Way back when and I became a mother for the first time, there was never any doubt about the connection I had with my unborn child. From the minute the pregnancy test revealed (and revealed about three subsequent times just to be certain) that I was "expecting", my heart started racing.
I am the little girl who always wanted to be a mom, had to be the mom while playing house and basically ptacticed "mothering" my younger brother until he could take it no more. I dressed up my cat, I stuck my dolls up my shirt and pretended to be pregnant. I "nursed" them.
And so, when struck with this reality during my last leg of college, I was, inside, smiling in my fear of the unknown because I knew that I really wanted to be a mom.
Just about on time (2 weeks early to be exact), our first son was born via c-section. From below the sterile, blue drape and in my foggy, anesthesia-induced euphoria, I heard him cry for the first time. It was like a wind of something from another world entering my body. That's my baby, I thought. The doctor said "it's a boy", I cried and cried and made them count all his fingers and tiny red toes. I waited as they did whatever it is they do beyond the drape before you can actually see your baby. Finally, my husband brought him to me so I could see him, smell him and take him all in, one delicious inch at a time. And just as quickly as that, he was whisked away to the nursery and I was left . . . alone (besides the medical staff finishing the surgery).
I remember laying there, feeling the wetness drip from the corner of my eye, slowly down my cheek to rest in my ear. I couldn't wipe the tears away because my arms were strappped to the table "wings". They wouldn't have done me much good either because I couldn't feel them. All this time, feeling him kick, roll and hiccup inside of me and now he's here. And he's a he! Because all this time, I had no idea what gender the baby was. My drawers were filled with green and yellow. I lay and I wait. I wait for them to finish.
Although I can't feel my body, I know that it is now empty. Empty of the life that it fed for 38 weeks. My mind is racing and I wonder what is taking so long.
They finally finish and wheel me into a recovery room. I vaguely recall my husband coming back to tell me that everything is just fine with our baby and just as quickly, he is off again. I remember that the nurse caring for me is named Carol, which is my Grandmother's name and my legal name also. I remember throwing up.
Of all the memories I have of the birth of our first child, I vividly remember this conversation with the clarity that it may have happened yesterday. The conversation with the nurse named Carol, the nurse caring for my post-delivery, very alone self.
"How are you feeling"
"A little groggy, I guess . . . nauseaous"
"I'll get you something for that. There is someone out there who won't go away (sighing as if she is really put out by this). She keeps peeking her head in every time the door opens"
I cut her off "Who is it?"
"It is your Mom"
I loose it. I am really quite a coward and rarely have the guts to say something to someone who offends me in person (even telemarketers get a kind word from me), but I looked right at this wench, excuse me, nurse and said "LET HER IN".
She does as I command and in comes my mom. Mom, the fixer of all, kisser of bruises big and small, hand-holder and confidant, my Mom. I feel like a little 5 year-old girl whenever I see her and I am the least little bit vulnerable. She shows up and is the chicken soup, 7-up and jello remedy for all that is wrong in the world. That's how I feel about her.
"Just wanted to see how MY baby is doing"
I cry some more, I know I throw up some more and she is there with me to ease the emptiness I feel in my belly. She tells me that she got a quick peek at McRae, but as everyone was shuffling down to the nursery to watch the formalities of bathing, foot printing, heel poking, etc. She wanted to wait until I was okay. Her face tells me that she's been crying too and I feel the shift in our mother/daughter relationship as clearly as if it were written in big, black letters on a white sheet of paper: Mom, daughter, Grandma, Mom.
From that moment on, that shared and knowing change in our world, I was the Mom. She became "Grammie" because that is what she chose (not too old sounding, not too cutsie and not Nana because that is a dog in the Peter Pan movie). Our connection to each other will continue to grow through the children that have passed between us from Mother to Daughter to Son to Son to Daughter, these are our lifelines, the souls who teach us more about ourselves every day. Oh boy, I had better get her to write down that egg drop soup recipe for me!
Friday, June 30, 2006
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Twinkie!
Auntie Carrie: Hey you guys, would you like a twinkie for dessert?
Braydon: What's a twinkie?
Braydon: What's a twinkie?
Let the record state that the only reason I had twinkies in the house was because last week I needed to get cash from the machine inside of a market and it ended up being broken. So, I did what any other rational person would do: grabbed the first thing I saw to purchase so I could get cash back from using my debit card at the register! And I didn't want to appear to be taking full advantage of the store's hospitality, so I grabbed the twinkies (which were displayed ever-so creatively to invite those impulse buyers such as myself)!
Braydon, on the other hand, is an apperition. The only 8 year old boy I know who hasn't succumbed to the evilness that is Hostess!
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Anticipation
Anticipation . . . anticipaaaayaaaaaytion it's makin' me crazy! Sing it Carly Simon, oh just kidding.
Grammie and Grandpa made it home from their vacation back east bearing gifts! My parents are pros at bringing us fabulous gifts when they travel and we hold down the fort for them (which is like a vacation for us). They always bring us thoughtful, interesting and unique gifts perfectly suited for each and every one of us and it is always fun to see what comes next as they range from the typical to the exotic! As fun as all of this is, we are mostly happy that they are home. For, although we love to hear about all the places they go and are glad that they have a fun time, we miss them when they're gone!
The traditional unveiling of our travel gifts is an exciting time for the kids (grown ups too) and this was no exception, in fact I have no idea how they are ever going to top this one! Here is the box that patiently travelled from Massachusettes to Seattle, making little "scratchy" noises along the way:
Grammie and Grandpa made it home from their vacation back east bearing gifts! My parents are pros at bringing us fabulous gifts when they travel and we hold down the fort for them (which is like a vacation for us). They always bring us thoughtful, interesting and unique gifts perfectly suited for each and every one of us and it is always fun to see what comes next as they range from the typical to the exotic! As fun as all of this is, we are mostly happy that they are home. For, although we love to hear about all the places they go and are glad that they have a fun time, we miss them when they're gone!
The traditional unveiling of our travel gifts is an exciting time for the kids (grown ups too) and this was no exception, in fact I have no idea how they are ever going to top this one! Here is the box that patiently travelled from Massachusettes to Seattle, making little "scratchy" noises along the way:
Hmm...what is in this box?
No, not candy, we already got some of that!
Let's distract ourselves for a while until it is time to open THAT box!
Here we go. I can't wait! I can't wait! Dad, hurry up with those scissors!
Viola! WOW! Would you look at that! A lobster! From Cape Cod! Can we keep him?
He is kinda cute . . .
Grandpa, Katie, Grammie, Wyatt and McRae (oh and one of those lobsters too)!
Into the pot with ye!
I would've posted pictures of the end result, alas I was too stuffed from eating that lobster! What a treat! I must say, that growing up with a father in the seafood industry has completely turned me into a seafood snob (I won't order it in restaurants unless I know where it comes from - or it is fish-n-chips, prawns or shrimp) and although I'd had my fair share of lobster last year on our vacation (hello all), this was COMPLETELY different. This lobster was the real deal: succulent, rich and so very tasty! Looks like I may have to be adding Massachusettes to the places I'd like to visit, not only for the rich history, beaches and close proximity to Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket, but also for the lobster! Thanks, Mom and Dad!
Monday, June 26, 2006
Sucking Up
Trip, trap.
Trip, trap.
Up the stairs I hear those little footsteps. Into my room comes a boy weilding a yellow plastic plate holding one Eggo waffle drenched in syrup, a knife and a fork. He deposits the offering on my lap and runs back down the stairs to retrieve a big glass of milk. "Here Mom, your breakfast" he proclaims.
I thank him and he scurries back downstairs to make breakfast for his brother and sister, toaster and microwave breakfast (safety first). Did we miss Mother's Day? Nope. Did we forget Mommies birthday? Nope. Are we still feeling guilty for writing "you're next!" on the outside of the house? Yup!
