Stumbling Toward Enlightenment

Attack of the Killer Boobs

2011-08-22T10:22:00.001-07:00

Six months ago, I found a lump in my breast. I'm a big advocate of regularly feeling yourself up, because I've walked the breast cancer walk with my mom (not the fundraiser, the real thing) and I'm determined that my kids won't have to go through what I went through with her. So while it is empowering for me to regularly check myself for lumps, it takes some major courage to monitor that aspect of my health. Hands trembling, I do it anyway.

That night I hadn't expected to find anything, as a week before I had seen my doctor for my annual checkup and breast exam. So when I found this lump--this hard, marble shaped mass just below the skin, I freaked. I tried hard not to ask Dr.Google his advice, and I tried so hard not to compare myself to my mom. I'm 35 years old--I never smoked (like she did for 14 years), I breastfed my two kids for a year and a half each because I've heard it lowers your risk for breast cancer, and I eat my 5 fruits and veggies a day. I work out at the gym two to three times a week, unlike my mom who never exercised. I load up on antioxidants on a daily basis--turmeric, broccoli, kale, blueberries, you name it--I'm a walking farmer's market. My mom never did any of those things--I can't end up with her disease, right?

After a preliminary appointment with my doctor, faxed referrals and more scheduling, I'm finally standing in the mammography room. Not so bad--a bit of squishing, arranging, more smashing--whatever, just tell me what this thing is! Then an ultrasound--back to the scene of a happier time when I was pregnant with my boys--a dark room, warmed-up gel, gently whirring computers and sounds of the technician clicking and typing. After playing the worst-case-scenario scenes in my head (I'm really, really good at this), the doctor takes me in the dark image viewing room. The news is good--WHEW--just a fatty deposit. A big, round, hard? fatty deposit. After three years of breastfeeding and a bout of mastitis, it should be no surprise. A few clustered calcifications to check back on in 6 months and I'm good to go. So, so very good.

...and here I am, 6 months later! I'm just back from the re-check, and although I got no sleep last night and I was scared to death of what they might find, again I'm in the clear. Just a simple "Everything looks good, come back in six months so we can keep charting for changes, then every year after that!" from the doctor and I walk out of the Women's Imaging Center, a new (and very relieved) woman. When will I stop feeling like I'm walking in my mother's steps? When will I forget those nights spent by her hospital bed, the days spent in the chemo clinic with patients of all ages and ethnicities, fighting for their lives while the cars zoomed by outside on their way to work, ignorant (or perhaps not) of what life is like on that side of cancer?

Scary stuff, hard stuff to bear, but stuff that I need to start letting go. Although it is a tired metaphor, it is so very much like a war, and those survivors have all the battle wounds you would expect from someone who has stared death so closely in the face. It changes you. You never look at life the same way, you always have a sense of the fragility of life and if you let that sense become the center of your life, you run the risk of letting some of life's greatest moments pass you by. Others may not understand the fear you still carry around like an overstuffed purse, the anxious sense of waiting for the other shoe to drop, the heavy burden of memories that never seem to fade. But as life continues to (try and) teach me, it is meant to be lived. So here's to life, to hearty laughter, to becoming a better person, and to simply enjoying my good health. I lift my cup of green tea with a long sigh of relief.

Feelin Crafty

2011-04-25T12:04:00.000-07:00

Since my school plans have changed, I've been craving a new project. After indulging in a day out with girlfriends (a rare treat!), feasting our eyes on fabric and handcrafted goodies, I've got the crafting bug again. Given my thwarted fall plans, the timing could not have been better. I've had my eye on a new etsy-competitor (http://www.artfire.com/) and am busy creating new inventory to start selling again. Since everything I posted on etsy sold, I'm hopeful that my new sewing projects will do just as well. So enough blahblahblah, here's a sample of what I've been working on:

The Inspiration Stash:

My first cuts:

Coming together...

The final product, along with a few others:

More handtowels coming down the pipeline!:

And more...

No News is Good News

2011-04-05T17:07:00.000-07:00

It is the beginning of Spring and many folks have either started new resolutions for Lent or have abandoned those they began for New Years. While I haven't made any New Year's resolutions, I do participate in Lent and have decided to make this year's Lenten sacrifice (?) a giving up of my daily online news addiction. Truth be told, it really only included homicides, child abuse trials and middle eastern violence/politics). I'm a crime news junkie--and not one of those I-need-to-keep-up-with-what-is-going-on-in-the-world-so-that-I-can-feel-somewhat-socially-responsible, but an addicted to murder trials and the newest whooping cough tragedies type. It wasn't helping me develop as a person and it certainly wasn't helping me sleep at night.

The first few days were tough--my iPod is bookmarked and after reading my morning emails, my first impulse is to check the big mainstream headlines, then onto the independent news outlets. I could easily spend an hour or two scanning down the headlines, completely immersed in the tiny computer in front of me, unaware of the chalk designs my kids were drawing or the clouds speeding overhead or the smell of coffee in my kitchen. It was truly a waste of time, and while I at first felt deprived of knowing what was going on in the world, I told my friends that if something truly momentous occurred I would know about it. And the very next day--Japan had an earthquake. And I heard about it, within moments of it happening.

It shouldn't have been a surprise, but I didn't need those headlines in the first place. They didn't really add to my knowledge (just my anxiety), they didn't enrich my day, and they actually sucked hours out of my life that I could have spent breathing--really breathing--not poised over my iPod, brows furrowed, heart breaking at every little tragedy from here to Mumbai. I can actually start putting my time and energy toward making the world a better place, not despairing as I read about the world's sorry state. Those first few days of withdrawal were tough, but now that I'm free of the shackles, my morning coffee's never tasted so good.

Sometimes, this is what love looks like

2011-01-07T19:59:00.000-08:00

I attended a women's retreat at a Franciscan retreat center when my youngest was just a few months old, toting him along with me and sharing a room with a friend of mine who had also just had a baby. I remember those early days with my son, staring at his tiny new face, marveling at his fingers, his toes, his wispy dark hair and feeling an overwhelming sense of mama-bear love. It's the love of fabric softener commercials, Hallmark specials, baby announcements and the first buds of spring. But there are other kinds of love, of devotion, of moments that you find yourself willing to do whatever it takes for another person. A tougher, more raw kind of love. A love that has grown strong, shredded, raspy with time and pain.

That weekend at the women's retreat we listened to a story about a woman caring for her alcoholic husband, and one thing the speaker said really hit me. She said, Sometimes, this is what love looks like. It hit me because I know what it's like to love someone who is in the pit of despair. I know what it is to feed a loved one, pull down the shades when he wants them pulled down, put away fresh groceries while praying that they are eaten, putting dishes away quietly so as not to disturb troubled sleep. And at the end of the day as I drive the hour back to my own home, to hope that I've made a difference. But the almost impossible challenge? To know when it's time to step back into my own life, to care for myself in the same tender way, to remember that my life is just as important. And the even harder part? To acknowledge the fact that I did not cause this, and I cannot control it's outcome. In the meantime, I'm learning these lessons and doing the best I can to live life with gratitude and the enthusiasm that life deserves.

I'm Getting a Boob Job at 40

2010-10-22T13:12:00.000-07:00

Hear me out. I'm 35 now, but I already know what I'm getting myself for my big 40th birthday: a BRCA test. Usually covered by insurance if you have a strong history of breast cancer in your family, it is a blood test that will tell you your likelihood of developing breast or ovarian cancer. More info can be found here: http://www.cancer.gov/cancertopics/factsheet/Risk/BRCA

After testing, they send you to a genetic counselor, who advises you of your options once your test results are in. If my test were to come back with no BRCA1 or BRCA2 mutation I would let it be, and continue to keep up on all of my healthy habits as its still no guarantee that I'm not at risk. If it were to come back positive for the mutation, I'm preparing myself for a prophylactic mastectomy and reconstructive surgery. Breasts seem to be a pain in the ass these days for a lot of women, and I'm prepared to replace them with some fakies.

The good news is that my mom is the only one in the family who has had cancer. Also, hers was estrogen positive, likely caused by the hormonal replacement therapy she was on in the 80s and 90s, like so many other women in this country. (There was a steep drop in breast cancer rates once women started dropping their HRT regimens.) I likely do not have the genetic mutation, but if I do, I'm whacking these things off and getting reconstructive surgery. I will not let this effing disease bite me in the ass. I'm sick of seeing pink on every package of Oreos. I'm sick of hearing about breast cancer foundations. I'm sick of women getting sick. And I'm sick of time standing still each and every time I run my hands over my boobs feeling for something that shouldn't be there. A mastectomy may seem pretty drastic, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. And I end up with new boobs, so I have the cleavage of a 40 year old when I'm a healthy, active, alive 80 year old.

A little Urban Archaeology to Start off your Weekend...

2010-10-08T13:24:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine just posted this story on Facebook (you know who you are!:), which fascinates me and every other history geek/art buff/europhile in Cyberville. Here's the scoop: an old woman died in the south of France recently. She just happened to be the granddaughter of a 19th century socialite who counted a famous artist among her many lovers. What makes this story so great is not just the fact that they found a 'lost' painting worth 2 million euros among her belongings, but that when they unlocked her apartment, they were the first to step foot in it since the 1930s. But it gets better: the granddaughter had inherited it from Grandma Socialite and barely accessed it herself prior to the 30s, which means that this apartment looks just as it did around the year 1898. Holy crap, Batman! This is a major treasure trove, and I hope they turn it into a museum or something. If you're a freak and into abandoned buildings and secret rooms like I am, I encourage you to google more on this story--there are more pictures out there of this place.

CrabbyGolightly: You Can Have The Masterpiece: I'll Take That Parisian Flat

I wrote my Mom an email today.

2010-09-21T20:41:00.001-07:00

Yeah, you read that right. It just felt like something I needed to do.* I'm one of those grievers who doesn't care what the experts say is the normal time frame to grieve. And if someone tells me that it's been four years and that I should just get over it already, well, fuck 'em. If I need to spend a day talking to my mom out loud, I'll damn well do it. I'm not ashamed of looking like a crazy lady.

Only now do I realize what my Nina told me in the days after my mom's death is true--that grief never really goes away. At the time she told me that, I thought, Well that sucks. My second thought was, That can't be true. All the books clearly state that grief has a one-year average shelf life. Four years out now, and I can attest to the fact that my Nina was right all along. It never really goes away, does it? It just burrows in deeper, settling into your heart like a kitten in a bed of newspapers. There are certainly days when I don't notice it as much--when the sun seems to shine brighter, when I can laugh easily, when I can't recall all the details of an earlier life. And then there are the days like today, when I can hear her voice again just on the edge of my dreams, when memories of a day we spent together or a conversation we had come back with ringing clarity. Those clear memories are both a blessing and a curse. So I toss aside the books on grieving, and I stop listening to the experts, and I just go with that shit. I cry all day if I feel like it, and I talk to her, and turn up her favorite music and I write her an email. It hurts on a level I never could have imagined, but it feels a little like healing.

* No, I didn't get a response. Can you imagine if I did? That would have made the papers. Instead, though, a dragonfly whipped by my face about seven times, the most insistent, persistent, consistent dragonfly I've ever seen. He was all up in my grill. I'll take it.

