing," I reply simply. He laughs. "No, I'm serious..."
Saturday, June 20, 2009
my day as of 10 a.m.
I force my eyes open and through the filtered twilight in my room stare at the clock in disbelief. 7:12 am. I am greeted by a one year old who quickly decides that he'd rather play than snuggle, who is in turn greeted by a sleep deprived daddy who is less than amused by Jevan's playful antics. Apparently he doesn't appreciate being a jungle gym right now.
So, I rise, skillfully pulling on a hoodie while still holding the baby. We tiptoe downstairs, already with a to-do list-- coffee. I get Jevan settled with some toys and take a sip of fresh-brewed life-sustaining nectar (with a splash of Chocolate Eclair creamer) and feel the stirrings of my days ambition. I decide to make chocolate chip banana bread, and while that is baking my mind wanders... I look around the house and my thoughts are quickly brought out of the intoxicating dreamland to the reality that I have company coming to stay and my house, well, looks like I have two kids and a dog. I reluctantly leave the sanctuary of the keyboard and my coffee and reach for the dust rag.
One room down and I am hailed from the top step by a sleepy-eyed Lakai. Carry me, he says. We come down and again I reach for the dust rag. Don't put me down, he says. So I bend, and twist and reach, contorting in ways only a mom can to get the dust off the window sills behind the couch and off the piano. The oven dings, and my back and arms are relieved for the time being.
I pull breakfast from the oven. You makin brownies, Mom? Nope! I say. It's banana bread. I NOT LIKE BANANA BREAD! I WANT BROWNIES! Well. I glance down at him matter-of-factly, We're not having brownies. Why? Because we don't eat brownies for breakfast. Why? Because... (I pause. Brownies for breakfast really does sound amazing right about now) WHY? So I give him the most honest answer I can think of. Because we're out.
We decide on oatmeal while the bread cools, and Lakai concedes that banana bread is an acceptable substitute for brownies. I find Jevan, who has occupied himself playing with a dog toy, and strap him into his highchair. I look through a row of small glass jars and decide we'll see what he thinks of pureed mango. I sneak a bite into his mouth between fistfuls of cheerios. He reciprocates with a wrinkled nose and a shake of his head. Undaunted, I go for bite two. And the crowd goes wild! It's in! SCOOOOOOORRRRE! Whew. Half a jar down, and he starts grappling for the spoon. Okay, I say. You do it. I load up the spoon and hand it to him. He opts not to grab the handle, but the small mound of yellow mush, then notices his foot resting against the tray. He grabs his toes, firmly squeezing them and I see mango squish between his toes. Awesome. After a few minutes of him mauling the spoon I am able to divert his attention and grab it back. My attempt at reentry is thwarted as slimy fingers wind their way between mine and grasp the spoon. This time it goes into his mouth sideways, like a dog carrying a bone. Over my shoulder I hear Lakai. We have piqued his interest enough that he has stopped chanting "Diarrhea" and giggling at himself to watch as Jevan dodges my grab for the spoon, flicking tropical goop across the kitchen and sticks the spoon back between his four large teeth. He looks at me, wrinkles his nose and gives a triumphant grin. Breakfast is over.
So, I rise, skillfully pulling on a hoodie while still holding the baby. We tiptoe downstairs, already with a to-do list-- coffee. I get Jevan settled with some toys and take a sip of fresh-brewed life-sustaining nectar (with a splash of Chocolate Eclair creamer) and feel the stirrings of my days ambition. I decide to make chocolate chip banana bread, and while that is baking my mind wanders... I look around the house and my thoughts are quickly brought out of the intoxicating dreamland to the reality that I have company coming to stay and my house, well, looks like I have two kids and a dog. I reluctantly leave the sanctuary of the keyboard and my coffee and reach for the dust rag.
One room down and I am hailed from the top step by a sleepy-eyed Lakai. Carry me, he says. We come down and again I reach for the dust rag. Don't put me down, he says. So I bend, and twist and reach, contorting in ways only a mom can to get the dust off the window sills behind the couch and off the piano. The oven dings, and my back and arms are relieved for the time being.
I pull breakfast from the oven. You makin brownies, Mom? Nope! I say. It's banana bread. I NOT LIKE BANANA BREAD! I WANT BROWNIES! Well. I glance down at him matter-of-factly, We're not having brownies. Why? Because we don't eat brownies for breakfast. Why? Because... (I pause. Brownies for breakfast really does sound amazing right about now) WHY? So I give him the most honest answer I can think of. Because we're out.
