Black and White

Now that my mind is rehashing the blank old days, I've got a couple more college stories in my head. But first I have another post about racism. I know, I know, it's not Blog Against Racism Day, but blogging against racism only on its designated day is like studying Malcolm X only in February. The only thing worse would be to never do it at all.

I tend to hang out with mostly progressive folk, and sometimes I forget how it's still OK to be unapologetically racist in some circles. And I'm not talking about Klan circles.

I am part of a network of parents of kids with Down syndrome who offer support to new parents of babies with Down syndrome. The volunteers get together at least quarterly for training and to talk about the issues our families are dealing with.

In our group, there's one white man and one black woman; the rest of us are white women. Two of the new mamas we're supporting are African American teen mothers living with their own parents. Both were assigned to the African American support parent. What does she have in common with these two new moms? Not so much more than the rest of us; she too is an educated, middle class, happily married suburbanite. She was an adult, already established in her career before she had children.

Another volunteer was assigned to a new mom who lives in a bad neighborhood. She was quite open about just not feeling safe visiting this new mom. No biggie; pick a nearby park or McDonald's, right? But maybe she brought it up because she was hoping to be excused from working with this new mom? Surely not.

A third volunteer reneged on one of her families - an inner-city black family - because they "didn't have anything in common" and wouldn't be able to relate to each other. We all have children with Down syndrome. That's what we have in common. Who else did she think might relate better to this new mom in need of support?

I'm not shocked that people feel this way. I'm shocked that people just say stuff like that, right out loud, without cringing. Man. I'm used to a generous dose of liberal guilt with situations like this.

But before I get too high on my horse, I have a confession about my own racism.

When I was a kid, I went to a school that was extremely racially diverse for central Kansas - or anywhere. In 5th grade, the girls were into playing hand clapping games on the playground. The dirtier the lyrics the better.

There was one song, Rockin' Robin, to be played by 4 participants, that was a group favorite. I always liked it because it was so dirty, with lots of cussing. Forbidden. It was years and years and years later that I realized that it is also incredibly racist. Among other verses:

Went downtown, to buy a stick of butter
Saw James Brown, sh*tting in the gutter

[Note that I had no idea who James Brown was at this point. And even when I did know, it took a long, long time to put it together.]

Saw a piece of glass
Stuck it up his *ss
Never seen a MotherF*cker run so fast

Mama's in the kitchen, stirring that rice
Daddy's in the attic, shooting them dice
Brother's in jail, raising hell
And Sister's on the corner selling Fruit-Cock-Tail.

Nice, yes? What does it mean that it's apparently a traditionally African American rhyme (and this is the context in which I learned it)? I'm thinking that's a bit different than if a group of suburban white girls were singing it. Also, it seems that we added bad words to our version to make it worse.

But the context is no excuse for my continued ignorance.

Tomorrow, more pranks and pics.

Stream of XXciousness

After 6 days with laryngitis, I finally have my voice back today. I'm a little hoarse and I can't sing, but I can talk and not elicit "poor baby"s from everyone I speak to. What is the correct way to punctuate that "baby?" It's not technically correct to say "babies" in quotation marks because no one refers to me in the plural. Especially now that I'm losing weight and I'm not pregnant.

Which reminds me. A woman I know announced today that she is pregnant. In her defense, she's waited a long time for this news (her son is 3-1/2) so this isn't one of those irritating situations where someone is ambivalent about being pregnant and gets there on the first try.

And my last friend who did get pregnant on her first try lost the baby, horribly.

Another woman I know is scared about going in for a hysterectomy next week.

A woman she knows is about to have either chemotherapy or a hysterectomy for her second molar pregnancy.

I have another friend whose daughter is about to turn two. They nearly died two years ago, from a placental abruption.

And this isn't even going into the most common cause of death for pregnant women.

So much can go wrong. So much. Being a woman is no cakewalk. Especially since we're still expected to bake most of the cakes. (The above referenced group discussion about hysterectomies turned into a commiseration session about how few of the husbands could do more than scramble eggs for dinner, putting pressure on the women to recover quickly for surgery.)

On a happier note, I really enjoyed a couple of hours of having two babies today, when I picked up Oliver from daycare and kept him for a bit. He and Ellie did a great job playing together and both seemed to have a blast:

Pepper

We were having dinner at Applebee's tonight, when the music reminded me that I could be a real asshole in college. I'm sure I'm all better now, though.

The summer between high school and college, some high school buddies and I went to see Stone Temple Pilots, playing with Butthole Surfers and The Flaming Lips, at The Aragon Ballroom in Chicago.

One of these high school buddies was my high-school-graduation-night to fall-of-senior-year-of-college boyfriend, and he's the one who really taught me how to be an asshole. He was a champ at that, and he was also funny as hell.

My sophomore year of college, I became friends with a really good guy who was most decidedly not an asshole. Of course, he wasn't really all that funny, either. You win some, you lose some. Let's call him Earnest. Things were great, until Earnest started "dating" one of my roommates senior year.

They didn't date in the usual way. They didn't even date in the abnormal, college way. They had a unique style of dating. They didn't talk much. When they did, it was in high, squeaky voices through stuffed animals. After they had been "dating" for about 6 months, around Valentine's Day, he asked her if it would be OK if he kissed her on the cheek. Seriously.

The unusual nature of this relationship, I believe, came mostly from her. And she did not approve of me. I kept irregular hours. I didn't iron my jeans. I had - gasp! - been seen drinking modest quantities of alcohol. It was suspected that perhaps I kept company with my boyfriend at indecent hours.

By senior year, we were all living in a really nice dorm consisting of "suites" for upper-classfolk. We had a living room, bathroom, and four large (single) bedrooms. A cleaning person came in regularly to refill the toilet paper and clean all the common areas. It was amazing. Like most of the living spaces at Wash U, our dorm was co-ed, though each suite was single sex.

Since my roommates all went to bed early, I spent a lot of time downstairs in the suite where my (ex)boyfriend lived with our buddies, including Earnest.

This was all a little awkward once my suitemate convinced Earnest to dump me and his own suitemates. We played Nintendo late into the wee hours and ordered pizza nearly every night. Clearly, we were a menace. Earnest began staying shut in his own room and ignored us as much as possible.

Well, Earnest was regular as clockwork. Every evening at about 10:00, he'd disappear into the bathroom for an extended period of time.

My (ex)boyfriend took to BLASTING the Butthole Surfers as loudly as possible during while he was in there. How rude. I though it was hilarious.

One night we shoved a car air freshener under Earnest's door after he went to sleep. The smell was nauseating even outside of his room, and he did not look well all the next day. I'm still laughing.

Ah, good times, good times.

I still miss Earnest, but I'm still mad at him too.

Social Secretary

I did not meekly role over and accept a traditional gender role.

***

For years I was the one who paid all the bills, just like my mom does.

I have 3 semesters of college Calculus, some of which I took in high school, deciding only when faced with Diff Eq that I didn't want to be a math major after all.

But paying the bills was hell for me. I put it off to once a month, always at the last possible moment before the phones or power or whatever might be shut off, before pulling out the calculator and starting to work. It took me a swearing and sweating 4 hours to get all the bills paid, including calls to the bank to transfer funds or calculate late fees. It was hard hard hard for me.

Paul, on the other hand, went several years without going to the doctor or dentist because he couldn't bring himself to make the appointments. He chose a roommate based solely on the fact that the guy had lots of friends who were always coming over so that Paul didn't have to do any work in order to have people around frequently - who cares that they weren't necessarily his friends?

Eventually, of course, we decided to merge and purge responsibilities. I took over the social calendar and Paul took over the bills.

Over time, we've relaxed things a bit. It's just not practical for me to schedule Paul's medical appointments because I don't know the schedule of his incessant meetings at work. And as bad as I am about revolving debt, he's even worse. He can blink and there's suddenly an insurmountable balance on a credit card I'd forgotten we even have. So I'm going to be more involved in that stuff.

But I'm still responsible for maintaining the family calendar, and I try not to cringe at the utter predictability of it when he asks me, for the 3rd time, "Honey are we doing anything next weekend?"

Occasionally, Paul offers to take on the responsibility of making plans. And that has - at best - mixed results. He might buy tickets for a show months in advance, but not ask around for a sitter until 2 days before the curtain. He might cancel plans at the last minute and not realize that it really isn't considerate to the people who rearranged their schedule to watch Ellie.

And, as with tomorrow, he might start to set something up, then never follow through with the friends we wanted to have over for dinner and games. Alas, alack. Sometimes I still get frustrated. But today I'm all equanimity. Today I'm content with how bad I am at some things, and how it's only fair that Paul gets to be bad at some things too.

For the people we inconvenience, though, I am truly apologetic. If you are still free Saturday night, I am planning to make enchiladas and peanut butter and jelly cookies, all South Beach style, of course. Or, if you'd prefer, I'll have a large pot of chili going in preparation for my entry into a contest on Sunday and I'd be happy to try out my experimental recipe on you. I'm tentatively calling it CornFire, not for the timid. But I warn you that I'm still relatively new to cooking chili from scratch, without the cheater starter seasoning packet.