The Law of Attraction

2010-08-10T22:59:00.001-07:00

Back in February I wrote a bit about what I am sick and tired of as well as what I aspire to. I'm also questioning how much of what I put into my relationships is coming back to me whether I want it to or not. Personal accountability and all that. That was the beginning of what would be an emotionally exhausting time for me, and I'm trying to figure out how it all came apart and back together again.

Recently someone told me about the Law of Attraction--that your thoughts create energy, and that energy pours forth into the universe and back again, bringing with it the culmination of your thoughts. Sounds a bit like Positive Psychology to me, or CBT, or even prayer--but whatever it is, it's worth a try. I'm re-reading my posts from this year, taking note of the themes (both good and bad), and trying my hand at some thought-energy-stuff. So the idea is that if I focus on a positive outcome, on healthy relationships, on creating a life that is a culmination of all I believe in and cherish, those good things will come to fruition. Or something like that. Perhaps. And perhaps I'll just make me some hot tea, grab a good book and call it a day.

When your life resembles an Eliot novel, you know you're in trouble.

2010-07-24T00:00:00.000-07:00

I remember reading George Eliot's words back in college, and while they resonated with me then, they resonate much more painfully today. In Mill on the Floss, she writes:
"...The happiness of passing from the cold air to the warmth and the kisses and the smiles of that familiar hearth where the pattern of the rug and the grate and the fire-irons were 'first ideas' that it was no more possible to criticise than the solidity and extension of matter. There is no sense of ease like the ease we felt in those scenes where we were born, where objects became dear to us before we had known the labour of choice..."

Later, she goes on:
"All long-known objects, even a mere window fastening or a particular door-latch, have sounds which are a sort of recognized voice to us,–a voice that will thrill and awaken, when it has been used to touch deep-lying fibres."

I love a good Victorian melodrama, but sometimes life reminds me that these 19th century authors were indeed writing from experience. Countless are the stories I've read about the grown children standing around the deathbed of their beloved mama (accent on the second syllable), their family "ruined," and their childhood home sold off to the highest bidder, velveteen couches and all. Now put the back of your hand to your forehead--that's it. It's all so melodramatic and yet you reach an age when you realize that even the most theatrical of plots can be painfully (and ridiculously) true to life.

Apparently, even the Victorians had moments when all seemed shot to hell.

Preschool is not a Talent Show

2010-07-18T23:35:00.001-07:00

I've been thinking a lot lately about what kind of parent I am, and what kind of parent I'm trying to be. I second guess myself a lot, but mostly I feel like I'm on track as far as how my parents raised me and how much of that I want to pass on to my kids. For example: I had a conversation recently with parents that I'm merely acquainted with, and that live in a verrrry different community that I do. We're talking $5,000 a year they pay for preschool--a two-day-a-week preschool. I shit you not. And before I could bite my tongue, I laughed and said that my son's preschool is 100 bucks a month. The other parents just raised their eyebrows and didn't say much after that, and if they think I'm hopelessly middle class, well, I hope I am. Because what I'm hoping to pass on to my kids is a different measure of success.

I don't want my kid to feel pressured to read by the age of four--I want him to develop a love of reading, period. I really don't think that pushing them into a program to accelerate reading is going to do jack squat for their love of the written word as an adult--and that is what you hope for them, right? Honey, let me tell you one more thing--if they don't see you reading, they probably won't, either. Based on what these parents told me, there aren't many books in their house. Parents like this introduce books as a means of giving them the edge over other kids, just like they play Mozart and feed them sushi to sophisticate them early. Which is a crying shame, because classical music is awesome and even better when you can talk to them about what makes it awesome and truly appreciate it yourself rather than using it to make you appear more highbrow. As for the sushi--same thing. It is not about making your kid cooler than the next, it is about enriching them with an excitement for trying new things, an enjoyment for the simple act of eating or listening to music or painting or whatever. KWIM?

Anyway. It doesn't matter to me how 'academic' my son's preschool is, or how many languages they teach, or how many college prep courses he takes. Because that simply pressures him to study hard to get into the 'best' college, to get the high-end job so he can make lots of money and afford to send his kids to the 'best' preschool, then onto the 'best' college, and the cycle starts right over again. I just don't believe that this is what life is all about. I'm not saying that I don't want my kids to be academically challenged and ambitious--but ambition can take many forms. I want them to be passionate about something, I want them to love reading for reading's sake, and to dip from a deep well of compassion when dealing with their fellow human beings. I would never dream of limiting his college major choices to med school or law school--I'll be happy with whatever he chooses as long as he's livin' the dream--and not staying on my couch.

I hate the idea of being a 'success'-oriented parent--pressuring a kid to perform at maximum efficiency so you can show him off to the other parents--and it saddens me that there are so many parents out there who live for this shit. Thankfully, I don't see much of this in Concord, which is why I chose to live here. But I live dangerously close to Walnut Creek/Danville/San Ramon, and lemme tell you, that shit is rampant. I hate to be cynical, and I hate to slam parents for doing what just seems natural to them, especially since I hate it when those parents judge other parents. (It's a vicious cycle, isn't it?) But I just have to keep it real for my kids: Life isn't your own personal cupcake, not everyone is going to love everything you have to say, and you don't have to go to med school to make me happy.

Lazy Mama

2010-07-01T17:16:00.000-07:00

That's what I should change my handle to, really. I see the moms out there, jogging their strollers at 9 in the morning all energized, on their way home from the playground. And I hear that lots of moms go to the park daily (WTF?!?), and attend preschool readiness classes with their kids, and make sure to enroll junior in all sorts of activies early so they're not stuck on the waiting list. Good for them. Seriously--I wish I could be more like that. I, on the other hand, rarely leave the house before 10. I realize that is practically lunchtime for most people with little kids, and that it probably accounts for us having a hard time scheduling play dates, but I'm just too dang lazy.

Perhaps I'm remiss in my mom duties--maybe I should be leaving the children's museum at noon instead of arriving at noon. And I should probably be putting the kids in bed at sunset like all the other kids in the neighborhood, but these guys are up until 9 and I just can't get my act together enough to push our schedule back any earlier. I'll admit--I love getting up 8 or 9 and taking our time at the table eating breakfast while I plan out our day. And having empty playgrounds/museums/beaches all to ourselves late in the day is also quite nice. I smile wryly every time--while all the tired, hungry masses are leaving the playground in droves, there we are in the heat of the late afternoon, just getting started. If this is what it means to be a slacker mom, sign me up. These kids don't know any different!

Ghetto Mentality

2010-06-29T11:42:00.001-07:00

So I just called our local neighborhood clean up committee for the city of Concord because of a massive vegetative obstacle that makes me walk the stroller out into the street for the better part of a block. It's been that way for months, and it seems to belong to a house with a gargoyle on the roof and cow skulls on the front lawn. I appreciate how diverse all of the homes are in our neighborhood, and I actually think a few cow skulls or gargoyles are pretty cool, but this overgrown Boo Radley stuff and used-car-lot stuff has got to go. I hate to be all old-lady about it, but there are a bunch of homes on our street that look haunted and that is how you identify the rentals.

My husband says that the houses are run down because they are rentals, but I just can't understand that argument. I mean--sure, it's true and all, but WHY? Just because a person is renting should not mean they have to live like pigs! I rented for ten years and I didn't leave my rental looking like animals had lived there. And when I rented places that included outdoor areas, I kept those looking nice, too. Why? Because I had to live in it, not the landlord, and putting money into my home whether or not I owned it was for my own comfort and enjoyment. I mean, how hard is it to make a home look kept? Would it kill a person to plant some flowers, to get a few gallons of paint and take care of that peeling trim, or to NOT leave car parts and broken toys and window panes on the dead front lawn? And the 'can't afford it' argument doesn't fly with me, because I can guarantee you that these people have cell phones, paid-for bling tones on said cell phones, HD cable, internet subscriptions and I see the $40,000 truck with rims in your driveway! Nope, they can afford it, they just choose to put their money into those other things rather than keep their shit neat--and in the meantime, I'm walking in the street to get around their property, I'm seeing the same chest-high weeds when I pass by that corner house, and I'm finding mice and snakes that my cat brings home from the field of dead grass and car parts that has become their front yard. And just because you're renting doesn't mean that you can't or shouldn't put some TLC into where you live. Because it is your home, even if you don't own it, so take some effing pride! And the weeds aren't even the real problem--I have a super hard time keeping up with the ones that attack my yard, and I know they're hard to keep under control. It's the stuff that's in the yard with the weeds that makes it extra nasty. I may not have the time to weed and mow, but at least I'm not throwing crap into it like it's a junk yard!

Come on, people, I realize that you normally don't put energy into becoming better citizens, but for the sake of this neighborhood and all of us who have to live here, please start giving a shit.

The Great Clean Out

2010-06-22T20:43:00.000-07:00

More new season thoughts. Today I bagged up all of the clothes that my sons have outgrown, leaving their drawers nice and organized again, practically empty but for the handful of shirts and pants that they wear on a regular basis. Much of it will go back to the friends and family that loaned it to us to begin with, and the rest will stay in a bag in my attic space until I either find the will to sell it on Craigslist or make a quilt out of it, something like that. As nostalgic as I am, there is nothing more I relish than getting rid of shit. This week I'll be cleaning out my closets, my kitchen cabinets, even my bookshelves, and setting all the extras out on the curb for the veteran's shelter to pick up on their monthly rounds. Unlike a lot of people I know, I'm not a collector. I don't enjoy shopping (trying on clothes is a pain in the arse), and I'd rather get rid of than amass. I have a few basic outfits and colors that I wear so that I don't have to think in the morning, pre-caffeine. I detest clutter and the less stuff I own the less I have to tidy up at the end of the day. So onward, Summer 2010--by the end of the week my closets will be neat and there shall be nothing more underfoot. That's the idea, anyway.

Summer Flu, Summer BS

2010-06-11T13:34:00.000-07:00

I really hate being sick. But I hate it even more when someone calls just to give me a hard time about not showing up for a party that I only found out about a few hours ago. And said person just can't understand why I don't want to go to a kid's pool party and just 'lay down and rest there.' WTF?!?! Seriously? When I can just, let's see--STAY HOME on my couch and drink tea and soup and take care of my effing self like a sick person is supposed to do?!? You're giving me attitude like I'm doing something WRONG in being home sick? Again, I ask--W.T.F.

This is what I'm dealing with, folks. It just never ends.

Hello, Summer

2010-06-08T10:25:00.000-07:00

A new season! Lord how I love a fresh new season. I'm not generally a summer person, yet there are so many things that I do appreciate about it. Biting into sun-warmed fruit fresh right off the tree; saying hello to the hummingbirds while I sip my morning coffee on the patio; the rainbow mist of a backyard sprinkler; the mildly warm evenings that lure my neighbors out for walks; putting various fruits and veggies in my salads; dozing in the sun with a mindless bestseller; road trips.
I've been in a between-season funk lately but the longer days are finally giving me the jump start I need.

Time for Change

2010-05-12T21:26:00.000-07:00

So a new season is creeping up on us: Summer. At the start of every season I usually get nesting fever. I scrub the floors, I air out the mattress, I re-organize the closet, I clear out all the cobwebs in the corners of the room and in my mind. This year has been different, however. Rather than indulging in nesting mode, I'm hitting a wall of exhaustion and fatigue. I need to fill my own cup, and while I used to have ways of doing so in the past, I'm not sure I have anything left to do it with. A change is in order and I'm not even sure what it is.

