FivePointFour

Yesterday at 11:42 AM, I was on the phone with the VP of my department, whose office is just down the hall (we were preparing for a conference call). If you had been a fly on the wall (ick), you would have heard me say, “Hey, wait a minute. That’s not – hey, is this an earthquake? Oh my God, I think it’s an earthquake. Yup, we’re having an earthquake. Um, hello?”

At that point he stuck his head in my office and said, “Are you okay?”

What? Was there some sort of tectonic disturbance yesterday?

We are all okay over here, although it took a few minutes for the rubbery feeling in my legs to go away and then all the phone lines were jammed so no one could get in touch with anyone else. My sister-in-law, who is always on top of these things, had developed an emergency plan for our family years ago. In the event of a terrorist attack or natural disaster, we are all supposed to call Sweet Dub’s Aunt D in Texas. She will then be able to tell us all where everyone is and if everyone is okay. The problem is that in the intervening years, there’s been a rift in the family and Sweet Dub refuses to speak to that side anymore. Since I think the rift (which involves allegations of elder abuse*) is legit, I don’t want to call them either. So instead we were all emailing each other and trying the landlines every 10 minutes.

Here’s some fascinating footage of the quake, if you haven’t seen it already.

Evidently, instinctively, I did the right thing as the quake was happening, which was to not get under my desk and to stay away from the front wall of my office, which is made of glass. I just got down low on the floor next to the desk , because (a) I’m big and pregnant and all and I can’t move that fast, and (2) What if it WAS the Big One? I’d be crushed underneath the desk.

Ah, California. Endlessly entertaining.

* Oh man, the stories I could tell you, which I don’t out of respect for the family. This blog would be about 500 times more interesting. Yeah, sorry about that.

The Other Side of the Story

"Children's mouths speak the truth."
- Chinese proverb

"You can't handle the truth!"
- Jack Nicholson as Col. Jessep in A Few Good Men

Well, as I've learned more about "the incident" that occurred over a week ago, I'm reminded once again of how important it is not to pass judgment before you get the whole story. And particularly of how, when you know your child is generally well-behaved and truthful, you need to take what others say with a grain of salt.

Here's my recap of how the incident was originally relayed to me:

The kids went on a field trip on Friday and were waiting in line to get on a merry-go-round. There was the usual pushing and shoving, and apparently some child pushed Viva, so Viva punched her. Then one of the moms who was helping to chaperone said, “No, no, no – Viva, no hitting!” To which my child (yes, mine)replied: “What do you care? You’re not my mother!”

Two points here: Viva did not punch the other child, as I found out later - she merely pushed her back. (I'm not excusing this, but I do think pushing is much less harmful than punching, as I was originally told.) Also, there was a crucial omission in this story, which is that the mom in question did not see the child, A, push Viva in the first place. When Viva protested that A had pushed her first, the mom flat out said, "No, she didn't." I know my child and while she can sometimes be "spirited," I know that she will not ever hit, or behave aggressively, unless she is hit first.* So it appears that not only was she wronged first, but then she was (in her mind) called a liar on top of it.

This pretty much changes the whole tone of the incident for me. I said to Viva, "Okay, I understand that you were really angry and hurt. It sounds like K's mom took sides without knowing the whole story and that was unfair. But you know you are still not supposed to talk to grown-ups like that."

"I'm sorry!" Viva wailed. She had already had to talk it out with Daddy, with much crying and unhappiness, and then I came home to find her lying in a somber little puddle on Daddy's chest on the couch and had her rehash it with me. "Can we just stop talking about it? It just makes me sad!"

"You understand that you are not to talk back to grown-ups like that?" I said. Viva nodded miserably. "Okay, then. I can tell you are sorry and you already feel bad enough, so yes, we can stop talking about it. Can you come over here so I can give you a hug?"

Privately, Sweet Dub and I conferred and agreed she should not be subject to any kind of further punishment. It is a hard road to walk, this parenting thing. You just kind of make it up as you go.

* This is a policy of last resort, since when Viva started school, she was so non-confrontational that she was getting bullied by another kid every day. Finally, against my protests** (and since "telling the teacher" was not preventing her getting pushed, kicked, scratched and even spit on every day), Sweet Dub taught her how to throw a punch in self-defense. This was preceded by a simple lecture, the refrain of which was how she was only to do this as a last resort to make this child stop picking on her. Indeed, not only did the bullying stop, but they became best friends.

** "My child is not going to be a punching bag!" was Sweet Dub's response.

Scenes From a Marriage

Sunday morning. I am eating a blueberry muffin and enjoying the fresh medley of fruit I have prepared (peaches, strawberries and blueberries). My husband wanders by.

Sweet Dub: So what's the plan for today? We need to clean this house.

Mama Blah [deliberately screechy]: When are you going to put my pictures up on the wall? When are you going to fix the yard? I thought you were going to --

Sweet Dub leaves the room. Five minutes later, he pokes his head into the dining area.