***

We still make sure that we take turns driving, though, so our kid(s) won't grow up thinking that daddy always drives when we're all in the car together. I've gotta draw the line somewhere.

Crawling Out from Under

. . . or Counting Chickens

Late Monday night I had my last episode, though I was still queasy and worthless all day on Tuesday. Ellie woke up for an emergency toddle shortly after 5:00 am on Tuesday, then kept us busy for a couple of days. Fortunately for all, Ellie didn't get as sick as I did, possibly not even as sick as Paul, who worked on through his bout with this junk. Also fortunately, she developed a strong preference for using the potty rather than a diaper. And, at the first opportunity, she brought me a pull-up rather than a diaper as if to signal that she's about done with this baby stuff.

Ellie was right as rain on Thursday, when I decided to get something else. I've had a lump in my throat for several months that I "affectionately" refer to as my snot clot. It abruptly decided to start causing problems, including progressive sore throat and rapid loss of voice. Today was even worse. But surely tomorrow will be better. And things are much less painful when I am very quiet and constantly sipping ice water.

So, the Blogger server that hosts this blog deciding to crash and be down all week was actually good timing. I wasn't here anyway. I hope that you all were out enjoying the wonderful weather!

The Parenting Olympics

I intended to write this one weeks ago, when it was more timely, but here it is now. I'm often late. Except with my period. I am starting to feel better, by the way. Wahoo! But on to the Parenting Olympics.

Unfortunately, it's hard to get an accurate look at the big picture in the Parenting Olympics. Our access to individual events is filtered through a single blog network, NBC-style, featuring biased and emotionally manipulative coverage, with one party unilaterally deciding which events and contestants to focus on sympathetically.

In this case, we're focused on Paul and Sarahlynn, with a few notable exceptions.

And now, a summary of the medal count to date.

Event: Going to Sleep
Despite Sarahlynn's early superiority in this area given her breasts body type, Paul has emerged as the stronger competitor in this event.

Event: Potty Training
Despite Ellie's the fans' strong support of Paul, Sarahlynn pulls ahead with consistency and enthusiasm. Neither competitor is performing at Olympic levels here, I'm afraid. Hopefully we'll soon see a big improvement.

Event: Coping while Tired
This competition has been fierce in places (cough cough) but Sarahlynn emerges the clear victor. Judging is closed and no disputes are currently being heard.

Event: Balancing Career and Motherhood (some categories are single-sex)
There is a strong showing in this category by the women Sarahlynn works with, and it has been decided via consensus that no single gold medal will be awarded. Instead, all the women will pool their resources for group lunches and the occasional happy hour.

Event: Enriching Activities
Sarahlynn took an impressive early lead in this category, but lately both contestants have been floundering. Neither seems motivated and both seem exhausted. I don't think they're in the proper shape for such a long-haul event. Frankly, they're competing for the bronze.

Northern Sun Olympic Moment:
[insert 2-part, emotionally manipulative editorial shot in warm lighting and soft focus profiling the amazing job Paul's and Sarahlynn's parents did in their day. Conclude with tearful modern-day contestants revealing their fears that they are doing but a pale comparison of what their parents did before them.]

Event: Reading and Singing
After the short program, all contestants forfeited rather than compete in the extremely repetitive long program.

Event: Extreme Sports, including child balancing and very short range tossing
Paul is the clear leader in this area, but a protest has been lodged by the opposition that these events are unsafe and should not be included in the competition.

Event: Toddler-Assisted Walk (an endurance sport)
All contestants in this category have complained of back pain

As for the rest of the coverage, while it may have already occurred in real time, your viewing of the competitions and results will have to await my the network's leisure.

A Roll a Day

Well, I have a stomach bug again. I've been running at the wrong end for more than 48 hours now and I feel like hell.

But on the bright side, I'm only 1-1/2 Newsweeks behind now, and my diet has been effective this weekend.

Paul and Ellie had a great trip to the park yesterday, and a nice outing to the movies this afternoon. To my great surprise, Ellie watched Curious George in its entirety, while sharing a bag of popcorn with her daddy. This is my daughter who is uninterested in the TV unless Dora the Explorer is on, and even then she might only be good for 15 minutes of concentration.

It's spring here now. I know this because of the warm temperatures, the beautiful thunder storms, the obnoxious news coverage of the storms, the fuzzy buds on the magnolia trees, and the first shoots of the crocuses poking up from the earth, it's true. But also I can tell that it's spring because the bugs are back. Surely bugs themselves are tangible evidence of evolution - set in motion, if you will, by the Creator.

Why would God design a world in which I have to contend with both insects and diarrhea when things are otherwise so lovely?

Seventh Heaven

After A Million Little Pieces, my next review is the obvious choice: The WB's family drama 7th Heaven. No, really. Stop laughing.

I didn't watch this show at first, then I got into it. It was a good show for a number of reasons. First, most television shows hinge on the whole misunderstanding plot device. So often I just want to take all the characters, sit them down in a room together, and force them to talk it out. No shorthand, no awkward conversations in which all the characters say "him" but never the guy's name so they each think they're talking about someone different, etc.

7th Heaven never did that. Early on in each show, the principle characters always had open and good communication about whatever the issues were, and the plot developed from there. How refreshing. And the parents were always so unfailingly mature and responsible. Also refreshing.

And the issues the show raised were fantastic. Years ago, the did an episode on The Lost Boys of Sudan. Well before 9-11 they did a wonderful show on the plight of women in Afghanistan under the Taliban.

Also, although the show is very Christian, with a minister father and at-home mother, it was also quietly progressive. The parents talked a lot about their partnership. They talked everything out, respected each other, made decisions together, backed each other up when dealing with the children, etc.

Then the show jumped the shark. The parents were suddenly as flighty and gossipy and irresponsible as characters on any other show. Miscommunications abounded. New characters were introduced, and a series of strangely good looking teenagers came to live with the Camdens. The writers were clearly bowing to ratings pressure from conservative Christians. The show became almost unwatchable.

Unfortunately for me, I find it almost impossible to give up a show once I've started watching it. (This is why I'm very careful about starting new shows.) And so I learned something lovely this year. 7th Heaven has been cancelled (only 6 more new episodes!) and the writers are returning to the show's roots.

The obnoxiously patriarchal Kevin has left the police force to be an at-home dad, while his wife Lucy (yes, the formerly obnoxious and air-headed teen) is a minister. Yes, a female pastor. Stop the presses! And she's been openly ambivalent about having another baby. Yes, a professional woman who's willing to discuss putting her career ahead of her family, or at least not being whole-heartedly excited about kids kids and more kids.

The 7th Heaven website links to a teen pregnancy prevention site that advocates education on contraception as well as abstinence. Yes, folks, there's far less kowtowing to the religious right this season.

It's not perfect, but it's better. I'm glad it's going out on a note far less sour than those played in the previous couple of seasons.

Weird Night

I had so little energy last night that I could barely stay awake long enough to get Ellie to sleep. In fact, I didn't quite make it. I decided to take a quick doze on the couch while Paul took his (second) shift with Ellie, so that I could be awake for a little workout, a little TV togetherness, a little email checking and blogging, then a little picking up of toys later on.

But Paul came out from Ellie's room and wanted to watch TV Right Away, so I was banished to the bedroom. And night-time naps in bed never work. So I spent the whole night in a weird sort of twilight half-sleep. I was still in my nice slacks and shirt for work, not to mention the underwire bra. I didn't brush my teeth or wash my face. This is all very unusual for me. I have very specific nighttime Routines that I must follow or surely the world will spin off its axis.

Then Lizzi decided that she wanted to go outside at 4:30 am. That turned out to be good timing on her part, because it started storming shortly after 5:00 am. And then Ellie woke up because she needed the potty. This was all me, of course, because I'd gone to bed so early.

So now it's 7:30 am and I've already been up for 3 hours (sort of all night, in fact). I've worked out; I've taken my vitamins; I'm on my way to the shower. I feel very odd. I'm hoping for a nice long nap later on today.

But on an unrelated note, Ellie has started doing a new adorable thing lately. She'll roar like a lion, then put her index finger against her lips and say, "Shhhhhhh," then laugh like it's the funniest joke in the world. And it kinda is.

Blog Against Sexism Day

I was reading Ms. Magazine in the airport on a business trip with a coworker a few years ago.

"What's that?" he asked. He'd heard of Ms. but thought that it was another "lipstick and fashion" rag.

This started us talking about feminism, and, of course, sexism. He doesn't believe that it exists.

See, our office and indeed our whole industry is predominantly female, at least down in the trenches. Sure a significantly skewed percentage of management is male, but his boss and his boss's boss are both women, so that's where it stops for him.

He doesn't feel powerful. In fact, he feels pretty powerless. And he's been sexually harassed at work. So women are as successful as men in corporate America now, and sexual harassment is an equal opportunity experience. Didn't you see that Demi Moore movie?

His experience is a microcosm for all experience. He doesn't see sexism, so it doesn't exist. Hell, even those strippers he likes to visit over on the east side make more money than he does. That's empowerment. And women like looking at strippers too, dontcha know.

