Shokufeh is... home

Pleasures

Of the non-guilty variety...

Little Earthquakes by Jennifer Weiner: I read this book last weekend after picking it up in the airport. I didn't really pay attention to what the back said - only to having enjoyed her previous books (though reading Good in Bed in public was a bit embarassing), and to the panic of not having anything to read on the flight. I really enjoyed it, and felt it was true to new motherhood.

Johnny Clegg & Savuka's Scatterlings of Africa album: I first fell in love with the title track almost twenty years ago when I saw Rain Man. The two things that stick out most in my mind from that movie are stepping on Aaron Neville's foot (especially poignant since he had a song in the movie) while trying to get back to my seat at Uptown Square movie theater, and the soundtrack. The latter then became a great soundtrack to my teenage angst - I'd turn it up loud and lie in the dark on my bed. I'm falling in love with this music all over again.

Then there are the guilty pleasures...

Justin Timberlake's My Love: I finally get the adoration. It took only about five years, and his singing in maybe his highest range yet, but I get it.

Shaggy's It Wasn't Me: I've felt guilty for the past few years liking this song, but that doesn't stop me from getting pumped when it comes on the radio. In addition to getting embarrassed by its NC-17 nature. It sounds like such a sweet song, until you actually listen to it. And it seems to be getting more playtime lately, so I'm having to face the idea that maybe I should not be listening to it, especially with MrMan in the car.

My baby has a twang

For as long as I can remember, whenever I was visiting elsewhere, an inevitable question was, "Why don't you have a southern accent?" And I would explain that people in New Orleans do not have a southern accent, despite what Hollywood would have you believe. People in some parts of town have different and distinct accents, but you'd be hard pressed to find an area within the city limits sporting a southern twang. Until now, if you count our house as an area. My baby has a southern twang. It makes me smile to hear him say, "Hhaaiii!," and Baaiii!," accompanied by a thrust of the hand.

Other things today that made me smile, to the point that I had to leave the room to giggle, since they weren't things he should have been doing (this is where it comes in handy to have another parent to carry out the guidance):
- his climbing on the step stool and standing up to reach things on the kitchen counter
- his wildly pursuing the rabbit around the kitchen and then pulling the rabbit's ears: he's gotten a lot more bold around the rabbit, so we had to cut the interaction short
- his attempts to open the rabbit cage, once we'd put the rabbit back in
- his "sweeping" the kitchen floor with his new favorite toy: the broom (no, it's not a toy broom)

A new phase

Today, we finally had MrMan's 12-month pediatrician visit. He is right where he should be, it seems, in terms of height, weight, and head circumference. He handled the shots (we got one of three flu shots left from last week's delivery - score!) better than he did the indignity of having to lie on his back for part of the exam. I'm sure he wouldn't have cried as much about the shots if he'd been allowed to sit up for them.

Now, he is asleep with Sam. Yes, it's true, I never carried through with transitioning him out of our bed. But now we're really ready, as our backs would probably feel better if we had a little more space, and if I weren't contorting to feed him to avoid changing the side I'm lying on. So, we're phasing in the changes in getting him to sleep on his own. First: making him a little less reliant on me in getting to sleep. Eventually ((fingers crossed)): asleep in his own wee bed, the same one my mother built for me 30+ years ago.

Unrelated: Thanks to Sam's tinkering with my laptop (it was my MacBook that was having the issue, not the other stuff), I am once again connected. Yay!

More beans, please

Did you know pulse is another word for legume?

Grrhh

My computer is having internet issues. All last week, I was connecting via a cable plugged into my laptop. Since returning home, it can't seem to connect, despite being able to tell me that the wireless signal is good. Anyone else ever have this problem?

Entering the last week

It's Saturday night. There is laundry to be washed and toys to put away and thank yous to be written and the various and sundry that is always waiting, weighing. But I suspect that I will soon go to bed. Day one of Weekend-Reunite-with-Old-Friends went well. Wonderfully. I look forward to tomorrow, and the busy week that is coming up - it's rare for me to have commitments, but I've got something happening every day or night for the next ten days. Sometimes a couple somethings.