Por ejemplo: After a long night up with a hungry baby I am awakened by both kids around 7:30 or 8, and start a day which involves about 20 seconds of sitting at a time before I have to bounce back up again and save someone from seriously injuring themselves. I'm literally on my feet for 12 hours straight, chasing a wayward crawler, trying to get a few more bites into a toddler, typing emails one-handed while at the same time attempting to feed myself. Not to mention the housework that seems to breed on its own if I ignore it for more than a half-day, the gigantic milkweeds all over our yard that I pull one at a time while holding the hungry baby on one hip and whiny toddler on one leg. Visualize that, people: Yes, it looks as ridiculous as it sounds. By the end of the day (about 10pm), I'm a sweaty, exhausted, starving mess.

Well. I guess it sounds pretty awful when I type it out--but I really do love it. It's just days like today that are nearly impossible and that beg for a life makeover. I'm just typing out loud here, folks, to clear my head and to give me a better idea of what I need to do.

My first step this week was to interview and hire a babysitter. I'm going to give myself a couple hours a week away from the kids, and whether it's upstairs taking a nap or reading at a coffeeshop, it doesn't matter. I just need me some time. Second step was to hire a gardener already. I've always felt awkward about hiring 'help,' and this will be my first time doing so. These poor guys have some serious weeds awaiting them. I'm not quite ready yet to go whole hog and hire an occasional housekeeper, but I'm thinking about it. The Navs is such an explorer that I can't do ANYthing, and he's not even walking yet.

Third step is to give my iPod some space. The little bastard beeps at me when I have an email and the Facebook app is ridiculously distracting. Not to mention my daily news rundown: CNN.com, SFGate.com, recordnet.com. (Ya like how I start global and scale down to local?) I'm realizing just how many hours a day I spend communicating, when I should just check my email a couple of times a day. It's a time suck and an attention suck, and I need to be directing my energy in a more constructive way.

All good changes, and I'm hoping and praying that they give me a drop of extra energy to spare so I don't feel so depleted. Righty-o.

And...I got nothin', folks.

2010-04-30T20:19:00.000-07:00

I'm not usually this quiet. I've been in a strangely subdued mood for weeks now and I'm just waiting for it to pass. Maybe I'm building up May in my head too much, maybe I've been dwelling on stuff too much, but whatever it is, I'm ready for it to go away. I don't have much to write about, so there it is. I'm certainly not looking forward to spending yet another Mother's Day without my Mom. *sigh* Pray for me on Mother's Day, people.

Operation Lighten Up

2010-04-20T17:29:00.000-07:00

Just coming out of a sort of dark-night-of-the-soul experience. First of all, May is coming up, a month I dread because of Mother's Day and my Mom's birthday within a coupla weeks of eachother. Mix that with a mystery stomach bug and recent stresses and you've got yourself a cocktail for some bad juju. To make a long story short, it's been a few weeks of paralyzing fear, residual grief, and life-sucking anxiety/depression. I don't know where the hell it came from, but it came on strong and was absolutely unrelenting. I'm normally able to redirect my energy into the things in my life that bring me joy, but nuthin was working here, folks. Three doctor visits later have convinced me that I'm a crazy woman, that my aches and pains are coming straight from my intense over-identification with my Mom and all she suffered through--and if that ain't some crazy fucked up shit, I don't know what is.
So here I am. The day has dawned, I'm healthy, I have a wonderful life, and I need to claim that life. I can't live my life for my Mom, I can't relive what we had together, I can't keep dreading May every year. I've gotta quit being a cyberchondriac (thanks, Sarah!), I've gotta stop reading heavy stuff all the time, and I've gotta stop dwelling on the Worst Case Scenario--it may have happened once, but that doesn't mean it is going to happen to everyone I love. I truly emptied myself this month, and it's time to refill myself with every good thing.

Simmer Down Now

2010-04-07T19:28:00.000-07:00

Finally feeling like I'm decompressing from a pretty stressful weekend. I tell ya, that shit will stress me out into the next week. I guess I should figure out some better coping strategies, or work on my anger management. A bad temper runs in my family, so there it is.
In the meantime, I'm jamming to some Alicia Keys right now and am amazed at how therapeutic music can be. It brings me back to myself, to good memories, to life's goodness. The down side is that it makes me homesick. I never, ever thought I would be homesick for Stockton, but a certain song on the radio or a hot summer breeze makes me ache to go home. The funny thing is that I'm not far at all, but by Stockton standards I might as well be in Canada. I don't know why, but your average Stocktonian doesn't get past the county line very often. My family comes to see me eeeeevery so often, but usually I've got to go there. While I'd love to see the fam up here more often, I also like to visit them in our natural habitat.
The Valley has it's own thing going on--including scorching heat, bitter cold December nights, a high crime rate, sketchy neighborhoods, and the perfection of ghetto culture--and I love it. I carry a little of it with me here in the Bay Area and hightail it home when I need a dose of family love. The pace is slower--not Italy slow, but there is a familiarity about it that I can't put my finger on. People have lived there for decades (unlike the Bay Area's constant ebb and flow of residents) and driving into town makes me feel like I'm putting on a well worn pair of slippers. It's been several weeks since I've been, and judging by my stress levels lately, I'm behind on a visit. The only thing I wish I had there, though, is a comadre or two. I moved to SF a couple of years after high school and my girlfriends left town as well. I love visiting family, but a drink out with a friend while I'm there would be the cherry on top. Shoot--what am I saying? I rarely make time to go out for drinks with my girlfriends here! Yeah, looks like I'm in dire need of some girlfriend time as well...When's happy hour?

Whew.

2010-04-06T19:01:00.000-07:00

Well, that wasn't very charitable of me, but a woman can only take so much.

Previous post removed--it's not like I used names, but ya never know.

Taking Back the Sabbath

2010-03-21T14:54:00.001-07:00

This Saturday we did something that we really don't have much time for these days. We spent the entire day as a family, just kicking around town and hanging out at home. It is one thing for our weekdays to be busy--most people are pretty busy during the week, with or without kids. But when that busyness starts to encroach on our weekends, I start to crave some down time. It just seems that there is always somewhere we have to be every weekend--whether it be a party or event that we are hosting at our own house, or something we're attending at someone else's--and although those events are fun, we just don't veg as much as I'd like.
So this Saturday, we jammed around town schedule-free and we vegged. We went to a few stores just to look around, we bought some coffee, we came home and made food and watched TV. We simply spent time together as a family, and there were no obligations and no prior engagements. Although my husband feels guilty about doing nothing, I love it. I do enough running around during the week, and I can easily spend an entire day watching movies at home and eating all day. It was lovely.
This is something that has been on my mind a lot, especially as my kids get older. The older kids get, the busier the family seems to get, and I'm already preparing for the days when I'm going to have to scale back on extracurricular activities, on attending every schoolmate's birthday party, on all of those things that may conspire to make us feel like we're a bunch of ships passing in the night.
I love the idea of Sabbath, as discussed in the linked article. And it reminds me of my childhood, when every Sunday was spent at Mass first thing in the morning, a Mexican restaurant for breakfast, and onto the flea market for the afternoon. Then we came home and barbecued in the driveway. It was a ritual, and it was always the six of us (my uncle and cousin lived with us for many years), and sometimes seven when my grandma joined us. I love the idea of passing on such a ritual to my kids, a sense of place and regularity that they can depend on, and most importantly, a sense of unplugging. A sense that for one day a week we are together just as a family. That on that day we can plan on not planning anything, and stick to that plan as if it were an actual plan. You feel me?

So. I'm going to start thinking about ways in which I can implement a Sabbath day in my household. I seem to be spending many a Sunday now cooking our meals for the week, baking, and drinking my tea out on the patio. If we can do that as a family, all the better.

Faith & Family Live! : An Unplugged Sabbath

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This Time as a Family

2010-03-20T23:27:00.000-07:00

So the above picture is one I took of a path leading up to Marie Antoinette's Petite Trianon (her getaway mansion) on the grounds of Versailles. It was a cold, blustery day with the first few drops of rain starting to fall, just the kind of day I like. I was a different woman then, a woman without children and I have to say I miss my traveling days. I can't wait to take my boys with us when we start traveling again. There is so much to be learned by spending time in another culture, another place. Some of my favorite memories are the random ones: Eating tapas in a Spanish restaurant at one in the morning during a raucous (to put it mildly) street festival. It was a balmy night, the lights reflecting on the dark bay, and elderly couples walked hand in hand. Or racing through the Louvre before closing time. Or taking the Channel train from Paris to London on Halloween night, watching all of the kids in costumes as we transferred through the Tube station in London. Having the creepy Tower of London grounds all to myself as one of the few tourists brave enough to travel to England during the month of January. Not to mention all of the road trips, the out-of-state trips, the weeks spent in New York, Hawaii, even Las Vegas. There is always something to discover, and while I spent barely any money on "stuff," I do like to spend what extra money I have on travel experiences. I would love to do all these things again with my boys, seeing it all through their eyes for the first time again. For the first time again--a phrase that doesn't seem to make sense, but it does to me.

Creative Foodery

2010-03-03T22:02:00.000-08:00

Since I can no longer listen to NPR in the morning in peace (too many little voices vying for my attention), I read it online. A few weeks ago, there was a story about the eating habits of French schoolchildren and how each day at lunch they enjoy a three course meal along with a description of what it is they are about to eat. They then proceed to eat in silence, and return home with a list of what they ate as well as dinner suggestions that would compliment their lunchtime victuals. What a life, I thought to myself. Now there is a recipe for living. And being the research-nut that I am, I spent the rest of the day googling 'French eating habits.'
My research made me recall my Basque grandparent's dinner rituals--peaceful and abundant, typically southern European. A late dinner at a large table with lots of conversation, wine, and general conviviality. That's what I remember of my grandma's dining room, and that is what is so hard to duplicate in today's American lifestyle.
However, there are a few changes I've made since reading the aforementioned article. First of all, we all eat together at the table every night. We haven't always done this, as we're usually so busy just trying to get our toddler to eat at all. And the TV, that horrible-wonderful machine that holds our attention as we scarf down our food, is off when dinner is served. As is my cell phone. And instead of chasing down the toddler, we put him in his booster seat (and the baby in his chair) and we eat. As in, the parents eat. If he eats, he eats, if he doesn't, he doesn't. And do you know what happens? He eats. Not when we're actively watching, mind you. I see him in the corner of my eye as I talk to my husband about our day, taking huge spoonfuls of food that he is otherwise too stubborn to take as I watch. So we go about our dinner, TV off, cell phone off, eating and talking, sipping wine, not just there to eat but to enjoy. We've sloooowed doooown, and tonight I enjoyed every beautiful flavor of the Thai yellow curry chicken and eggplant dish that I made with my son. This ain't France, but it's better than it was a week ago.