This went on forever and was going nowhere. I wasn't going to change this guy's whole worldview in one afternoon. I ended the conversation politely but firmly and excused my pregnant self to get a bite to eat. He came along and talked at me while I ordered and waited for my food. I excused myself to go to the ladies' room, then sat on a bench and talked to my husband on the phone, waiting for the guy to give up and go back to our gate.

Pretty soon, he called into the bathroom after me, "worried" that our heated discussion might have caused me some harm in my "delicate condition." He's a critically acclaimed "really nice guy."

Oh yes. Sexism is so dead.

Having it Together

When I was in college, someone told me that I always looked neatly put together, even when I was in jeans and an untucked t-shirt. Looking back at old pictures, I think that she was right.

Somewhere along the way, I've lost that. As I sit in a group of women who look undeniably crisp, I try to think of ways that I could get that undefinable togetherness back.

I could lay out my clothes the night before. I could do more laundry, instead of waiting for Paul to do it. I could listen for the dryer to finish so that I could pull things out and fold or hang them right away. I could iron occasionally. I could wipe my shoes down each night with a wet wipe, and polish them regularly. I could go for actual haircuts regularly instead of getting discount trims semi-annually. I could wear make-up more frequently.

I'm sure that all this would help, along with improving my posture and continuing to lose weight. But really, I think the schlumpy factor is a big one. I think a lot of it is attitude.

A Million Little Truths

I knew about the controversy surrounding James Frey's book, A Million Little Pieces, before I read the book. When I first heard the allegations that he fabricated parts of his memoir, all I knew about the book was that it had a good title, great cover design, and was shelved prominently at Borders.

So I didn't have the opportunity to feel as betrayed as those who read the book believing that it was 100% true. But there are two other reasons why I don't feel terribly angry by what Frey apparently did.

First, I sympathize. I want to be a writer very much. I can hardly imagine working so hard, pouring so much of myself into a novel, and having it rejected by publisher after publisher. When Frey's agent told him that his book might be more successful packaged as a memoir, rather than as a novel, of course he jumped at the opportunity to sell it.

He should have taken out the bits he added for drama and interest in the novelization. He absolutely should have. But maybe he thought those parts were what made the story as compelling as it is. Of course he was afraid of having it rejected yet again. He was wrong to leave in the fictionalized parts. But I sympathize with how he must have felt.

Second, I think that the lies he chose to tell say as much - or more - about Frey than a strictly truthful version of his story would tell.

Sure, addiction is horrible and messy and ugly and far from glamorous, as Frey tells us in gritty detail. But Frey can't resist the temptation to make himself, his life, his experiences larger than life, less pathetic than they really are.

Frey may have been a skinny white kid from an upper middle class suburban family, but he is such a badass that the biggest, scariest, meanest criminals are all scared of him. He didn't meet an Italian or even a mobster in rehab; he met a mob boss. He didn't meet a lawyer or even a judge; he met a federal judge.

Addicts lie. Addicts can't be trusted. Addicts lie. Frey tells us this repeatedly in his book, and he underlines this fact with the way he chooses to tell his story. He is not cured. He is still an addict; he's just not currently smoking crack.

And The Smoking Gun's coverage of Frey's lies struck me as much more petty and spiteful than a simple recounting of fact and fiction - which would have been more helpful, by the way.

I did find quite a bit of humor in Frey's self-aggrandizing style, including his FTBSITTTD tattoo (F**k The BS It's Time To Throw Down), so I borrowed the tat for a bookmark I created for my bookclub, listing our hosting order in addition to a lovely picture of our suburban mom selves from our Christmas wine bar gathering last December. I called us a Book and Fight Club, which sounds about right.

Arrivederci, Olympics

Nearly a week after the rest of the world said goodbye to the Torino games, I just finished watching the closing ceremony. And, sadly, it occasions another edition of the Biased Media Watch.

The ceremony was lovely and appropriate.

Until the end.

I don't understand what Ricky Martin was doing there. Avril Lavigne is Canadian, Andrea Bocelli is Italian, but Ricky Martin . . . ? Whatever. Odd but not offensive.

His backup dancers dressed like very cheap biker babe whores? Unacceptable.

Here's a lovely, formal-but-fun ceremony celebrating, oh, world peace, collaboration, and athletic achievement. Sport. And then . . . it gets all nasty and women are back to being eye candy sex symbols again. Back to reality, folks.

And . . . I couldn't find a single news article that mentioned it.

Spuds

I'm back from San Antonio, where it was lovely and warm. Or so it looked from the cabs. Sadly, I only ate in my hotel and only walked around hotels, conventional halls, and airports. But it was a good trip nonetheless! And it felt amazing to hug Ellie so tightly tonight. Paul made black bean flautas for dinner last night, and I had the leftovers when I got home. That's the closest I got to authentic Tex-Mex cooking this week.

At the same hotel as the convention I attended, on the same floor as our exhibit hall, was a convention for the United States Potato Board. The first thing I could see as I came up the escalator was a long table covered with dozens of bowls of potatoes. There was a poster of the Mr. Potato Head balloon from the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on a brass stand outside the meeting room. And, best of all, they were there for the 2006 Chip Seminar! Clearly, I'm in the wrong field.

Finally, a note from my new series on the The Biased Media Watch (The BMW).
Former Congressman Gets Eight-Plus Years
By SETH HETTENA, Associated Press Writer
Note how the convict's party is never directly identified, only implied, and that late in the article? Guess what party "Duke" Cunningham belongs to. Now note how two other congressmen-turned-convicted criminals (news stories 4 and 18 years ago, respectively) are identified by their parties in the article. Guess which parties they belong to. Uh huh.
Seth, honey, your bias-cut slip is showing, dear.

Fiesta

OK, I have a queue of draft post ideas as long as my arm, but they're going to have to continue to wait. I'm off for sunny San Antonio for a couple of days (business trip) leaving Paul and Ellie to hold down the fort here. Barring a free internet cafe in my hotel, I'll be blogging again when I return.

I still need to shower. I leave for the airport in 3 hours. I haven't slept. I am an idiot. Good night!

My Publisher

Well, it got really late and I got really tired and I still have my book club book to finish. (Review coming very soon, like it or not.)

So instead of a real post, I'll just do a plug for a product in which I sadly have no personal stake. Jessica first turned me on to My Publisher Bookmaker, and it's awesome. If you've always wanted to have lovely books of organized photos but hate scrapbooking, this is totally for you. Especially when they have their 2-for-1 sales!

The Mondays

Happy Monday, everyone!

It has been an incredibly busy weekend. On Friday afternoon, Paul, who is a very young elder at our church, left for a weekend session retreat. I finally got Ellie to bed around 10:30, after which I had a little snack while watching some Olympics - I'm now three days behind coming out of this weekend - and cleaned the house. I tried to read a little of my book club's February selection before passing out.

On Saturday morning, Lizzi decided that even though Ellie and I wanted to sleep in until 7:00, we should all get up around 6:00 like normal. Then some friends came over to play, which made things better. They left, and Ellie napped.

Ellie has had a rough week. I wonder if she's still getting her 2-year molars, because it took over 3 hours to get her to sleep most nights last week, and her only naps involved being in bed with me while I sang to her or rubbed her back whenever she woke up enough to realize that I'd stopped. I hope that this week is better; she had a long nap today and we got her to sleep in about an hour tonight. That's still too long, but it's better.

After Ellie woke up on Saturday afternoon, we met some other friends at the park for a windy playdate, then they came home with us for an evening of fun. Paul met us after his retreat, and we all went out to dinner. Then we played with the kids until bedtime. For a wonder, both toddlers were asleep by 8:30, leaving the grownups to play games four hours. After our friends left, Paul and I passed out again without accomplishing anything on our weekend To Do list.

Sunday morning came too early, as always. We went to church, after which we had a reception for our beloved youth minister, whose reserve unit is shipping out to Iraq. His wife - also a friend - is stationed here and will not be going with him to Iraq or to the base where he'll be stationed for 2 years after returning from his year-long tour in Iraq. Man. Wow oh wow. I really admire and respect what he's doing: the soldiers over there must really need good Chaplains and he's great, but this will be incredibly hard on him and on his family. This could easily become a whole post on its own, so I'll leave it there for the moment.

After naps, we met up with still other friends and their toddler for dinner then rejoined back here for sugar free desserts and toothless coffee drinks.

I finally watched the women's figure skating final, then hopped onto the computer to do this before bed.

***

In closing, I've had to restrict Anonymous comments again, since unfortunately this blog has gotten some trolls who feel most comfortable spewing hate anonymously. I apologize to all of the non-trolls who don't have Blogger accounts and are inconvenienced by this. An explanation is over in the Passionate Posts section of the sidebar, if anyone really wants to search it out. I don't intend that post to be something for most of you to read, but it's a good place to point the trolls who come here just to tell me how wrong I am.

Shout Outs to Blogger Comments

Thanks to Blogger Comments, the super cool duo of my sister-in-law and her husband are coming to visit! They're going to take care of Ellie while Paul and I get some stuff done around here. And spend some quality time with us too, of course. Wahoo!