Sweet Dub: Do you want to go to the zoo or clean the house?

Mama Blah: I don't want to do either of those things.

Not that it matters, because Sweet Dub has already walked out the back door without waiting for my response. Ah, love.

Updated to add: We ended up going to the hardware/garden center en famille rather than the zoo. Once we got back home, it was too blindingly hot to stand in the patio area where we were planning on doing the work, so I took a nap while Sweet Dub and Viva played with Legos. But we did end up getting half the project finished in the early evening -- pavers have been placed, and tonight we will add seed. Sweet!

Hush Your Mouth!

I am having issues with Viva’s school – more on that later – and I have been trying to get in touch with their principal to address them. She returned my call today and said, “I assume you’re calling about the incident on Friday?”

To which I responded, “What incident on Friday?”

Oh, Lord. The kids went on a field trip on Friday and were waiting in line to get on a merry-go-round. There was the usual pushing and shoving, and apparently some child pushed Viva, so Viva punched her. Then one of the moms who was helping to chaperone said, “No, no, no – Viva, no hitting!”

To which my child (yes, mine) replied: “What do you care? You’re not my mother!”

Wow. I was floored. We have been having some trouble with Viva over the past few weeks because she has become very mouthy. In fact, right now she is on punishment for a week because she mouthed off to her daddy over the weekend. Clearly, whatever we have been telling her about her mouth and having respect for other people is not working.

Man, if I ever said something like that and the principal called my mom to talk about it? Whew! Shit. I would rather not go home. Life would be very unpleasant.

I responded that this is a new thing, very uncharacteristic of Viva (to which the principal agreed, as Viva is most often the kid who gets stickers and treats for being so well-behaved, such a good listener, etc.). I have never had a bad report about her – usually if the school calls me, it’s because she is either sick or some other kid hit/bit/kicked her or something. I asked for the child’s name so I could make sure Viva apologized to her, and for the mom’s name, so Viva and I could apologize to her together.

I also told the principal that while I am not trying to make excuses for Viva, she has been very unhappy with the school’s camp program this year. She has had a different teacher virtually every week, and no one has communicated with us about this at all. The woman who was supposed to be her teacher, who Viva loved and whose class she wanted to be in, quit unexpectedly because the other kindergarten teacher gave notice and the school administration expected her to teach two classrooms’ worth of kids. The only reason I know this is because one of the other parents called me at work and told me. No one at the school communicated to me at all.

So Viva was already heartbroken that she lost one teacher, but she quickly regrouped when Mrs. H. began teaching the summer program. Mrs. H. is a fourth-grade teacher who was supposed to substitute for the whole summer. Viva told me she liked her and was now happy with school. So we had Mrs. H. for two weeks and then we went on vacation. When we returned, Mrs. H. was gone on vacation and Mrs. R, the Spanish teacher, was filling in. Viva was glum.

“She is not a good teacher,” she said. “She thinks we’re babies. She makes us sing Barney songs!” I told her to grit her teeth and be patient, that Mrs. H. would be back next week. This would be fine, except that I was wrong. Mrs. H. was not back. She was moved to another class and an 80-year-old teacher’s aide is now in charge of the class. Viva is now really unhappy and confused, and I’m really ticked off.

“Well, we hired a new teacher, Miss W. She’ll be starting Monday, and she’ll be Viva’s teacher for the whole school year,” the principal said.

Great, so now she has to adjust to yet another teacher. It occurs to me that when it appears that the grownups don’t know what’s going on, and the whole routine is off-kilter, it makes the kids feel really insecure. Viva misses her Pre-K teacher, so she’s already unhappy about that, and now after three teachers in four weeks, she is going to get a new teacher again. How this new person is going to get any respect from these kids is beyond me. I can see why Viva might be acting out a bit. (Not that I am making excuses.)

But moreover, getting back to “the incident” at the merry-go-round, I am really pissed off that this happened on Friday and I’m just hearing about it today. Had I known about it the day it happened, I could have addressed it then and our weekend would have been very different (Viva had her cousins over for a camp-out and a sleepover, with all the attendant treats and privileges). It’s well after the fact now, and it’s not fresh.

So it was especially timely that I came across this entry from CityMama:
'Ohana means family (and sometimes you learn that the hard way)

It made me nostalgic for my mom’s old neighborhood, where if you did something bad up the block, your mama knew about it before you even walked home (and you got a talking-to from every other grownup on the street on your way home) . I feel the parents in Viva’s class are a pretty tight-knit group and we can pretty much correct each other’s kids with impunity, so I am doubly appalled that Viva would respond this way to someone’s mom.

And I already ratted her out to Sweet Dub. She is in for one hell of a talking-to on the way home. Further bulletins as events unfold.

Forty (Not the Song by U2)

My birthday is on its way (August 11th), and it’s the big one this year. I’m turning 40. Sweet Dub says I shouldn’t tell people that, but you know what? I don’t really have a problem with it. If other people do, that’s their issue. I’m not going to get all hung up about it.