* * * * * * * * * *

And now to the creative part. My toddler won't eat anything that isn't a 'snack.' For example:
Toddler: Me hungry.
Me: Great, it's time for lunch!
Toddler: No food! I want snack!
Me: It's time for lunch. You've been snacking all morning.
Toddler: No food! I want snack!
Me: I'm making you a cheese sandwich.
Toddler: No food! I want snack!
Me: Do you want two slices of bread and a slice of cheese then?
Toddler: YEAH!
Me: Hmph.

So we now have 'snacks' all day. I question whether I should just insist on feeding him 'food' or if I should go about deconstructing his meals this way to appease this 3 year old tyrant. But deconstruct I do, all day long. Ants on a log is a sure hit (celery, peanut butter and cranberries or raisins on top). Or, what I call 'frosted apples' (peanut butter on apples). Then there's the cookie cutter technique, in which I make a quesadilla with cheese and ham into the shape of a teapot. Or how 'bout sandwich sticks (a sandwich cut into sticks)? And it's a good thing that yellow bell peppers cut into strips look like canoes when they dip into that hummus! Oh, the lengths I go. And he's still at the bottom of the weight charts. But then, so was I at his age. And wait a minute, I still am.
This is why I'm attempting to change the way we relate to food in this household. We shop together, he squeezes fruit with me at the grocery store, we cook together, and we enjoy ourselves at a dinner table that isn't just about the food. It's about our life as a family, how we nourish each other, relate to each other, and enjoy our life together. And hopefully, if I keep things consistent enough, these are the habits that will be hard to break.

Gracias a la Vida

2010-02-21T19:29:00.000-08:00

This may sound strange (and sad), but for most of my upbringing I felt no pride or gratitude in my heritage. So many of the folks around me shared my heritage that I saw no way in which I was different from anyone around me, and it wasn't until I was well into my twenties (and away from home) that I realized that not everyone was Mexican (duh!). In fact, there are still things I run across today that are cultural things (tastes, tendencies, issues) that I don't realize are cultural until a non-Latino points it out to me. Crazy, but true. You mean not everyone crashes cascarones on their friends' heads on Easter weekend??? And not every household is stocked with pan dulce for Sunday morning??? Seriously? I have to laugh at myself. I've taken so much for granted for so long that I'm only now aware that not everyone grew up the way I did. And I'm especially aware of this now that I am married to an Indian family. And yes, I am married to the family.

But that's not the point of this rambling post. Bear with me here, cuz I already know this will be a rambling post, as I'm just sussing some of this out for the first time in my adult life. The point is this: that only in being a part of an Indian family as an adult am I able to appreciate the fact that Latinos have been in this country long enough to have created a few in-between generations, thus saving us from the generational issues that seem to plague Asian families. In fact, we've gotten so good at being Mexican-Americans, that we've been able to give a name those in-between generations: Chicanos.

I think that is what has made the cultural aspect of my life so easy while my husband's has been so fraught with familial tension and parental disapproval. Instead of seeing in terms of black and white, here -vs- there, immigrant -vs- American born, Chicanos claim their Americanness and their Mexicanidad simultaneously, unreservedly, and with great love and acceptance. I never had to deal with my parents breathing down my neck to be more "Mexican" and to disregard American culture. We are simply Mexican-American, and that, my friends, is a culture within a culture. We've somehow been able to find a middle ground for ourselves and settle down quite comfortably while embracing both aspects of who we are.

While my husband's parents insist on differentiating themselves from the "Americans" around them, I enjoy a certain amount of freedom within my culture. It's there, but it's not all of who I am. It's my heart, but it's not always my day-to-day. Sure, a certain mariachi ballad can bring tears to my eyes (Volver, Volver, what else?!), and I'll never forget singing De Colores in an overheated auditorium year after year when my parents would make their Cursillo...and of course, my earliest childhood memories are of watching my grandma make nopales in her little kitchen while Cuco Sanchez played on the record player. In other words, my heritage is close to my heart, but I'm also able to get out there and live my American life and eat Vietnamese food and listen to Reba McIntyre, and play with my non-Latino friends and not think once all day, all week, about my heritage and that doesn't make me any less Mexican.

For many Indian parents, this is impossible. You have to think about your culture when you wake up in the morning and when you go to bed at night, and when you fraternize with "Americans" you are supposed to feel out of your element, and you have a choice to make--you're either one of us or you're one of them. You can't be both. What a shame that is--I'm here to say that you can indeed be both. You can embrace both cultures for what they are--and you can embrace yourself for what you are. I'm sitting here listening to Joan Baez sing "Gracias a la Vida," one of my favorite songs, and I find that the singer and the song are the perfect illustration of what just took me far too many words to articulate.

For your listening/viewing pleasure:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U3EVb58onO8

Childrens' Books Wanted!

2010-02-18T16:00:00.001-08:00

A few months ago I wrote about wanting to organize some kind of book drive. I'd love to get books into the hands of kids who don't normally have ready access to books (sure libraries are free, but some parents don't encourage it, can you imagine?) Now that the holidays are behind us I thought it would be a great time to have a book drive! Everyone is donating in December, but people are in need the rest of the year as well.

So I found this organization, a few blocks away from my house! http://www.bacn.info. It is the Bay Area Crisis Nursery and they take in mothers and children who are in crisis. These people are doing great work and if I had more time of my own, I'd love to volunteer there. I also looked into Books for the Barrios (www.booksforthebarrios.com), also a great Concord organization, but they only donate to children overseas, and I'll be honest and say that my point in doing this is helping kids here in the Bay Area increase their literacy.

So...have any gently used kids' books that you'd like to donate? Send them my way and I'll be taking them all over to the Crisis Nursery in about three weeks' time. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!

Mama Alice

2010-02-16T23:03:00.000-08:00

I met her one year after I lost my mom. Six months after I had my first son. One month after moving into my new home and the post-partum blues were finally starting to lift. Her name is Alice (well, not really but I'm changing her name for anonymity's sake) and she is roughly the same age as my mom. She has two sons just like I do, although they are now grown with children of their own. Her parents were Portuguese, and I can imagine her childhood might have resembled my mom's, with her Basque grandparents. I believe that everyone comes into our life for a reason, but never have I felt that as strongly as I feel with this particular woman. She doesn't even know this, but she has made such a difference in my life.

Somehow, God (or the Universe, or whatever/whomever you wanna call it) seemed to know that I was alone and searching for a soft place to fall. I had been strong all year--for myself, for my new son, for my brother--and I desperately needed a maternal figure, a mama bear, a strong woman in my life with a sense of purpose and a sense of humor. Through various twists of fate, we ended up moving into our current home, relocating to Concord, and I joined the only community of Concord moms that I could find online--the community of St. B, my local parish. I joined the group as a shy new mom, unsure of what I would find, trying to pick up my mom's threads of faith where she left them and trying desperately to rediscover and redefine my own spirituality. I don't recall the very first time I met Alice, I just know that she stepped right in line with me and treated me as if my mom had told her all about me.

The funny thing is this: I seem to run into Alice at pretty major moments, moments that I'd love to share with a mom, a grandma... For example: Suspicious that I may be pregnant with a second child (my son N, as it turned out!), I ran to the Dollar Store one afternoon to pick up a cheapie preggo test. Guess who I should run into? Alice! I told her what I was there for (I hadn't even told my husband yet!) and she hugged me and cheered and celebrated with me, right there in Aisle 2. Fast forward 8 months. I'm on a tour of my hospital's labor and delivery ward when I hear a woman giving birth in one of the rooms. I hear cheering and shouting and realize that a baby has just been born, and I walk into the waiting lobby, when who should I see? Alice! It was her grandchild who was born the moment I walked by the birthing room on my tour that day. And then there are the regular days--days when I'm feeling spiritually dry, those tendrils of grief sneaking back into my heart, tears springing forth at a song played over the sound system at the grocery store. It never fails--I run into Alice. She smiles, she laughs, she shares a story of her own suffering, and suddenly I feel like I do have a mama bear, and maybe my mom sent her to me.

I haven't shared any of this with Alice, and maybe I should. I know she would understand. She's the type of woman who cries as easily as she laughs, and sharing feelings with her is so natural, so unshameful. She has a wicked sense of humor and a huge heart, and although different from my own mom in many ways, she is someone who would have appreciated the kind of person my mom was. One of these days I'll tell her all this. I'll tell her what a difference she made in my life at such a crucial period. I'll tell her that she makes she laugh on days that I've spent crying. Most importantly, I'll tell her how instrumental her soul has been in healing mine.

Housekeeping Fail.

2010-02-15T12:55:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I feel like I'm digging a hole just to fill it up again. Or like I'm throwing toys in a bucket with no bottom. Something like that. To begin with, I'm pretty anal. I've become more anal over the years, and am super anal now that I am a homeowner and it's likely that we'll be here for a very, very long time. I hate clutter, I hate dirty kitchen floors, I hate sofa pillows on the floor, and I hate an unmade bed in the middle of the day. But I have kids, and I have a messy husband, and I'm fighting an uphill battle. I have to decide if I'm going to a) keep cleaning three times a day and waste my energy b) hire a housekeeper, which makes me feel weird, or c) just give it up already.

I really want to not care about how my house looks. I do. I want to not look around and feel compelled to organize and sort all of the library books, the socks, the lifecrap. But at the end of the day, a house is meant to be lived in. Books are meant to come off the shelf, laundry is meant to be worn and thrown back into the hamper, and mail is bound to pile up. I know that I can have a clean, tidy house one minute, only to have it a mess again by lunch time. *deep breath*

I suppose my New Year's Resolution this year is to give up a bit of that control. Psychologically, I realize that I'm just trying to control the uncontrollable, and I have to remind myself when my blood pressure spikes at the sight of a mess, that controlling my household doesn't mean I'm in control. To get all Freudian on myself, my messy house is not my mom's cancer. I can't control life's outcomes by straightening every askew picture frame and wiping every crumb. That is what this is all about and I'm ready to give it up, let life unfold, and let my laundry do the same.

Judgey Moms

2010-02-05T22:52:00.000-08:00

A few years ago, when I first started this mom thing, I came across the occasional judgey (sp?) mom. You know the type--they invite you out for a play date at the park, only to compare everything they're doing with everything you're doing. But not coming right out and saying it, oh no. This is all very uptight, passive aggressive, weird conversation. Most of all, I observed these seasoned moms walking all over other moms, most of whom were new at this stuff and understandably intimidated. Which is just complete bullshyte.

I've heard a lot of talk over the years about the "Mommy Wars" (moms who argue over going back to work -vs- staying home full time) as well as what I'm going to term the "Crunchy Wars," (moms who insist that Attachment Parenting is the only way.) Well, guess what--I'm a total Crunchy hippie Mom, and I don't give a fig about whether or not another mom chooses breastmilk over formula. I'm clearly pro-breastfeeding for myself: I nursed my first son for 15 months, and my second son is still going strong at 8 months. We also chose to co-sleep: soooo much easier for those multiple night feedings. And wait--I'm not finished yet--I "wore" both kids (in a sling and in a Baby Bjorn), I make baby food from scratch, and my first son wore cloth diapers. So I think it's safe to say that I'm a pretty Crunchy Mom. Attachment Parenting works for me and I love it.