OK, now you go.

Oh, Oh Olympics: Rants and Raves

Rant:
The announcers who talk about "these girls" when referring to the female athletes, especially when they're referring to "these girls" in their 30s. (I can understand it a little better when they're actually talking about, say, young teenage gymnasts.) Ditto for the announcers who make it sound like they're advertising Ladies' Night at a bar when calling the women's competitions.
Edited to add: and what's up with the anchors? Where's Mary Carillo? She got to do much more coverage in Athens in 2004. That extended time-fill improvisation she did on badminton should have won an award.

Rave:
Shaun White. This guy is an amazing athlete and his personality shines. He glows with Olympic spirit and good sportsmanship. And he was born with a serious heart defect, Tetralogy of Fallot. He has had two open heart surgeries, and will need to take prophylactic antibiotics before he has his teeth cleaned at the dentist's for the rest of his life. But look at what he's done. Powerful.

Rave and Rant:
Bode Miller and his detractors. Miller is also an incredible athlete, but I feel sorry for him. His many critics have been suggesting that he's a let-down and a failure to have not won Torino gold. There's no shame in placing as highly as he has in this field of competitors at the Olympics. Moreover, many many people are criticizing his "work ethic." I have some thoughts about that. First, I defy most of us to meet his work ethic. Miller competed in something like 136 competitions and took something like 1 weekend off in preparation for these games. That's not slacking on the couch, folks. And what about the party-animal rumors? I don't think that Bode skis a mental run. I think he fears overthinking his events, something many athletes fall prey to. I suspect that Miller performs best as an underdog, and to cope with all the hype, he sets himself up to be coming from behind. It's not an unusual strategy, and it has often worked quite well for him. And again, there's no shame in placing 7th or 9th in this field.

Rave:
Michelle Kwan has handled herself with composure and grace as always, even in the face of critics like this asshat "mental health professional" (pity his clients!) who tells her "You're too old for the gold. Go home and rock that cradle." Sexist implications aside, he's flat wrong about her skill. Kwan is one of the most graceful and talented skaters in the world, still, today. And she has a lot more pressure on her than do some of the younger skaters, of whom not much is yet expected. Still, she holds up under the pressure, never cracking, rarely falling. And she put the team ahead of her ego, refusing to skate while injured.

Gentle Criticism:
Lindsey Jacobellis. Jacobellis had an incredible day. She had the gold locked up, and with it she would have clinched a U.S. lock on 4 snowboarding golds: men's and women's half-pipe and snowboard cross. But she celebrated early, hot-dogged a method air, and fell. She won silver. I don't blame her for showing off. I don't blame her for denying it in the first interviews. And I admire her for having the guts to sit down with that jerk, Bob Costas, to admit her mistake. I wish her luck in future competitions. But the Olympics aren't just another competition. Olympic athletes represent their countries in this competition moreso than they do anywhere else. I wish that Jacobellis had acknowledged that she let down her country (or her fans at home, if you prefer) with that unnecessary move, rather than just saying that she has "no regrets."

But I gotta go. I'm still two nights behind!

Oh, Hi!

In my fantasy world, someone will drop a pile of money in my lap and say, "Here! I insist that you use this to build that home office you've been wanting."

Because in my dream world, the computer isn't stuck in the guest room, rendering it inaccessible when we have company staying with us.

Neither is the computer sitting on the kitchen table, as it did for about a year after Ellie's nursery rendered my office obsolete.

And I can have a room with a door, a large computer desk, file drawers, and horizontal surfaces upon which to place my beloved piles. I am a pile person and I like to be a relatively neat person, two traits that are incompatible when aligned with my mother-of-a-toddler persona. What could possibly be more fun than removing papers from the top of the coffee table? Apparently, very little.

Where is the Big Pile of Money fairy? The only fairy I've seen around lately is the Big Pile of Dept fairy, who pays us regular visits. We don't discourage her company, though, because we have a really cool basement bathroom and neato retaining walls to show for it. We do wish that this fairy twosome would work in tandem, though.

Anyway, I'm here again!

And it was lovely having my mom in for the weekend. We went to The Magic House and The City Museum. The Magic House is exactly what it claims to be, and The City Museum is the sort of place that I can't believe really exists. I mean, who would insure them? Who would let their kids climb around that death trap? The City Museum is the sort of place that should be required for all children, but is all too often discouraged in favor of safe activities.

And on Sunday we spent a fun afternoon with Paul's high school best friend and his wife.

So, I'm full of excuses, but the truth is that mostly I've been watching the Olympics. I'm glued to the tube! But I'm two days behind, so don't tell me what happened.

Deep Thoughts, Not By Jack Handey

Here comes some strange writing that sounds melodramatic:

Some periods of time have a really distinct identity that's strong enough to effect everyone who lived through them. For example, everyone talks about the radical 1960s, either with approbation or derision. But the fact is that the 1960s changed "us," both as a society and as individuals. I was thinking about how the 1960s changed forever the way we - as a society - see the world. Jim Crow, justice, peace, feminism, civil liberties - these are some big issues.

But what of the children who grow up during these distinctive periods? Certainly, they were more effected than the adults, who were already formed by the times of their own upbringings and are usually malleable in slighter and more subtle ways.

What, then, about me, a child of the 1970s? And my youngest sister, a child of the 1980s? Surely we too were shaped by the times of our childhoods, if perhaps not so dramatically.

In thinking about the 80s I wonder about that decade's legacy: me first; high maintenance beauty ideals; a shiny, happy face, country club coke parties replacing reefer around the campfire.

The children of the 1980s are now adults. How will they change the world?

One very interesting thing about children of the 80s and beyond - and I'll include some children of the 1970s in here too, for those like myself whose sexual awakening came in the later 1980s and beyond:

We see sex and death as inextricably linked. We see sex as dangerous in a way that mere birth control cannot address. How does this change us? How will it change the world?

***

And now you know what I jot in my notebook late at night when I'm curled up in a hotel bed on a business trip. Thank goodness I'm alone at these times and everyone else is spared my rambling "deep" thoughts. Until now.

Happy Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day with a toddler:

Last night was spent staying up far too late trying to exercise, relax, and have some "me" time. "Happy Valentine's Day, sweetie"'s were exchanged well before the adults crashed into sleep.

This morning came far too early, with a short parental Valentine's power struggle regarding who had to get up with the beautiful toddler (Mama won, as usual, by playing dead and teaching her to cry for Dada in the morning).

In addition to her precious giggle, the toddler's Valentine's offerings included such gems as trying to get into the shower with Mama, flooding the bathroom in the process, and throwing lots of tomato sauce on the - formerly very light - family room carpet.

Still, it was a warm, lovely, sunny day, and after an hour of PT outside, Mama managed to have a lovely romantic dinner ready when Daddy got home from work. The beloved toddler slept through dinner, then battled sleep until after 9:30, nearly 2-1/2 hours post bedtime.

The romantic dinner - heart-shaped meatloaf included - was eaten by Mama and Dada on the couch in front of the Olympics, in shifts, while the candles rested unlit on the dining room table with the condiments.

Presents were exchanged. Candy was not.

"Me" time commenced shortly before 10:00 pm, setting up a similar tomorrow.

Hug the One You're With

Bye-bye, Rose. I hope you're feeling better.

This week's Grey's Anatomy kept asking, What would you want to do, if today was your last day to live?

I really like what Moreena has to say about living every day as if it's your last. "You just can't live life that way, not really."

She's right. But sometimes it's good to remember to pick up that child who is driving you crazy and squeeze her until she squirms away, just breathing in the perfection of her hair and skin for as long as you can.

The Last Name Thing - Part II

What a wonderful discussion below about The Last Name Thing! Thank you to everyone who's been chiming in. I have a couple more things I want to add:

In some ways, The Last Name Thing is more controversial than abortion. In part, this is because most of the people having the discussion are progressives, and most progressives already support a woman's right to choose abortion but are divided on the Last Name issue. Many people who are otherwise quite liberal are OK with women not taking their husbands' names, but only if it doesn't affect their own families.

Certainly, most people don't want to legislate against women keeping their own names. But neither do they want to talk about it.

"It's my choice," is where the discussion often begins and ends.

And that's true. It is our choice as adults to decide what we want to be called.

It is also my choice if I want to wear a cute little pink t-shirt that says, "Math is hard." It's my choice if I want to be an at-home mom.

My point is not that choosing to take your husband's name is equivalent to walking around with "Juicy" on your butt - I don't believe that it is! - but rather that our choices are not made in a vacuum. There's significant social pressure on us to choose what we choose, and our choices effect others.

So while I support my friends who've changed their names, and will vigorously defend them against anyone who's judgmental about their choices, I also think it's important to talk about why it's so often the husband's name that's so freely "chosen" for the family name.

I want it to be more of a real choice for my daughters.

Poacher

OK, I have a follow-up post with my thoughts relating to the Gender Traitor post below (and the discussion that follows!) but they'll wait for tomorrow. For a little Friday flare, I have a short story from my day today.

***

I found my purse lying on the floor, and it had clearly been searched. My wallet was open on the floor next to the purse. My mobile phone, which had slipped through a hole in the lining of the purse, was still in place.

