Shokufeh is... home

Perhaps I should go skydiving this weekend

You know what tomorrow is? Not the just the start of a new month. Not just payday. It's the day I return to the world of the medically insured. Score!

Gilmore Girls delight

I'm in the Luke camp. Both feet, firmly planted. There was a brief window of time, toward the end of season two, when Lorelai and Christopher seemed like an okay thing. Maybe even a good thing. (Even though, given the proximity to his breakup, she did seem like a rebound.) But then Sherry was pregnant, and Chris decided not to be an absent father to yet another child. It's hard to say if I was that bummed. Since at the time, I was way more focused on the Rory and Jess angle. ( Just for the record, despite his jerkiness, he remains my favorite of her boyfriends. If he showed up, I'd take him back, er I'd hope she'd take him back.)

(spoilers ahead)

Thank you, MrMan, for falling asleep in the car, and staying asleep, and allowing me to watch tonight's episode. (Tonight! What a novel idea.) Watching Christopher throw in the towel, and then seeing the preview of next week, made me do a little jig. Or, really, a big one, complete with swirling blanket.

I wasn't kidding

As mentioned in my last post, MrMan is very ducks these days. He quacks at every opportunity. He pushes his wooden duck-on-a-stick around the house, even holding up our morning departure to pick it up and bring it with us. He points out ducks, both photographed and illustrated, in books. He insists on playing with the rubber ducks in the bathtub. He got very excited yesterday when we discovered a couple of stuffed ducks in a box we'd shipped from Hawaii. We've admired the ducks in the park on a couple of occasions this week. Ducks are a big part of our days.

All this to say that, this morning, Sam reported that I was quacking in my sleep last night.

How do you deal with it?

After days and days of grey, rain, and/or cold, yesterday and today were beautiful. Which means bizarre swarms of mosquitoes. But why focus on the negative? Which meant trips to the park for me and MrMan. Climbing, sliding, running, staring at other kids, stealing other kids' soccer balls, watching his new favorite animal - ducks, spotting his long-time favorite animal - dogs, and even seeing horses, which aren't too far down on the list either (and allowed me to distract him toward the car). I love going to the playground after a long interim, seeing how much MrMan's interaction with the equipment and the other kids has changed since the last time.

Today's trip to the park happened to coincide with the release of kids from nearby elementary schools, so the playground was a lot busier than yesterday, with older kids. But MrMan wasn't daunted. I, on the other hand, wasn't quite sure what to do: one boy, probably about five years old, showed up with his dad. And his gun. A big plastic machine gun. I tensed as soon as I saw it. Not because I thought it was real, but because of the violence it symbolized.

I know parents are different as to what they will and will not allow, what they encourage. But encouraging violence is so very foreign to me. Especially in this city where, a couple of weeks ago, MrMan and I joined several thousand others in marching to City Hall to rally against the violence. The violence that left a person dead every day for the first nine days of the year.

I thought about asking the father to put the gun away. ("Excuse me, do you think that your son, the one with the Holy Name of Jesus sweatshirt on, could leave his firearm at home next time?") I was trying to figure out for myself what I would do if the boy pointed the gun at MrMan. Thankfully, it didn't come to that. A gaggle of six to eight year old boys arrived and they took turns passing the gun back and forth to shoot one another as they ran around. Cooperation in murder. I've heard that, no matter how you try to protect them from the concept of guns, kids will pretend to shoot one another. And maybe I can't protect MrMan from that. But I feel I should try. I wonder if this situation arises again, I might leave the playground. I don't know.

"Meat" and potato pie

Last night's dinner included a tasty, fast, and easy dish. (I always remember Nigella saying that people often confuse fast and easy when it comes to cooking. Some dishes are quite easy, but people blow them off as being hard to make, because there may be some time involved. An example of that would be risotto, which involves a length of time standing in front of the stove, but is easy-peasy to make.) I'm not always a fan of using packaged foods, but they definitely have their place. And one of them is when you're tired and want to eat, and prefer to eat at home.