We decide on oatmeal while the bread cools, and Lakai concedes that banana bread is an acceptable substitute for brownies. I find Jevan, who has occupied himself playing with a dog toy, and strap him into his highchair. I look through a row of small glass jars and decide we'll see what he thinks of pureed mango. I sneak a bite into his mouth between fistfuls of cheerios. He reciprocates with a wrinkled nose and a shake of his head. Undaunted, I go for bite two. And the crowd goes wild! It's in! SCOOOOOOORRRRE! Whew. Half a jar down, and he starts grappling for the spoon. Okay, I say. You do it. I load up the spoon and hand it to him. He opts not to grab the handle, but the small mound of yellow mush, then notices his foot resting against the tray. He grabs his toes, firmly squeezing them and I see mango squish between his toes. Awesome. After a few minutes of him mauling the spoon I am able to divert his attention and grab it back. My attempt at reentry is thwarted as slimy fingers wind their way between mine and grasp the spoon. This time it goes into his mouth sideways, like a dog carrying a bone. Over my shoulder I hear Lakai. We have piqued his interest enough that he has stopped chanting "Diarrhea" and giggling at himself to watch as Jevan dodges my grab for the spoon, flicking tropical goop across the kitchen and sticks the spoon back between his four large teeth. He looks at me, wrinkles his nose and gives a triumphant grin. Breakfast is over.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
new disease discovered: sticky-child syndrome
Please read this! This is very serious and yet gets almost no recognition! We must spread awareness! Sticky Child Syndrome does not just affect the individual, it affects whole families and consumes entire households!
You may be a victim of Sticky Child Syndrome (SCS) if:
You may be a victim of Sticky Child Syndrome (SCS) if:
- You have unexplained itching, later attributed to dried snot or food crumbs in your shirt or bra
- You have splotchy skin discoloration, most commonly in shades of pureed squash, carrot or green bean
- You appear to be growing tufts of animal hair or blanket fuzz that smell oddly of syrup or jelly
- You see dark spots when looking at the floor or walls, coincidentally, they are only from the light switch down.
- You are unable to wear dark, or light colors as they seem to smear, stain and crust on contact.
If the symptoms above were not enough to make you take this seriously, please check for symptoms of the advanced form of the disease:
- Upon waking in the morning you have large chunks of eye crust that will later be identified as pieces of granola bar from a Saturday morning snack.
- Your hair clumps abnormally and is painful to brush. This can be caused by many things, but most commonly associated with advanced SCS, is identified as being stickers, fruit snacks or dum dum pops wedged between the cushions where you incidentally fell asleep on the couch last night.
- You smell like sh*t. Literally. This has been linked to many sources, but a common culprit is the semi-nude, potty-training child who comes to sit on your lap for post-potty congratulation.
It doesn't stop there. Secondary side-effects have been noted also. These include, but are not limited to:
- Loss of desire to apply makeup or wear clean clothes
or, conversely, compulsive laundry washing and use of Clorox wipes - Irrational urges to encapsulate children in plastic bubbles
- Decrease in sex appeal, possible loss of desire from either partner
- Desensitization to certain textures, ie. floor crumbs, sticky counters and slimy door knobs
- Desensitization to unpleaseant odors, often accompanied by inappropriate appreciation of "toilet humor"
- Paranoia and heightened sense of awareness of 'quiet'
Moms! We must band together to spread awareness of this nearly unavoidable affliction. We need to teach others about SCS to lessen the stigma. Unless we do something, we will never see the end of the sly snickers and backhanded comments from well-dressed, childless adults when we go out in public unaware of the used breast pad or burp rag that has inconveniently dried to the back of a shirt or pair of pants. We must fight to convince the uneducated, childless masses, that No! I do not wipe my nose on my sleeve, or my shoulder, or my pant leg!
So spread the word, every voice counts.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
prayers for peace
O Great Spirit of our Ancestors, I raise my pipe to you.
To your messengers the four winds, and to Mother Earth who provides for your children.
Give us the wisdom to teach our children to love, to respect, and to be kind to each other so that they may grow with peace in mind.
Let us learn to share all good things that you provide for us on this Earth.
May all beings everywhere plagued with sufferings of body and mind quickly be freed from their illnesses.
May those frightened cease to be afraid, and may those bound be free.
May the powerless find power, and may people think of befriending one another.