Since this is a “milestone” birthday, it gives me pause and makes me a bit reflective. Here are some reasons why I feel blessed to have lived through nearly 40 years on this planet:

* I honestly do not give a rat’s ass about what other people think about how I live my life.

* I still get carded when I buy alcoholic beverages (good genes haven’t let me down yet).

* I don’t have to be trendy.

* I am more comfortable with myself than when I turned 30, and much more so than when I turned 20. This makes me look forward to the years to come.

* I have finally learned how to say no.

* While I do like to look good, I realize that (to quote India.Arie), “I am not my hair, I am not my skin…” Who I am is not just what I look like.

* On a related note, and this is not a contradiction of my previous point: regular application of moisturizer and sunscreen are critically important.

* Finding the right life partner makes a huge difference in how you live your life as you age. Find someone who makes you laugh, who makes you think, and who has his/her head on straight. It will save you a lot of grief.

* Good friends are a great gift.

* Sometimes it’s easier to let the small things go. And there are a lot more small things than you might think.

* Certain things you can’t go cheap on. Wine, bras, and shoes come to mind. Oh, and garbage bags. Don’t go with the cheap garbage bags.

This is what comes to mind this minute. I am sure I will amend later. What would you add? Even if you haven’t yet reached 40, what are some important life lessons you’ve learned?

P.S. New post up at Belly Overwhelmed, too.

Anti-Social

So, last week the Blah Blah Family was on vacation, or as we like to call it, "staycation." I intentionally did not read email or blogs or for that matter, return phone calls if I didn't feel like it. And it was glorious. During this time, I: had my sister and her family over twice, including a sleepover on the 4th of July; went to the supermarket approximately 43 times; had a mani/pedi; bought a new car; went to the beach; saw a Sparks game in the skybox at Staples Center;

went to a pool party; read two books in their entirety; lounged around in the backyard drinking lemonade and eating Popsicles and watching Viva splash about in the pool; and I don't remember what all. The days just kind of blended together and that was just fine with me. I got to nap!

Okay, I admit it. With this pregnancy, I just can't be bothered with people. I get easily tired and thus easily irritated, and when people want to do things that aren't easy for me, I have actually begun to say no. I think the last straw was a few weeks ago, when I had agreed to a playdate with one of Viva's classmates. Her mom is sweet but a bit high maintenance, as in, she will call me every couple of days normally, but when we are having a playdate she will literally call me every five minutes before we get there. But first, she will call me the day before the playdate to confirm, then call the morning of the playdate to confirm again, then ask me to call her when I am leaving the house. This is not because I have ever been late to a playdate. I understand how kids are, and mine is just as hyper about getting to play with your kid as your kid is about getting to play with mine, so I am pretty much out the door when I say I'm going to be.

The problem with this mom is that I agreed I would meet her at an indoor playground in an area of Los Angeles County which is inland, and extremely hot. I actually live closer to this area than she does, but I left the house earlier than she did, because, as I explained to her, I needed to get gas and then pick up a gift for my grandmother's birthday at the same mall where the playground is. "You're leaving NOW?" she said.

"Yeah," I said. "I just have to do these two things and then if we get there before you, that's fine. We'll just meet you there." I was leaving about 10 minutes before she was, and she lives about 15 minutes further away. She proceeded to call me when she left, again when she got on the freeway (at which point, on hearing I was already in the parking lot, she screeched, "You're already THERE?"), and then every two minutes thereafter to determine where exactly we were. At one point, I had just hung up the phone with her and it rang again before I even put it down. What?? I almost threw the phone out the window. It was 98 degrees and I could not find a parking space and I was muttering not very nice stuff under my breath and Viva kept asking me what I was saying and I wanted to run someone over.

I just have no patience for stuff like this. I realize this is her issue, her anxiety, whatever, but it makes me not want to deal with her at all. She called me again while I was on vacation (despite the fact that we'd just seen her at a pool party three days earlier) and left a message wanting to get together. I haven't yet called her back. (I know, I know, I'll call her today.)

It's not that I don't like her. When we finally get together, I have a good time. But seriously, this woman calls me more often than my own sister does. (And I actually like to talk to my sister!) But I had other friends before I met her, friends who I love dearly who I don't get to talk with as much as I'd like. If I'm going to be talking to anyone, I'd rather be talking to them. (Note to friends: this doesn't mean that I'm actually going to call you, although you know I love you and think about you constantly. Kiss kiss!)

Sweet Dub said to me this weekend, "You are really anti-social these days. We both are."

"Viva doesn't want to go anywhere," I said. This is true. We had tried to lure her out of the backyard with promises of the park, the zoo, even heroin, but she just wanted to lie in the shade and paint watercolors with her dad and then splash around in the pool.

"But I wonder if she's getting that from us," he said. "We need to schedule some more playdates so she's not just around us all the time."