That said, one of my close friends put her son in a crib first thing, placed him in daycare so she could go back to work, and decided not to breastfeed after a few weeks of that. And ya know what? I think she's one of the best moms I know. And she doesn't read this blog, so I'm not just saying this for her sake. I'm saying it because I like doing things my way and she likes doing things her way and we're great friends. I know for a fact that her son is going to be just fine, and I don't reserve judgment for her whatsoever. Why is this such a hard concept for so many women? I don't understand it, but until women just cool it with eachother, I'm going to stick to my nursing/non-nursing, working/not working, non-judgey mom friends. (And the nice thing is--I haven't run across any judgey moms since my eldest son was a newborn--so maybe their numbers are diminishing?) In any case, say it with me, ladies: A Happy Mama is a Happy Baby!

Going Natural

2010-01-29T22:24:00.001-08:00

Enough writing about the toxic people out there. Now onto the actual toxins. I've been on a three year quest of trying to rid my household of as many toxins as possible, and, well, it's impossible. It's one thing to replace the Windex with a spray bottle of vinegar (and a splash of lavendar oil to make it smell pretty!), or to change out the Tide laundry detergent with 7th Generation, but that's just the first step. It gets harder!

Let's take cosmetics, ladies. It is scary and disgusting how many chemicals the makeup companies are able to cram into our SPF moisturizers and blush. I cruise the aisles at Longs (woops--'CVS' now) and feel like I'm making an informed decision when I choose the more expensive but 'natural' Aveeno or Neutrogena product. WRONG. Both brands are owned by Johnson & Johnson, who like all the other big company names use synthetic petrochemicals like formaldehyde, 1,4-dioxane, and phthalates. I mean, when was the last time you read the tiny print on the back of your foundation or (the worst offenders) SPF moisturizers? It is truly scary, and with a history of cancer in my family, I ain't takin no chances.

Let's face it--there are a ton of carcinogens in our daily lives that we have little control over--our home's carpet, our mattress, that 'new car smell' we so love to inhale, plastics that are everywhere from ziploc food storage bags to drinking cups--those are some of the things that we can only control so much. They're just there, and it takes a lot to replace them completely (Have you seen how expensive chemical-free mattresses are? Egads!) But what we can control is what we spray on our windows, whether or not we use Round-Up weed killer instead of pouring boiling saltwater on those weeds, and what we put on our faces. I like to take the time to find out if some big company like Proctor Gamble or Johnson & Johnson produces my favorite 'natural' cleanser/moisturizer/hair gel, and make a switch to a smaller, truly natural company. (Burt's Bees and Desert Essence are two of my faves.)

So I challenge you to take a look at the backs of those bottles--and then google those ingredients. While the occasional use of these chemicals probably won't hurt, a lifetime of exposure to them via various products will.

FYI: I check my cosmetics against the lists on these sites:

http://www.safecosmetics.org/index.php
http://www.cosmeticsdatabase.com/

Really?

2010-01-24T17:50:00.000-08:00

There have got to me more people like me out there, but I just don't get status symbols. I don't get the McMansion, I don't get the BMW/Audi/Lexus thing, I don't get the I-became-a-surgeon-because-of-the-prestige thing. I have, however, spent a lot of time around people who have spent their lives chasing these things and I have to wonder what it's all about. I mean, do they really care that much about what other people think? One word of advice: if the people in your life judge you based on how many palm trees surround your 'estate,' or on how many times you upgrade your vehicle, those aren't friends. Get rid of them promptly and find some new people that just want to hang out and enjoy some common interests.

I must just be selfish, because there is no way I'm throwing that much money down for someone else's viewing pleasure. There is also no way I'm spending my cash upgrading my kitchen every three years. My car is 9 years old and I love it. My home is 60 years old and I love it too. It is a place for me to veg on weekday nights, bundle up and watch movies on the weekends, and to sew in, and read in, and just enjoy myself and my family. I'm relieved that I don't belong to an HOA who limits my home paint choices to peach and light peach, and the sidewalks on my street are cracked with the roots of 100 year old trees and I love that kind of charm. I don't think that anyone is a 'loser' for not owning a home, or not having a car newer than 2007, or whatever.

Get over it, people! No one is watching you that closely but yourself! You don't live in Tuscany, so kill it on the "Tuscan" kitchens! Everyone's tastes are different, but when I see these people living this way just to show off to a bunch of other people who live that way too, I have to sigh. I mean, really.

/end of rant.

Why are we still talking about this?

2010-01-22T17:59:00.001-08:00

Every day when my husband comes home from work, I have dinner waiting. The house is fairly tidy, and the kids are clean and fed. That's where the 1950s scene ends. He takes a few moments to decompress from his commute, changes into comfy clothes, and swoops our sons up and into the other room, leaving me to enjoy some silence, tea, and/or a good book. He thanks me for all the hard work I do on a regular basis, and tells me that I'm a great mom and a great partner. We're a team, and this is what I expect in a marriage with children: that wonderful concept, co-parenting.

That certainly wasn't the name of the game in my parents' day, although my Dad was a pretty hands-on father when I was a baby. He changed diapers, got up at night to feed me, and took over the childcare when my mom worked her weekend shifts at the hospital. I suppose I always assumed that is what men do--parent their children--and I married a man who believed in the same. However, I'm finding that a surprising number of women don't enjoy the same kind of equality in their marriage. Although it is the 21st century and parents today were born after the womens' rights movement, not all are down with the daddy-does-diaper-duty concept. And that, my friends, is a cryin' shame.

I'm just going to say it: I've worked in various office and on-my-feet jobs since I was fifteen years old, and I've never worked this hard. I didn't stop working until I had my first son at 31. So, in essence, I've done my husband's job, and I know it's tiring. But what I do now is downright grueling. I had no idea it would be this hard, this non-stop, this intense. I don't get law-mandated bathroom breaks, or a one-hour lunch, or even much of a chance to check my email. I'm in constant motion, and often eat standing at my kitchen counter with a baby on my hip. That said, I love it. But it's not office work, not by any stretch. Yet these other men (the ones who refuse to change more than a few diapers a month) don't get this at all. They assume that what mothers do is 'women's work' and that as the breadwinners, working full time is all they should be held accountable for. Everything related to childcare belongs to the woman, which is "easy," since she's hanging out at home all day. You see where I'm going with this, and don't worry, I won't continue on this essay. To be short, that attitude just burns me.

However, what bothers me is not just the inequity between the two parents. What bothers me is that these fathers don't want to partake in their childrens' upbringing. That they really would rather watch the game with a beer or go out and see their buddies than spend time playing trains with their son, or teaching their girl how to kick a soccer ball around. I mean, changing diapers and giving a child a bath is bonding time! It's tiring, and it's repetitive, and it's messy, but it's ultimately rewarding and a fleeting moment of their childhood that I'd rather not miss. My husband enjoys his time with our kids immensely, I can see it in his eyes, and that is why we make a good team. Every time he hands them back to me, he says "I don't know how you do it, babe. They're a lot of work! You're doing a great job every day with our boys." (I know, I know, you can stop rolling your eyes. It is pretty sweet, though.)

To be honest, I can't imagine a marriage with anything less than that regard. We are both responsible for caring for our children, he doesn't just bring home money and I don't just raise the kids. The old roles are ever-shifting, interchangeable, and dynamic. And that's just the way it should be, folks. So get in there and raise your kids, men. It's the manly thing to do.

Our True Age

2010-01-12T22:49:00.000-08:00

A dear friend asked me recently what I felt my true age to be. We had just enjoyed brunch on a beautiful day in her Victorian era flat in San Francisco and at that moment I was feeling about 29. That was the age in which I started to really come into my own. At 29, my mother once said, you're young but the world starts to take you seriously. However, I'd like to change my answer.

I've often thought lately (the last year or two) that I really feel about 50. Not that I'm starting to have aches and pains, but that I've lived a lot. I've played mother to people in their twenties, I'm a bit worn in (like a good paperback) by motherhood, I'm a little sad, a little hopeful, and a lot more tender. I've seen enough of life to know what matters and what really doesn't, and I finally feel at home with myself. I'm not really searching anymore, and I don't play games with people, and I write a nice thank-you card. So, I feel about 50--and in a good way.

Obviously, I've given a lot of thought about the question my comadre asked that beautiful day and I'm realizing how much things have changed in the last few years. I am not the woman I used to be, since losing a mother and becoming a mother (in a six-month period to boot). There are so many contradictions in me now--and yet I'm comfortable with them. I'm much stronger than I used to be, yet much more vulnerable. I'm gentler with others' hearts than I ever was before, yet tough enough to shove back when necessary. I certainly don't take anyone's shit anymore (like I used to), but my heart is much more open to forgiveness. My time is precious, too. The friendships I have now are worth my time and energy--and if they're not, I let them go. I say the word No now with a capital N, and sorry be the man (or woman) who asks me twice. I no longer hesitate to leave a situation and I no longer hesitate to help someone. It feels so liberating to have clear boundaries and clear intentions, and I actually like the fact that my internal age is 50. I'm learning to embrace the earth mama, homekeepin', no-nonsense, Paula Deen-esque lady who lives inside me.

Better Post-Holiday Thoughts

2010-01-06T11:59:00.000-08:00

Enough of the pity pot posts--just needed to get that out, I guess.

So I've had two dreams now that my son K grows up to be a chef. One in which my mom is telling me that it's his destiny. The funny thing is, I've never been much of a cook myself and have only recently been loving spending time in my kitchen. I'm the one who ate top ramen for dinner in college, who had white rice for breakfast when finances were tight. Now, my son has changed all that. I cook from scratch and I cook healthy, for the first time in my life! Partly because I'm cooking for a family now and I'm having to put more thought into our meals, partly because I'm paranoid about getting sick like my mom and leaving my kids behind, and partly because of K's sheer enthusiasm in the kitchen. He insists on helping me cook, bake, mix, whatever. I can't make toast without him wanting to get up on the counter and watch. I was never that interested in what my mom was making (and now wish I had been). He loves sushi, crepes, brie cheese, broccoli, Indian food, you name it. Not your usual toddler fare, but this kid is nuts for adult food.

Because of Kiran, I cook healthier and more often. And in a funny way, it's saved me. A few years ago I didn't know how I was going to get through life without a mom. The last thing I thought about was my own wellness and gastronomic enjoyment. Little K has taught me that preparing, cooking, and eating good food is one of the most life-affirming activities known to man. Thank you, Kiran. Maybe someday I'll eat in your restaurant.

Post-Holiday Thoughts

2010-01-05T23:28:00.000-08:00

It is a foggy night outside my window as I type, and I soak in the winter. I love the dark months of the year, unlike most people. The only thing that sucks about the change of seasons is it always makes me homesick. Homesick for my mom's house, which thankfully I can still return to, but will never be the same. Homesick for belonging to a family and not being able to go "home for the holidays," as everyone else seems to do each year. Sometimes I feel like an orphan. My last grandmother passed away recently, and so I am officially at the top of my female family line.

The hardest thing over the last three years has been having no family home. I have lots of extended family, but they all have their own immediate family circles, of which I don't belong. I am so very thankful that my two aunts always extend their home for me to call my 'homebase.' Me and my kids stay with them any time I travel to Stockton, and I just don't know what I would do without them and their hospitality. So I carry on each season, grateful to have the friends I have, and I make my own traditions, and I try not to think about the fact that I no longer travel eastward for the holidays. I guess some people have big happy families and some people just don't.