May those who find themselves in trackless, fearful wilderness--
the children, the aged, the unprotected--
be guarded by beneficent celestials, and may they swiftly attain Buddhahood.
Be generous in prosperity, and thankful in adversity.
Be fair in thy judgement, and guarded in thy speech.
Be a lamp unto those who walk in darkness, and a home to the stranger.
Be eyes to the blind, and a guiding light unto the feet of the erring.
Be a breath of life to the body of humankind, a dew to the soil of the human heart, and a fruit upon the tree of humility.
God adjudges us according to our deeds, not the coat that we wear: that truth is above everything, but higher still is truthful living.
Know that we attaineth God when we loveth, and only that victory endures in consequences of which no one is defeated.
Know that we attaineth God when we loveth, and only that victory endures in consequences of which no one is defeated.
Almighty God, the Great Thumb we cannot evade to tie any knot; the Roaring Thunder that splits mighty trees; the all-seeing Lord up on high who sees even the footprints of an antelope on a rock mass here on Earth.
You are the one who does not hesitate to respond to our call.
You are the cornerstone of peace.
Oh God, lead us from the unreal to the Real.
Oh God, lead us from darkness to light.
Oh God, lead us from death to immortality.
Oh God, lead us from darkness to light.
Oh God, lead us from death to immortality.
Shanti, Shanti, Shanti unto all.
Oh Lord God almighty, may there be peace in celestial regions.
May there be peace on earth.
May the waters be appeasing.
May herbs be wholesome, and may trees and plants bring peace to all.
May all beneficent beings bring peace to us.
May thy Vedic Law propagate peace all through the world.
May all things be a source of peace to us.
May there be peace on earth.
May the waters be appeasing.
May herbs be wholesome, and may trees and plants bring peace to all.
May all beneficent beings bring peace to us.
May thy Vedic Law propagate peace all through the world.
May all things be a source of peace to us.
And may thy peace itself, bestow peace on all,
and may that peace come to me also.
and may that peace come to me also.
Jewish Prayer for Peace
Come let us go up the mountain of the Lord, that we may walk the paths of the Most High.
And we shall beat our swords into ploughshares, and our spears into pruning hooks.
Nation shall not lift up sword against nation-- neither shall they learn war any more.
And none shall be afraid, for the mouth of the Lord of Hosts has spoken.
Muslim Prayer for Peace
In the name of Allah, the beneficent, the merciful.
Praise be to the Lord of the Universe who has created us and made us into tribes and nations, That we may know each other, not that we may despise each other.
Praise be to the Lord of the Universe who has created us and made us into tribes and nations, That we may know each other, not that we may despise each other.
If the enemy incline towards peace, do thou also incline towards peace, and trust God, for the Lord is the one that heareth and knoweth all things.
And the servants of God, Most Gracious are those who walk on the Earth in humility, and when we address them, we say "PEACE."
Christian Prayer for Peace
Blessed are the PEACEMAKERS, for they shall be known as the Children of God.
But I say to you that hear, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.
To those who strike you on the cheek, offer the other also, and from those who take away your cloak, do not withhold your coat as well.
Give to everyone who begs from you, and of those who take away your goods, do not ask them again.
And as you wish that others would do to you, so do to them.
Shinto Prayer for Peace
Although the people living across the ocean surrounding us, I believe, are all our brothers and sisters, why are there constant troubles in this world?
Why do winds and waves rise in the ocean surrounding us?
I only earnestly wish that the wind will soon puff away all the clouds which are hanging over the tops of the mountains.
Jainist Prayer for Peace
Peace and Universal Love is the essence of the Gospel preached by all the Enlightened Ones.
The Lord has preached that equanimity is the Dharma.
Forgive do I creatures all, and let all creatures forgive me.
Unto all have I amity, and unto none enmity.
Unto all have I amity, and unto none enmity.
Know that violence is the root cause of all miseries in the world.
Violence, in fact, is the knot of bondage.
Violence, in fact, is the knot of bondage.
"Do not injure any living being."
This is the eternal, perennial, and unalterable way of spiritual life.
This is the eternal, perennial, and unalterable way of spiritual life.
A weapon howsoever powerful it may be, can always be superseded by a superior one;
but no weapon can, however, be superior to non-violence and love.
but no weapon can, however, be superior to non-violence and love.