I glared at him.

"It doesn't have to be with just [Constant-Phoning Mom's kid]," he said. "Do she and Viva really get along THAT well?"

"They play together fine," I said. "But Viva never mentions her or asks to go play with her. She asks about [kid whose parents we like] and [other kid whose parents we like] a lot more often, so I've talked with them about doing a kind of a regular thing. We just haven't gotten it together."

"Well, get it together," he said, making a face at me.

"Whatever, get it together yourself," I said.

God! Why must I be so put upon? Me and my petty little problems.

So anyway, I am going to attempt to be more sociable. Wish me luck. Oh, and look upon me in all my anti-social hugeness:

P.S. Also, very short new post up at Belly Overwhelmed. Because I'm back from vacation, but why work? (ha ha, heh heh, that was a joke, I've been very busy today, really)

Imaginings

Viva, as her alter-ago “Michael,” has asked me to go on a date with her. I have accepted, and we have both gotten dressed up. The outfit “Michael” wears on our date is comprised of the following: knit winter cap, pulled on haphazardly over Viva’s mini-locs,* a white “wife-beater” tank top with colorful designs painted onto it with tempera paint, a pink madras belt used as a tie over the wife-beater, and navy blue bike shorts with sparkly rhinestones down each side. (I am wearing a white eyelet dress with a green wrap, dangly earrings and a straw hat.) We drive on our ottoman to a lovely restaurant. When we arrive, “Michael” asks if I would like to sit inside or out. I decide on out, so we head out to the backyard, where “Michael” serves me a lovely dinner of plastic food – tacos and something called “soup sorbet” – on a tray, on a blanket on the grass. It is all very romantic, and at one point “Michael” lies back on the blanket and invites me to look at the sky, which is beautifully blue and clear. I lie down for two seconds before I can feel my pregnant stomach overtaking my lungs. Because breathing is important to me, I sit back up. “Michael” looks at me lovingly and tells me I am beautiful. I thank him and tell him he is beautiful, too. And then the following exchange takes place:

Viva/Michael: Do you wanna have dinner and then sleep together?

Mama B: Sleep together?!

V/M [encouragingly]: I have a REALLY nice bed.

Mama B: That sounds nice, but I think I need to get to know you better before we have a sleepover.

V/M [disgustedly]: Agh.

Mama B: Y’know, this has really been great. I’ve had a really good time on our date. You seem like a nice guy. But I need to get back home to cook dinner for my family.

V/M: Yeah, um – me too. I need to get home to see my little brother, Gee-Woo**. He wants me to play videogames with him.

Mama B: That’s sweet of you. Well, thanks for the date and all.

V/M: Yeah, um – I’ll see you tomorrow? We can go to the movies!

Mama B: Sounds good.

V/M: Okay, see you in the morning. [runs inside] Dad! DAD! You wanna play with me? Let’s wrestle!

* I twisted Viva’s hair last Sunday and then took the twists out on Saturday and just left her hair like that, all curly and wild. Completely adorable.

** New kid in summer camp. He speaks very little English, mainly Korean, but apparently they speak some kind of universal play language, because Viva is all up in his business and he’s all I hear about lately.

Can I Get an Amen?

Today, I was browsing through the rental listings for Craigslist, when I happened across this headline:

$3000 / 3br - Rental listings over $2000 on Craigslist (Pipe Dream USA)

Well, I had to click on it. Wouldn't you? And here is the ad (I am quoting the entire thing because it is just too beautiful):

Would all the people trying to rent houses that they can not afford the mortgages on, please REALIZE that this is a free listing service. We, the readers of craigslist.org, hereby say to you, we can't afford your inflated house either!

Give it up. Walk away. You're underwater and noONE wants to rent your 'fabulous' house for more than 25% of their earnings. You really want to rent your property? Try setting a realistic rental price that someone making an average income in LA can keep up with (48K in 2005). Otherwise, list it somewhere else.

Thanks.

And to you, Anonymous Craigslist poster, sir or ma'am, I say preach on! I think I love you. You win Cranky Crackpot of the Week, and a year's supply of toilet paper!

TV Has Sunk to a New Low

"Baby Borrowers" message to teens: Don't get pregnant

NBC and The National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy are educating teens about unplanned pregnancy while enchanting them with "The Baby Borrowers," the network's upcoming new reality show featuring five 18-to-20-year-old couples tasked with taking care of tots, toddlers, tweens, teens and elderly folks on camera.

Are you kidding me? What parent in their right mind would hand their children, especially very young children under 3, over to a complete stranger for three days?

After NBC announced it was producing an American version of "The Baby Borrowers," Natural Child Project director Jan Hunt posted an open letter on the organization's site, lashing out against the network "for the present and future emotional health of the babies and young children whose lives will be so strongly affected."

"Sudden removal from their parents and placement with strangers for long periods of time is from a baby's point of view no different than a kidnapping," wrote Hunt. "It has been well-established that babies who suddenly lose their primary caregiver can quickly go into mourning and emotional depression."