Guilt. It is eating him up inside and the fact that I had to discipline him for something like that is hard to me to swallow too. You see, he doesn't do things like that. Yes, I am not the all-knowing guru of raising kids, but it was very out of character for him. He is the type to remind his sibling that something isn't safe or allowed. He likes to play cop and keep everybody in check.
So, it was rather surprising to find the "graffiti" scratched into the paint outside the house. And rather surprising to be lied to, and only told the truth when I pointed out that I would have to be calling the police about this because if you two didn't do this than . . . you get the picture. He went to his room for a while, I explained to him that he would be helping Dad fix it later and I tried to convey that I was pretty disappointed that he thought it was a good idea to do that.
Why is it so hard to discipline your kids sometimes? I don't have any problem removing little sister when she's acting up. I don't have issues with taking action when it comes to big brother and his back talk or outright refusal to do something I ask. But he, he hardly ever gets into trouble. He's my "easy" boy, low-maintenance and trouble free.
Trying to maintain a realistic view, I know that they are all different. I try so hard not to place them into the stereo typical boxes of their birth order or gender. And then I get completely thrown off kilter when one behaves outside the "norm". It is the norm that I am used to, the norm of our family's dynamics, the way in which we relate to each other. We all have our roles to which we have fallen in to and when we step outside of those roles, it can be a little strange.
And so, someone stepped out of line, out or their "role" for a moment and made a mistake. I am over it, he will be soon, I hope. Because,I don't know how many more waffles I can eat, or glasses of milk I can pretend to drink to make him feel better!
Trip, trap.
Up the stairs I hear those little footsteps. Into my room comes a boy weilding a yellow plastic plate holding one Eggo waffle drenched in syrup, a knife and a fork. He deposits the offering on my lap and runs back down the stairs to retrieve a big glass of milk. "Here Mom, your breakfast" he proclaims.
I thank him and he scurries back downstairs to make breakfast for his brother and sister, toaster and microwave breakfast (safety first). Did we miss Mother's Day? Nope. Did we forget Mommies birthday? Nope. Are we still feeling guilty for writing "you're next!" on the outside of the house? Yup!
Guilt. It is eating him up inside and the fact that I had to discipline him for something like that is hard to me to swallow too. You see, he doesn't do things like that. Yes, I am not the all-knowing guru of raising kids, but it was very out of character for him. He is the type to remind his sibling that something isn't safe or allowed. He likes to play cop and keep everybody in check.
So, it was rather surprising to find the "graffiti" scratched into the paint outside the house. And rather surprising to be lied to, and only told the truth when I pointed out that I would have to be calling the police about this because if you two didn't do this than . . . you get the picture. He went to his room for a while, I explained to him that he would be helping Dad fix it later and I tried to convey that I was pretty disappointed that he thought it was a good idea to do that.
Why is it so hard to discipline your kids sometimes? I don't have any problem removing little sister when she's acting up. I don't have issues with taking action when it comes to big brother and his back talk or outright refusal to do something I ask. But he, he hardly ever gets into trouble. He's my "easy" boy, low-maintenance and trouble free.
Trying to maintain a realistic view, I know that they are all different. I try so hard not to place them into the stereo typical boxes of their birth order or gender. And then I get completely thrown off kilter when one behaves outside the "norm". It is the norm that I am used to, the norm of our family's dynamics, the way in which we relate to each other. We all have our roles to which we have fallen in to and when we step outside of those roles, it can be a little strange.
And so, someone stepped out of line, out or their "role" for a moment and made a mistake. I am over it, he will be soon, I hope. Because,I don't know how many more waffles I can eat, or glasses of milk I can pretend to drink to make him feel better!
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Thursday, June 22, 2006
I'm a GRANDMA!
When I had my first child, I remember all of the seasoned Grandmas telling my Mom that there was nothing better than being a Grandma. They threw her a "Grandma Shower" so her house would be stocked with baby essentials galore and celebrated her transition into Club Grandma with the enthusiasm of children on the last day of school. She was estactic and beaming in her new role as "Grammie". And now the time has come full circle. I know, I know, 33 is rather young to be a Grandma. We really don't waste time around here though and it may shock all of you to see the adorable pictures of my Grandbaby, whom I have been lavishing all of my attention upon during the last 8 days. Here he is:
Sage is 6 years old, weighs approx. 80 lbs. and loves people! He is my "Granddoggie" and I couldn't be prouder. Since my parents are on vacation, he's been staying with us (8 days down, 4 more to go). Just look at his angelic, slobbery cuteness!
While it has been nothing but fun having Sage stay with us, I am reminded of how much work a dog is. I always had dogs growing up, and I thought they were pretty low maintenance. That must have been because my Mom was doing all of the work and worrying when it came to our two "family" dogs. I love the security of having him snooze on his doggie bed by my side of the bed, the adoring looks of passersby when we take him for a walk, and the endless entertainment he gives the kids.
I do not love the poo picking up, the hair all over the house or the doggie toots (because he, poor fella, cannot warn you when he is about to blast you out of the room). I love that he goes to the bathroom in a 4 x 4 area of yard (on demand), that he eats carrots and broccoli for treats and lets Katie crawl all over him. I do not love the fact that I worry about him when I have to leave him (like a newborn you don't want out of your sight, I wonder what he does when we're not there, if he's sad or lonely or needs us), I worry that he'll panic at a weird noise. I worry about his little limp that he has when he gets up from a long sleep.
But all in all, it is worth it. I get to spoil him, love him and take care of him for a while. I get to experience the added joys of another being to take care of, to feed and water and nurture. I get to throw the tennis ball a kajillion times a day. Then, I get to give him back to his Mommy and Daddy and he will forget all about me . . . until next time. Just like a "real" Grandma.
There is nothing better than being a Grandma!
Sage is 6 years old, weighs approx. 80 lbs. and loves people! He is my "Granddoggie" and I couldn't be prouder. Since my parents are on vacation, he's been staying with us (8 days down, 4 more to go). Just look at his angelic, slobbery cuteness!
While it has been nothing but fun having Sage stay with us, I am reminded of how much work a dog is. I always had dogs growing up, and I thought they were pretty low maintenance. That must have been because my Mom was doing all of the work and worrying when it came to our two "family" dogs. I love the security of having him snooze on his doggie bed by my side of the bed, the adoring looks of passersby when we take him for a walk, and the endless entertainment he gives the kids.
I do not love the poo picking up, the hair all over the house or the doggie toots (because he, poor fella, cannot warn you when he is about to blast you out of the room). I love that he goes to the bathroom in a 4 x 4 area of yard (on demand), that he eats carrots and broccoli for treats and lets Katie crawl all over him. I do not love the fact that I worry about him when I have to leave him (like a newborn you don't want out of your sight, I wonder what he does when we're not there, if he's sad or lonely or needs us), I worry that he'll panic at a weird noise. I worry about his little limp that he has when he gets up from a long sleep.
But all in all, it is worth it. I get to spoil him, love him and take care of him for a while. I get to experience the added joys of another being to take care of, to feed and water and nurture. I get to throw the tennis ball a kajillion times a day. Then, I get to give him back to his Mommy and Daddy and he will forget all about me . . . until next time. Just like a "real" Grandma.
There is nothing better than being a Grandma!
Monday, June 19, 2006
Take Me Out to the Ballgame
Mariners vs. Giants
Final score: 5 - 1 (M's)
Final score: 5 - 1 (M's)
This Gentleman did not have a good time at the ballgame! He struck out each time he got up to bat, I wonder why they keep putting him out there? Hmmm...
This guy DID have a good time at the ballgame.