"Meat" and potato pie

Frozen hashbrowns ~ 4 cups
Olive oil ~ 3 tablespoons
Onion, 1 small, chopped
Smart Ground, 1 12-oz package
Tomato paste, most of a 6-oz can
Sloppy joe powder, 1 packet
warm water ~1 cup
Cheddar cheese, ~3/4 cup

Preheat oven to 425 F.
Defrost hashbrowns in microwave in glass pie dish. Add ~2 tbsp oil and smoosh it with your fingers until it's layered on the bottom and sides of the dish. Place in oven for 15-20 minutes.
Meanwhile, saute chopped onion in remaining oil. Once translucent, add Smart Ground, Sloppy Joe powder, water, and tomato paste. (Don't add these all at once, in case it's too much for the amount of Smart Ground. I ended up using the whole packet, but not all of the paste.) Mix together in pan until it looks uniform. Simmer a a few minutes.
Once potato shell is done, take out of oven and turn oven temp down to 350 F. Spread "meat" mixture on top of shell. Sprinkle cheese on top of that. (I chopped up some sliced cheese - easier than shredding it myself, without the cost and added preservatives of shredded cheese.) Put back in oven for about 20 minutes, or until cheese is nice and bubbly.

I think that when I make this in the future, I'll use a bigger dish and increase the proportion of potato, but everyone seemed to like it last night. The above was basically from cooks.com, with a couple of substitutions.

Getting it together

On Saturday, Sam and I went to the gym. To the gym! I know! It was my first time in a gym in approximately two years, I'm embarassed to say. I've been wanting to gym-ify myself for a while now, but just couldn't get it together. I've lost my pregnancy weight, plus some, and can fit in my pants, but things aren't as um, cohesive, as I'd like. And then there's the issue of the strength to keep up with a strong - physically and in will - toddler.

Part of the issue is the paucity of facilities in the area. And the cost of the ones that are geographically convenient. Well, convenient would be if they were next door, but let's say not inconvenient. Luckily, a gym was thrown in our laps. When Sam was deciding which job to take, he was focusing on the job responsibilities. But we really scored more than we expected. First there was that week-long holiday between Christmas and New Years, two weeks after he started. Then, we found out that he, and his spouse (yay, me), have free privileges at his institution's gym. Step class, here I come.

Kind of down

We all watched the game this afternoon. And had our hearts broken just a little bit. I'll admit it, I'm bummed. I thought that if the Bears won, I'd quickly focus on the fact that we made it this far and that I wouldn't be too down. Maybe tomorrow. For now, I'm focusing on that awesome touchdown Reggie Bush made.

Fourteen months old

Dear MrMan,

This week, you turned 14 months old. You may be wondering where your 13 month letter is. Stop looking now. I started a 13 month letter, and a 13-month-plus-13 days letter (which coincided with the last day of 2006), but neither was finished. Somehow, I've been so involved with being with you that I missed writing about you. I suspect that a lot of that has to do with how quickly you're changing. And what exactly these changes are.

As mentioned in my last letter to you, you're walking. In the past couple of months, you've really cultivated this skill. To the point that you run, or at least lurch with increased speed. You're still working on the knee-bending thing. Your walking has been more fun than I'd anticipated. We can play chase through the house, much better than the version that involved you on your hands and knees. I can watch you delight in going in circles from the dining room to the hallway to the kitchen, back to the dining room.... I'm less grossed out by your exploring new places, because now you explore on the soles of your shoes instead of on your hands.... Of course, it's also a little harder to wrangle you, with this newfound independence, but that's part of the job.