I was just looking over at November's calendar on the sidebar, and was surprised to see that every day is the same color, right up through yesterday (today, once I post this). I don't know why I'm surprised, as the goal was to post every day, and I've done it, come sleepiness or family craziness. In some ways, it seems silly that I've been so obessed with making sure that I posted every day. But, it's nice having a goal for every single day. And meeting it. I think that, once I hit December, I will continue to post with more frequency. Maybe not every day, and probably not just for the sake of posting, but this has been a good exercise. I've learned that I can find at least five minutes to take time out for me, to do what I want to do, even if I'm not doing it exactly the way I'd like (i.e., posting something other than what I really want to write, because of short time). I've learned that my family can support me in accomplishing my goals. I've learned that I enjoy writing more in the morning. I've learned that a routine is helpful. I've learned that what I write doesn't have to fit neatly into compartments. I've reminded myself that I like making goals, and meeting them. And for this, I thank Mrs. Kennedy.

Home again, home again, jiggety jog

It was a great week in Northern Virginia. I didn't get to see everyone I wanted to see (Julia and Emmaleigh), do everything I wanted to do (take MrMan to a playround in the sunshine and tail end of the fall leaves), or shop everywhere I wanted to shop (Paper Source). But it was great. We bonded with family, relaxed, ate delicious foods, and met friends we'd never seen in person. We reached yesterday feeling like it had been too short. But now, after what seemed like a long day of travel, I'm happy to be home and looking forward to our many weekend plans - brunch with one set of out of town friends, dinner with another set, breakfast with a college friend, a Baha'i Holy Day celebration....

Happy Thanksgiving!

I hope all of you are enjoying today.
I have so much I am thankful for:

Including this morning's decadent breakfast of chocolate cranberry bread pudding. My mom thought we were joking last night when we said we were keeping it for ourselves instead of taking it to Thanksgiving dinner (sorry other family members, who aren't staying in this house), but she was wrong.
Please keep in mind that all amounts below are an approximation and are calling to be toyed with.

Tear up a stale baguette and put into buttered oven-safe dish.
Mix in:
one 12-oz bag of cranberries
one 12-oz bag of semisweet chocolate chips
In mixing bowl, combine:
11 eggs (or 12, if you have a full dozen - we just happened to have 11)
2 cups of half and half
2 cups of milk
1.5 cups of sugar
2 teaspoons of cinnamon
1 teaspoon of nutmeg
1 tablespoon of vanilla
Pour liquid mixture into baking pan, mix everything together. Cover, and let sit in fridge overnight.
Bake at 350 degrees F for approximately 1 hour.

Thank you, Tysons!

Thanks to two of the malls of Northern Virginia, I have doubled my pants inventory. Glory be!

Magnetism

When we got here on Saturday, we got a rental car at the airport and made me the designated driver. We had our choice of vehicles and picked the Pontiac Torrent. Pretty nice. However, it seems to have a magnetic bumper. Sunday evening, we headed from one relatives house to another, in two cars. I was the first to back down the driveway. As I was waiting for some street traffic to pass, I looked in front of my car, to see my uncle back up. Into me! It was gentle and no harm was done. The ironic thing was that, at the time, he'd been lecturing my cousin (his daughter) about her car. Then, Monday evening, we headed to yet another relative's house. Again in two cars, though this time my uncle was behind me. We're sitting at an intersection, waiting for the light to change. The light changes, we wait for the car in front of us to move. When it does, it's into me! This was a little more jarring, as she'd put her foot on the gas, expecting to go forward. I'm kind of afraid to go anywhere this evening.

My child apparently has a certain magnetism as well. Last night, I came out of our room to find the dog in the hall and some bits of paper on the floor. I thought he'd gotten into some tissues. But then I noticed that he had one of MrMan's dirty diapers in his mouth. I came downstairs to find another in the living room, and a third in the den. I was a bit perplexed, since I knew a poopy diaper, in an additional plastic bag had been at the top of the garbage can. I found it near the dog's bed, thankfully intact.

Plans

Today, we're off to the National Mall. One of my favorite things about coming to DC is that I get to really take advantage of my tax dollars.

Not really a member of BA, and not just because you know my name

Some might say I have a problem... a blogging problem... looking at the clock in the car, relieved that it's only 11:00 pm... walking in the door and opening my laptop. But if I really had a problem, I would sit here and go into detail about the nice day we had, hanging out with family, going to Baha'i school, going to the mall.... But instead I will just say that I'm too sleepy for that, close my laptop, and go to bed.