And so did these guys! They even got their mugs on the JumboTron!
Obviously, she did too because here she is SLEEPING before we got out of the parking garage! I didn't even have to put on "relaxing" music or anything. Out like a light, she was! Her babies, "brother and sister", were pretty pooped after all those hot dogs, peanuts and licorice. And boy, a girl can get pretty tired clapping and dancing after each good play!
Whew! Checked off one of our summer "to do's" yesterday by attending the quintessential summertime sporting event: a baseball game. I must admit, there are years that I pay a lot of attention to baseball and years that I don't. This year is of the later variety.
Besides my lack of enthusiasm with major league baseball at the moment, I had a great time. Watching the kids eargerly flirt with the cameraman to get themselves up on the big screen is quite enjoyable. Watching Katie employ all of her "gimmee" looks to get Daddy to buy her licorice, has its fair share of delight as well. I couldn't forget the people-watching either, there were copious amounts of that too!
I did, however, feel a little bad when the nice lady behind me asked why another patron was holding up a picture of an asterisk (that looked like a huge version of *) every time Barry Bonds was up at bat. Apparently, due to his suspected use of steroids, his home run record is in question, therefore containing an * after it. Well, now that my baseball quota has been officially fulfilled for the time-being, off to check some more stuff off that list!
Saturday, June 17, 2006
You Know You're a Firefighter's Wife If...
"The Real Firefighters of SC"
You Know You're a Firefighter's Wife If:
You know what IFSTA, IAFF, SCBA, WSFTA, and ARFF stand for.
Your Husband's wardrobe looks like this: non-descript bottoms paired with any navy blue shirt/sweatshirt with a fire department logo on it.
Your Husband's haircut is "nice and tight". So are his buns.
You've eaten more gas-producing foods in a 24 hour period than any sane woman should (unless she's a firefighter).
You know the difference between a police siren and a fire siren.
Your kids think the fire station is "Daddy's house".
You've received more dalmation-themed collectibles than you thought humanly possible.
You know that all of your smoke detectors work.
Your Husband will not let you near the BBQ.
You can make 4 dozen cookies without a recipe in 1.5 hours flat and have them delivered asap.
You know that you always have a team of highly-trained ems professionals at the ready (you know, in case a baby falls down the stairs or something).
You know that it is faster and waaaay better to take the ambulance to the hospital (NEVER go it solo, and actually WAIT in the waiting room!).
Your single friends are always aksing "are there any single firemen at Hubby's work?".
Your children can make good use of vaccuum hoses and rubber gloves.
Everybody knows a Firefighter, and will asume that you know them too.
You find it hard to sleep when your Hubby is at work.
You get severly angry when people don't pull over for firetrucks and ambulances.
You've held more birthdays at the fire station than should be allowed.
You get to listen to stories about fires, mva's and in my case, sprinkler systems.
You've seen Backdraft 40 million times and Ladder 49 10 million (but who can get sick of staring at Joaquin Phoenix and John Travolta?).
You've had some of the best holiday meals at the fire station.
You've lost all sense of what a "weekend" really is due to your husband's crazy schedule.
Your husband gets to go on field trips & preschool once in a while.
All of the teachers want your husband to "demonstrate" his skills for the class (yeah, right she just wants to see him in his bunker gear).
You feel like the luckiest girl alive when he comes home off shift and sends your heart a-flutter.
Happy Father's Day to my favorite Firefighter! XOXOXO
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Got Milk?
I am going to try to attempt to explain my feelings on this delicate subject without casting blame or judgment on anyone, and if I do, than please understand that it is not my intention, okay?
What concerns me is that enough women are upset by the new pro-breastfeeding advertisements to get their "issue" on the 11 o'clock news. Apparently they are deeply offended by what the commercials insinuate: that by choosing not to breastfeed, you are taking an unnecessary risk with your child's health. I do not agree with the ad campaign's approach, but I don't think that non-breastfeeding women nationwide should have their panties in a bunch over it either. I guess I would say that I see both sides, but refuse to jump on either's side because I feel that they are both being way too extreme. Since when did it become of national concern whether a mother decides to breastfeed HER child?
The fact that I was lucky enough to be able to, felt comfortable with it and my lifestyle was conducive to it have nothing to do with my opinion. If I hadn't been able to breastfeed I am completely sure that I would feel the same way and would not be publicly protesting these ads. Are people that affected by what others think they should do regarding their children's nutrition?
If that is the case, why aren't these same mothers protesting outside of McDonald's playlands because aren't those parents also making poor nutritional choices for their kids? I am not suggesting that this is a rational idea, but I think that it is just as valid as advertisers making women feel horrible for their choices (even if it wasn't a choice they could make - some women are unable to breastfeed, not because they chose not to). And the women on the other side of this debate need to drop it.
Breastfeeding has fallen in and out of the social norm more times than I can count. Yes, I agree that its benefits are infinite in a perfect situation, but doesn't anybody realize what century we are living in? During the 40's and 50's breastfeeding was not the "norm". In the 60's it wasn't "cool" to breastfeed, in the 70's it became more acceptable, all the while, those who chose not to, fed their children "formula" that was far from the "formula" of today. Some of them even gave their kids (gasp) cows milk, and goats milk!
Where are these generations today? Oh yes, they are the ones that invented the internet, created Microsoft, changed laws, improved medicine, fought for civil rights and women's rights. They are a pretty messed up bunch, aren't they?
Just because I breastfed my babies and you didn't does not dictate that we are natural enemies and should be making eachother feel bad for our choices.
There are, of course, extremists on each side. I still remember phoning LaLeche League when I was nursing our first baby and after I hung up the phone, I knew I'd never call them again (my mom must've been out-of-town or something). And guess what, I figured it out and we breastfed normally for about a year. It was a choice that was right for me. Had I chosen not to, I would hope that I would've been treated the same.
It is no different than buying organic vs. non-organic. Are these folks slinging mud at eachother on tv? Nope, don't think so. It is your choice what you put into your body, and granted, an infant has his choices made for him not by him, but people are different. It may be unhealthy for people to live close to a nuclear power plant, but nobody is telling them they can't live there. What about high voltage power lines, we still sell real estate under them too. And for that matter, lets take into consideration the folks who live on the San Andreas fault, or in the Gulf of Mexico, it is their choice to live there and we aren't going to tell them that they can't. I realize that I've gone off on a tangent, but I feel so strongly that we need to allow each other to make our own choices.
What is the point of living in a country that stands upon the words "the free and the brave" if we can't stop ridiculing others for their legal choices?
This isn't the business of advertisers. It is the business of parents, and if we are all making educated, safe decisions regarding our own health and that of our kids, than whose business is it? Give each other a break.
What concerns me is that enough women are upset by the new pro-breastfeeding advertisements to get their "issue" on the 11 o'clock news. Apparently they are deeply offended by what the commercials insinuate: that by choosing not to breastfeed, you are taking an unnecessary risk with your child's health. I do not agree with the ad campaign's approach, but I don't think that non-breastfeeding women nationwide should have their panties in a bunch over it either. I guess I would say that I see both sides, but refuse to jump on either's side because I feel that they are both being way too extreme. Since when did it become of national concern whether a mother decides to breastfeed HER child?
The fact that I was lucky enough to be able to, felt comfortable with it and my lifestyle was conducive to it have nothing to do with my opinion. If I hadn't been able to breastfeed I am completely sure that I would feel the same way and would not be publicly protesting these ads. Are people that affected by what others think they should do regarding their children's nutrition?
If that is the case, why aren't these same mothers protesting outside of McDonald's playlands because aren't those parents also making poor nutritional choices for their kids? I am not suggesting that this is a rational idea, but I think that it is just as valid as advertisers making women feel horrible for their choices (even if it wasn't a choice they could make - some women are unable to breastfeed, not because they chose not to). And the women on the other side of this debate need to drop it.
