Stumbling Toward Enlightenment

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 ...

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 woul...

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. ...

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.

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 pa...

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 ...

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 en...