In the past week, you've gotten really good at climbing on to chairs. Other things too, but especially the chairs. Yes, the day I'd been dreading has arrived. The walking dread turned out not to be justified. The climbing dread? Quite justified. Nothing ever seems quite fully out of your reach. For a while, we'd reached a nice phase where I didn't have to constantly be in the room with you. Those days are gone for now, as you are quite capable of quickly and quietly moving a chair within reach of a table or other piece of furniture and climbing up to explore things that shouldn't be explored by little hands. Today, you drove your ride-on truck (one of your favorite toys these days) over to the front door and then stood on your truck seat to try to turn the door knob. So many things to watch out for.

When we're out, you get very happy about seeing other children, saying hi and wanting to interact with them. Last week, when we met up with some friends at the Children's Museum, you walked over and immediately tried to hold Ben's hand, even though you'd met him only twice before. I'm so bummed I missed it, but a few weeks ago, you went on a picnic at the Fly, where you met an older girl of 20-plus months. You were smitten, it seems, as there was much hugging going on: you approached her, hugged her, and took her hand to lead her over to our food. When playing with younger children, you seem to recognize the need to be gentle. You give more spontaneous kisses and naaz my face. You give us high fives. You hold your hand, and sometimes other things, to the side of your head, to indicate talking on the phone. Having pretend phone conversations is one of your favorite activities. Peek-a-boo is another. You love to initiate it, peeking out from behind things and saying, "Dali!" (the Persian version of "Peekaboo!"). Or I guess it's more like "Dai!" I see the glimmerings of a penchant for hide-and-seek, as you do sometimes like to make yourself scarce for a few moments before saying it.

I'm still slow to realize that many milestones are gradual. I think I pictured language acquisition to be sudden, but I've recently concluded that it's more of us coming closer together: your speaking, my understanding. I think that right now, there are many more words coming out of your mouth than I realize, but eventually your pronunciation will improve and my figuring out what sounds go with which things will improve. Lately, it seems like every few days, we achieve some sort of breakthrough in reaching a common understanding of one of your utterances. Some of your Persian words include hot (this is one of your favorite words, accompanied by your hand going out to indicate caution), no (which you've started saying while doing or contemplating something you're not supposed to do), two, water, outside, picture, and dog. Your English words include hi, bye, uh-oh (which you use constantly, whether the thing in question has dropped accidently or on purpose), night, ball, bird, cat, and dog. Yes, from what we can tell, you seem to say dog in both languages, though they're quite similar, so we're not completely positive.

You also speak animal pretty well, making sounds for cats, dogs, sheep, monkeys, owls, horses, ducks, and roosters. Your barking often involves your whole body, especially if PapaJoon busts out the Who Let the Dogs Out video with all the puppies, or if you are in the presence of a real dog. You are enamored of Corporal, constantly spending time in front of his cage. You dig around in his food bowl, grabbing handfuls to feed to him yourself. You fearlessly stick your fingers in his cage and in front of his mouth. You know how to open the cage, so I sometimes will find one of your toys in there. It seems your philosophy is that if it's good enough for you, it's good enough for him. I guess you also believe the reverse, as I have found you sticking his food in your mouth and trying to grab his colorful ball.

You drink on your own from a cup, skillfully tipping it with both hands. You've got decent handling of a spoon. I've noticed that you're a bit more effective at getting the food into your mouth when the spoon is in your left hand. But the spoon is not just for mealtimes: you enjoy carrying one around the house at times. Once, when I was out for the evening, you took a spoon to bed with you. You also like to carry around pens, straws, and anything you can put an eye out with. Needless to say, it's only when we're not on top of things that you're able to carry these things around. You enjoy time in the kitchen, spending time with the plastic storage containers, baking pans, and alphabet magnets. If someone is cooking, you're adamant about seeing what it is they're doing. And then, of course, exclaiming that the stove is hot. Maybe it's because your favorite foods are cold - I think that, if we let you, you would eat cheese and yogurt all day. Thankfully, you like lots of other things, too, but dairy makes your day.

