When I lived in NYC I ate lots of take-out and it seemed normal. After living in Phoenix for a while having a tan and spending a lot of time in malls seemed like a good idea. In Oakland I was the second one of the parents in our parents' group to ween my baby (at 18 months), I felt like an outsider because Sumner slept in a crib, and Phil was one of three stay-at-home dads who's wives and I worked together. In Boston, I felt self-conscious that my winter coat wasn't big and puffy (until I bought a new one).
So what next? I think of this stop as much more than a layover. We are within spitting distance of the two year mark. I've always said that it takes two years for a place to be home.
Here's what's happened so far:
I no longer feel like giggling when I say that I am going to the Winn Dixie.
I feel naked if my toenails aren't painted (even when I have shoes on).
I always wear earrings.
I wear ironed clothing. Often.
Costuming is a verb.
50 degrees outside is very chilly.
15 minutes is a commute.
Recycling is no longer reflexive--it is a disciplined project.
I think of summer as a rainy season full of indoor activities.
Basementless houses are no longer an oddity to me.
Popeye's isn't a treat.
Seeing rotting, flooded houses with overgrown yards everyday no longer gets me in the gut.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
Book Covers
Dad actually emailed this true story to me:
Here is a quote from a GC [Grinnell College] applicant I found yesterday:
Q: How did you first learn about GC?
A: I spoke with 1 of your representatives at an otherwise disappointing college fair. The booth caught my eye on our way out. Not being familiar with GC, it was solely the man’s attractively unique personal presentation that drew me to your college; a balding head, thick black glasses (not unlike my own), and a pair of fiery orange eyebrows—a smart guy, a real character. Our exchange was, obviously rewarding. For once, the cover was an accurate representation of the book!
Here is a quote from a GC [Grinnell College] applicant I found yesterday:
Q: How did you first learn about GC?
A: I spoke with 1 of your representatives at an otherwise disappointing college fair. The booth caught my eye on our way out. Not being familiar with GC, it was solely the man’s attractively unique personal presentation that drew me to your college; a balding head, thick black glasses (not unlike my own), and a pair of fiery orange eyebrows—a smart guy, a real character. Our exchange was, obviously rewarding. For once, the cover was an accurate representation of the book!
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Ramona on Commercialism
Ramona likes to keep up posted about products that she learns about on T.V. Whenever I am fumbling through my purse to find my keys she reminds me that I can buy a purse that has a place for everything, "You can even find things blindfolded for $ 29.95." The other night at dinner she told us about the Evert-Fresh "green bags." She flatly told us what she had witnessed (on T.V.), "Bananas in the green bag stay fresh for 10 days, bananas out of the bag get black and spotted."
We follow-up these info-sessions with anti-commercialism rhetoric. We talk about need and want and the fact that a purse with more pockets won't magically organize me and that we eat our bananas in less that 10 days so we don't need another thing to keep our bananas fresh (although that banana hook I got at Target years ago does help). She listens without a word. We talk at her about marketing and how people who make ads want to convince you to buy stuff.
The other day she and I stopped by the drug store to pick up a few things. We meandered into the shampoo aisle and she jumped to attention. "Mom, I know that all of these are from advertisements," she reported, using her whole body to indicate an entire shelf of one brand of shampoo. "I am sure they are from advertising," she repeated and pointed with concerned big eyes and raised eyebrows.
"Should we get that one Ramona?"
"No, Mom. They are trying to trick us into buying it," she mimicked.
Lesson learned. Neurosis born.
We follow-up these info-sessions with anti-commercialism rhetoric. We talk about need and want and the fact that a purse with more pockets won't magically organize me and that we eat our bananas in less that 10 days so we don't need another thing to keep our bananas fresh (although that banana hook I got at Target years ago does help). She listens without a word. We talk at her about marketing and how people who make ads want to convince you to buy stuff.
The other day she and I stopped by the drug store to pick up a few things. We meandered into the shampoo aisle and she jumped to attention. "Mom, I know that all of these are from advertisements," she reported, using her whole body to indicate an entire shelf of one brand of shampoo. "I am sure they are from advertising," she repeated and pointed with concerned big eyes and raised eyebrows.
"Should we get that one Ramona?"
"No, Mom. They are trying to trick us into buying it," she mimicked.
Lesson learned. Neurosis born.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
What I Learned from Amy's Labor
My dear friend Amy labored for over 60 hours last Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday and had a beautiful boy on February 19. I was with her and husband Marlow for about 50 of those hours. Amy and I have been there (or nearly there) for the major milestones in our lives from the time we were about 13. Those 50 hours are one of the greatest gifts she could have possible given to me.
Many things happened in that time and most of it will only be of interest to those of us who were there, but I know that part of my job is to remember this birth so that I can tell Elijah about it when no one else remembers, because I will.