One Year Old

Dear MrMan,

You are now one! Not one minute (I remember then), not one week (then, too), not one month (and then, as well), but one YEAR old! This morning, as we were waiting to take off from the Atlanta airport to head here to DC, you passed that mark. Welcome to toddlerhood! You completely qualify. Not only do you have twelve months under your diaper velcro, you walk. You really walk. You'd been trying it out - a couple of steps one day, a few steps the next - but a few days ago, you decided that this walking thing must not be all that bad. It's funny: I was recently reflecting on the fact that I'd pictured that walking would be a sudden acquisition, that you'd suddenly go from not walking to walking, and that I was obviously wrong about that, since it seemed to be a gradual process. But then it turned out that, while things were slow going for a while, you did indeed suddenly go from being a non-walker to a walker. It was like some switch was flipped and you became a walking machine. As PapaJoon points out, you walk a bit like Fred Sanford, and you topple and lose your balance. But you get up and keep going.

I love watching you walk! I also love watching you push stray food from your lips into your mouth. It just seems like such a mature thing to do. How can you, my wee boy, be so intent on making sure that every morsel possible serves as energy rather than decoration? Grains of rice, bits of broccoli - you just reach up with your finger and sort of tuck them into place, into your mouth. Your mouth that now has seven teeth. Not that mealtimes aren't still a messy venture. There's just a certain dignity to them now.

This month, you've taken a new interest in kissing. You've really mastered the air kiss - you smack your lips together and make a kissing sound. Sometimes it's to say goodbye, sometimes it's because you're feeling affectionate, sometimes it's because you're tired and initiate saying goodnight. You're also a little more into actually making physical contact with people when you kiss. I'm honored that I am usually the object of your kisses, but you've recently deigned to bestow other family members with a buus. Daddy likes to read you "Daddy Kisses," describing the body parts where animal daddies kiss their young, and then he demonstrates on you. You then proceed to kiss the pages of the book.

In addition to sharing kisses, you share your food and toys. You like to hold out bits of your food to us, either for us to nibble or to consume in their entirety. I've been trying to use this habit of yours to prevent less food on the floor: "Oh, you're thinking of throwing that cracker on the floor? Why don't I open my mouth instead? See, isn't it more fun to feed Mommy instead of the carpet?" You still sometimes insist on flinging food to the floor, but some of it is averted with my tactic. You also like to hold out your toys to us. Sometimes you're just faking us out, but usually you want us to take the toy.

One of your new favorite toys is Sugar bear, a stuffed bear (super soft!) from your Lolo and Lola. You glommed onto that bear as soon as your grandfather handed him to you. His name is a play on Lolo's initials. Your play table is another favorite. It's got interlocking blocks on one side, and various bug-themed musical doodads on the other. You like to sway to the tunes. I think that you were coveting a playmate's similar table. Then that same day, we came home, and one was waiting for you from your Godparents. Yep, you have Godparents now. Actually, both of these new favorite toys of yours were Baptism gifts. But I think really, the best gift of that weekend was getting to meet family members you'd never seen, when they came for your big day. You seemed to immediately connect with everyone, and as the short weekend came to a close, you cried with each departure.

You've developed an increasing interest in Corporal. You particularly like to move his cage and dig in his food container.... Recently, I took him out of his cage and let him run around. It resulted in him running away from you. I think he wasn't sure how to interpret your changing moods - intrigue, ignoring, chasing after.... He seemed rather relieved to return to his cage. You continue to be interested in moving things, some that are not designed to move easily, others that are. Your father has infinite patience escorting you up and down the hallway, as you push your stroller back and forth. Thank goodness, because I... not so much. My technique for getting you in the mood to move where I want you to go is to start singing, "Marching... marching, marching, marching... marching, marching, marching... marching, marching, maar-chiing." Another song you're into these days is, "Here we go loopdy loo, here we go loopdy lie, here we go loopdy loo, all on a Saturday night." Watching Amu Naysan's "party" video with him over and over has come in handy all these years later.

You've become better at communicating your wants and needs. You tug on my shirt when you want to nurse. You start waving goodnight to people when you're sleepy. You grunt when you want something. You fling things to the floor when you don't want them. Recently, we were looking for a hat to bring on our trip here to Virginia: I would pick out a hat and place it on your head, then Daddy would carry you over to the store mirror, and then you would generally pull it off and fling it down. With the exception of the cowboy hat, which wasn't going to do much for keeping your ears warm. You know what you want. I'm hoping that eventually you will decide you want the hat we bought for you.