When my dad died unexpectedly almost 5 years ago, Viva was only eight months old. I was her primary caregiver, although we did have a babysitter coming in a couple of days a week to watch her for a few hours at a time (for situations like when it took me over three hours to vote in the presidential election). It was December. My dad's funeral was taking place in Boston, more than 2,600 miles away. There was a nationwide flu epidemic and while we did have warm clothes for Viva, having a baby prepared for winter in Los Angeles is a very different proposition from having a baby prepared for winter in Boston. My husband had just started a new job the previous week; fortunately they were sympathetic and gave him a couple of days off. I had to make a decision quickly, and I decided to leave the baby at home with her Daddy. I left on a Saturday night on a red-eye flight, caught up with family Sunday, went to the funeral Monday, and flew back Tuesday morning.

It was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Walking out the door with my suitcase, knowing she couldn't understand that I wouldn't be back in ten minutes, was awful. At that point in Viva's life, we had never been separated for more than two or three hours. I cried most of the way to the airport. When I spoke to Sweet Dub over the next three days, he said she was pretty much inconsolable at night and although he could play with her during the day, he could tell she was looking for me. She would occasionally just rest her head on his shoulder, looking completely dspressed and heartbroken. When I returned on Tuesday, she was sitting in the babysitter's lap on the couch. When she caught sight of me, her face lit up, and then she burst into tears. She cried for a long time. It was utterly horrible.

Now, I know my experience is just anecdotal, but it reinforces all the reading I have since done on early childhood development. Viva seems to be pretty well-adjusted and attached to me to a fairly normal degree (whatever that is), but I wonder sometimes if this impacted her more than I know. When she was a toddler -- not that long in her lifetime from when we were first separated -- she wouldn't leave my side when we went to the playground. I would try to show her how to play with other kids, offer them sand toys, the usual, and she would have none of it. She only wanted to play with me. I was amazed to see children younger than she was who would just crawl or toddle away from their parents, completely confident and independent. Admittedly, this clinginess may just have been part of Viva's temperament. Or it may have been rooted in that separation. It's hard to know.

When I left Viva for three days, I left her in the loving care of her dad, with her loving grandparents right down the hall, and her loving babysitter for one of the days I was gone. I did not leave her with a complete stranger. It was nonetheless clearly traumatic for her. (It certainly was traumatic for me. And knowing what I know now, I am inclined to think that if I had it to do over again, I would take her with me.) This new show, based on a British show of the same name, seems cruel to me. What do you think?

P.S. Here are statements from two groups concerned with child welfare, Natural Child Project and Zero to Three. Both condemn the show, with good reason. Read if you want more info.

P.P.S. I'll have a new post up at Belly Overwhelmed later today if you are inclined to read it. No pressure!

Color Confusion

Hold on to your hats:

In South Africa, Chinese is the New Black

A high court in South Africa ruled on Wednesday that Chinese-South Africans will be reclassified as “black,” a term that includes black Africans, Indians and others who were subject to discrimination under apartheid. As a result of this ruling, ethnically Chinese citizens will be able to benefit from government affirmative action policies aimed at undoing the effects of apartheid.

You know, I've said it before and I'll say it again: race is just a social construct. As a woman of color, I embrace my new "black" brethren (and sistren, O yes). If anything, this ruling just underscores the inherent ridiculousness of the whole apartheid system and makes the whole concept look even more ass-backwards, if that were possible.

(Is it possible I haven't posted in ten days? Insanely busy with a 500-person event last week at work, just trying to get caught up. My apologies!)

Dreaming my Dreams

I had the weirdest dream last night/this morning. I was watching an old movie from the '70s, and the plot seemed to involve a group of about ten young men who were very tan in that weird kind of orangey Technicolor way of the 70s, and they were all running around naked through the streets of the San Fernando Valley. They were all high, so they were just laughing and goofing around and running from this barrage of police cars that were trying to cut them off. As they were running they were cupping their hands over their naughty bits, but sometimes they would have to jump, say, across a ditch or something, and there would be this whole nads-swinging-in-the-air thing going on. At one point one of them turned to another and said, "This is the best Googlewatch ever!" Which even in my dream I thought was kind of incongruous. I mean, Google? In the 70s? And in my dream I got distracted from the movie and started to deconstruct the word "Google," making the connection between "go ogle" and "watch." But then I was drawn back to the movie because one of the young men had fallen and was lying down and there was a close-up of him and I said, "Oh my God, is that a young Ted Danson?" and it was.

The end.

The Results are In!

But you're gonna have to read them over at Belly Overwhelmed. (Aw, come on, it's just one click away!)