I learned...
Patience is a virtue.
You can't get a six-pack of normal size Diet Cokes (they sell the little ones) at Rouse's and Amy's mother-in-law, Mimi, is being so careful as to not offend us-Louisianans about our ass-backwards ways that when she asked someone about why she couldn't get a regular sized six-pack, she didn't use the word normal.
Brittany thinks that Kevin slept with her mother, but she didn't. Brittany is paranoid.
Marlow eats a lot of sausage and tic tacs and prefers sausage to bacon and toast to grits.
Naomi was in labor for 36 hours, as was Anna. Mimi was 12 with the first, 6 with the second. My mom was in labor for 4 hours with her first. We should not mention these stories to Amy.
Labor can go one for more than 2 days and still not make the world record.
Rolly stools are for hospital staff.
Mimi prefers to call Rouse's Rouse because she doesn't like all of these commonly-misspelled possessive store names.
Marlow thinks that's fine as long as she realizes that that's not what the sign will say.
Marlow is not dogmatic about how to make a tuna melt, but Mimi and I agree he is about other things.
Drugs can make a contracting, tired lady sleep.
You can die of pants.
You can be beautiful in labor. Amy was not only graceful in pregnancy, but after 52 hours of labor she was still composed.
Bubba burgers don't have to be defrosted to be cooked.
Cannons is not crowded on Monday nights.
Marlow is really committed to Bikram yoga.
Mimi wants to be called Mema and CNO (Chief Nutritional Officer).
4 of the 5 Happy Baby S's are shushing, swaddling, side-jiggling, and swinging, but not in that order. The guy who invented these S's gets them right, but need to tear up a few phone books.
How to make a hearty sausage-squash-kale (minus that kale) soup and it is easy to make German brick bread.
Mimi likes to know what's going to happen next in a movie.
Marlow gave up sweets for Lent and I gave up giving up alcohol for one day during labor.
You can get warm muffins at 6AM at Oschner.
Amy is a champion. So is Marlow.
The cleanest place to sleep in a waiting room is under the T.V.
"Eye of the Tiger" and "I Would Walk 500 Miles" are good labor songs.
Labor is labor.
Childbirth is one of the only things that makes Erika effusive and quick to return calls.
I want to write.
I am one of Amy's people.
Many things happened in that time and most of it will only be of interest to those of us who were there, but I know that part of my job is to remember this birth so that I can tell Elijah about it when no one else remembers, because I will.
I learned...
Patience is a virtue.
You can't get a six-pack of normal size Diet Cokes (they sell the little ones) at Rouse's and Amy's mother-in-law, Mimi, is being so careful as to not offend us-Louisianans about our ass-backwards ways that when she asked someone about why she couldn't get a regular sized six-pack, she didn't use the word normal.
Brittany thinks that Kevin slept with her mother, but she didn't. Brittany is paranoid.
Marlow eats a lot of sausage and tic tacs and prefers sausage to bacon and toast to grits.
Naomi was in labor for 36 hours, as was Anna. Mimi was 12 with the first, 6 with the second. My mom was in labor for 4 hours with her first. We should not mention these stories to Amy.
Labor can go one for more than 2 days and still not make the world record.
Rolly stools are for hospital staff.
Mimi prefers to call Rouse's Rouse because she doesn't like all of these commonly-misspelled possessive store names.
Marlow thinks that's fine as long as she realizes that that's not what the sign will say.
Marlow is not dogmatic about how to make a tuna melt, but Mimi and I agree he is about other things.
Drugs can make a contracting, tired lady sleep.
You can die of pants.
You can be beautiful in labor. Amy was not only graceful in pregnancy, but after 52 hours of labor she was still composed.
Bubba burgers don't have to be defrosted to be cooked.
Cannons is not crowded on Monday nights.
Marlow is really committed to Bikram yoga.
Mimi wants to be called Mema and CNO (Chief Nutritional Officer).
4 of the 5 Happy Baby S's are shushing, swaddling, side-jiggling, and swinging, but not in that order. The guy who invented these S's gets them right, but need to tear up a few phone books.
How to make a hearty sausage-squash-kale (minus that kale) soup and it is easy to make German brick bread.
Mimi likes to know what's going to happen next in a movie.
Marlow gave up sweets for Lent and I gave up giving up alcohol for one day during labor.
You can get warm muffins at 6AM at Oschner.
Amy is a champion. So is Marlow.
The cleanest place to sleep in a waiting room is under the T.V.
"Eye of the Tiger" and "I Would Walk 500 Miles" are good labor songs.
Labor is labor.
Childbirth is one of the only things that makes Erika effusive and quick to return calls.
I want to write.
I am one of Amy's people.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Pinewood Derby
This one is for you, Alex.