Zoroastrian Prayer for Peace
We pray to God to eradicate all the misery in the world:
that understanding triumph over ignorance, that generosity triumph over indifference, that trust triumph over contempt, and that truth triumph over falsehood.
that understanding triumph over ignorance, that generosity triumph over indifference, that trust triumph over contempt, and that truth triumph over falsehood.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
breastfeeding is selfish
I am tired of hearing that moms who choose to formula feed are selfish. Although there are many moms out there who will argue that, that's not what this journal is about. Let's look at moms who breastfeed for a minute.
They lay in bed for an extra 20 minutes in the morning, just because the baby is having breakfast.
They lay in bed for an extra 20 minutes in the morning, just because the baby is having breakfast.
They can go get a manicure with that 25 bucks they're not spending on formula.
When they get home from a $200 trip to the grocery store and everyone is exhausted, nerves are frazzled and the baby's screaming, they are always the ones who get to sit down, kick off their shoes and nurse while dad unloads the car, puts food away and starts dinner.
If the baby is nursing during dinner, they can get their food cut for them, and some even have their husband feed them!
They have an excuse to go buy cute bras and tops, just so they can get their boobs out easier.
They justify eating and snacking all day just because they're feeding two. (I thought that was something only pregnant women were allowed to do.)
Breastfeeding moms are so selfish, they even get health advantages. According to webMD, women who breastfeed:
If the baby is nursing during dinner, they can get their food cut for them, and some even have their husband feed them!
They have an excuse to go buy cute bras and tops, just so they can get their boobs out easier.
They justify eating and snacking all day just because they're feeding two. (I thought that was something only pregnant women were allowed to do.)
Breastfeeding moms are so selfish, they even get health advantages. According to webMD, women who breastfeed:
- lose baby weight faster and easier than if they didn't breastfeed.
- have reduced risk of severe postpartum hemorrhage because it help the uterus return to its pre-baby state (which is slimming, also).
- have reduced risk of breast, uterine and ovarian cancers.
- get natural hormonal stress relief from the release of oxytocin
This whole list could go on and on. I mean, yeah, there are benefits for the baby too, but, honestly! Some of this stuff just makes women who breastfeed sound selfish and downright lazy.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
self portrait in shades of grey
I am not one for labels. Not in parenting, not in politics, not in religion and not on my clothes. I find personal success and inner peace when I don't follow someone else's template for how I should love, vote, pray or dress. I keep my eyes and my mind open for what the universe has to offer. I expect that many attitudes and ideals aren't for me, but I try to stay open to what may. It might not be a whole concept, but I search for the good and find a way that it might apply to my life and my situation. How has it worked for others and how it can enrich my life? If it doesn't work, what have I learned?
The black and white ideals of liberals and conservatives, fundamentalists and atheists, ferber and sears, fifth avenue and freeganism, exist in an essential symbiosis. Each extreme cannot be without its opposite to counterbalance. It is night and day, joy and pain, yin and yang. They are what outline the world. My efforts are to find a balance. Too much "yin" and it is too dark to find my way; too much "yang" and it is too bright to see clearly.
I cannot live my life in black nor white, it is much too flat. But I accept that the tranquil gray twilight in which I paint my life would not exist without them.
The black and white ideals of liberals and conservatives, fundamentalists and atheists, ferber and sears, fifth avenue and freeganism, exist in an essential symbiosis. Each extreme cannot be without its opposite to counterbalance. It is night and day, joy and pain, yin and yang. They are what outline the world. My efforts are to find a balance. Too much "yin" and it is too dark to find my way; too much "yang" and it is too bright to see clearly.
I cannot live my life in black nor white, it is much too flat. But I accept that the tranquil gray twilight in which I paint my life would not exist without them.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
perspective
It's funny how you can go through life thinking that how you see things, perceive people, is how it really is. Real life really bears no resemblance to a Michelangelo, rather, a Picasso.
... artists attempt to revive the idea of art production as it was traditionally understood: mastery of a craft in order to make objects that gratify and ennoble those who see them...
The goal is to deconstruct these images because, despite their clarity, they lack the dynamical aspect that makes them "true to life." In order to paint a more accurate picture you must consider all perspectives and the subjects position in time and space.
When this theory is applied to real life, the points of view are infinite, the subject must be dissected both physically and emotionally. Somewhere along the line this image you have of someone freezes, the painting is done, finished, lacquered. This inert image becomes the lense through which we view this person regardless of how they change. This image is projected, regardless of how inaccurate, onto this person and when they step out of the bounds of this skewed portrait it is upsetting. "Why are they doing this? Who is this person I thought I knew?" Something that may seem out of character, is really just coming from someplace beyond their image in your canvas.