Education Deprivation

A new report from the United Way of Greater Los Angeles finds that too often when we talk about education reform, we focus on early education (the primary years) and high school (preparing kids for college), while ignoring the middle school years, which are critical. Kids who struggle in middle school tend to drop out once they hit high school, or even before. Statistically, these kids are more likely to continue struggling throughout their lives, since without an education they are much less likely to make a living wage. Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger* is proposing to cut LAUSD funding by $350 million, due to the state budget deficit. Talk about kicking you when you’re down. Check out these statistics:

100% of L.A. County middle schools spend less on each student than the national average.

At least 20% of teachers in L.A. County middle schools lack full teaching credentials.

Half of middle schools in L.A. County meet the state’s definition of an overcrowded school, and within the LAUSD this proportion jumps to 75%.

70% of schools that serve high levels of low-income students are categorized as Program Improvement schools – meaning they have not improved their academic outcomes for two years in a row. Half of these have seen no improvement for 4 or 5 consecutive years.

If you feel up to it, the Summary Report and the Full Report are available for free download at United Way Los Angeles.


* By the way, the Schwarzenegger household will be unaffected by the budget cuts. I hear that his children attend a private school that charges over $25,000 a year in tuition.

Fashion Crisis

Oh Lord. I have to go to a cocktail event tomorrow night and I don't know what I'm going to wear. I have two maternity dresses but they are very much more business-y than dressy. Since I left this until the last minute, I can't order anything online and I fear I'm going to end up spending an outrageous amount of money for something I'll wear only a couple of times. Crap.

I really dislike myself sometimes.

Updated to add: Okay, so I ended up looking pulled together, if not glam. I bought this quite non-dressy dress at GapMaternity:



And I spruced it up with a pretty sheer apple green wrap, some dangly multi-colored chandelier earrings, a couple of green and gold bangles, and these A. Marinelli peep-toe pumps:



I also wore my hair down and finger-curled little ringlets into it. Since I didn't take a picture, you're going to have to take my word for it, but I think I cleaned up pretty good.

What the...?

So for those who have been following along at home, you know that the Blah Blahs have been trying to find a larger place to live. We don't have to vacate our current digs at any particular date, but we do need more space for when Fetal Blah arrives in late October, with all the attendant baby gizmos and gear. We'd like to move this summer at the latest so I don't have to deal with packing and settling in while being gargantuan.

A couple of nights ago, we went to check out a place that was nice but too pricey for what it was and where it was. I have also been having an ongoing email conversation with someone who listed a house for rent, then when contacted told me the house wasn't ready to show*. We exchanged emails for a week or so, and then she asked me to give her a couple more weeks to get repairs made. I contacted her today to ask if the house was ready, and this is the response I got:

"At this point we have two very interested couples. Thanks, [insert name here]"

What the hell? Clearly this was not meant to be, but I'm discouraged and (I'll admit) a little ticked off.

As my friend Sploo would say, "That is some foolywang**."

So I'm a little bummed out on the house front, which means that this weekend will no doubt turn into an episode of The Blah Blahs Mix It Up, also known as To Make Themselves Feel Better, The Blah Blahs Redecorate. Tune in, while we:

• debate the merits of blank, pretty sunshine-yellow walls vs. actually hanging artwork in the living/dining area, the walls of which consist of some impossible, impassable substance which you can hammer into forever and still not get the smallest hole to stick a nail or picture hanger;
• dig up the flower bed and relocate the lantana;
• find some pavers and put them in the flower bed, which is located very inconveniently in a strip running right through the middle of the patio (aesthetically pleasing, but when you have kids running through it, not so much);
• gripe about the housing market;
• buy new bedding for the master bedroom because it is no longer sexy in there;
• lie around on the couch exhausted from our labors;
• lie around on the couch having not done any of the above;
• instead of doing any of the above, make movies in the backyard, with Viva as the star;
• instead of doing any of the above, create an art project with Viva;
• watch the NBA playoffs, which will apparently Never END (no, seriously - whose idea was it to stretch the playoff semifinals to "best of seven" instead of "best of five"? Because I like basketball, but I'm done already, and we haven't even gotten through the Eastern and Western Conference finals. Can't we just fast-forward?);
• debate going to the beach/the in-laws' (on either side)/another kid's birthday party/on vacation;
• create a simple yet stylish filing solution for the gobs of paper threatening to swallow our house;
• rag on each other for our choices of baby names;
• create a dazzling sculptural masterpiece out of all the shoes Viva has outgrown in the past couple of weeks.

Stay tuned for the soundtrack! Coming soon!

* Which should have raised a red flag anyway, since why list the house if it's not ready to show?

** Foolywang is my new favorite word. I am adding it to my list of potential baby names.

Spleen, Venting Of

This morning, while I was waiting An Eternity for Viva to get out of the bathroom, I turned on the TV to find a decent kids’ show that I had recorded (for some reason, at the time when I am usually in the shower and Viva is eating breakfast, there is a dearth of shows which catch her interest or are age-appropriate – she is in this weird netherworld where the preschool shows are too babyish, but the shows she would love to make me let her watch are too old for her. I end up taping a conglomeration of shows at various times when we are not home so I have something to keep her from standing outside the shower and screaming the same made-up song at me thirty times in a row). At this time of day, Good Morning America was on, and George Stephanopoulos was pontificating about the West Virginia primary.