I also try not to think about how hard it sucks that my grandparents just couldn't get their shit together enough to do right by their kids and emotionally invest in their future. I can trace the dysfunction all the way back on both sides of my family--all the way back to my great-grandparents. We're talking Mexico and Spain here, people--so this shit goes back. I work so hard on making my kids' lives brighter each day, and on making sure that the relationships I build with them today will result in healthy relationships among their children and grandchildren that I just don't understand what made my grandparents blip out like that when it came to basic parenting skills. I mean, what the hell were they thinking? Did they not stop to think for two seconds that their actions (or inactions) would impact their children in such major ways? So here I am, sixty years later, writing about how tough it's been living with the results of alcoholism, abandonment, divorce, co-dependence and depression. Thanks, guys. You're the tops.

Ah, cynicism.

What I've Learned this Year

2009-12-28T22:30:00.001-08:00

"Put love where there is no love and you will find love."
I came across this quote recently from St. John of the Cross. It so captures all that I have learned over the past year and hope to put into practice moreso in this coming year.

There are a few people in my life who have made it so hard for me to love them. And yet. And yet I've seen miracles happen in my relationships with them that I have prayed for over the years. This year seemed to be my year of answered prayers. And if I learned one thing, it is this: Sometimes you just have to love someone where they are. They may not be where you want them to be. They may be selfish, or narcissistic, or just plain mean. But sometimes, even when someone is incapable of appreciating unconditional love, you can still love them. And this doesn't mean that you should go back for more abuse, or go out of your way to please them, or include them in your inner circle of Important People. This doesn't mean letting those boundaries down around the toxic people in your life. What this means is that you can offer kindness in every encounter, regardless of the other person's spiritual/emotional condition. You can go home knowing you did the right thing, knowing that you didn't add to the problem, that someday maybe they'll even recognize and appreciate the fact that you didn't aggravate the situation even when you had the chance.

This weekend, one of my closest family members visited. He hasn't come to see me or my son in over two years. We talk on the phone regularly, but I rarely see him, and his life has been one self-destructive decision after another. He's lost, and not always capable of loving me the way I love him, but I know that in his heart, he wants to love and be loved. I can't change his decisions, I can't change his lifestyle, and I can't change the fact that he hasn't always prioritized me the way I feel he should. But I can put love where there's been no love, and ever so slowly, I'm finding love.

Recession: it's a Good Thing

2009-12-21T22:53:00.000-08:00

Okay, I'm tired of hearing all of the economists and TV pundits bemoaning what has become of our economy. I'm tired of reading all of the headlines that speculate about when exactly our nation's shopping obsession is going to start up again and when we can all take a collective sigh of relief and go back to being the spenders that got us here in the first place. Seriously, people.

Here's the deal. It was great that we had an economy and all, and I would love to see people employed again. I think it sucks that there aren't enough jobs and that people are struggling to get by. However. I've never known a time in my thirty-four years on this earth when people have been so thrifty, so fiscally responsible, so cool with the fact that they're not going on a shopping spree this Christmas season. According to some random news reports I've read lately, there are more handmade craft gifts this year than ever before. More families opting out of the gift-giving rat race and agreeing to exchange homemade gifts, single ornaments, or, gasp! nothing at all. Am I the only one who thinks that this recession might actually be good for us? If people are learning to scale back their spending, to turn in their SUV for a gas-efficient sedan, to give up the obnoxious 5,000sq ft McMansion, isn't this good for the soul? I think it's disgusting that the American economy was so damn reliant on all the average Joes out there shopping themselves into debt.

Years ago, I read the book Affluenza, which stated that our addiction to big spending was burning us out and that we needed to downshift our wants and reconsider what "the good life" was really all about. Isn't the good life about contentment? About wanting what you have and having what you want? Maybe I'm the only one who sees the good in this situation, but damn. Cutting up the credit cards and focusing your energy on simple pleasures instead of what model car your neighbors drive seems like a pretty good life to me.

So I've Been Thinking...

2009-12-16T22:47:00.000-08:00

About a Book Drive. Like, putting one together. I'm not sure how I'm going to go about it, but a few things happened last week to put this in my head.

1--I saw a KRON news report about a rich dude from the South Bay who donated dozens of dictionaries to high school students recently. He just said that he felt it was important and he realized that not enough students had dictionaries. So cool.

2--There is a woman in my area named Anna, who goes by the nickname "the Lemon Lady." She has single-handedly collected 13,000 pounds of fruit from people's yards (with permission) that were otherwise going to waste, and donated them to our local food pantries and shelters. Also so cool.

3--I was sitting there the other day reading to my two year old. He was enjoying it so much, and bringing me book after book to read to him, and I thought to myself about all the kids out there who have no books and no one to read to them. That really saddened me, and I realized that books are something that I am beyond passionate about. I've made my living around books. I grew up devouring them. They are a huge part of my life and I believe wholeheartedly that books have the power to change lives. Reading is what builds vocabularies, what opens minds, and what can transform a person's outlook. I also happen to think that people who read are just plain classier, but I guess I that makes me sound like a snob. Oh well.

So somehow, I'm going to get my hands on a ton of kid's books. And I'm going to find a shelter, or a school, or maybe even my local Crisis Nursery (yes, we have one, sad isn't it?), and I'm going to bring them those books. This is all still just a crude outline and I'd appreciate any ideas. I just feel this incredible need to bring.children.books. And soon.

Welcome back, Mama

2009-12-02T13:48:00.000-08:00

I can't believe how long it's been since last I wrote. Six months, a new baby, and a multitude of computer issues later, here I am!

The holidays are upon us and I find myself burrowing into a new season, my favorite. What I'm realizing much more than in years past is how much my mom passed on to me. I never really saw it before, but I really sense her spirit when I bake for my loved ones, put out the holiday decorations that my son so enjoys, even just doing the laundry--it is all an act of love. I see that now. Realizing that fact is what got me through those early days of grief, and instead of dreading and avoiding the holidays, I chose to embrace them and throw myself totally into them. Call it sublimation, or redirecting of energy or whatever, it works.

As a mother, I'm seeing now for the first time how much of my mother is in me, especially when noticing how differently people "mother." I've been blessed with a multitude of awesome moms around me (aunts, cousins, relatives, and friends), and I've had the opportunity to see how much joy a mother can bring to her family when she chooses happiness and gratitude. I can't help but to compare the kind of mom I grew up with as opposed to, say, my MIL, who practices a *whole* different kind of 'love,' one of conditions, guilt, resentment, and seething, thinly veiled anger. How difficult it must be to live in a world like that. That said, I am incredibly grateful to have been born my mother's daughter. I am more committed than ever to be the kind of emotionally stable, honest, supportive mom that my mama raised me to be.

Later, gator.

Now That I Got That Out...

2009-05-24T06:10:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'm done ranting. Promise. I'm hot tempered as it is, and these hormones are not helping.

In other news: One of my favorite people is coming home today! My husband's cousin (actually more like a sister) is returning after two months overseas. I've always been grateful to have her in my life, but I didn't realize how much I depended on those daily emails, phone calls, texts and general feeling that she was close by. She's like the sister I never had, and boy will it be great to have some tea and catch up! And what a relief that she'll be there for the birth of our second son just like she was for the first. Welcome home, duggy duggy!

Other than that, t.i.r.e.d. I can make it until about 3:00 before my dogs are barkin'. I was so glad that I was able to make it to a birthday party yesterday that started in the late morning...anything later than that and I would have had to stay home and nap. Although the birthday-hosts are good peeps and would have totally understood if I needed to stay home or lay down. And Kiran got to spend time with his favorite little people--his didi's. I'm so glad he has them and I want him to have the same kind of relationship with them as I've had with my cousins over the years--supportive, loving, and joyful.

Keep Your Pitocin to Yourself!

2009-05-22T16:23:00.000-07:00

Allow me to vent a little about the medical community. Here are the stats: I'm 38 weeks pregnant, no complications. At my check up today, the nurse practitioner suggested that I start considering induction--because, you know, it would be easier to schedule labor around my 2 year old's routine. I call bullshit. Inductions are almost standard practice these days, not because the baby is in distress or because the mama is at risk or anything like that, but because the doctor needs to keep her appointment schedule running on time. This is also why most inductions are scheduled in the early evening--so that the doctor can deliver the babies in the off-hours, thus freeing up her daytime hours to attend to her overbooked office patient load. Going into natural labor just isn't time-efficient.

Secondly, inductions require pitocin, which leads to very painful contractions, and very often, higher C-section rates. It's a vicious cycle, and one that I want nothing to do with. I told my last doctor that I didn't want to induce, and I didn't. Thank goodness, I went into labor by 41 weeks. Anything past that and they'll practically force you to do it.

Here is my issue: I didn't go the midwife/home birth route because a) I like the idea of having an epidural available upon request, b) my insurance covers standard hospital births and I don't have cash to spare for a midwife, which is pricey. So for the moms like me, who want a hospital birth with the least amount of interventions, we're at the mercy of the medical community. If we go the home birth route, we're looking at a totally natural, drug-free birth, which while it's awesome, is not the route I'm looking to take. Why no middle road, people?

I resent today's appointment and the fear mongering that the professionals impose on us while we're hugely pregnant and in stirrups. Unless there is a clear medical reason for induction/C-section/pitocin, fuck off! Let me pre-labor and labor in peace and allow the female body to do what it is designed to do!

Getting my Craft On--and Fighting the Gender Machine

2009-05-02T14:23:00.001-07:00

Alright, I've been in nesting overdrive lately. And I'm exhausted, which is not a good combination at all. So I decided that I could be productive and crafty all while sitting at my sewing machine. You can't beat that. So here are a few things that I've made over the last several days, mostly for the baby. (Some cool Dia de los Muertos oven mitts will be posted once I finish those.)

I've been feeling way too guilty for not making anything personal for Kiran before he was born, but hey--I had a lot going on. Plus, I'm sick of all the baseballs and trucks that the baby stores offer. I cruised the baby aisle at TJ Maxx yesterday and realized that one side of the aisle was completely pink, while the other side was totally blue. *big sigh* Really, people? So I guess since I can't afford the hip Rockridge boutiques with all their cool gender-neutral stuff, I'm making my own. Who says boy things can't be pretty? Craft on.

My first attempt at taggie blankets, said to be a hit with the newborns. We shall see.

Cheap diaper cloth sewn into burp cloth size and be-ribboned. Everything is better with ribbon, no?

A closer view

Love me some koi fish.

Rock on, little one. I guess we're naming him Naveen after all, or I've got some ripping out to do.

The More you Have, the More you Have to Lose

2009-04-22T19:40:00.001-07:00

Today's headlines included yet another story of financial ruin and suicide, as seen in this story.* Haven't there been something like 5 or 6 of these suicides in the past year? They all have the same things in common: they were all men, high up in the ranks of major financial institutions, and either lost everything, were accused of making other people lose everything, or lost enough to send them from being billionaires to 'mere' millionaires.

What saddens me is that this man, for example, felt badly enough about his financial loss that he preferred death to bankruptcy. That living like the rest of us was such a terrifying thought that he'd rather hang than have to downsize from a 10,000 square foot house to a 5,000 square foot house. He would rather leave his daughter without a father than lose out on his Freddie Mac shares. Oh the shame of it.