Abstract art is often criticized as "ugly" or "too hard to understand" while the classical or realistic figure is tauted as "pure talent" and "beauty." These complex, multifaceted deconstructions are actually closer to revealing the true beauty that is hidden, a diamond in the rough of the human condition.
...instead of depicting objects from one viewpoint, the artist depicts the subject from a multitude of viewpoints to represent the subject in a greater context...
(the cubist image used is "Woman with a Guitar" by Georges Braque, which I found more fitting than a Picasso, even though he is the artist I originally referenced. The sculpture is Michelangelo's "David" and the accompanying quotes are from Wikipedia)
... artists attempt to revive the idea of art production as it was traditionally understood: mastery of a craft in order to make objects that gratify and ennoble those who see them...The goal is to deconstruct these images because, despite their clarity, they lack the dynamical aspect that makes them "true to life." In order to paint a more accurate picture you must consider all perspectives and the subjects position in time and space.
When this theory is applied to real life, the points of view are infinite, the subject must be dissected both physically and emotionally. Somewhere along the line this image you have of someone freezes, the painting is done, finished, lacquered. This inert image becomes the lense through which we view this person regardless of how they change. This image is projected, regardless of how inaccurate, onto this person and when they step out of the bounds of this skewed portrait it is upsetting. "Why are they doing this? Who is this person I thought I knew?" Something that may seem out of character, is really just coming from someplace beyond their image in your canvas.
Abstract art is often criticized as "ugly" or "too hard to understand" while the classical or realistic figure is tauted as "pure talent" and "beauty." These complex, multifaceted deconstructions are actually closer to revealing the true beauty that is hidden, a diamond in the rough of the human condition.
...instead of depicting objects from one viewpoint, the artist depicts the subject from a multitude of viewpoints to represent the subject in a greater context...(the cubist image used is "Woman with a Guitar" by Georges Braque, which I found more fitting than a Picasso, even though he is the artist I originally referenced. The sculpture is Michelangelo's "David" and the accompanying quotes are from Wikipedia)
Thursday, October 2, 2008
::;.::;;.::.:::;;..::;:
the world was bright and glowing until
that grew into a scorching heat but then
squelched
not gone, merely oppressed by a blanket of humidity.
The clouds grew and the electricity flickered and
the thunder became all we could hear- not sure of its intent
but with a backbeat of steady drumming
the rain came down soothing the parched world below.
And then the sky was blue.
that grew into a scorching heat but then
squelched
not gone, merely oppressed by a blanket of humidity.
The clouds grew and the electricity flickered and
the thunder became all we could hear- not sure of its intent
but with a backbeat of steady drumming
the rain came down soothing the parched world below.
And then the sky was blue.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
introspection
Practicing introspection has led me to arrive at a few conclusions lately.
Mindfulness: Take time to contemplate that and those which enrich your life, and be thankful.
Gratitude A little bit of gratitude can carry you further than you may realize.
Honesty: Before you can be truly honest with others, you must first be completely honest with yourself.
Faith: Have faith that the path you are traveling is the one you were intended for. It will undoubtedly get steeper and rougher than you though, so be faithful, but also be prepared.
Friendship: Friendship can occur when least expected, so create opportunity for these relationships to blossom. These people are put in your path for a reason.
A few things that have influenced my life recently: politics, world news, family.
These all seem to connect lately. I have been following the tumultuous landscape of global interaction and our federal government. The world is uncertain, but this is not new, rather, this is the norm. These uncertainties, if left unchecked, are fearsome and daunting. But I have concluded that change and stability comes from within. The world is topsy-turvy due mainly to the alarming number of individuals who seek not peace but self gratification from controlling those around them, and those who have failed to realize that they must first look into their inner-self and make peace there.
It is all too simple to overlook the small things that, once noticed, blossom, filling your mind and body and soul with simple beauty and joy and calm. Let them grow so that they leave no room for negative, stressful factors that smolder and stain and breed toxic discontent.
I look to my family and friends and to nature for this. The infinite depth of loving, blue eyes. The way the sunlight is captured and radiated through sweet innocence. The confidence instilled through a crisp autumn day. The serenity of gentle snores echoed by birds chirping in the afternoon or crickets in the still of the night. The fleeting moments that happen only once in a lifetime, watching children grow and play.