Breastfeeding has fallen in and out of the social norm more times than I can count. Yes, I agree that its benefits are infinite in a perfect situation, but doesn't anybody realize what century we are living in? During the 40's and 50's breastfeeding was not the "norm". In the 60's it wasn't "cool" to breastfeed, in the 70's it became more acceptable, all the while, those who chose not to, fed their children "formula" that was far from the "formula" of today. Some of them even gave their kids (gasp) cows milk, and goats milk!
Where are these generations today? Oh yes, they are the ones that invented the internet, created Microsoft, changed laws, improved medicine, fought for civil rights and women's rights. They are a pretty messed up bunch, aren't they?
Just because I breastfed my babies and you didn't does not dictate that we are natural enemies and should be making eachother feel bad for our choices.
There are, of course, extremists on each side. I still remember phoning LaLeche League when I was nursing our first baby and after I hung up the phone, I knew I'd never call them again (my mom must've been out-of-town or something). And guess what, I figured it out and we breastfed normally for about a year. It was a choice that was right for me. Had I chosen not to, I would hope that I would've been treated the same.
It is no different than buying organic vs. non-organic. Are these folks slinging mud at eachother on tv? Nope, don't think so. It is your choice what you put into your body, and granted, an infant has his choices made for him not by him, but people are different. It may be unhealthy for people to live close to a nuclear power plant, but nobody is telling them they can't live there. What about high voltage power lines, we still sell real estate under them too. And for that matter, lets take into consideration the folks who live on the San Andreas fault, or in the Gulf of Mexico, it is their choice to live there and we aren't going to tell them that they can't. I realize that I've gone off on a tangent, but I feel so strongly that we need to allow each other to make our own choices.
What is the point of living in a country that stands upon the words "the free and the brave" if we can't stop ridiculing others for their legal choices?
This isn't the business of advertisers. It is the business of parents, and if we are all making educated, safe decisions regarding our own health and that of our kids, than whose business is it? Give each other a break.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
I've Been Tagged! A Look at My Life
Thank you to Mommy Off The Record for tagging me for the FIRST time. Here goes...
20 years ago I was just like the girl in 13 Going on 30. Big hair, braces, jelly bracelets and all. Although, I never had my best friend make me a dream house with magic glitter dust. Anyway, I was finishing 7th grade (omigod) and loved wearing anything that made me look more like my idol, Molly Ringwald. I wasn't very pleasant to be around unless you were one of my friends, I blame that on the hormones, and I wall-papered my bedroom with Vogue magazine covers (and a few Soloflex ads as well, even though we didn't own a home gym). Songs on my iPod, er cassette player, included artists like Wham!, Madonna, Beastie Boys, Depeche Mode, New Order, Erasure and Book of Love. Long live the eighties!!
10 years ago I was pregnant with our first son and didn't know it. I was finishing up school at CWU, living alone in a studio apartment no bigger than a shoebox and having a great summer. I had been feeling kinda achy and strange, but you know what, I was 23 and hadn't a clue. I found out in about a week from now (ten years ago) and then the planning commenced. My Mom and I worked our tails off and pulled together a beautiful wedding all in 3 months. So, instead of getting married in the Spring (after graduation and having a little time out in the "real world") my husband and I became parents! Songs on our iPod, er cd player, included artists like Pearl Jam, The Dave Matthews Band, Lenny Kravitz, Jane's Addiction and Tori Amos.
5 years ago I was Mommy to two busy boys, who were 2 and 4. It really is all a blur...oh, maybe not. My Husband was just finishing up his 10-week training at the Washington State Fire Training Academy and he was joining the ranks of full-time Firefighter brothers all over the world. Time was flying by and we spent our summer camping, swimming and going to the park. I spent a lot of time chasing boys (mine) and trying to get a tan, only to find out that my legs will not accept suntan of any form unless it comes from a bottle labeled "self tanner". Humph! Music on our iPod, I mean cd player (still), included David Gray, Norah Jones, The Dave Matthews Band, Alison Krauss and Union Station and Sarah McLachlan; mellow music to help the stressed-out Mommy CHILL. 
3 years ago I was about 5 months pregnant with our (we were about to find out the gender) daughter. I was sick all the time, tired and smells of all kinds drove me crazy, especially cinnamon. Other than that, I felt good (although my friends and family will tell you that I was a lunatic, I don't remember-pregnancy amnesia). Our boys were 6 and 4 and having a ball doing all of the things that boys do, playing in the woods, riding bikes, tattling on eachother, playing dinosaurs and laughing because their preggo mom couldn't chase them like she used to! Music on our iPod (sorry, don't have one yet) included The Black Eyed Peas, Jimmy Buffet, AC/DC and The Dave Matthews Band (once a fan, always a fan). I was also slinging coffee at our little local coffee shop and enjoying the people watching on my Husband's days off.
1 year ago I was having a garage sale and still trying to get to know my neighbors. Since buying this house (our 2nd) and moving (only 2 miles from our 1st house) we came to the stark realization that this neighborhood is not all it was cracked up to be. Yes, we have more room and the kids have a playset that all of their friends envy, but the neighbor-bonding will probably never happen. We live on a hill. People in our parts keep to themselves when they live on hills. It is weird. In our old neighborhood, we knew everybody and could let our guard down a little when the kids were outside, we communicated with our neighbors daily and someone was always looking out for the kids if you had to run in and change your baby's diaper or answer the phone. Here, I feel like the freaks-next-door because my kids are the only ones even outside. Oh, that and the fact that I do not homeschool have isolated me from beginning any lasting friendships with these folks! At least we have that playset...which I have to chase raccoons off each night! Oh, and I still don't have an iPod and only listen to The Dave Matthews Band, or something obnoxious of my 8 year-old sons to drive my new neighbors nuts! Just kiddin'.
Yesterday I looked away from the stove for a millisecond and the potato cheddar soup I was making for dinner bubbled over and made a huge mess! Dinner was still yummy, in spite of the looming stove cleaning that awaited me in the evening!
Today I will take my parents to the airport shuttle drop-off and kiss them goodbye as they head off to Massachusettes for vacation near Martha's Vineyard and Cape Cod. I can't wait to hear about their travels when they get back in 10 days...sniff! We will take good care of the dog, cat, fish and flowers while they're away.
Tomorrow I will buy a new fish to replace the one that died in my sons aquarium following a power outage we had about a month ago and I will do laundry, just like any other day! I will also join myself in a little sing-a-long to my new favorite radio station that plays ONLY fun music like "Doin' the Butt", "The Humpty Dance", "My Perogative" (Bobby Brown NOT Britney Spears) , "We Are Family" and that "S.O.S." song that I can't remember...
Okay, if you made it this far, I tag you Linda (Why Do These Kids Keep Calling Me Mom), Kristin (Eva Las Vegas) and Gen (Going to China and Bringing Back More Than a T-Shirt)!
20 years ago I was just like the girl in 13 Going on 30. Big hair, braces, jelly bracelets and all. Although, I never had my best friend make me a dream house with magic glitter dust. Anyway, I was finishing 7th grade (omigod) and loved wearing anything that made me look more like my idol, Molly Ringwald. I wasn't very pleasant to be around unless you were one of my friends, I blame that on the hormones, and I wall-papered my bedroom with Vogue magazine covers (and a few Soloflex ads as well, even though we didn't own a home gym). Songs on my iPod, er cassette player, included artists like Wham!, Madonna, Beastie Boys, Depeche Mode, New Order, Erasure and Book of Love. Long live the eighties!!