I think I've mentioned your strong-willedness and defiance before. They're growing, too. I hope that you let go of the latter, and that the former serves you well in life. Unfortunately, when you don't get your way, or if we try to take something away from you, you deftly throw things. Your aim is enviable, but your temper is not. I'm sorry to say that I think that you've inherited that from me. Interestingly, since your birth, I've been pretty good about keeping my volatile temper in check, so it's not something you've picked up through observation. Time will tell if it's just a phase, or part of your personality. Either way, I hope to help you develop other ways of expressing your anger.

You are content to sit and "read" on your own for fifteen to twenty minutes at a time. When I watch you, I can't help but think you're reading a choose-your-own-adventure, where you choose the books and the pages you want in your story: you pick up one book and study a page or two, then quickly move on to another, doing the same, perhaps turning the book upside down for a moment, then on to another.... Some of your favorite books these days include Jamberry, Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You see?, Who Is Coming to Our House?, and Sheep in a Jeep (which often makes you exclaim uh oh!). You are very disturbed by page nine of One Baby Mountain Goat - something about seeing George Washington in stone bothers you. Two of your favorite songs are Tick tock, tick tock, I'm a little cuckoo clock and Three Little Monkeys. With the former, you participate by saying tick tock and cuckoo!, and with the latter you mimic the hand motions we use.

Your pointing skills rock now: you use one finger instead of your whole hand. You're also able to use one finger to precisely press buttons. You've figured out how to trigger most if not all of your games. Yesterday, I noticed that when you knocked on the door, you actually made a fist and rapped with your knuckle. You like to stand in front of the air intake vents in the hall. You're very excited by passing trucks. You really like lights, often requesting that the lamp in the living room be turned on, as well as the dome light in the car. I oblige you with the first, but explain that we don't drive with the indoor light on. You enthusiastically smell flowers, bending over in front of even little ones before scrunching your face and deeply inhaling.

You insist on your feet being above the bed covers, even if they're encased in footed pajamas. When you're sleeping between me and Daddy, this means that you're usually on top of the comforter while we're beneath it You don't seem bothered by that. You also don't seem bothered by waking us up to help you unearth your feet. The past few weeks, you've been sleeping in your own bed, at least part of each night. You seem to prefer it as the place to fall asleep, but you're not totally thrilled about the sleeping alone part.

MrMan, I delight in sharing each day with you, watching you discover new things. Thank you for your enthusiasm for life and letting it spill over into my own.

Love,
Mommy

Something to believe in

It's funny - I'm not really into sports. Our house is not one where Sundays are spent in front of the TV, watching the game. But thinking about the fact that the Saints have made it this far, that this Sunday they'll be playing the Bears for the NFC title, brings tears to my eyes. And this is two days before the game. I suspect that MrMan will not allow me to watch the game in its entirety, but I plan to at least watch the kickoff, and will hopefully catch some highlights as I flit in and out. I guarantee that tears will be shed. The weather forecast makes me fear that they will be tears of disappointment. But I still hold on to the hope that they will be tears of joy.

In the early days after the storm, there were several statements along the lines that if New Orleanians could support the Saints, a usually losing team, through all these years, surely we could make it through losing our city. We are a people used to holding on to faith. Now, believing in the Saints takes on more meaning to me: if the Saints can make it this far, maybe our city can too. (All it needs is for people to believe, a great coach, and hard-working players. Good salaries wouldn't hurt either.)

Next stop: The Superbowl!

Progressing nicely, I think

About two weeks ago, we started transitioning MrMan to his own bed. We pretty much gave up on the crib thing, as it was way too stressful, for all involved. When I was MrMan's age, my parents built a little bed for me. My brothers also slept in it and, between and after its stints as a bed, it served as a bookcase. It's hard to explain how it serves as both, but trust me. So, I boxed up the cookbooks it's been housing for the past almost 20 years, and set it horizontally and moved the mattress from the crib onto it. MrMan's first reaction wasn't quite what we expected. He scrambled up onto it and started trying to jump and down. And then down. And then back up again. It was like he was hopped up on sugar and caffeine (which he wasn't). We were concerned that he'd never see it as a place to sleep.