As I placed everything back into my purse, it seemed that all was accounted for. Except -

There was the lid to my chapstick, not a foot away from the purse. The chapstick itself was nowhere to be seen.

I found it later tonight, in another room, completely eaten.

I don't think it was the dog.

Gender Traitor - The Name Thing

The one in which I criticize other women and feel bad about it.

On a one-on-one basis, I get the name thing. I get the desire to have a single, simple family identity embodied in a name. I get the desire to lose the name of an abusive father or a despised ex-husband. I get it. I'm sympathetic.

But in the bigger picture, sometimes it frustrates me. It frustrates me that it's still the "norm" for women to change their names rather than the reverse, or some combination involving give-and-take on both sides. Some months after I got married, a woman at work - someone I didn't know very well and who doesn't know my husband at all - sent me an email saying that she almost didn't recognize me because my name hadn't changed. I mean, really!

That's small potatoes, though, because what really frustrates me are the professional ramifications. More specifically, how it effects me at work. I want to contact someone in the licensing department in Philadelphia, but I can't just shoot her an email or look her up in the company directory. I can't find her in the system because she got divorced and I can't remember her new last name.

One woman I worked with had 3 last names in 10 years. That's actually not so uncommon: single, married, divorced, remarried. I work with a lot of women. It's hard for me to remember names at the best of times, and when I have to remember the revolving names of dozens or hundreds of colleagues, it's just impossible. I was looking around the room during a meeting today, and saw several women whose names have changed in the past few years. It's very hard to keep track of women at work.

The thing is, I know and understand the stories of lots of these women. This one got divorced, that one got remarried, I love them and I understand why they changed their names. I am sympathetic. But why do they have to change their names at work every time?

At what point does it become unprofessional?

At what point does it begin to effect the way all women are seen in a professional setting?

Is there a point, after some arbitrary milestone, when a woman might decide to keep one name - a birth name or another one - just professionally?

When does the personal become political?

Is the personal ever really just personal?

"You Can't Be Both Catholic and Pro-Choice"

Of course you can.

This is a bumper sticker I see around St. Louis quite often, usually on the back of a pick-up truck or mini-van driven by a man. Aside: Most anti-abortion bumper stickers I see are on vehicles driven by men or older woman. "Sure, easy for you to say," I always think.

But you can absolutely be both pro-choice and Catholic. The only reason this is a point of contention is that Catholics have been confusing religion with the law since the early days of the Church.

Here's how to be both at once:

• Never, ever, under any circumstances, choose to have an abortion, even if it kills you.
  
• Actively work from within to change the church's position on legislating the issue.
  
• Aggressively work to improve women's choices so that fewer feel that they have to choose abortion.

See, it's pretty simple.

As I wrote in the comments to this post, a leading evangelical Calvinist Christian theologian, Richard J. Mouw, recently wrote:

[T]his does not mean I want to impose "Christian culture" on everyone. God desires that people freely acknowledge [God's] rule and that they freely offer their lives of obedience to [God]. Nothing is gained when we impose specifically Christian standards on people who do not acknowledge God as the ruler over all things.

There will always be conflicts between what our religions guide us to believe and what the popular culture around us believes. In these situations, it's the responsibility of religious folk to uphold our religions.

The reason I have never committed adultery is because I believe that it's wrong, not because it's illegal. I don't need a law requiring me to "honor my father and my mother;" I know that it is the right thing to do. If you feel that abortion is wrong, don't have an abortion. Help other women so that they feel less need to choose to do so. But don't legislate your religion onto those who do not share your religious conviction.

This is what I would have posted, if I hadn't missed this year's Blog for Choice Day.

The Gift of Tears

That was the title of this morning's sermon at church, and it got me thinking about crying.

It's one thing to sing It's All Right to Cry and to give that advice to others. It's quite another thing for me to apply it to myself.

I don't think that I know how to cry without trying not to cry.

I wonder what would happen if, next time I am sad about real life, not a book or a movie, rather than fighting down the tears and calling up my requisite sarcasm, instead I told myself that it would be OK to just let loose.

I bet I'd dry up like the Sahara because I wouldn't know how to do it.

You've Come a Long Way, Baby

Tonight my husband told me that my new trouser socks are "really sexy."

In honor of this new progression in our relationship, I thought I'd share with you five things that you might not know about me.

1. When Paul and I first started dating, "our song" was Closer (NIN).
   
2. I used to work in a liquor store. I was in charge of stocking the girlie mags (and everything else).
   
3. Women warned me about Paul when we were getting together, telling me that, er, his motives were impure.
   
4. I was on the drill team in ninth grade. Yeah, half-time shows with pom pons.
   
5. I was on the homecoming court one year, and was a "Jr. Princess" at another dance another year.

In my defense:

1. We didn't really analyze all the lyrics.
   
2. It was the only job I could find one summer. I got in trouble more than once for organizing the porno mags in alphabetical and date order, rather than having the newest, hottest titles front and center.
   
3. That was mostly sour grapes.
   
4. We did a really cool James Brown number. I could say that I loved to dance, but it's also true that I loved wearing that skirt to school. No use denying it. I had to give up drill team sophomore year when it conflicted with Jazz Band.
   
5. Yeah, and then my parents moved us at the end of my sophomore year. No bitterness here.

Party People in the House

I used to go see Ani Difranco twice a year, in Chicago and in St. Louis.

Then I didn't go to concerts very much for a while.

But I'm back, baby. We went to see Dora the Explorer Live!: Dora's Pirate Adventure just over a week ago, and we're going to see Ralph's World in a few weeks.

Yeah, I rock. I just gotta find my hemp do-rag.

***

On a happy note (punny! hah!) Ellie has started singing along.

At Musicgarten, a music class we attend once a week, we sing a song that mostly consists of "La la las" and Ellie la las along. We also sing a drumming song that sounds like, "Ray ba tay, ray ba tay, ray ba tay boom. Boom, boom, boom-boom-boom." She sings, "Tay tay tay Boom boom oom." At home, there's a song on one of her lullaby CDs that songs to me like, "Baloo baleery, balooo, baleeeery." I sing it to her when soothing nonsense is in order, like in the middle of the night. One night last week she started patting my back and singing, "baaooo, baooooo" to me. I burst into laughter, which probably didn't help my cause of getting her back to sleep.

Be Fri / est ends

I might have spoken too soon about the rolling out of bed. I did find Ellie near the heating vent last night, mostly hidden behind the rocking chair. And Paul found her there again tonight. So perhaps this is still a work in progress.

But to balance that, there's something else I should have added to yesterday's list of happiness. Ellie will not eat fried foods, and her hands-down favorite food right now is broccoli. Oh, yes, she loves her pasta. But she doesn't plead for it like she does for "oppoli?" several times a day. I never want this to end.

***

Most of the kids in Ellie's class are there for preschool in the morning, including lunch, then nap at school and play in the afternoon until their parents come pick them up. Ellie and another boy are usually just there for the morning preschool part. Guy's mom often comes to pick him up at about the same time I pick up Ellie.

I was so glad when Guy moved up to the "2's" room because he and Ellie got along well in the "older toddlers" room. They're even better friends now, it seems, possibly because Ellie can walk and keep up better. It's really just been gross motor that's held her back at school.

Guy is typically developing, but he's still learning English. I'm guessing that he and his family are from Israel. I have no idea why Ellie and Guy have formed such a bond, but it's the cutest thing.

Today when Guy and his mom exited the classroom into the hallway after us, he unleashed a mini-torrent of English or Hebrew at his mom. "He wants to walk with Ellie, hold hands like this," she explained.

So I took Ellie back to Guy and they walked down the hallway hand-in-hand.

Priceless.

Maybe Golden Grahams

I am tired. So very, very tired. And it's late. But!

1. Ellie stopped rolling out of her bed by the middle of last week.
   
2. Now it's a behavioral issue involving convincing her to stay in bed.
   
3. Tonight she climbed into bed and fell asleep on her own (after much rocking, reading, and singing on my part and some crying and beating at the closed door on her part).
   
4. Everyone is healthy.
   
5. I led a discussion this morning on the authors of the four gospels, and I think it went well.
   
6. I actually exercised today and didn't die; I might try it again tomorrow. I've had to adjust belt holes, so something must be happening. But I am really craving a box - yes a whole box - of sugary cereal with milk. And I don't usually eat sugary cereal, with or without milk.
   
7. My Valentine's present for Paul had better turn out kickass cool, after it's all said and done.
   
8. It's impossible to look at this face every day and not smile.

A Very Good Read

Do you read Egotistical Whining? If not, you really should check her out. She's been on my sidebar for ages, but probably doesn't get enough attention way down there. Seriously, read her. She's awesome!

How 'Bout a Mouth Full of Chiclets

I've been walking around all day looking like I had a knuckle sandwich for my mid-morning snack.