I have decided that these are the things I need most to nurture my inner peace and will do what I can to protect the world that makes this beauty thrive. To do this, I must gain the confidence to use this protective power. I must embrace things that I have been reluctant to in the past and have the courage to let go of the people and things that have become mere filler, for everything has a purpose, but if it's in a few days or a few decades, everything will have served its purpose and must move on.
Mindfulness: Take time to contemplate that and those which enrich your life, and be thankful.
Gratitude A little bit of gratitude can carry you further than you may realize.
Honesty: Before you can be truly honest with others, you must first be completely honest with yourself.
Faith: Have faith that the path you are traveling is the one you were intended for. It will undoubtedly get steeper and rougher than you though, so be faithful, but also be prepared.
Friendship: Friendship can occur when least expected, so create opportunity for these relationships to blossom. These people are put in your path for a reason.
A few things that have influenced my life recently: politics, world news, family.
These all seem to connect lately. I have been following the tumultuous landscape of global interaction and our federal government. The world is uncertain, but this is not new, rather, this is the norm. These uncertainties, if left unchecked, are fearsome and daunting. But I have concluded that change and stability comes from within. The world is topsy-turvy due mainly to the alarming number of individuals who seek not peace but self gratification from controlling those around them, and those who have failed to realize that they must first look into their inner-self and make peace there.
It is all too simple to overlook the small things that, once noticed, blossom, filling your mind and body and soul with simple beauty and joy and calm. Let them grow so that they leave no room for negative, stressful factors that smolder and stain and breed toxic discontent.
I look to my family and friends and to nature for this. The infinite depth of loving, blue eyes. The way the sunlight is captured and radiated through sweet innocence. The confidence instilled through a crisp autumn day. The serenity of gentle snores echoed by birds chirping in the afternoon or crickets in the still of the night. The fleeting moments that happen only once in a lifetime, watching children grow and play.
I have decided that these are the things I need most to nurture my inner peace and will do what I can to protect the world that makes this beauty thrive. To do this, I must gain the confidence to use this protective power. I must embrace things that I have been reluctant to in the past and have the courage to let go of the people and things that have become mere filler, for everything has a purpose, but if it's in a few days or a few decades, everything will have served its purpose and must move on.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
contamination of a childhood
I grew up eating fruits and veggies that were grown outside my bedroom window. I ate meat from animals I had probably seen alive at some point, and probably on our own property. I now drive my SUV dutifully to the supermarket to pick out glossed over, processed, chemical and hormone contaminated foods to cook for my family.
I would love to know that what I feed my family was grown and tended with the same care as the food I was privileged with as a child. I would love to worry about worm-holes in apples or a daddy-longlegs in with my strawberries, or caterpillars in my broccoli. Instead I have to worry about the treatments given my produce to prevent that. I have to worry that the chicken I'm baking never once saw sunlight, or even ate a real worm yet somehow managed to grow to have a 1 lb. breast cutlett.
I grew up in a house lit by a rural electric company and could go up to two weeks without electricity or tap water (we had an electric well). I managed to read (we couldn't get TV reception anyway), draw, bathe and cook without incandescent lighting and how to make water from a nearby creek safe to drink and cook with by boiling it atop our wood burning stove. Now I come home to a front porch light that is glowing bright, walk into my living room and am greeted by the artificial faces smiling from a large TV, cook dinner on an electric glass top stove, and nag my husband about leaving lights on.
I would love for my family to be forced to slow down and give attention to the activities that we take for granted in our daily lives; to have nothing better to do than light candles and play cards or tell stories and sing. Now I have to worry about what habits my two year old might pick up from watching cartoons or my husband's video games.
I grew up climbing small mountains, skinny dipping, fishing, building fires, catching frogs, and being outside. I am still bothered by noise from loud cars and discovered my allergies didn't exist until I moved to a more urban area and had to adjust to smog and "red air quality alerts." I still prefer the gentle swoosh of cross-country skis to the metallic buzz of an ATV. Outdoor exploration for our family now is limited to a fenced back yard with neighbors frowning from their back balcony, or requires driving at least an hour fighting the traffic of trucks towing boats or campers.