10 years ago I was pregnant with our first son and didn't know it. I was finishing up school at CWU, living alone in a studio apartment no bigger than a shoebox and having a great summer. I had been feeling kinda achy and strange, but you know what, I was 23 and hadn't a clue. I found out in about a week from now (ten years ago) and then the planning commenced. My Mom and I worked our tails off and pulled together a beautiful wedding all in 3 months. So, instead of getting married in the Spring (after graduation and having a little time out in the "real world") my husband and I became parents! Songs on our iPod, er cd player, included artists like Pearl Jam, The Dave Matthews Band, Lenny Kravitz, Jane's Addiction and Tori Amos.
5 years ago I was Mommy to two busy boys, who were 2 and 4. It really is all a blur...oh, maybe not. My Husband was just finishing up his 10-week training at the Washington State Fire Training Academy and he was joining the ranks of full-time Firefighter brothers all over the world. Time was flying by and we spent our summer camping, swimming and going to the park. I spent a lot of time chasing boys (mine) and trying to get a tan, only to find out that my legs will not accept suntan of any form unless it comes from a bottle labeled "self tanner". Humph! Music on our iPod, I mean cd player (still), included David Gray, Norah Jones, The Dave Matthews Band, Alison Krauss and Union Station and Sarah McLachlan; mellow music to help the stressed-out Mommy CHILL. 3 years ago I was about 5 months pregnant with our (we were about to find out the gender) daughter. I was sick all the time, tired and smells of all kinds drove me crazy, especially cinnamon. Other than that, I felt good (although my friends and family will tell you that I was a lunatic, I don't remember-pregnancy amnesia). Our boys were 6 and 4 and having a ball doing all of the things that boys do, playing in the woods, riding bikes, tattling on eachother, playing dinosaurs and laughing because their preggo mom couldn't chase them like she used to! Music on our iPod (sorry, don't have one yet) included The Black Eyed Peas, Jimmy Buffet, AC/DC and The Dave Matthews Band (once a fan, always a fan). I was also slinging coffee at our little local coffee shop and enjoying the people watching on my Husband's days off.
1 year ago I was having a garage sale and still trying to get to know my neighbors. Since buying this house (our 2nd) and moving (only 2 miles from our 1st house) we came to the stark realization that this neighborhood is not all it was cracked up to be. Yes, we have more room and the kids have a playset that all of their friends envy, but the neighbor-bonding will probably never happen. We live on a hill. People in our parts keep to themselves when they live on hills. It is weird. In our old neighborhood, we knew everybody and could let our guard down a little when the kids were outside, we communicated with our neighbors daily and someone was always looking out for the kids if you had to run in and change your baby's diaper or answer the phone. Here, I feel like the freaks-next-door because my kids are the only ones even outside. Oh, that and the fact that I do not homeschool have isolated me from beginning any lasting friendships with these folks! At least we have that playset...which I have to chase raccoons off each night! Oh, and I still don't have an iPod and only listen to The Dave Matthews Band, or something obnoxious of my 8 year-old sons to drive my new neighbors nuts! Just kiddin'.
Yesterday I looked away from the stove for a millisecond and the potato cheddar soup I was making for dinner bubbled over and made a huge mess! Dinner was still yummy, in spite of the looming stove cleaning that awaited me in the evening!
Today I will take my parents to the airport shuttle drop-off and kiss them goodbye as they head off to Massachusettes for vacation near Martha's Vineyard and Cape Cod. I can't wait to hear about their travels when they get back in 10 days...sniff! We will take good care of the dog, cat, fish and flowers while they're away.
Tomorrow I will buy a new fish to replace the one that died in my sons aquarium following a power outage we had about a month ago and I will do laundry, just like any other day! I will also join myself in a little sing-a-long to my new favorite radio station that plays ONLY fun music like "Doin' the Butt", "The Humpty Dance", "My Perogative" (Bobby Brown NOT Britney Spears) , "We Are Family" and that "S.O.S." song that I can't remember...
Okay, if you made it this far, I tag you Linda (Why Do These Kids Keep Calling Me Mom), Kristin (Eva Las Vegas) and Gen (Going to China and Bringing Back More Than a T-Shirt)!
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Lions and Tigers and Bears (in the 'burbs) Oh My!
Here we go again. I had almost recovered from my close encounter with a black bear and then I watched the news. Turns out, these critters are showing up near the UW. For those of you not familiar with the area, UW means University of Washington - like Seattle!! Not the boondocks (which could be used to describe where I live although within 40 min of UW). They are also showing up in Atlanta, wich is nowhere near my home, but anyway . . . In case you aren't one of the lucky ones who I called that October morn, let me tell you about "The Bear".
Helicopters had been present all morning, but not unusually so and I didn't pay much attention. I had sent the boys to school and Katie and I were on our way to meet a friend for coffee and a walk. Let me back up by describing our neighborhood, it is totally the typical suburban cul-de-sac variety. There are fifteen houses on our street, and the next street looks exactly the same. And so on and so on . . . We are surrounded by other homes all backing up to eachother while trying to maintain some privacy, by no means the sort of habitat you would likely find wildlife any more exotic than a raccoon (more on those later). The community does stradle more "wild" terrain, but I have lived here ('cept those five and a half years away at college) my entire life and NEVER heard of this happening!
So, I have Katie half-buckled into her carseat and I notice some Fish and Wildlife trucks pulling into the cul-de-sac. They are talking on radios and obviously see me, but say not a word. No "Ma'am, there is a bear on the loose and we are tracking him, you may want to get yourself and little girl inside", nothing. And then, I see a large black THING coming out from between two homes across the street! What the?? That's a big dog . . . oh, not a dog . . . a bear!
My brain cannot catch up with the strangeness that is unfolding in my neighborhood. I shut Katie's door and jump in the front seat to watch the lumbering animal from behind my car windows. Hey, at least I have On-Star, right? "Hello Mrs. So and So, this is On-Star, how may I help you?"
The Bear investigates the yard directly across the street and then runs down the road searching for a way back to the forest with the "authorities" in hot pursuit. I unscramble my brain and get my bearings. First things first. I must call the boys school (which is in the direction that the bear was headed). I call the secretary and ask her to please not send the kids out for recess because did they know that there was a bear on the loose? (I am most likely teased behind my back every time I go to the office at school now, but I don't care. Those are my babies and I don't want them eaten by a bear, thank you).
I meet my friend at the coffee shop and she assures me that I do not have post-traumatic stress disorder, I drink my latte and go home. No, we did not take that walk because we did not want to be eaten by a bear, thank you.
I spend the afternoon watching "breaking news" regarding the bear hunt, and glancing out my window every now and then to see if the bear has returned to my street. You know, maybe he forgot to check out my lavender, or daisies? Of course I drive to school to pick up the boys because I am scared they will become the bears next meal and I am not alone. The entire town is at school because they are all as crazy as I am!! I, however harbor a secret, I actually saw the bloody thing, with my own eyes!
I hear all of the kids talking about the "bear and her cubs" and "two bears running all over town", I laugh inside because, no, there was only one and no cubs involved. My kids can hardly wait to tell me the "news" and I let them. Then, I lean in real close and whisper "I know guys, it was right across the street from our house". "You mean you saw it?" "Yeah, I was putting Katie in the car and there it was!"
I am now the coolest mom in the very crowded parking lot at school. The strangeness of the morning happenings wears off a little and I check the news before I hit the sack. The bear elluded the authorities all day and scampered off back where he came from (hopefully he stays there).
I still cannot take the garbage cans out after dark, here's hoping that changes soon!
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Pride and ... Embarrassment
Pride. That is a feeling that I didn't experience a whole lot of until I had kids. Sure, I had accomplished things in my life like tying my shoes, potty training, giving up the binky. But I never really understood the whole "pride" thing until I became a parent.