And it is easy to assume that he had issues with depression or anxiety prior to this, but it doesn't seem like these stories have anything to do with that. These guys are throwing themselves out of windows for one reason only: the recession. It amazes me that their spiritual lives and their sense of self are so fragile or nonexistent that losing money on stocks would send them over the edge. Not to mention an obvious lack of any kind of support network of family or friends. It makes me realize how blessed I am to have the friends and family that I have--I know that if I were penniless, I could show up on my friends' doorsteps and they'd take me in without judgment, and I would do the same for my friends. I can't imagine living a life devoid of human connection, of an inner life that takes a backseat to career or money misfortunes. I mean, seriously--this is the worst life has dealt them?

Not to downplay financial loss and how stressful that can be, but millions of average Americans have lost their homes, their jobs, their cars, or simply their annual vacations, and what do they do? They go on unemployment, they stay with family, they tell their kids that everything is going to be alright, even when they're terrified and unsure. Because being jobless is terrifying, and having a few dollars left in the bank at month's end is extremely stressful--but these men were in neither situation. When you're making billions a year, and get $300,000 bonuses, you'd think you'd have a little left over in the bank for a rainy day. How do they manage to piss away that much money? And what a wonderful life lesson to teach your children--fly them home from their boarding schools, explain to them that mommy and daddy won't be wintering in the Alps this year, that the nannies and kitchen staff are being let go, and that there is more to life.

There is something to be said for living simply.

*I figured out how to make pretty URLs!

Poor, poor Tracy.

2009-04-14T17:17:00.000-07:00

While not my official hometown, it's close enough. And it seems that Tracy is having a rough time of it these days. First there was the Sandra Cantu story, which has been horrifying to hear. Then, SFGate.com gets wise to the Tracy theme and suddenly decides to report on this atrocity (http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2009/04/14/BAJA1728CA.DTL&tsp=1),* which was reported months ago by the Stockton Record but suddenly has new appeal to Bay Area news sources no doubt because of the Tracy link. Something tells me that if anything untoward happens over the next several weeks in this unfortunate town, it will be all over the news. And no, it doesn't mean that Tracy is going to hell in a handbasket, it's just how the media works. They love their 'themes'.

The scariest thing about the Tracy doctor is that this is my mom's former employer--and was for several years. I mean, seriously, WTF? Sexual harassment is bad enough, but sexual battery? It would creep me out enough just having a doctor look at me sideways, but to have to worry about sexual battery is just insane!

Lastly, what cracks me up about this whole thing is that I'd love to hear what my mom's co-workers would have to say about all the recent news. I remember her telling me that the women in her office that were Tracy natives just loved to trash talk Stockton and point out all the reasons why they wouldn't go to Stockton after dark (how utterly ridiculous!), and how they would rather drive to Lodi than to Stockton to do their shopping. What made it even more ridiculous is that they would brag (!) about spending their weekends shopping "over the hill," meaning Dublin/Pleasanton. Somehow this was the ultimate in classy? This deserves another WTF, and I really don't use bad language anymore now that I'm a mom. But seriously, I'd love to hear what these women have to say about their town now. And I also love the fact that while Stockton gets trash talked aplenty, I can't think of any high profile crime cases that have taken place in Stockton like I can for Modesto, and now Tracy. At least the crime in Stockton is contained. Oh, my poor Central Valley.

*sorry, I can't do pretty URL links.

rainy thoughts.

2009-04-08T08:22:00.001-07:00

What a great break from the encroaching heat...and just when I had reconciled myself to the fact that the summer season is nearly here. It's 8am and I'm loving the water that drips off the ivy hanging outside my window...the storm clouds that hover overhead...the feel that I'm somehow closer to the ocean...If you're reading this, you know me, and if you know me you know that I detest the sun. I know it is the weirdest thing in the world and that most people absolutely live for the sun, but let's just say I won't be taking a tropical vacation any time soon. In fact, I'd much rather vacation in Harry Potter land. I love the feel of cool ocean air on my skin, the smell of the rain hitting the sidewalk, sitting at my window sipping English Breakfast while I read a one hundred year old trashy novel. This is probably our last rain of the season, so I'm relishing it before my summer blues hit again and I can no longer indulge my obsession with all things cozy. (And no, I'm not goth. Just a sympathizer.)

Still Agonizing over a Name...

2009-04-06T19:08:00.000-07:00

You know what I realized just now? That no matter what name we choose, we're going to get beef about it. If we go with an Indian name (leaning toward Naveen), most Americans are going to think it's wierd/exotic/unpronounceable. If we go with a typical American name, we're going to get lip from other people in our lives, who pretty much think everything other people do is weird. I'm already tired of explaining to people what we're naming him and why. I had this problem the first time around with Kiran, and here we go again. I guess we should only be making ourselves happy, but a little positive support would be good.

This Time will be Different.

2009-03-22T22:17:00.000-07:00

Things will be so different this time around. As much as having Kiran was the best thing to ever happen to me, the circumstances were so difficult to overcome that I feel like I'm getting a second chance this time. Bringing Kiran home and beginning our lives together was exhilarating, but I can't help to look back on all the ways in which his birth was the hardest time of my life.

For one thing, I was still in the middle of tremendous grief, having lost my mom just six months prior. I mean, preggo hormones are bad enough without dealing with the shock of losing a mother and becoming a mother in such a short time. What compounded the loss was the fact that I was left in charge of cleaning out her house (my childhood home), settling her financial affairs (pain in the arse), and driving back and forth to Stockton by myself with a five-week-old to meet with estate lawyers--all in the first sweltering days of Stockton's early summer. Needless to say, I did a lot of nursing in parking lots along I-5, in law offices and any air-conditioned lobby I could find. Looking back, I realize how strong I had to be, not only to be dealing with the fourth trimester without a mom to guide me through, but to handle so much of the legal aftermath of her death just after giving birth. As long as I'm on this rant, I was also living in a 900 sq ft apartment with no air conditioning and no laundry machine. Suffice it to say, hearing other new moms actually complain about how hard the fourth trimester was, while their moms were doing their laundry and making them meals, made me want to punch something. I honestly don't know how I got through the summer of 2007.

Alright, enough of the pity pot. This time things are going to be Completely Different. Although the grief is still strangely fresh, I can handle it given the fact that I'm not actually faxing death certificates and canceling my mom's bank accounts. I'm in an actual house with a laundry machine, a/c, and a yard, for one. How great is that? I know what I'm doing this time and won't struggle through breastfeeding like I did with Kiran. I'm emotionally capable of telling my mother-in-law where the door is, and I actually know other moms that I can talk to if things are getting tough. I feel so much more capable of being a better mom this time than the last. While so many people say that their relationship was more relaxed with their second child, I feel like I'm getting a second chance at having a first.

My plan is simple. I'm going to spend the entire summer gazing into this little boy's eyes and leisurely nursing him in the comfort of my home instead of frantically driving to my hometown to settle paperwork or deal with probate crap. I'm not doing anything that my extended family is capable of doing themselves, and I'm not going to over-extend myself in any way. In other words, I'm going to burrow into my little nest for the summer and pamper my new little family, including myself. I am so grateful that this little boy will have my full attention, my groundedness, my sanity. This time will be different.

What's in a Name?

2009-03-04T22:09:00.000-08:00

The answer: I don't know, since we still haven't picked one out.

We had just as hard a time picking out Kiran's name, which means 'ray of light' in Hindi. Given that I had just had a very dark year, he was indeed my ray of light. This time around, I'm still stumped. I've looked at lists of Spanish names to represent my side of his heritage, but I hate all the Spanish names I've seen. I mean, there are about ten male Spanish names that are used over and over again, and does the world really need another Miguel?
American names are okay, but the naming websites are ridiculously full of Aidens, Braedens, and Jadens. So. We are back to considering Indian names, which we weren't going to do a second time, but there you have it.

We have a list going, and although I know that most parents are pretty tight-lipped about their naming choices prior to the birth, I'm putting ours out there and asking--no, begging--for advice and suggestions. So...In order of preference (the top names R and I have both agreed to liking), here is the name roll....I will even post a poll for you to vote on which you like best! Because my brain is overloaded with names and I have no sense left to make a good decision.

Naveen (means 'new' in Hindi. Also reminds most people of Naveen Andrews, but I'm not complaining.)
Ashwin (means 'first star at twilight' in Hindi, as well as being the name of Sarah McLauchlin's ex-husband. We would probably call him Ash, which sounds like a cool rocker name, a plus in R's book.)
Kai (vaguely ethnic, which is what our kid would be. My reservation is that it would be a bit too matchy with Kiran)
Avi or Ravi (Avi would probably be short for Avinash, a popular Indian boy's name)
Rohan (means 'to attain great heights' in Sanskrit; also a Lord of the Rings reference)

Okay, that's all we've got. And I've got about twelve weeks to decide.

Bad Mama

2009-02-28T09:50:00.000-08:00

So I've gone against the grain and decided not to have a big traditional birthday party for my 2 year old son. Well, make that any party. We will be instead taking him to a kid's discovery museum with one of his best little toddler friends, which I personally think he'll get more out of. Several things factored into my decision: that I'm hauling around an extra 30 pounds that make me feel achy, tired, and out of breath, that he's 2 and doesn't even know it is his birthday, that I have no energy to clean the house before and after a party, and that kids' birthday parties always somehow fascinated and repelled me. I guess this makes me the worst mother of the year. Or ever. Next year, when he's writing his own guest list, I'm sure I'll do the suburban mom thing and order personalized plates and napkins. But never a jumpy house--never, ever a jumpy house. Someone please stop me if I start considering one of those things. We don't have a big enough yard anyway. Perhaps I'm just new to all of this. When I was growing up, my family's idea of a birthday party was about 75 people at Victory Park (that's in Stockton, y'all) with some barbecued something-or-other, a pinata from El Dorado market, a bunch of kids with fruit punch stains on their faces, and a large amount of beer--Budweiser and a cheap Mexican label. I'm just not on board yet with the personalized decorations, the hand-packaged party favors, and all the stress involved.
*Sigh* I am the worst mother of the year. My poor son.

Visions of Evenweave Dance in my Head...

2009-02-23T08:34:00.001-08:00

After visiting a needlepoint shop with some crafty friends this weekend, I am all fired up to start making something, but what? I really like the idea of re-purposing, so if it can involve a trip to my local Salvation army that would be a plus. Also, it should involve yummy fabric. The possibilities are endless and I want to start something that I've never done before: I'm currently obsessed with the idea of making a penny rug, as I'm going through a New England/American Primitive stage right now, but I've always wanted to learn Hardanger, or maybe a blackwork sampler, perhaps a Bargello seat cover, or oh! Assisi work...What's a girl to do? I guess I should attack my stash closet and see what I've already got.
Here are some pictures for those not familiar with these lovely arts.

(a wool penny rug)

Hardanger work, in which individual strands of the linen are pulled out to create the openwork.)

(Elizabethan Blackwork--this would take me, like a year.)

(Assisi work--like Ukrainian embroidery. Good for tablecloths, frame borders, and other piecework and pretty simple.)