I would love for my son to know fish outside of a tank, to know that slime really exists beyond Nickelodeon and that birds chirping, bugs clicking and water rushing are the sounds that make up "quiet." I would love to have to bathe my son every night because he was playing in dirt and mud and pond water all day. Hell, I'd love to get to play in mud and pond water every day. Now I have to worry about what chemicals have seeped into my dandilion-strewn yard from my neighbor's perfectly manicured kentucky blue-grass. I have to look out for cigarette butts and broken beer bottles in the dirt where we dig and play. I have to explain to my son the dangers of an unfamiliar face, even if they are just offering a "Hello" as we pass.
But now, more than anything, I wonder how polluted and contaminated the magic of childhood has become.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
one of those days
Today is one of those days that makes me love being a mom. It is one of those days that erases the past week of grumpy teething, food flinging, tantrum throwing, and stress in general. The great thing about today is that it is nothing out of the ordinary. I got up, made breakfast for the family, got ready and went to work. I picked up a smiling child from the daycare where I work and was greeted with a huge hug. We went home where we proceeded to have a nice lunch that didn’t end up on the floor or in the dog’s mouth. Read a book, and he went down for a nap with no protest. While sitting at the kitchen table, I realized that this moment, though fleeting in the grand scheme, will always be in my heart even if it escapes my memory. These days too soon pass and will no doubt lead to many more, but right now, in the moment, I am as happy and as content as I could ever wish to be.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
on being grown up
Point:
Being an adult is not all it's cracked up to be. Reckless abandon is replaced by responsibility, carelessness by stress and as each day passes the weight of the world transfers slowly atop unwanting shoulders. Needing is replaced by being needed and personal time becomes a virtual thing of the past, being anything but personal as it is not so quietly shredded by multi-tasking. The thought process that accompanies action and consequence is forced beyond "how much trouble will this get me in?" to "how is everything I do in my daily life going to affect the world and the way in which my children grow?" The once coveted freedom of being an adult and having total control over choices made in life is crushed by the weight of the severity and complexity of the real choices that must be made. But it's not only the big things; even the smallest, seemingly simplest decisions can suddenly become cumbersome. The responsibility that comes with being an adult has a way of seeping in to every facet of life and filling even the most sacred personal rituals with leaden guilt. Sinking, grasping at the joy, release and freedom once brought by these things one can't shake the thought looming in the subconscious-- "what else should I be getting done right now?"
Counter Point:
Being an adult is not all it's cracked up to be. Reckless abandon is replaced by responsibility, carelessness by stress and as each day passes the weight of the world transfers slowly atop unwanting shoulders. Needing is replaced by being needed and personal time becomes a virtual thing of the past, being anything but personal as it is not so quietly shredded by multi-tasking. The thought process that accompanies action and consequence is forced beyond "how much trouble will this get me in?" to "how is everything I do in my daily life going to affect the world and the way in which my children grow?" The once coveted freedom of being an adult and having total control over choices made in life is crushed by the weight of the severity and complexity of the real choices that must be made. But it's not only the big things; even the smallest, seemingly simplest decisions can suddenly become cumbersome. The responsibility that comes with being an adult has a way of seeping in to every facet of life and filling even the most sacred personal rituals with leaden guilt. Sinking, grasping at the joy, release and freedom once brought by these things one can't shake the thought looming in the subconscious-- "what else should I be getting done right now?"
Counter Point:
Despite the heavy overtones of my last posting, please don't take is as pessimism or depression. It is simply fact. Thankfully that is not the only fact in life. Yes, I am looking around at a house that is less than kempt, dishes creep from sink to countertop, mail and paperwork avalanche over nearly every flat surface, and dust and sticky fingerprints peek from around clutter that seems to have exploded from every corner of the house. However, this morning I awoke next to a man that would give me the world. We layed side by side in a warm bed under a strong roof and listened to the sounds of our beautiful son, just awake chattering and bouncing in his crib, happy to have awakened to another day full of wonder and exploration. We arose to eat breakfast from a full refrigerator and indulge in a hot shower. Yes, Lakai was a grouch and threw a fit while waiting for his waffle to finish crisping in the toaster, yes more dishes were made and added to the mound in the sink, yes more sticky fingerprints emerged to be sought out and scrubbed and now the bathroom needs cleaned. But the stress of the day slips from mind as I hug my husband goodbye as he is leaving for work and as I type this and a content toddler sleeps in my lap. The weight of the world is still on my shoulders but as I look into loving eyes, feel a warm embrace, hear "I love you" the weight does not hang from my shoulders, but perches.