When my first child was born, and everyone got over the "shock" of my pregnancy (which wasn't all that shocking, being that I was 23 and already planning a wedding with my baby's father whom I'd been dating since I was 16), I finally felt like I had gotten something right! Amazingly, from my very own body (I guess with a little help from the whole egg+sperm=fertilization scenario) sprang forth this perfect little person. I did that. Wow, I didn't know that I could do that, but here he is, and he's mine (ours) and everyone is telling me how wonderful he is, how wonderful I am. Pride, I felt it then and it was strong.
Mommy pride (or Daddy) towers above all other kinds of pride. It rules the universe as far as pride is concerned and it is overwhelming to feel for the first time, for each time thereafter that it occurs. It can make you swell up to the size of a blimp and beam like a 100 watt bulb. Then, just as quickly and suddenly as the feeling takes you over, it can crush you into a million little pieces and make you feel like a lifeless, deflated, discarded heap of nothing. Pride can do that to you, especially Mommy pride.
McRae had another school function this week, the "we've been working on these books about our life so far" variety. All of the children in his class wrote and typed a paragraph for each year they've been alive and made a "Penny Book" out of their memories. They collected pennies for the corresponding years and attached them to the pages in their books. They brought pictures from home to go with the years and then put it all together at school. They had a "ceremony" in which (in front of all the relatives) each child could read a little about themselves.
To say that my son approached this project with enthusiasm would be a lie. It was like pulling teeth from a tiger. We agonized over what to write, we slumped over the table when we actually had to pick up a pencil (what, with these hands, I could be doing so much more with these hands). We moaned and groaned while Mom and Dad helped us organize our thoughts. We did the least amount of writing possible to complete the project because we loathe writing (didn't get that from his Mother). We finished the darn thing after losing our Gamecube privlidges and being threatened to within an inch of our life, but darn it, we FINISHED! Ten paragraphs and a completed book.
Time to bask in the pride for a moment...or maybe not.
The "Penny Book Ceremony" was held outside in the courtyard of our little town shopping center. One by one, the kids read from their books. Each child was a bit nervous, but the atmosphere was relaxed, the weather was nice and once they spotted their mom/dad/grandparent in the crowd, you could tell that they were more at ease. As squirmy siblings listened and the grown-ups took advantage of the nearby coffee shop with the yummy drinks, the children took turns sharing a bit of their lives. We learned that Joey's sister is only his sister because his Aunt had her when she was only 16, and she didn't have any money so we adopted her. We learned that Claire lives on a farm and has goats. We learned about Michelle's trip to Disneyland and that Matt weighed 8 pounds 6 ounces at birth and cried a lot. You could place the parents with the child pretty easily by scanning the crowd...oh there she is, that Mommy with the tears running down her face, she looks so happy and...PROUD!
I watched and waited.
Not being a leader, I knew that McRae would not be the first one to speak. I figured him for near the end, maybe even last. I couldn't wait. My parents were helping me keep Wyatt and Katie entertained and quiet with scraps of paper and pens. I saved room on my camera so I could get a good picture of him reading and then...it was over. Did I miss something?
Not ten feet from me sat my son, my first great accomplishment, with his classmates, snickering. I felt horrible. I felt deflated and about as proud as a touchdown after the time has run out on the clock. Here I am, ready to bask in his glory, in the hard work he put into the project (doing something he disliked and completing it), in my cute little son up there reading a funny story about his life, sharing way too much information with a bunch of people I don't know all that well, I was ready. POP! There goes that feeling.
It was not mandatory that they speak (as I learned AFTER the fact), and had McRae been the shy or timid type who was petrified of doing so, I wouldn't have minded. But that is not the case. He is a clown, and he was giggling and getting LOTS of attention from everybody else there (who seem to think it's funny when someone doesn't participate) for not getting up to that microphone and reading from his book.
We had just spent the better part of the evening (now it was past bedtime) waiting to hear him. My parents came, my other kids stayed still and quiet. And...nothing. My pride decided to take a vacation at that moment and who knows when it is coming back. I wanted to be invisible, to run out of there and have nobody see me, talk to me and worst of all bear witness that every other parent there was full of...pride.
Now I have something in common with Barb Henricksen, who was disqualified from accepting the Mother of the Year Award on HBO's Big Love, except the part about being a polygamist.
When my first child was born, and everyone got over the "shock" of my pregnancy (which wasn't all that shocking, being that I was 23 and already planning a wedding with my baby's father whom I'd been dating since I was 16), I finally felt like I had gotten something right! Amazingly, from my very own body (I guess with a little help from the whole egg+sperm=fertilization scenario) sprang forth this perfect little person. I did that. Wow, I didn't know that I could do that, but here he is, and he's mine (ours) and everyone is telling me how wonderful he is, how wonderful I am. Pride, I felt it then and it was strong.
Mommy pride (or Daddy) towers above all other kinds of pride. It rules the universe as far as pride is concerned and it is overwhelming to feel for the first time, for each time thereafter that it occurs. It can make you swell up to the size of a blimp and beam like a 100 watt bulb. Then, just as quickly and suddenly as the feeling takes you over, it can crush you into a million little pieces and make you feel like a lifeless, deflated, discarded heap of nothing. Pride can do that to you, especially Mommy pride.
McRae had another school function this week, the "we've been working on these books about our life so far" variety. All of the children in his class wrote and typed a paragraph for each year they've been alive and made a "Penny Book" out of their memories. They collected pennies for the corresponding years and attached them to the pages in their books. They brought pictures from home to go with the years and then put it all together at school. They had a "ceremony" in which (in front of all the relatives) each child could read a little about themselves.
To say that my son approached this project with enthusiasm would be a lie. It was like pulling teeth from a tiger. We agonized over what to write, we slumped over the table when we actually had to pick up a pencil (what, with these hands, I could be doing so much more with these hands). We moaned and groaned while Mom and Dad helped us organize our thoughts. We did the least amount of writing possible to complete the project because we loathe writing (didn't get that from his Mother). We finished the darn thing after losing our Gamecube privlidges and being threatened to within an inch of our life, but darn it, we FINISHED! Ten paragraphs and a completed book.
Time to bask in the pride for a moment...or maybe not.
The "Penny Book Ceremony" was held outside in the courtyard of our little town shopping center. One by one, the kids read from their books. Each child was a bit nervous, but the atmosphere was relaxed, the weather was nice and once they spotted their mom/dad/grandparent in the crowd, you could tell that they were more at ease. As squirmy siblings listened and the grown-ups took advantage of the nearby coffee shop with the yummy drinks, the children took turns sharing a bit of their lives. We learned that Joey's sister is only his sister because his Aunt had her when she was only 16, and she didn't have any money so we adopted her. We learned that Claire lives on a farm and has goats. We learned about Michelle's trip to Disneyland and that Matt weighed 8 pounds 6 ounces at birth and cried a lot. You could place the parents with the child pretty easily by scanning the crowd...oh there she is, that Mommy with the tears running down her face, she looks so happy and...PROUD!
I watched and waited.
Not being a leader, I knew that McRae would not be the first one to speak. I figured him for near the end, maybe even last. I couldn't wait. My parents were helping me keep Wyatt and Katie entertained and quiet with scraps of paper and pens. I saved room on my camera so I could get a good picture of him reading and then...it was over. Did I miss something?
Not ten feet from me sat my son, my first great accomplishment, with his classmates, snickering. I felt horrible. I felt deflated and about as proud as a touchdown after the time has run out on the clock. Here I am, ready to bask in his glory, in the hard work he put into the project (doing something he disliked and completing it), in my cute little son up there reading a funny story about his life, sharing way too much information with a bunch of people I don't know all that well, I was ready. POP! There goes that feeling.