Today, you met various new family members. As soon as you met my Amu Rudy, you went into his arms and put your head on his shoulder. While not quite so forward in your expression of it, you seem to like everyone else too, including your second cousins who are three and five years old. We all had pizza and cake (you didn't seem to care for the frosting - score!) together, and you received a crazy pile of gifts. This (early) morning, you rode to the airport in style - facing forward! You were probably half asleep, but we were excited. Also exciting - the dog here at Ameh Joon's house. This might be your favorite week ever.

MrMan, this has been my favorite year ever. There have been struggles and tears, but there've been more laughter and smiles. I've been trying to think of something I've done or experienced that's better than motherhood. I think I've lived a pretty cool life so far, visited and lived in some interesting places, met fascinating people. But none of it holds a candle to you. Thank you for coming into my life. Happy Birthday, MrMan! I love you!

Mommy

Dogs

Coming later: my 1-year letter to MrMan.

We're now in Northern Virginia and MrMan is enjoying his first extended up-close-and-personal experience with a dog.

Speaking of dogs, my mom was telling us about a funny experience: she was helping a student with something (she's a school librarian), and the appreciative student said, "Mrs. M, you're my dawg! You're my book dawg!"

Looking back

Tonight, on the eve of my baby's first birthday, I'm in shock and awe. He walks, for goodness sake!

This is what he looked like a little over a year ago:

This is what he looks like today:

Turtlenecks

It's somewhat arbitrary, the things that I have now that were part of my life before the storm. Maybe arbitrary is not quite the right word since, in general, if it was downstairs it was ruined by the seven feet of water that resulted from the levee breaks and if it was upstairs (or with me in Honolulu) it was untouched. But what was upstairs and what was downstairs was not cleanly divided by how much the things meant to me or when in my life I'd acquired or used them. Two of the things I most regret losing are:
1) it's materialistic, but... my boots. They were dark brown leather knee-high square-toed boots that I bought in the winter of 2001-02, when I was living in Chicago. I looked for these boots forever: most of what I came across was too big in the calf and/or too pointy in the toe. These were perfect, even more so because I got them for an awesome price at DSW and then paid a pittance to have the tops cut down to fit my height. It didn't make sense to take them to Honolulu, so I settled for wearing them when I visited New Orleans in cooler weather.
2) something more sentimental, something I've long loved but that I didn't realize I was so attached to until it hit me it was gone... an acrylic cube with a dandelion inside. Interesting looking, but it's more the idea behind it that I miss - when I graduated from college, someone I'd worked with throughout college gave it to me, along with a note saying that it had been a gift from her husband many years before. And that the reason she was giving it to me (and the reason he'd given it to her) was because of my likeness to a dandelion: delicate but strong. That note, and talking about that note, has always made me teary.

There's a part of me that hopes that the cube is upstairs, safe and sound, but I don't really think so. There are other things, like photos from China and the Gambia that I'm afraid to look for, because I don't want to discover that they were downstairs. Soon I will have the courage.

So, this was supposed to be about turtlenecks, but I have yet to mention them. As the weather has grown colder here, I've been more thankful for some of the stuff that survived the storm, such as turtlenecks. Ones that I'd left behind. Downstairs. Before we left Chicago and headed to Honolulu, I bagged and boxed my clothes that I would be storing in my parent's basement. Strangely, one of those bags floated, upright, and the contents stayed dry. I wish it could have been a bag with the boots and the dandelion cube, but then maybe I would have mourned the loss of my turtlenecks. Heck, who am I kidding? But at least in addition to my few pairs of my pants, I have a selection of cold-weather tops to wear with them.

Shouldn't wear white pants after Labor Day

Today, I thought it would be a great idea to change the window in the kitchen. It's been cracked for a while, and I've been meaning to fix it, but thought it required the cooperation of everyone in the house: Sam and me to carry out the removal of the old glass and installation of the new, my dad to supervise since he's the only one with experience in putting in windows but can't physically do so these days since one of his arms is in a cast, my mom to watch MrMan, and MrMan to not get into too much mischief. But weekends keep coming and going, without our changing the window. So, today, while MrMan was napping, I took it upon myself to do it, with intermittent assistance from Sam in steadying the glass. The removal went relatively smoothly, though I would advise against scraping a window frame in windy weather. The insertion of the new pane made me a little nervous, as I kept picturing it shattering down to the ground below. But I got it and the glazier points in place. The glazing compound was next. In my defense, my dad, in excrutiating detail, told me where in the house the various supplies were. Nowhere in his details was mention of the gun that the tube of glazing compound should go in. So, when I saw the tube, I thought I was to squirt the glazing compound onto the frame and then smooth it out. But it was tough going, getting the stuff out. So I resorted to squeezing the tube between my knees. I did this a couple of times, applying the fruit of my labors to the frame. And then I squeezed and nothing happened. I was confused, and squeezed some more. Still nothing. Then I shifted, and saw that I'd just squeezed the tube's contents onto my jeans! One of my three pairs of pants. Good thing this was water-soluble glazing compound.