Today was a beautiful day. There were sibling spats and family members grouching on each other because they can, but it was also full of friendship, familiarity, and possibility. I like that.
The best moment of the day was this afternoon at the Cub Scout Pinewood Derby. If you ask me how Sumner did, I'll tell you that he won the Pinewood Derby for his den, which has about 10 kids. If you ask Sumner, he will tell you that he came in third place for his pack, which has about 50 kids. He will also tell you that he made friends with the kid who won, Josh. Josh happens to be the newest kid to the pack. He happened to join one week ago just in time for this event and he happens to be an orthodox Jew, wearing a yarmulke and out on shabbot to race cars. The Pact Leader, who I like to call the Den Master because it rhymes with Zen Master, called Josh his "sleeper."
The Pinewood Derby is a rite of passage for many boys in America. There is a lot of family lore surrounding the Pinewood Derby in our family. There was my cousin Matt, who built his car with Grandpa Art, because his mom was a single mom. The story goes that he worked tirelessly on his car, doing most of it himself. Grandpa Art helped him with one aspect of the design, as the rules specified he could. When the big day arrived, Matt was crushed because his car didn't match up to the father-built cars his cohorts raced. He cried. There was my brother, who built his car with his Grandad A.J. because our dad hardly prefers newspapers to sandpaper. His car looked good, but it was slow. And, of course, there was Phil's cars. He won the Pinewood Derby two years in a row, because his father paid careful attention to every aspect of the car and made it without much help from Phil.
Sumner knows these stories. So this week, as Phil scrambled to find the time to help Sumner finish his car between two hospital on-call cycles, Sumner was trying to make sense of the family legacy. They were up early in the morning--sanding and painting--and working on it before bedtime--planning the detail work. Sumner and Phil were determined to make this car Sumner's work, but Philip was also determined to support Sumner to have a competitive car.
Last night when Phil and Sumner were putting the final touches on the car just before the weigh-in Sumner told Phil not to be such a perfectionist, "It's going to be just fine, Dad."
Today I was snapping some pictures of Sumner posing with the five den winners and I could see that he was trying to smile, but that he wanted to cry. As soon as the photo shot ended, he made a b-line for me and said that he wanted to go "right away." I was pretty sure that he was going to cry because he didn't make best in show. As we walked out of the cafeteria, I asked him is he felt like crying because he came in third place. He shook his head and said, "No. I'm just so proud. I made this car myself."
That's a good day.
Today was a beautiful day. There were sibling spats and family members grouching on each other because they can, but it was also full of friendship, familiarity, and possibility. I like that.
The best moment of the day was this afternoon at the Cub Scout Pinewood Derby. If you ask me how Sumner did, I'll tell you that he won the Pinewood Derby for his den, which has about 10 kids. If you ask Sumner, he will tell you that he came in third place for his pack, which has about 50 kids. He will also tell you that he made friends with the kid who won, Josh. Josh happens to be the newest kid to the pack. He happened to join one week ago just in time for this event and he happens to be an orthodox Jew, wearing a yarmulke and out on shabbot to race cars. The Pact Leader, who I like to call the Den Master because it rhymes with Zen Master, called Josh his "sleeper."
The Pinewood Derby is a rite of passage for many boys in America. There is a lot of family lore surrounding the Pinewood Derby in our family. There was my cousin Matt, who built his car with Grandpa Art, because his mom was a single mom. The story goes that he worked tirelessly on his car, doing most of it himself. Grandpa Art helped him with one aspect of the design, as the rules specified he could. When the big day arrived, Matt was crushed because his car didn't match up to the father-built cars his cohorts raced. He cried. There was my brother, who built his car with his Grandad A.J. because our dad hardly prefers newspapers to sandpaper. His car looked good, but it was slow. And, of course, there was Phil's cars. He won the Pinewood Derby two years in a row, because his father paid careful attention to every aspect of the car and made it without much help from Phil.
Sumner knows these stories. So this week, as Phil scrambled to find the time to help Sumner finish his car between two hospital on-call cycles, Sumner was trying to make sense of the family legacy. They were up early in the morning--sanding and painting--and working on it before bedtime--planning the detail work. Sumner and Phil were determined to make this car Sumner's work, but Philip was also determined to support Sumner to have a competitive car.
Last night when Phil and Sumner were putting the final touches on the car just before the weigh-in Sumner told Phil not to be such a perfectionist, "It's going to be just fine, Dad."
Today I was snapping some pictures of Sumner posing with the five den winners and I could see that he was trying to smile, but that he wanted to cry. As soon as the photo shot ended, he made a b-line for me and said that he wanted to go "right away." I was pretty sure that he was going to cry because he didn't make best in show. As we walked out of the cafeteria, I asked him is he felt like crying because he came in third place. He shook his head and said, "No. I'm just so proud. I made this car myself."
That's a good day.
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