Ordinarily I have no issue with George Stephanopoulos – I mean, he is so cute, you could just put him in your pocket and button it up if you didn’t want to listen to him. But GMA host Robin Roberts asked him what stood out in this primary and he responded, “Race has played more of a factor in West Virginia than in any other contest we’ve seen so far.”

He then cited the following numbers from an exit poll of “white voters” in the West VA primary:

2 out of 10 said race was a factor in how they voted
8 out of 10 voted for Hillary Clinton
3 out of 10 would support Obama vs. McCain

“This shows a real problem for Barack Obama,” he said.

“This shows a real problem for AMERICA!” I shouted at the television. Prejudice is alive and well, and we can point it out, but let’s not address it head-on – why no, let’s just keep it moving. “God, I can’t stand it,” I said, and added some choice words.

Of course, that made Viva come out of the bathroom. If Mama asks you to wrap it up and eat your breakfast, no. But if you hear Mama swearing under her breath, by all means, come on out!

P.S. New post up at Belly Overwhelmed. I'm not making any promises that it's better than this one.

Off the Deep End

I am having trouble accessing Blogger today (including comments), so I am moblogging.  Also, my apologies to Liz over at Los Angelista -- I have tried responding to your comment a couple of times, but no go! I'll try again tomorrow...

Nearly 60 percent of black children can't swim

New study underlies efforts to prevent drowning, boost sports participation

 

A recent survey by USA Swimming found that 58% of African-American children can't swim, and that Black children drown at a rate almost three times the overall rate.

 

Now, I can swim, but I don't like to. I almost drowned in a YMCA swimming pool when I was four during "free swim" time at summer camp, and ever since then, I hate being in water over my head. Sweet Dub swims like he was born to it, and knowing of my fear of the water, he was determined to teach Viva how to swim (and how to LOVE to swim) from a very young age. 

 

At the outset, Viva was fearless. She would launch off the side of the pool and plunge right in, paddling around even when her teeth were chattering. She just didn't want to get out. And then, a couple of years ago, she started "learning" how to swim at day camp. And all of a sudden, she was not so fearless. Sweet Dub was furious. We don't know what exactly happened, but suddenly she did seem to be a bit dubious about the water. "They put the FEAR in her!" he howled angrily.

 

Not long after that, we moved from the apartment building where we had a pool at our disposal whenever we wanted it, and to a house where there is a yard, but no pool aside from the kiddie pool we throw out there and fill with the hose.

 

I recently took Viva over to a friend's for a playdate. They live in a luxury apartment building, and they have a pool. I watched Viva and her friend swimming around, and I realized her friend is hugely confident in the water – she is not quite five, yet swims quite ably from the shallow to the deep end and back. Viva, on the other hand, is constantly getting water up her nose, swallowing water, and refusing to get her face wet.

 

Now: last year, when we went to Hawaii, we bought Viva a lifejacket. This is because we knew we would be swimming in the open ocean, with a strong undertow. Viva now insists on wearing this lifejacket every time she swims, whether in a pool or the open water. It is a security blanket. I hate it, although I haven't commented on it much beyond, "Are you sure you want to take it? You're such a good swimmer I don't think you need it." Viva always assures me that she does in fact need it.

 

An added wrinkle: the African-American hair. Viva has lots and lots of hair. It is naturally kinky and naturally very dry. The chlorine really does a job on her hair and makes it even more fragile. It makes it harder to comb through and more subject to breakage. I do not need an extra struggle over her hair (yet another reason for her to hate swimming). This year, I would love to get her into a good swimming program, but I'm considering getting her hair braided to protect it. 

 

Sweet Dub looks concerned. "Are you sure you really want to do that?" he says. "They just braid their hair so tight. I know I've seen little girls come back from having their hair done and their face looks like this–" and he stretches his face back with his hands in that universal symbol for "bad facelift."  "And then we'll have to listen to her whining about how her head hurts."

 

Oh my God. Do you see?

 

I am trying to make sure my child will not drown, and if getting her hair braided tight* is the price we must pay, then so be it.

 

* Although I am not down with the dreaded traction alopecia.  I don't want my baby to end up bald.

 

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Her Little World

This morning, in the car.

Mama Blah [catching sight of the gas station marquee on the way past]: $3.95 for gas! Whoo!

Viva: Mom, I think you'd like to live in my world.

MB: Baby, I already do live in your world.

V [exasperated]: No, in my little world.

MB [catching on]: Why do you think I would like to live in your little world, sweetie?

V: Because in my little world, gas costs only a penny!

MB: WOW! I love your little world!

V: I know! And everything else is free!

MB: Your little world rocks!