No sneaking up on you

When I was in college, one of my good friends in the dorm was P. Among his distinctive characteristics was that his preferred dorm footwear were Uggs. This was back in the day, before Uggs were worn with Abercr*mbie & F!tch crotch-baring denim skirts. When most people outside of Australia were unaquainted with the strangeness of the Ugg. But P wore them with pride.

Lately, I find myself thinking of P. And it's not just because I'm going to see him soon. It's because I've been wearing boots in the house. I recently came across some furry-lined boots that my mom purchased for her next winter trip to China, whenever it may be. My pregnancy-aquired body heat is long gone and I've resumed my reptilian characteristic of assuming the ambient temperature. Unfortunately, it's combined with the mammalian characteristic of actually feeling the change in body temperature. The flip-flops around the house just weren't cutting it. So, much to my famiy's amusement, I've been clomping around in winter boots. But it's not all P - there's a bit of Minnie Pearl thrown in: the price tag is still on the boots.

Occupational hazard

One of the occupational hazards of motherhood, I find, is that I sometimes fall asleep when I don't mean to. Yesterday, I meant to make chili before going to a picnic. (I know, not your standard picnic fare, but it was chilly, haha, so I wanted chili.) But, I feel asleep when putting MrMan down for his nap, and slept throught the prep time. Good thing my mom stepped in. But how lame do I feel that even at this age, my mother is the one saving the day when it comes to food for an outing? Last week, I fell asleep when putting MrMan down for the night. I woke up concerned that I'd missed my NaBloPoMo opportunity for the day. But, thankfully, I'd awakened at 11:00, so had some time to spare. I guess this is all just my excuse for writing this now, at 6:00 pm, even though I'd prefer to wait until later when I have more time, to write something else, except that I'm afraid that with working today, and dinner, and devotions, and putting MrMan to bed, that more time will turn into sleeptime.

Good crop this year

This evening, we went foraging in the neighborhood. My mom, Sam, and I put MrMan in the stroller, bundled him up against the chill, and set out with our plastic grocery bags. First stop, the property around the corner and a few blocks up. Before the storm, it was a nursery school. Now it's vacant, waiting for someone who wants four bedrooms and two baths upstairs, and apartments (or daycare facilities) downstairs. From that yard's tree, we collected kumquats. We then walked on a couple more blocks to a satsuma tree. I'd noticed its laden state a week or so ago. I'd also taken note of the fact that its branches hang over the sidewalk. And, yes, it too is in the yard of a vacant house. Bought twice since the storm, but not yet occupied.

We then headed home to taste our treats. Sour, but yummy. Even MrMan enjoyed his first taste of Louisiana citrus.

Heavenly Google

The other night, we finished "Ruhi Book 1: Reflections on the Life of the Spirit." (Finally! It's amazing how we whip through the first part in a couple of weeks, and then take months to get through the rest.) This was probably the fifth time I've gone through this course, but, as expected, different things strike me each time. The other night, it was the following:

"For the Kingdom of God is sanctified (or free) from time and place; it is another world and another universe. But the holy souls are promised the gift of intercession. And know thou for a certainty, that in the divine worlds, the spiritual beloved ones (believers) will recognize each other, and will seek union (with each other), but a spiritual union. Likewise, a love that one may have entertained for any one will not be forgotten in the world of the Kingdom. Likewise, thou wilt not forget (there) the life that thou hast had in the material world."
(Tablets of 'Abdu'l-Baha 'Abbas, p. 205)

Reading this, I got really excited about the idea of finding long lost friends. As mentioned before, I'm someone who holds on to people. But sometimes, I let too long of a time pass and lose track of them. There are some who, no matter how many times and how many ways I Google them (admit it, you Google your friends, too), I can't find. But in the next world, we will recognize and seek union with each other. How cool is that?