It was not mandatory that they speak (as I learned AFTER the fact), and had McRae been the shy or timid type who was petrified of doing so, I wouldn't have minded. But that is not the case. He is a clown, and he was giggling and getting LOTS of attention from everybody else there (who seem to think it's funny when someone doesn't participate) for not getting up to that microphone and reading from his book.
We had just spent the better part of the evening (now it was past bedtime) waiting to hear him. My parents came, my other kids stayed still and quiet. And...nothing. My pride decided to take a vacation at that moment and who knows when it is coming back. I wanted to be invisible, to run out of there and have nobody see me, talk to me and worst of all bear witness that every other parent there was full of...pride.
Now I have something in common with Barb Henricksen, who was disqualified from accepting the Mother of the Year Award on HBO's Big Love, except the part about being a polygamist.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
All American
We live in America. We have choices, opportunities and freedoms that are seldom present in other parts of the world as prevalently as they are here, even with all of the controversy. We should be grateful for our freedoms, for everything we are given just for being born in America. I am just as American as the next person, but I have to admit, there have been times when I wished that I was not.
As I age, I find, among other unpleasantries, that my view of America is changing. I would like to blame this on one person President Bush or event, but I cannot. I would like to say that it is because I feel the rights that so many have fought so hard to keep and/or obtain, are being threatened, but that's not it either (although these things do contribute). I would like to say that it comes mostly from the knowledge of the "Ugly American".
Until my late twenties, my international travel included only trips north to our neighboring Canada (which I love). Being only a ferry ride away from a drinking age two years behind ours (it was 19 in Canada at the time, 21 in the states) was an advantage I fully enjoyed during my first few years of college. Several of us, numerous times, made the seasick journey to Victoria B.C. to explore the pubs and night life. I am pretty sure that I garnered eyerolls and stares by our gracious hosts and was referred to as the "Ugly American" more than once.
Fast forward a few years and a mellowed, matured and married version of my college student self was all set to embark upon the border to our south, Mexico. I looked forward to using my Spanish and seeing the culture, not to mention the margaritas and palm trees swaying in the baja breeze. Turns out that I knew enough Spanish to talk myself and three others out of a trip to a Mexican jail in La Paz, order beer, find the bathroom and hail a life-altering taxi for a ride back to the hotel. I found myself conflicted while vacationing in this beautiful land. I was having a hard time enjoying myself while seeing, for the first time really, such extreme poverty. I was beginning to understand why so many families flee to our country to "find a better life", I was beginning to realize that even the poorest individual in America has more opportunities and services available to them than some of these people. How the heck can one enjoy a bucket of Corona when little (4 year-olds) girls are constantly offering to braid your hair or want to sell you a trinket or pack of chicklets? These girls were the same age as my oldest at the time and it broke my heart. Being a tourist there, I was fully aware that the livelihood of these adorable children's families depended upon me giving in to their angelic faces. They knew it too, even at such a young age. I left Mexico with a lump in my throat and knowledge of a sad reality that stayed with me for a very long time afterward.
I wasn't the "Ugly American" in Mexico, but I saw plenty of them in places like Squid Roe and the Hard Rock Cafe in Los Cabos. The drunk Americans falling in the street and then peeing on some beautiful flower arrangement. No respect. Would they act like this in their own towns? I am fully aware that a vacation is a time to unwind, relax and do things you don't normally do, but is it also a time to make a complete ass out of yourself, exploit the people whom depend on your tourist dollars and embarrass the entire country from which you came? No wonder they hate us.
In 2005, I finally got off of North America (makes it sound like a ship, doesn't it?). We took a cruise which left from Port Canaveral, Florida and stopped at the Bahamas, St. Thomas and St. Maarten. I could not have been more excited for this trip and the sadness I had felt after leaving Mexico was a mere memory. That isn't to say I had forgotten about what I'd seen, but I was becoming more aware of the global poverty issue, I knew that Mexico was not alone in its poverty, it was everywhere.
We enjoyed ourselves to the fullest on the cruise ship. I never felt as if I was taking advantage of the staff (we became quite good friends with them as you are assigned the same group of servers, waitstaff and housekeepers the entire trip) and we saw some amazing parts of the world that I can only hope I will be able to share with my own kids someday. We met and mingled with people from all over the world and all over America. Each and every port of call welcomed us with open arms (yes, in an attempt to earn our tourist dollars), but I saw virtually no exploitation of little children, even in the markets. I hadn't seen an "Ugly American" to date, and my friends and I were having a time like no other until...
Here was this hairy, balding, overweight guy on our catamaran saying "Oh yeah, tits!" to the people sunning themselves at the nude beach on St. Maarten. I could not have felt any more un-American than I did at that moment. This portion of the island is Dutch. It is absolutely beautiful and if I ever get the opportunity to go back there, I want to stay in St. Maarten the whole time. I want Dutch citizenship and I want to live there forever...okay, I digress. The guy on the boat can't let the fact that we sail past a nude beach slide. We had already been to a beach where clothing was totally dependent upon your own comfort level (you can imagine all of the different levels here). It is safe to assume that this gem of a person was probably snorkeling near the topless/bottomless ladies just to get a peek. And here we are, stuck on a boat in the Caribbean with "Mr. Ugly American" himself. Nowhere to duck your heads and hide, we are on an open-air boat. Thank god for rum punch, or I probably would've died of shame.
I am now more aware of how the world sees us, as Americans. While I feel like growing up in a very accepting and diverse part of the country has benefited me in a lot of good ways, I had been naive to how the rest of the world sees us, lumped into one category "Ugly American". I cannot say that I, with my limited traveling abroad, think that EVERYONE thinks of Americans this way. However, having heard the term tossed around my whole life, and then witnessing it for myself through my experiences has opened my eyes as to why the term even exists. I do not expect all foreign travelers to become ambassadors for the US, but come on people, showing a little respect for the differences of the world can be a humbling learning experience.
There are so many breathtakingly unique places to see in the world, I just don't think we should see them with our "Ugly American" hats on. Learn a little about the culture you're about to experience. Do not take for granted the "cheap" price of goods because there is always a cost, even if an unseen one to you. Approach travel with an open mind, without pretenses, without your convictions and generalizations. Have a vacation, just leave the "Ugly American" back in the states.
p.s. And if someone asks you what you think of your President, just smile and nod, smile and nod politely.
As I age, I find, among other unpleasantries, that my view of America is changing. I would like to blame this on one person President Bush or event, but I cannot. I would like to say that it is because I feel the rights that so many have fought so hard to keep and/or obtain, are being threatened, but that's not it either (although these things do contribute). I would like to say that it comes mostly from the knowledge of the "Ugly American".
Until my late twenties, my international travel included only trips north to our neighboring Canada (which I love). Being only a ferry ride away from a drinking age two years behind ours (it was 19 in Canada at the time, 21 in the states) was an advantage I fully enjoyed during my first few years of college. Several of us, numerous times, made the seasick journey to Victoria B.C. to explore the pubs and night life. I am pretty sure that I garnered eyerolls and stares by our gracious hosts and was referred to as the "Ugly American" more than once.
Fast forward a few years and a mellowed, matured and married version of my college student self was all set to embark upon the border to our south, Mexico. I looked forward to using my Spanish and seeing the culture, not to mention the margaritas and palm trees swaying in the baja breeze. Turns out that I knew enough Spanish to talk myself and three others out of a trip to a Mexican jail in La Paz, order beer, find the bathroom and hail a life-altering taxi for a ride back to the hotel. I found myself conflicted while vacationing in this beautiful land. I was having a hard time enjoying myself while seeing, for the first time really, such extreme poverty. I was beginning to understand why so many families flee to our country to "find a better life", I was beginning to realize that even the poorest individual in America has more opportunities and services available to them than some of these people. How the heck can one enjoy a bucket of Corona when little (4 year-olds) girls are constantly offering to braid your hair or want to sell you a trinket or pack of chicklets? These girls were the same age as my oldest at the time and it broke my heart. Being a tourist there, I was fully aware that the livelihood of these adorable children's families depended upon me giving in to their angelic faces. They knew it too, even at such a young age. I left Mexico with a lump in my throat and knowledge of a sad reality that stayed with me for a very long time afterward.