V [giggling in the cutest little girl way]: I know!

MB: What else goes on in your little world?

V: Nobody has to go to work or go to school and you can just go the beach all day like in HaWAH-yee!

MB: Book me a ticket, baby. I am so there.


P.S. New posts up at Belly Overwhelmed. Yeah, cross-posting there. Don't know why I'm so scattered these days. Just go with it.

The Low Road

Something happened recently that made me very uncomfortable. Not only am I uncomfortable with what happened, but I am unhappy with my reaction to it. What do you do when you are directly confronted by racism? Do you react differently when it is not directed at you?

Let me lay it out for you. The company I work for recently held an all-day, all-staff workshop. These days we talk a lot about cultural competency, and one of the themes of the day was cultural community – which communities do you belong to, which labels do you give yourself, what assumptions do you make about other folks based on what they look like? The company I work for seems to attract a very diverse group, and we work all over the city at different sites. For the latter reason, it is very easy to be seated at one of these workshops with someone you have never seen before.

It was an interesting day, with some unexpected twists. And I’m glad that the “powers that be” didn’t shy away from having us talk about this stuff. Is it such a bad thing to have a conversation about race (as Barack Obama encourages us to do)?

During the day, we had the chance to break out briefly into one-on-one duos, wherein each participant had to answer a race/culture-related question. During one of these time-limited exchanges, I was seated with an African-American woman. The issue we were told to pose to each other was, “Describe a situation in which you have made an assumption about someone based on the community they come from.” This woman was pretty rigid in her body language and did not turn toward me when I sat down. Who knows what was going on with her, but my first impression was that she was not open to this whole concept.

When I posed the question to her, she told me a story about how she was crossing the street, in the crosswalk near work, and she had the right of way. A car turned right into the crosswalk and barely avoided hitting her. The driver, an Asian man, then threw his hands up in the air at her, in the universal signal for “what the hell are you doing?,” which is rather bizarre considering she was in the right, but certainly I’ve seen people do similar, non-sense-making, rude things while driving. She then responded with a very racist remark which I will not repeat here but which had to do with his eyes.

I couldn’t believe it. “Wh-well, wha—what did he SAY?” I stammered, completely aghast, and at the same time, completely and absolutely positive that I couldn’t call her on it.

“He didn’t say anything. What could he say? He almost hit me!” she said, and then, “He probably didn’t understand what I said anyway. He probably didn’t speak English.”

So there we were, at a table of 12 people, in a room full of 300-some people, each doing their own thing, sharing their own experiences, and I realized that (a) she was certainly not going to accept any criticism from me, since I appear white, (b) she may not even classify what she said as racist, and (c) that no one else had heard what she said.

“And how do you feel about how you handled it?” I said, since I couldn’t think of anything else to say except, “Wow, that was really incredibly racist!” and I knew that wouldn’t fly.

Ladies and Gentlemen: she shrugged. And then the moderator had us all get up and move to the next person, and the next question, and the overall feeling of “Kumbaya” in the room kept going, even if soured for me.

I’m wondering if anyone else in the room experienced this.

And I’m wondering what else I could have said, in retrospect, aside from “My best friend is Asian and my brother-in-law is Asian and my nephews are half-Asian, you racist ass!”

How do you respond to comments like this, particularly in the work environment when you’re trying to maintain professionalism?

Make a Statement

Today is Denim Day. You may be already wearing jeans today without realizing that you are making a statement about the myths surrounding sexual assault. Denim Day was launched in response to a 1998 Italian Supreme Court decision in which a rape conviction was overturned because the victim was wearing tight jeans. The “reasoning” behind the decision was that there was no way the perpetrator could have gotten the victim’s jeans off without assistance from her, and that this was thus a consensual act. Oh, of course! Now I get it.

In response, female members of the Italian Parliament protested by wearing jeans on the steps of the Italian Supreme Court. Thus was Denim Day born.

Since our office is not casual except on Fridays, wearing jeans would generally be frowned upon on a Wednesday. But today, thank God it’s not, because I seriously have very few clothes that fit due to my expanding waistline. I have three pairs of maternity pants that need to be returned to various places because they are too big. “But won’t you grow into them?” you say. No, my friends, I won’t. I am really disturbed by the fact that vanity sizing even extends to maternity wear.

Today, I am wearing a pair of cropped, slightly big on me maternity jeans with a coral top, seersucker jacket, and sandals. When I left the house this morning, I was feeling pretty put together. I was pleased to realize I could get through another week looking halfway decent with the clothes I have on hand. And then, when I got to work, I dropped something under my desk, and squooshing over to get it, I saw I still have a Little Mermaid* (temporary) tattoo on my ankle. It’s bright red.

Oops. I have a meeting with our President and CEO today. Hopefully she won’t be checking out my legs.

* By the by, a new Little Mermaid movie, The Little Mermaid: Ariel’s Beginning, is coming out on DVD in August. If you’re into that kind of thing.