Friday, November 9, 2007
my thoughts on life this morning
Here are my thoughts on life as of 9:30 this morning. They are as follows:
Lakai has cheesy scrambled egg in his hair and an applesauce goatee. It's really hard to get him to take his orange flavored vitamin drops when we're out of juice to mix it in and he is now spitting at me and leaving a fine mist of iron tinted saliva along with the drool now mixing into the remaining puree on his chin. It's a good thing the jumbo packs of paper towels were on sale buy one get one free.
I can recognize the last two PBS Kids cartoons that were on TV even though I haven't stepped foot in the living room in the last hour. I know that Dragon Tales is a rerun and I can sing the theme song. And I know that Sesame Street is on next and I secretly kind of enjoy it.
I am proud of myself for actually cooking something beyond toast for breakfast this morning, and if I'm ambitious I might try my hand at dinner. Better not over-do it. Maybe I'll just put something in the crock pot.
I am also happy that I'm pretty much through my morning sickness phase and am excited that we finally have health insurance again so I can schedule my first doctor's visit. It'll be a huge relief to get to hear the baby's heart beat and make sure everything is okay.
I am not excited, however, about the holiday shopping season looming ahead and the rediculously long hours Brad will be away, but if we can make a little extra money off of the post-Thanksgiving shopping craze, then I say hell yeah.
I am disappointed that I've spent my morning on the computer and think that I might miss my prenatal yoga class now. But I did get out of bed and didn't move immediately to the couch, so that must count for something. I think I'm going to get Lakai's room organized this morning and sort out his clothes that don't fit anymore.
Well, I probably shouldn't waste more time on here so that will be the end of my thoughts on life this morning.
Lakai has cheesy scrambled egg in his hair and an applesauce goatee. It's really hard to get him to take his orange flavored vitamin drops when we're out of juice to mix it in and he is now spitting at me and leaving a fine mist of iron tinted saliva along with the drool now mixing into the remaining puree on his chin. It's a good thing the jumbo packs of paper towels were on sale buy one get one free.
I can recognize the last two PBS Kids cartoons that were on TV even though I haven't stepped foot in the living room in the last hour. I know that Dragon Tales is a rerun and I can sing the theme song. And I know that Sesame Street is on next and I secretly kind of enjoy it.
I am proud of myself for actually cooking something beyond toast for breakfast this morning, and if I'm ambitious I might try my hand at dinner. Better not over-do it. Maybe I'll just put something in the crock pot.
I am also happy that I'm pretty much through my morning sickness phase and am excited that we finally have health insurance again so I can schedule my first doctor's visit. It'll be a huge relief to get to hear the baby's heart beat and make sure everything is okay.
I am not excited, however, about the holiday shopping season looming ahead and the rediculously long hours Brad will be away, but if we can make a little extra money off of the post-Thanksgiving shopping craze, then I say hell yeah.
I am disappointed that I've spent my morning on the computer and think that I might miss my prenatal yoga class now. But I did get out of bed and didn't move immediately to the couch, so that must count for something. I think I'm going to get Lakai's room organized this morning and sort out his clothes that don't fit anymore.
Well, I probably shouldn't waste more time on here so that will be the end of my thoughts on life this morning.
Friday, June 1, 2007
where were you between 2:35 and 2:45 pm?
....so Lakai just got done throwing pieces of his grilled cheese sandwich, lovingly made for his lunch, at me, while laughing. Okay. I clean that up and he lets me know not so subtly that he wants more green beans. I go to the cupboard to get a new can and knock a wine glass off the counter shattering it into a million pieces at my bare feet. The only thing standing between my vulnerable feet and some shoes is... a broken wine glass. Damnit. The vacuum and broom are over there too. Okay, disaster averted. I have my shoes and the broom. I guess I took too long with the beans though because now as I'm setting them on his highchair tray he is shoving them in his mouth hand over fist and pulling them back out, laughing through his six clenched, bean flossed teeth. Well, I guess I'll clean that up and see if he wants some juice. Apple juice. It seems to be going over well... until I turn around and he has dumped the contents out on his tray and is smearing it around making a shiny grease slicked puddle that accounts for most of his tray. He looks up at me, smiling, with a piece of green bean hanging from his ear in such a way that it resembles an earring-- I can't help but smile... then... SPLASH! both tiny hands descend on the puddle spraying the sticky mess over the two of us. He giggles, and gives me this look as if to say, "aren't you proud of me mom? Look what I learned how to do!" ***sigh*** you gotta love it.
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