My idealistic views on democracy

In general, I don't write about politics here. Partly because I don't understand them enough to do so. Partly because I think that they are a somewhat private affair. I don't belong to any political party. I try not to tell others who I'm voting for. It's probably the influence of growing up with Baha'i elections, which don't involve any electioneering and are held in a spiritual atmosphere. But I'm breaking my silence, just for a few minutes.

On Tuesday, the day of the election, I was listening to the radio in the car and heard the President saying that he was confident that he would be working with a Republican House and a Republican Senate. I was really disturbed by that, feeling that the President should be above saying something like that. I know, it's my idealistic way of looking at things, but it seems that, even though the President belongs to a particular party, and we all know what that party is, he should be eager to work with anyone, regardless of party, as long as it's for the good of the American public. In fact, it seems that he should favor working with Democrats, because that way both parties are represented, and things are balanced. Isn't that what our system is founded on - checks and balances? I don't think our founding fathers had in mind that all those in power would be of the same leaning, but that the differing opinions would lead to the greatest good. Needless to say, I was pretty stoked on Wednesday morning to see that things are a little more evenly balanced.

"The shining spark of truth cometh forth only after the clash of differing opinions."
-'Abdu'l-Baha

Operation: Helping MrMan (hopefully) sleep a little more soundly

Today, we went to the playground.

I need pants

I still plan to write about those other topics, but what's on my mind right now is that I need pants. Is it that tough to make a pair of inexpensive, well-fitting, not-too-trendy-looking, size four petite pants, appropriate for wearing while galavanting through stores and playgrounds? If I answered that question based solely on the stores I went to today, the answer would be yes, very tough. Unfortunately, there aren't that many more stores in town. Macy's, why hast thou forsaken me?!

p.s. MrMan is fine. Just a random puking incident, apparently. Thanks for asking.

Maybe later

Things I want to write about, but figure I should wait until later to do so, at least until after I've bathed MrMan, especially since he puked in the car:

Rate your food

Today's New York Times has an interesting article on a grocery chain that has started rating its food. Three stars indicates that its pretty healthy for you. Zero, or one star, not so much. They take a number of factors into account - sodium, added sugar, fat content, vitamins, minerals, and fiber content. I love this! I think so many people are fooled by food manufacturers touting fat-free this and sugar-free that, that they forget to look at the big picture. So many of the packaged foods that brag of being free of something compensate by adding something else that's not so great. I'm all for convenience, but I'm not all for super sweet foods masquerading as breakfast, or eating all of my sodium for the day in one sitting. Obviously, no one has to buy only the foods that get three stars, but its nice to see someone trying to lift the wool off people's eyes.

Shoe desires

Today, while we were waiting for the Children's Museum to open, we walked over to the Riverwalk. (This is at least the third weekend in a row of glorious weather!) I haven't been to the Riverwalk for years. Given its proximity to the Convention Center, it was hard not to think about all the people who were stranded there immediately after the storm. I half expected to turn a corner and come across an area that they forgot to clean up while erasing the destruction that likely ensued - some due to spiteful looting, but I'm sure the majority of it was the just the result of a lot of people trying to address critical needs with few resources. But all was pristine and orderly. The only visible aftermath of the storm was the handful of vacant storefronts.

We visited the Clarks shoe store, among other places. Why are all the specialty shoe shops in the tourist area? I guess it's because they walk a lot and might decide they need more comfy shoes? I am liking their Privo line. My favorites were these Arches. I think the photos online don't do them justice.

My current drink of choice

A few weeks ago, I finally tried St*rbuck's new Maple Latte. It was good, but not all that I'd hoped. Not to say that I'll never have it again, but to say that I think I prefer my own concoction of Teeccino (which I prefer to call "coffaux") , Silk, and maple syrup. Hippie dippie, but tasty as far as I'm concerned.

I know who to call when I need a posse

Thanks for all your supportive comments on the flu shot issue. As it turns out, I assumed the worst and was wrong, in this particular case. Yesterday, I decided to call the doctor's office again. This time, when I was connected to the nurse, I just asked if flu shots were available, figuring that such a question really didn't leave room for her to ask about health insurance. She said they were out of vaccine. Yay! that we don't have to find a different doctor for MrMan. Boo! that it still means that no flu shot yet. And when I asked if she knew when they would get some in, instead of the vague answer of the other call, she said any day now. So now I've got my fingers crossed for next week.