At about 9:00 this morning, Ellie started coughing. I gave her some medicine for her congestion (almost 7 months since she caught "this cold;" we're going for a world record) and for the cough. The constant coughing was sad, so I made her some sugar-free hot chocolate, thinking that a hot beverage might help. Thankfully, I tested it before passing the cup to Ellie. It was very, very hot. I was startled and splashed it, burning my tongue and the skin from my upper lip to just under my nose on one side. It's very attractive today, but will probably be even more attractive once it scabs. Here's hoping.

Regardless, the medicine and hot chocolate failed to stop the cough, which also kept her from napping. Eventually, Ellie crashed and napped hard from about 4:15 until I woke her for dinner. I stayed up foolishly late last night and was exhausted today, so I'd been in a semi-somnolent state all day despite the gorgeous weather (in which we walked briefly, never fear).

She ate well, bathed well, played well, and went back to sleep well at bedtime. She woke up screaming a little while ago with a 102.5 degree fever, by far the highest she's had since we acquired the necessary equipment to measure such things (a good ear thermometer rather than one of those useless underarm ones).

Poor Ellie.

***

Here's an unrelated rant on diet. I'm on one. I hate dieting, but it's obviously necessary at this point. I'm a firm believer in exercise to control weight, and "moderation" is the only diet I really believe in. But things have been far beyond "moderation" for some time now, so desperate steps were necessary.

Paul's dieting too, and it's going well. To clarify: it's going well for him. My weight's been stagnate for a few weeks despite closely adhering to the plan. I know the solution: exercise. So that's the background.

I got a call from my mother-in-law last weekend. She asked how the diet was going and I said that it was going really well, etc. She talked to Paul the next day and they had a very similar exchange. She said that she was sending a care package for the three of us.

The package arrived yesterday. It had 2 outfits for Ellie (so cute!) and, and . . .

• Sprinkles. Like for cookies.
  
• Heart-shaped cookie cutters.
  
• Two large bags of M&Ms, one with peanut (for me) and one plain (for Paul).

Seriously.

On Sin

In the Garden of Eden
I was thinking. A lot of people think of women as weaker in faith, or more susceptible to sin, or unqualified for religious leadership, or simply as symbols of temptation because Eve was the one who ate of the apple, then offered it to Adam.

It seems to me that the opposite conclusions are more appropriately drawn from the scene, if you choose to read it literally.

Eve was tempted by Satan and succumbed. Adam was merely tempted by Eve. Doesn't that imply that Adam was more susceptible to corruption?

In the Las Vegas Airport
A friend loaned me a book by Richard J. Mouw called Calvinism in the Las Vegas Airport. It's a Dutch Calvinist theologian's response to a scene from the 1979 movie Hardcore in which a dour Dutch Calvinist tries to explain his religion to a Pagan prostitute. He does a lousy job of sharing the message in a manner appropriate to his specific audience in the airport and to the late 20th Century audience more generally. Mouw has set out to write the response that the movie character should have given, if he really wanted to reach his audience.

I must admit that I know very little about Calvinism and "Reform" Christianity. In fact, I thought that most of us Protestants were "Reformed" and that Presbyterianism was based on the teachings of John Calvin, so what's the difference?

A lot, it turns out. For example, Dutch Calvinism is based on the TULIP doctrine.
T = Total depravity
U = Unconditional election
L = Limited atonement
I = Irresistible grace
P = Perseverance of the saints

I have only read the first two letters so far, but I have problems with both.

As far as total depravity goes, I have a hard time reconciling "love your neighbor" Christianity with the belief that we are all inherently depraved, though capable of some good acts. I prefer to think of most of us as inherently good, though tempted to commit evil acts from time to time. I'm still working on this one. I am willing to stipulate that every aspect of our lives is touched by sin. And that's not a pretty thought.

As for unconditional election, I have a hard time with the author's suggestion that we can determine who has been chosen for eternal life with God by the gifts they are given in this life. He gives the example of a Midwestern American woman raised in a Christian community and given the tools to foster her spiritual growth from a young age, versus a woman born in a small village in North Korea without the same supportive Christian community. My concerns are:

1. Who are we to assume we can know the mind of God? How can we know who is selected?
   
2. I don't think we can assume that only Christians will be elected, given that according to Calvinist doctrine, none of our own actions can merit salvation.
   
3. I am seriously uncomfortable with the implication that those selected by God will be born into wonderful families and live wonderful lives. That's too much of a short and slippery slope toward othering our neighbors. And it's too close to justifying the evil that befalls so many of us.

This has been an interesting read so far, though.

Ellie's Great Big Week(end)

Paul Learns a Lesson:
On Wednesday afternoon, I picked up Ellie from school and took her to Paul's office before heading out to the airport. As we were transferring Ellie from my car to Paul's, he said, "Say goodbye to Mommy because she's never coming home!"

I know!

Apparently, he thought that she wouldn't understand. Oh, but 2-year-olds understand so much more than they can communicate verbally. She communicated her understanding to him in this case by crying. Then having a very hard time going to sleep that night. Then being up from 3:00-4:30 am. Both Paul and Ellie were very glad to see me when I got home.

Baths Are More Fun With Friends:
A friend's husband has been working and playing long hours, and she was going a bit stir-crazy at home with the baby. So she came over for dinner on Friday, then she and I left the toddlers with Paul and went to a movie.

The evening was great fun, at least for the women and children. I enjoyed seeing The Family Stone - OK, I would have enjoyed seeing just about any movie in a theater - and the kids enjoyed each other. I liked the way the writers handled the sibling relationships (so real) and really enjoyed how one of the characters (and actors) was deaf but it was no big deal. For once there was a character with a disability in a role that wasn't all about the disability.


Riding the Rails:
On Saturday, among many other things, we removed the crib rail from Ellie's bed and replaced it with a small toddler bed rail. Everybody was very excited by this development, and Ellie and I practiced having her climb up into bed to "go night night," then wake up and come wake up mommy. I went out after Ellie went to sleep (more on that later) and checked on her when I got in around 3:00 am. She was curled up, fast asleep, on the heating vent on the floor. She'd rolled out of bed and off the pillows we'd piled up to prevent just such an occurrence. Getting her back to sleep in the bed was a bit of a chore.


Tonight she went down much more easily. I went in to check on her around 11:30 pm, before I made the weekly grocery run. I heard her breathing, but didn't see her anywhere. She was fast asleep under her bed!



Theater is Art!
There were so many other things this weekend, but I'm too exhausted to type them. We did go see Dora the Explorer Live!: Dora's Pirate Adventure this afternoon. We got off to a rough start, since I made a mistake and bought tickets for yesterday's show instead of today's. We did get seats at the last minute, but were up a bit higher than I would have preferred. Ellie loved the show, regardless, so I should probably quit beating myself up about it. I'm beginning to suspect that I need more than 3-4 hours of sleep a night. Alas.

An Apology:
Finally, I want to apologize to Jessica. She kindly invited me to a "Girls' Night" at her house on Saturday night, and I was unspeakably rude. I showed up very late. I invited another friend to come along with me. I didn't bring any food. I talked way too much. And at one point, with a growing sense of horror, I realized that it was 2:30 am and I was still sitting in her living room talking! I kept her up all night! I should be fined. Jessica, if you ever invite me out again, I promise to behave slightly less like someone who never gets out of the house. I am so sorry.

Home on the Dirt Pile

I don't want to say that I was anxious about my business trip this week, but when Paul and Ellie got home from work and school on Wednesday evening, they found the front door to the house standing wide open. Oh, the glass door was closed. But the wood door was open. It seems that I rolled my suitcase out the front door, put it into the car, and just left.

In my defense, we've had a landscaping crew out here all week and so there's plenty to distract the eye from teensy weensy little household details like an open door.

It's going to look so cool when it's done. The next outdoor projects are to build Ellie's swing set/play gym thing (as part of the retaining wall project, the landscapers are building a large, level play pit), fence in the back yard, add shutters to the windows, and eventually replace the brick patio with stone. It won't be too long before the outside of our house is looking pretty spiffy!

But for now we're broke. And the inside is our next priority. Coming up for the inside are finishing the basement family room/playroom, creating a "big girl bedroom" for Ellie in the guestroom (sorry, guests!), replacing all interior and exterior doors and frames, replacing the baseboards, and eventually building a new office for me. So I guess we're planning to stay here for a while!

But back to my trip. My meeting went really well yesterday. I'm glad I went and am excited about what might come from the strategy session. The travel itself was bearable, but a touch rough. For some reason, I had to fly on a little toy jet in both directions, and the best world to describe both landings is "yaw." Oh, how I hate yaw.

I stayed at a lovely Loews, which is usually a nice treat, but not this time. My room was literally on the back of the elevator bank and I could hear the elevators going up and down all night. The room wasn't even in the nicely carpeted hallway with the other guest rooms; it opened off the marble elevator lobby before the firedoors, directly across from the service doors, which slammed. A lot. My room's windows opened out directly onto a tar paper roof covered in broken glass, with nearby office windows close enough to read their cubicle posters. The walls were horribly scuffed. Worst of all, the bathroom floor around the toilet was liberally smeared with dried blood. Oh, yes. But I got in late and left early, so I didn't change rooms. By the time I noticed the bathroom floor, I was already unpacked and exhausted.