I wasn't the "Ugly American" in Mexico, but I saw plenty of them in places like Squid Roe and the Hard Rock Cafe in Los Cabos. The drunk Americans falling in the street and then peeing on some beautiful flower arrangement. No respect. Would they act like this in their own towns? I am fully aware that a vacation is a time to unwind, relax and do things you don't normally do, but is it also a time to make a complete ass out of yourself, exploit the people whom depend on your tourist dollars and embarrass the entire country from which you came? No wonder they hate us.
In 2005, I finally got off of North America (makes it sound like a ship, doesn't it?). We took a cruise which left from Port Canaveral, Florida and stopped at the Bahamas, St. Thomas and St. Maarten. I could not have been more excited for this trip and the sadness I had felt after leaving Mexico was a mere memory. That isn't to say I had forgotten about what I'd seen, but I was becoming more aware of the global poverty issue, I knew that Mexico was not alone in its poverty, it was everywhere.
We enjoyed ourselves to the fullest on the cruise ship. I never felt as if I was taking advantage of the staff (we became quite good friends with them as you are assigned the same group of servers, waitstaff and housekeepers the entire trip) and we saw some amazing parts of the world that I can only hope I will be able to share with my own kids someday. We met and mingled with people from all over the world and all over America. Each and every port of call welcomed us with open arms (yes, in an attempt to earn our tourist dollars), but I saw virtually no exploitation of little children, even in the markets. I hadn't seen an "Ugly American" to date, and my friends and I were having a time like no other until...
Here was this hairy, balding, overweight guy on our catamaran saying "Oh yeah, tits!" to the people sunning themselves at the nude beach on St. Maarten. I could not have felt any more un-American than I did at that moment. This portion of the island is Dutch. It is absolutely beautiful and if I ever get the opportunity to go back there, I want to stay in St. Maarten the whole time. I want Dutch citizenship and I want to live there forever...okay, I digress. The guy on the boat can't let the fact that we sail past a nude beach slide. We had already been to a beach where clothing was totally dependent upon your own comfort level (you can imagine all of the different levels here). It is safe to assume that this gem of a person was probably snorkeling near the topless/bottomless ladies just to get a peek. And here we are, stuck on a boat in the Caribbean with "Mr. Ugly American" himself. Nowhere to duck your heads and hide, we are on an open-air boat. Thank god for rum punch, or I probably would've died of shame.
I am now more aware of how the world sees us, as Americans. While I feel like growing up in a very accepting and diverse part of the country has benefited me in a lot of good ways, I had been naive to how the rest of the world sees us, lumped into one category "Ugly American". I cannot say that I, with my limited traveling abroad, think that EVERYONE thinks of Americans this way. However, having heard the term tossed around my whole life, and then witnessing it for myself through my experiences has opened my eyes as to why the term even exists. I do not expect all foreign travelers to become ambassadors for the US, but come on people, showing a little respect for the differences of the world can be a humbling learning experience.
There are so many breathtakingly unique places to see in the world, I just don't think we should see them with our "Ugly American" hats on. Learn a little about the culture you're about to experience. Do not take for granted the "cheap" price of goods because there is always a cost, even if an unseen one to you. Approach travel with an open mind, without pretenses, without your convictions and generalizations. Have a vacation, just leave the "Ugly American" back in the states.
p.s. And if someone asks you what you think of your President, just smile and nod, smile and nod politely.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Have They No Shame?
Wonder Pets. Nickelodeon Jr.'s newest preschool-targeted creation. Three little "pets", a turtle, chick and hamster, who "rescue" other animals from their preschool home base (they get the distress calls over a tin can telephone). Off they go in their makeshift boat that doubles as a car if need be, and "save the day". I have let Katie watch this on occassion and had no problem doing so, until today. "Wonder Pets save puppy that wants to go pee pee". Did I just hear that correctly?
Thankfully, it's a beautiful sunny day in these parts, and Katie is more interested in going outside to play with her new ball, but I am sickly drawn to the tv to see what this show is really going to do with a subject like this. Between laundry out-takes, I learn that the pets like to call using the loo "pee pee, wee wee and tinkle". Oh, thanks wonderpets, I usually say "go potty", which is juvenile enough, but now you are going to provide more silly ways to say taking a leak?
Why do these obviously bored preschool pets need to save a puppy with bladder control issues?
Couldn't the puppy just need to find his chewtoy?
The pets help the puppy find the doggie door and (as they are all doing the "potty dance" and saying "I can't hold it any longer") help him through it. From there, they all relieve themselves (you can see in in live animation and hear it too - lovely). "Aaah, what a relief", the chick states. They at least wash their paws, webs and hands in the water faucet and the show is over.
Now, Nickelodeon, what were you thinking? It is bad enough that there are shows like Spongebob (which comes and goes in our house) which is chalkfull of adult humor, Fairly Oddparents (uses the word "sexy" a lot) and a big, long list of others that have turned cartoon-viewing into a lesson in human anatomy, foul language and bad manners. Parents have to be diligent tv cops to keep up on all of the horrible programming that is out there. It is not safe to assume that just because it is a cartoon, that it is safe and innocent. I learned this the hard way when my oldest watched "Adult Swim" (think Striperella here) at a friend's house "by accident".
"It was a cartoon, I thought it was okay" said the parent.
Hello, it's waaaaay past bedtime and it is on Comedy Central!
So now back to Nick Jr. and the quality shows that are infiltrating the preschool-to-be market. Must cute, little, seemingly harmless animals be educating our kiddos in the finer art of urinating? Must we SEE it? Must we HEAR it? Guess I should just turn it off and pop in a Barney DVD, or Teletubbies; because I'd so much rather she watch that! (not).
Thanks Nickelodeon. I am glad summer is upon us and the tv will be a long forgotten friend.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Marketing 101
For you, Grandma Carol
Since we missed the game, here's a pic instead!
In the spirit of all things "school projecty", here is our contribution. I can't wait for the phone call from the teacher!
My sons third grade class has been studying Native Americans for the last month. To better their understanding of how goods were obtained in a time before cash (to then become checks, credit and debit cards), the children were asked to participate in a trading fair. Each child was to make 26-51 items of the exact same thing and the cost could not exceed $4.00! Then, they had to make a name for their product and a slogan to go along with it (I am wondering now, as I type, did the Native Americans have to use slogans to trade pelts? I may have an issue with this after all . . .). Each child will then display their "goods" and the trading/bartering will begin.
My son already had his "product" decided upon when I received word of the upcoming fair. He was going to make "stress balls" from balloons and flour. Great! Easy (or so I had imagined), cheap and the kids will like them. I won't go into the evening-long assembly of the "stress balls", but they turned out just as he wanted, so all was good. Moving on to the "slogan" deciding phase of the project, and the name. We brainstormed for awhile with some pretty hilarious, catchy phrases, and then McRae came up with this one: McRae's Magic Stress Balls! Squeeze 'em You Need 'em. He is convinced that this is what his slogan and name will be, and not at all giggly when exclaiming to me in a loud radio personality type voice that they are "the best". I am all for his enthusiasm and dedication to his project, but I am wondering, will I ever hear the end of "squeeze 'em, you need 'em"?
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