A Bargello pillow, also comes in 'flamework' style which is very cool. I'm thinking of making chair covers or some kind of upholstery in this style. Super easy to stitch up.

In the meantime, here are some pictures of things I've actually sold through my etsy shop. I look at them to remind myself that yes, I am capable of finishing a project.

(Pennsylvania Dutch style piece commissioned by my friend R! I'm currently working on the next one she ordered)

They're Everywhere!

2009-02-19T16:59:00.000-08:00

I'm revisiting this topic, of which I wrote about in an old blog I used to keep, because it still bewilders me. Tip jars, that is. I suddenly noticed that *every single* cafe countertop in the Bay Area has one of the ubiquitous tip jars. And with plenty of stickers and witty signages, of course, to draw your attention.

It used to be less common and because of that I would actually tip the person if they were unusually kind. But now *everyone* has a tip jar, even the indifferent donut shop owner on the corner. And some of those jars have $5 bills in them!!! Why would I tip someone who has rendered as simple a service as ringing up the bill? Especially when *that's their job*?!?!? And why would I essentially spend $5 for a cup of coffee each morning?

Is it just me, or is everyone looking for a handout these days, and not even trying to earn it? I mean, I realize stuff is expensive these days and we're all struggling to get by, but I'd love to see what my library patrons would have said if I had plunked a tip jar on the check-out desk. That's right, I'd like a tip--just for doing my job.

Pregnancy Insomnia Sucks.

2009-02-12T10:43:00.001-08:00

That is all.

I always knew...

2009-02-06T22:20:00.000-08:00

About a year ago, I had a dream that someone (angel? spirit guide?) whispered to me that there was a little boy waiting for me, and that as soon as I was ready for him, he was ready to come to me. We were still a good six months from deciding that we were ready for number two yet, so I hastily shelved the idea to the netherregions of my mind.

However, as crazy as this may sound, I always knew I would be the mom of two boys. It was a feeling I had deep inside, and when the ultrasound tech told me that there would be another little boy coming home with us, I couldn't stop the tears. Maybe it is because I grew up with so many women, perhaps it is because I just lost my mom and with her, a very complex mother-daughter relationship and am not sure I want to transfer over any of my issues to a daughter, perhaps it is because I am burned out on all the princess stuff out there, but whatever it is, it just feels right. It is strange, because so many of my acquaintances (not so much my friends, who know me well), assume that we'd want a girl, since we hadn't had one yet. But to be honest, a part of me breathed a big fat sigh of relief to hear the word "boy." I realized in that moment that I was actually afraid of having a girl, afraid of re-living so much of what I went through with my mom and afraid that a relationship with a daughter would never be able to compare to the love my mom and I shared. Whatever it was, I didn't realize it was there until we found out that we were safe with another boy. And for me, it is more about this particular soul and his place in our lives than it is about his gender. Kiran is so much more than just a male baby--he is a nurturing, compassionate, loving little boy--which is more than I can say for some women I've met! Seriously, though, I feel such a sense of sureness and rightness about this second son that I can't imagine wanting anyone else but him.

Message to Divorced Baby Boomers

2009-02-05T17:25:00.001-08:00

I was watching Dr. Phil this afternoon and he featured a woman who is showcasing all the classic elements of a mid-life crisis: she recently left her overbearing husband and is now enjoying life while living in a camper tent with her younger boyfriend. She claims she is happy because she is living her own dream and no longer tied to all the material things that supposedly bogged her down. Her daughters, all in their 30s, are very concerned and thus appearing on Dr. Phil.

This is something that has been bugging the shit out of me for some time now, as I have parents who divorced once the kids were "out of the house." This seems to be a pattern with baby boomers, and it needs to stop. Message to divorced parents of grown children: Just because your kids are out of the house and living on their own does not give you the license to stop being parents. It kills me to see how many people of my parent's generation pat themselves on the back for enduring a marriage until their children became adults, then jump off the deep end, all the while congratulating themselves on 'waiting' until their kids were grown. Children, no matter what age, need stability and guidance from their parents!!! You cannot throw away your marriage, hook up with a new boyfriend or girlfriend and go on road trips like you're 20 again, you cannot move to a trailer park for the novelty of it, you cannot sell your children's childhood home and not expect it to pain them. I mean, WTF??? You made the decision to become a parent, and even if it was 30 years ago, you are still held to that decision. You are still a parent, and it is your responsibility to create a stable, loving, safe home for your children, where ever they happen to be living.

I understand the need to re-discover yourself after 30 years of marriage--so take a watercolors class, go on a cruise with your old friends, or pick up yoga. But do not abandon your life, because you are abandoning everything that your children have grown to expect from you, and YES, they still need you to be their parent. In other words, grow the hell up and do the job you decided you wanted to do decades ago. It is still your job, no matter how much you think you've outgrown it. You are not 20 years old and free to live life only for yourself! You had your chance, and you chose marriage and children. No matter how old a child gets, they still need their parents to be solid and sure, not running around making a fool out of themselves. Seriously.

/end of rant.

Gratitude

2008-10-08T11:47:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, I started a gratitude journal. Amid all of the painful crazy that was my mom's last few years, I needed a way to reconnect, to ground myself, to not lose sight of those things that are my reason for being, my saving grace. A couple of friends of mine had started similar journals, and I thought it would be a good thing for me. In the quiet of the season, as the leaves make their way to the ground, and the harvest fruits ripen, I'm taking a moment to remind myself of those things that matter most.

A kick-ass husband, who is my rock when times are rough, my best friend to celebrate with when times are joyful. He is a compassionate, warm human being who always does his best for others.

My amazing, curious, affectionate son. He has made me infinitely more patient, more wise, more mama bear than I ever could have envisioned for myself.

My family. We've walked many miles together and I have never been more grateful for the fact that I was born into this family, especially since I've seen that not all families operate with so much unconditional love, compassion, and support. I can't articulate what they mean to me. I come from a long line of strong Latin women, and the fact that we can express ourselves without fear, cry without shame, and reach out to one another with open hearts is a testament to our heritage.

My comadres. Very similar to the English word comrade, but different. These are my soul sisters, women that are not my birth sisters, but are just as close to my heart. They've cried with me in times of grief, protected me in times of weakness, laughed with me until our faces hurt. I love our seasonal parties, our ladies' teas, our B-movie nights, our night's out in SF. You're probably the only ones who read this blog, so here's to you!

My kitties. Warm by night and spunky by day, they're old souls.

Life in general. Leisurely 7am breakfasts with my son, volunteering to help catalog the new library at St. B, the Women's Retreat a few weekends ago and the healing that took place there, weekly walks and trips to the Farmer's Market, and cultivating some great relationships in my life--what more can I say? I'm grateful.

The Shifting of the Light

2008-09-09T12:02:00.000-07:00

After a long, torturous summer of glaring light and searing heat, this morning I awoke to soft gray skies and a cool ocean breeze. My first waking thought was 'Ahhhhhh.....'
Not many people suffer from Summer S.A.D., and it seems that most of the world is made up of Summer People. You know the ones--they thrive in the heat like lizards, fantasize about the summer all year long, and every vacation involves a beach. I wish I could join the club, but my idea of hell is being stuck in the unrelenting sun all year long. I still can't believe that I was born and raised in California. For me, the sun is like a radio right next to my ear, loudest during the summer months, and annoying as hell. I just.want.someone.to.turn.it.OFF.
So it is finally, blessedly, September, and although it is not yet technically Autumn, I sense a change in the atmosphere. The air has finally cooled, and the angle of the sun is a tad less aggressive. I can finally breathe, and concentrate, and lift my head to the sky and not fear being blinded. The summer doldrums are finally lifting, and my thoughts turn to apple cider, pumpkin patches, and winter crafts.

May 18 1945 - September 5 2006

2008-09-06T12:57:00.000-07:00

Participated yesterday in the Susan B. Komen Walk for the Cure to cheer on Sarah, who is walking the entire 3 days for my mom. It happened to fall on the two year anniversary of my mom's passing, and needless to say, it was a very emotional day for me. I think I went through all seven steps of grief and back again in one day, and came home and slept for twelve hours, only waking up to hold my son.

My mom was not the type of person to put herself out there and talk about her experience, so I'm doing it for her. She would never say so, but she was the most selfless, warm, unconditionally loving person that I've ever known. Her heart went out to everyone, she trusted that the world was a good place, and she prayed constantly for others, even when she should have been praying for herself. She suffered through chemo, lost her sense of smell and taste, was poked and prodded every week for five years and never complained. She never reprimanded anyone, even when they deserved it.
For the woman at my graduation ceremony who gave my bald mom dirty looks as she got sick on the grass--F___ you. For the doctors who 'forgot' to call back with her recurrent diagnosis--F____ you TWICE. For the mean woman who told my mom that she probably wouldn't be sick had she just meditated more (!?!)--F___ you THREE TIMES. My mom would never dream of saying these things, so her firebrand daughter will do it for her.

I guess I'm not quite past the anger stage.

Advice? I'm the queen of advice!

2008-09-04T00:33:00.000-07:00

I recently discovered the beauty of eHow. I write articles, I get points, I join a community of other writers. Interesting. I've been so beat down by this mind-numbing heat that I need something--anything--that will keep me up and at 'em. So there is my little contribution to the world of e-articles. My own little journalistic endeavor, thrown against the death rays of the sun. And I'm actually getting paid for it!

Crafting it Up

2008-06-19T10:33:00.000-07:00

I'm creating this blog to track my progress as I stitch my way through the summer. My new etsy shop is finally open after months of stitching up stock. I've been stitching kits for years and every time I went to Joann or Michaels I'd come home bitching about the current state of the needlepoint aisle. I mean, I don't mind the occasional 'Oriental Vase,' but Wolves in the Snow? Egads!
So... I'm finally posting my own creations a la Subversive Cross-Stitch (http://www.subversivecrossstitch.com), one of my all-time favorite designers. But it won't be all snarky stitching, I've got some Spanish tiles that I designed after a visit to New Mexico in March, and some Art Nouveau stuff, since I'm really into the Arts and Crafts movement. Here's to crafting it up!

DIY or Die...

2008-05-24T19:55:00.000-07:00

I find myself fraternizing (sororizing?) with some crafty ladies these days, and discovering with proud amazement how creative my friends really are. I find myself re-energized when I watch as one of them sews up a summer dress or posts pictures of her fabric stash. It amazes me that so many of these crafters (many of them, like myself, moms of toddlers) find the time and energy to craft it up like that. These ladies are my heroes!
I've also discovered a soul sister in Kathy Cano Murillo--check out her webite: http://www.craftychica.com/welcome.html. A creative, crafty, whipsmart Latina? My kinda girl!
In the meantime, I dream of handmade cafe curtains and felted hobo bags.

The only thing missing is the wine...

2008-05-24T19:23:00.000-07:00

I've miraculously found the time to start a blog. The baby and daddy are out for the evening, the house is finally clean, the sun is going down and I'm slowly exhaling. I haven't journaled in over a year and I miss it. I spent my entire childhood and young adulthood journaling and only just stopped, sometime after my mom passed away. I'm hoping to start on a clean slate, rave about my favorite sites, rant about my least favorite, and maybe even get some feedback. I just wish I had a glass of chilled white wine right now...