All in all, it went well and I'm glad I went and I'm glad I'm home. No matter how messy it gets here, I can still use the bathroom barefoot.

Excused Absence

Tonight will be my first night away from Paul and Ellie. I know! She's two! We left her alone with my parents already once! But this is Paul (a wonderful and more than capable daddy) alone with Ellie in our house, so it feels different.

I plan to read. And sleep really hard. And think about other stuff. And work lots. And make believe that my life is like it used to be, just for a little while.

My super cool happy fun almost-perfect part-time job is sending me on an overnight business trip. One night is the perfect length for a business trip, I think. Oh, how far the American Airlines Gold frequent flyer has come in the past few years. It doesn't seem like so long ago that I'd gladly hop on a plane with very little notice to give a presentation somewhere across the country.

In the meantime, there are some absolutely adorable pictures of Ellie here. Jessica, you all simply must come over again very soon so that we can have a rematch of Carcassonne. I promise not to cheat this time!

When I get back, I'll post belated pictures of our homemade Christmas presents. And more of Ellie.

Language is Powerful

This is essay was written by Carol Mills, an assistant professor of Communication Studies at the University of Alabama at Birmingham. One of her three children has Down syndrome.

***

This summer, ESPN promoted the NBA playoff with upbeat and funky promos featuring the song “Let’s Get It Started” sung by the hip hop group, The Black Eyed Peas. The song was actually an adaptation of their earlier release, “Let’s Get Retarded.” When I discovered this, I contacted ESPN and encouraged others to do so, too.

Do you think ESPN would have used the BEPs' song if it was originally “Let’s Act Like _____" (insert racial, religious, cultural, or sexist) epithet of your choice? Absolutely not. Though hip hop may play by different cultural and language rules, the Disney subsidiary ESPN does not. Adapting a blatantly offensive song clearly violates appropriate cultural and business standards. During the same time period, teen actor Lindsay Lohan repeatedly replied “that’s retarded,” when questioned about various rumors. And, Jon Stewart, of The Daily Show, regularly used the phrase “like a bunch of retards.” There was little attention or reprimand for any of them.

However, during the NBA finals weeks, there was intense media scrutiny and criticism for football coach Bill Parcels using the phrase “Jap play” during a press conference and basketball legend Larry Bird’s comments about race affecting the NBA. And, comedian Jimmy Kimmel’s show was taken off the air one night because he made an insensitive comment about people from Detroit.

These events reflect a larger social issue: Though dearly sensitive to slurs against other groups, the general population does not see the derogatory use of “retarded” as offensive. Using the word as a pejorative term is common in entertainment venues, daily conversation and children’s play. Though a child would be reprimanded for making a racist comment in most schools, it is not uncommon for students — even teachers — to use the word as an epithet for something they consider negative or inappropriate.

The implications for taking control of language are profound. If children grow up hearing that when they forget something they are “retarded” or that those who act poorly are “a bunch of retards,” how do you think they will react when meeting someone with a diagnosis of mental retardation? Do you think neighborhood parents will fight inclusion if they hear about “retarded children” more than if they hear about “children with developmental delays?”

Our society’s long-time use of “retarded” as an epithet is decidedly negative. We can work to end this. Speak up and educate people.

The best approach often is a direct one. You might say, “You know, ‘retarded’ actually means ‘to do slowly.’ The way you’ve just used it hurts me and many others. It’s like hearing a racial slur.” I’ve often done this, especially with college students, and they are surprised. Most have no idea they are being offensive. They think it’s just another word until told otherwise.

If being direct is too scary, try a gentle question such as, “What did you mean by saying it is ‘retarded’?” This can create an opportunity to share the term’s negative use. Or, if it’s comfortable, try humor. When someone says, “I’m so retarded...” you might say with a smile and a wink, “Oh, that’s okay, so is my son and I love him anyway.” After breaking the ice, explain why it’s important.

This is not about confrontation — it is about education. After awhile, you’ll find a comfortable approach. Yes, initially, it may feel awkward, especially when talking to a doctor, teacher or media representative. But remember, those people need to hear it most. The more you speak up, the more natural it becomes.

Similarly, you educate others about using “people first” language. If someone refers to your child as a “Down’s child,” simply say,“Actually, he is a child who has Down syndrome.” If the person says, “It’s the same thing,” or gives you “The Look,” you might ask if they’d like to be called by their last name first from now on. The words are the same, only the order is different, why should they care? Or, as many people do, ask if they’d want to be called the “ulcer woman,” or the “cancer dad.” Diagnoses should never define the person.

Finding our voice to educate others and correct language might be difficult, but it is imperative. This is not simply about semantics, political correctness or being overly sensitive. It is about respect. Once you start educating others, you will be surprised by reactions. A few may never get it, but most people will thank you. They will even tell you that they never realized the impact of their words. In that moment, you might say, “That’s why I said something. I knew you’d understand.” Then, breathe a sigh of relief and think of what and how you might respond the next time there’s a need to educate someone. And, we all know, there will be a next time.

Language is Powerful
— By Carol Mills, Ph.D., Tuscaloosa, AL

Beautiful!

First, a little story. There was this guy on my freshman [dorm] floor who once told me that I look exactly like Peter Sellers. Yes, the guy who played Inspector Clouseau in the Pink Panther movies. Since then, whenever I'm asked which celebrity I most resemble, I always answer, "Peter Sellers!" which makes people laugh and/or look at me funny.


PPB over at The Ice Floe uploaded her face at MyHeritage.com to see what celebrities she most closely resembles. That sounded like fun, Ellie's asleep, the carpets are wet, and our TV is currently otherwise occupied, so I decided to upload my own face.

Guess who I looked like? Yes, I'm a 59% match with Peter Sellers. It turns out that my old friend Tim could see me more clearly than I see myself.


My other matches, several of which are hilarious, flattering, and humbling on their own:
Sania Mirza, 66%
Meryl Streep, 60%
Peter Sellers, 59%
Danny Elfman, 58%
Chava Albertstein, 53% (Paul matched with her too)
Wim Welders, 48%
Benzair Bhutto, 46%
Madonna, 42%
Michael Moore, 41%
Rita Hayworth, 41%

That's me. One part Michael Moore, one part Rita Hayworth. Serve in a martini glass, garnished with a nose.

Who Are You?

OK, I'll bite. My Sitemeter is set to ignore me. That means that about 90 of you stop by here every day (more on weekdays, fewer on weekends). Or, one very compulsive person clicks here a lot!

It's interesting to watch how some blogs get very high visitor:comment ratios and others do not.

If I understood the phenomenon, my ratio would probably be a bit higher.

Anyway, you're here and I'd love to hear from you. Please feel obligated! I hear that it might be National De-Lurking Week! [What nation? Well, apparently this one! And probably a few others.]

Parenting Skills

Oh, give me strength!

My thin and hungry child is crying for more food.

But she has a full plate and bowl in front of her. I already caved and added a little bit of cinnamon and sugar to her plain applesauce. And I made a second kind of sandwich in case she would prefer PB&J to ham and cheese. But I will not cave and give her something else for lunch! I will not!

But it's so hard. She could use the food, surely. But if I just make her something I know she'll eat, she'll learn that all she has to do is cry and she'll get whatever she wants. And down the line I'll really regret it . . .

Seeing it written out makes me feel better. I am making the right decision here. (I hope.) And if she gets hungry enough, she'll eat the sandwich(es) and applesauce. Right? I mean, I don't want a kid like my cousin who went through a period of only eating white rice. I'm the boss. Well, sorta.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Update. When I stepped back into the family room after writing this, Ellie and Lizzi were standing together, thick as thieves, and the food was all gone. Ellie's face is all messy so she must have had at least some of it herself! So I guess it worked. And I just had to leave the room so that she wasn't backing down in front of me. Meet my mini-teenager.

Nap Dreaming

Thank goodness Gilmore Girls is back tonight. It's clear that I've been watching too much of the wrong sort of television. I fell asleep briefly this afternoon, and had a vivid and disturbing dream.

My dad and I were at the forensic lab, picking up evidence, when suddenly he pressed a hand against his chest.

"I need to lie down flat on my back. I have an aneurysm. If I let up this pressure on it, I'm dead in minutes."

I grabbed a gurney and helped him onto it. Fortunately, the forensic lab was right next door to the hospital. I wheeled him across the parking lot to the big, red emergency entrance.

Inside the hospital, I realized that we weren't in the emergency department. In fact, I couldn't find the emergency department. We were all over the hospital, up and down in elevators, by the helipad on the roof, everywhere. Sometimes my mom and youngest sister were with us, sometimes not. But I couldn't find the ER anywhere, and I couldn't leave my dad to run around and look on my own.

At one point, I was sure that I'd found it, but it turned out the be the cafeteria, which was deserted except for the employees. They were cleaning amongst the tables and chairs. The first woman I saw didn't look very friendly.

"Excuse me, could you please direct me to the Emergency Department?"

She gave a hard look and I realized that her eyes were solid black, like The Source's. I turned to the next woman, who looked much more friendly.

"Sugar, what can I get for you?"

"Could you please tell me where I could find the ER?"