Within half an hour of making that phone call, I was forced to question if maybe I weren't more of a menace to MrMan than influenza is. Ironicially, it was just as I was thinking about writing about the different parenting styles Sam and I have. (He is much more participatory, spending hours playing with MrMan. I am more of the philosophy that I don't want MrMan relying on me, or anyone else, for entertainment, and am more likely to supervise his playing by himself. I'm not as lazy as I sound. Nor as neglectful. Just different from Sam.) So, I'm in the kitchen, making lunch for MrMan while he's playing in the living room. I hear him cry out and run to see what's wrong. Except that I can't find him. I hear him, but don't see him. How can I have lost my baby?! In the house?! Did he somehow make it over the baby gate and behind the door to the hallway?! Finally, I realize that the MrMan, in his green overalls, has fallen face down into the green laundry basket that holds some of his toys. I felt bad about it but, since he wasn't hurt, was also able to laugh.

Strapped for Family Night ideas?

Looking to bond with your family and friends? Tired of Parcheesi? Don't want to spend the money on a night out at the movies? Pick up a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and have fun being grossed out together. I think this probably works best if there are only three or four of you, and it's more fun if one of the people is an unwilling participant. Dump all the beans on a plate and sort by flavor. Keep a knife handy for divying up flavors for which there are only one or two beans. Start out with something unusual, but not too nasty. Bacon or Ear Wax would be good choices. Vomit, Rotten Egg, or Sardine would not. Work up to those last few mentioned. But don't wait too long in the lineup, or you won't have good stuff (like Grape Jelly, or Grass) to enjoy at the end.

This was a perfect way for us to spend Halloween evening. We don't usually get trick-or-treaters, as we're one of only three houses in the block, and all of the houses have front doors on the second floor. Too much effort for too little return. At around 8:00, Sam commented on the lack of trick-or-treaters. Within the next minute, there was a knock at the door. It turned out to be some friends, come by to take a picture of my mom for a project. She was the Wicked Witch of the West. He was the devil. They looked great! MrMan was very wary of them, probably wondering who these creatures with green skin and red horns were. I assumed they'd been or were going to a party. Nope, they'd dressed up to walk the dog (dressed as a flying monkey), and go out for coffee. Impressive.

Not a total fan of the system

As mentioned a couple of months ago, I'm currently lacking health insurance. When Sam left his job, we lost our coverage, and we can't afford COBRA, or buying insurance on our own. We're pretty healthy people, so I don't usually sit up at night worrying about it. But I wanted to make sure MrMan was covered, so I applied for Medicaid for him. It was a pretty easy process, though there was a point at which I got some insight into why some poor people in America act the way they do (or at least have the stereotype of acting that way) - because of the way in which they are treated. Or I guess it would be more fair to say that the two - acting and treatment - feed off of each other.

When I went to the Medicaid office, I wasn't treated like a real person. The woman behind the desk wasn't wooed by MrMan, or any of the other kids accompanying their parents, and all their cuteness. I wasn't there because I did anything wrong. I was there because I was trying to do something right: make sure that my child has access to care, to allow him to grow up as healthily as possible.

Yesterday, I called MrMan's pediatrician to make appointments for his flu shot, and his 12-month visit. I made the latter with the first person I spoke with. She told me that for the former, I needed to call the main number again and speak with a nurse. So, when I called the nurse and said why I was calling, her first question was, "What kind of insurance do you have?" When I answered, "Medicaid," her response was that there was a waiting list. I asked what that meant and she said that they currently don't have vaccine available and that she could take my name and number and call me when they have some, and no, they don't know when that will be. I gave her my info and then asked, if I had a different kind of insurance, would there be vaccine available. She answered no, but I don't know if I believe her. I know there is stock in the city, as another baby we know got his flu shot last week. I'm considering having another family member call again and answer her first question differently. It just seems like a strange question to ask if everyone is being treated the same.

It reminded me of when I was in public health school, and received health care at a clinic downtown. It was frequented by students and other members of the community. I remember noticing the disparity between the treatment I received and the that received by another woman. The doctor knew that I was a student and had a conception of all that that meant. He had a different notion of the other woman. Yes, part of it is the assumption that if someone is in public health school, she will understand more medical jargon. But, just because someone doesn't have a particular education, or social or economic standing, does not mean they aren't deserving of kindness. Or a flu shot.