Her expression was suddenly quite hard, and her eyes bled black. In fact, as I looked around, all the cleaners' eyes were shiny, solid black.

I pushed dad back out into the well-lit hospital corridors, but had no luck soliciting help or directions. It seemed that I couldn't really communicate with anyone effectively. Perhaps I was speaking gibberish.

All in all, not a restful nap. But at least I finished Son of a Witch.

Ellie is so Cute!

Right now, it's all about the imaginative play. And laughing. Lots of laughing.

For Christmas, Ellie got a doctor kit. She opened up it, very seriously, and took out the thermometer. It's the type you'd put under your tongue, but she's never seen a thermometer used that way, of course, so she stuck it right into her ear. How she knew that it was a thermometer - her ear thermometer looks nothing like that - is a bit of a mystery. She has seen regular thermometers before, of course, but only for under-arm usage. Anyway, now she loves to come up to us - very seriously - grab our ears, and shove the thermometer in. Then grin mischievously. Unbelievably adorable.

She also got a Little People House, and she is really into that. Paul was watching her play with it last night.

"Hey! Where's the daddy?" he said and came over to watch more closely.

Mom and baby were in the big bed together, and dad was out on the tractor busily plowing the carpet. Heh. Just like our real lives, all day every day! Mom and Ellie napping, while dad's out working on the farm. Database farm, I guess . . .

The house comes with some other furniture, including a kitchen table and chairs. Apparently, Ellie thinks that the chairs look like potty chairs. She's not far off. They're rounded, low, simple, white plastic chairs with a depressed seat (to fit the Little People, of course). Now whenever she's playing and wants to go potty, she grabs one of the chairs, says, "Potty!" and walks over to knock on the bathroom door.

Can it get any better than this?

Life in the PICU - part 5

2 years ago today, Ellie had heart surgery. It's amazing. When I look at my healthy, strong, chattery toddler, I can hardly remember the sick and helpless little baby I handed to the anesthesiology fellow 730 days ago. I wrote this last year, but for some reason saved it as a draft rather than publishing it with the rest of my series of posts about our stay in the PICU.

***

The schedule and set-up of the Children's Hospital PICU are interesting. The ward is shaped like a large U, with the Cath Lab nestled in the middle. You enter one end of the U from the family lounge, past the wall of pictures of former patients. After signing in at the front desk - and this is a pretty involved procedure involving a customized sheet for each patient - you walk around the U until you find your child's room. First come the medical patients, and they take up a little less than half of the ward. I'm not sure what all these kids had, but a lot of it was infectious and I felt resentful having to walk through this area everytime I went into and out of the PICU. Ellie was very vulnerable to infection. Some of these kids were a little older and they had things like viral meningitis or were immuno-suppressed. Others were quite young and had RSV.

The second half of the U, leading around to 7 West (where all the heart kids go before surgery and after recovery in the PICU) houses the surgical patients. Ellie was in the first bed on the surgical side. I don't know what I expected, but on the last glorious day, when we wheeled Ellie through the U and out through the doors onto 7 West, we walked past every single room and I saw every single surgical patient. They were all little babies with bandages down their chests, just like my little girl. Tiny, tiny babies, all in worse shape than Ellie. It was heart-breaking. Quite literally.

Nurses on the PICU work 12 hour shifts. For the first couple of days, Ellie had her own nurse. Once she was more stable, she sometimes shared a nurse with the girl next door, whose room was separated from Ellie's by a completely window-walled nurses' station. These stations were every-other room and one or two nurses would be in there at all times, monitoring their patients when they weren't in the patients' rooms. Every time Ellie's nurse went into the other little girl's room, the medical little girl's room, she put on a hair covering, gown, and gloves. Why? I was nearly panicked before I finally asked what horrible germs my Ellie might be exposed to from this child. It turns out that, of course, it's the other little girl who was at risk, not Ellie. I still don't know what she had, but she'd been in the PICU for months. She was about 7 and spent most of her time watching TV; there was little else for her to do.

Every morning the doctors came through for rounds. I always wanted to be there for this, just in case. But we weren't really allowed to "be there." You're allowed to stay in your child's room during rounds, but you could not step foot into the hallway until they're over. And the doctors do not actually come into the rooms to see the patients during rounds. My hope was that the surgeon, cardiologist, or resident would pop into Ellie's room before or after rounds and share some little tidbit about how she was doing. Most commonly, a nervous resident, clearly concerned with impressing the boss, would stop by beforehand and talk to the nurse about how Ellie was doing. I'd ask questions, and she (the resident) would promise to find out during rounds. I rarely saw the same resident again all day. I did see the cardiology attending and our surgeon nearly every day, though, so I'm not complaining too loudly.

Every morning, I'd wake up very early or, more commonly, stand up from Ellie's bedside very early. I'd go to the family lounge bathroom and take a quick shower, cram a granola bar down my throat, snag a bottle of water, and head back to Ellie's side. The PICU closed at 6:00 am and didn't open until after rounds. This could be 45 minutes or a couple of hours. And if there was an emergency at any time, the floor closed. You could stay with your child, as long as your child wasn't the one having the emergency, and as long as you stayed out of the hallway. There are no bathrooms for visitors' use in the PICU. This could be acutely uncomfortable.

On one hand, I really understand how this situation is best for the doctors and, probably, the patients. It's important for the halls to be cleared for the emergency transportation of large equipment, and for doctors to be able to complete rounds without being continuously interrupted by panicky parents. But on the other hand, it could be a little tough on the parents.

Expiration Date?

I was brushing my teeth without my shirt on the other night, and I noticed a little discoloration on my nipples. I scratched at it gently with a fingernail and it came off easily. Dried milk. It's odd, I thought, that it didn't wash off on the shower sometime over the past 6 weeks.

Then, behind the dried milk came the answer: fresh milk. From both breasts. I'm still lactating.

Perhaps I will make milk forever. Perhaps I am now Mother. It feels . . . rather powerful.

Romantic Escape in the Heart of the City

Paul and I have gone out on our own only about a half dozen times since Ellie was born. Since we're well into our third year of parenting, this is pretty significant. She's walking, she's talking, she's weaned, she's over stranger anxiety; it's high time for a little mommy and daddy alone time.

My mom agreed to keep Ellie, so I started shopping for cheap deals to Mexico. My mom suggested that someplace closer would be smarter, for our first overnight away from Ellie. Just in case. Ah, reason.

I found an incredible deal for a romantic getaway package in Chicago. It was at the white-glove hotel where Paul and I stayed the weekend before he proposed 6 years ago. And in the unlikely event of a water landing, we could meet my parents halfway and be with Ellie in well under 30 minutes.

On Sunday morning, after all the New Year's Eve drunks had veered out of the city, we headed in. Paul dropped me off at Kohl's House and found a Starbucks while I had a quick visit with Frankie and Moreena. Frankie is as cute as her pictures suggest, and I was very sympathetic to her repeated refrain, "I wanna go my house!" I bet her mama and daddy feel the same way.

I met up with Paul, who was jubilant about having found free parking. We forsook that wonderful spot and drove south to Prudential Plaza, where we had lunch at Giordano's - and found more free on-street parking! After gorging ourselves, we checked into our hotel and the luxury part began in earnest. We let the valet take the car. Later we noticed that the hotel failed to charge us for this service - more free parking! Now I wish we'd tipped the guy more.

We relaxed in the room for a bit, then headed over to Marshall Field's. Unfortunately, the black shroud of mourning was gone (hi, Macy's) but we did get to see the Cinderella windows. Our first item of business, however, was to find me a coat. Paul and I forgot ours at my parents' house, but he had on a fleece vest and claims that his Wyoming heritage keeps him immune to Midwestern winters. I finally found something that fit at Old Navy, and we moved on across the street to Borders, where we drank and read and chatted for a couple of hours.

Eventually, we took a lovely walk up to The Weber for steak. We finished in time for a brisk walk over to Loews to watch The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. We saw someone we knew in the theater (an old college "buddy") but were short on time so we hid from him.

After the movie we strolled 2 blocks back to our hotel in the rain and collapsed.

Oh, that hotel room. We were on the 33rd floor and the view was incomparable. To the left I could see Michigan Avenue less than a block away. Straight ahead I could see many of Chicago's landmark buildings and the Chicago River, also less than a block away. To the near right I could see Navy Pier and the lake. On Monday morning, I would have been happy to sit and watch the ebb and flow of the Chicago mist for hours. I love that city.

We slept heavily and late. When we awoke, the hotel treated us to a wonderful breakfast in bed. Then we went downstairs to the Lakeshore Athletic Club for massages. Ahhhhhh. Then we, er, returned to the room to rest. After showers and packing up, we checked out around 3:30. It was raining pretty hard, so we got the car and drove up Michigan Avenue. We found a garage that let us pay a lot for parking, and went inside Water Tower Place to have lunch and window shop a bit.

We got home in time for dinner, and Ellie was happy to see us. She had a wonderful time with her grandparents and aunt and uncle, while Paul and I had a wonderful and guilt-free vacation. I'm still feeling good. Have I mentioned how much I love Chicago?