But within the next couple of days, we moved it to our room, replacing the crib, and started using it for its intended purpose. He naps there, and he usually spend at least half the night there, though he seems to freak out a little when he wakes up and realizes no one is sleeping next to him. I don't blame him.

Today, he was in meltdown mode, so I decided he needed a nap. I guess I was so thrown off by his behavior that I wasn't thinking straight, so I was trying to get him to go to sleep in our bed. He wasn't having it: he just kept wanting to play and read and traipse around the room. When I finally realized the error of my ways and moved us to his bed, he was asleep within minutes.

I'm not sure, but

The more I watch MrMan, the more I think that maybe he's left-handed. We'll see how things develop.

Photo* success

I finally took the plunge and looked for my pre-storm photos. I don't know what inspired me, or what made me feel like I would be okay if I didn't find them. Luckily, I was successful!

One of the pictures from the Gambia that I thought most about was this one, of my "mom." It's from the last time I saw her - we were on the bus: I was headed to the Peace Corps camp and then on to the States, she was headed to the health clinic. I've always really liked this shot - I think it's partly the directness of her gaze.

*The word photo, or really foto, should not be used in the Gambia, or people may giggle at your speaking of the penis.

Being my own boss

One of the things I find challenging about this mommy gig is that there's no one here during the day to say, "Good job, Shokufeh. I like the way you handled that diaper breach. No one captures those animal sounds the way you do. Awesome comforting of MrMan when he was frustrated about not being able to climb up on that chair. Your child is a tribute to your mad parenting skills...."

There's also the issue of reaching the end of the day and feeling like, "What just happened? Where did the time go? How did all these dishes pile up in the sink, and who carpeted the floor with toys and books? Didn't I have a to-do list? What have I accomplished?"

I will tackle both of these issues, at least for today, right now.
Shokufeh, you performed a great service today, to everyone in the house, by cutting MrMan's nails. All twenty of them, baby! No more scratches on our faces for a good 48 hours. It bordered on sheer genius to employ the television as a distractor. And it was PBS, so it probably boosted his IQ a few points. Yay, you, for accomplishing something you haven't been able to do in one sitting for at least two months.

The heavens were at work

As you may have guessed MrMan isn't MrMan's real name. Two nights ago, it hit me how interesting it is that we named him what we did....

In July of 2005, the contemplation of naming our child entered my dreams. Long story short (for the longer story, read the entry of July 22, 2005), one of the names I briefly considered was Nevaeh. Not because it was "heaven" backwards. In fact, that was a reason against: "Child, you're the opposite of heaven."

So we threw that name out of the pool and kept fishing. The other night, as I was emailing someone MrMan's name and its meaning, it hit me - we ended up naming our child "heaven!" Yes, I've known the meaning of my child's name all this time, but I never connected it with my dream of four months before he was born. Until two nights ago. So even though I thought I was rejecting the idea from my dreams, it stuck with me enough to provide a name for MrMan.

And so it begins

It's Epiphany. King Cake season has officially begun!
To be honest, due to visiting brothers, we cheated this year and already some. On a couple of occasions. One was in the guise of a "Christmas Cake" - red and green sugar instead of purple, green, and gold - but it was really a King Cake.
To celebrate, we went to Whole Foods' King Cake party today. So clever on their part. We were motivated to go at that time by the thought of free king cake, but of course bought lunch and a few groceries. I'm generally a plain-and-cheap-King-Cake kind of girl, but I did enjoy my slice of raspberrry and cream cheese filled. 2006 marked the year I was able to say, "I lost 50 pounds in the past year." ;) Let's hope 2007, and spending the whole Mardi Gras season in New Orleans, doesn't mark the reverse.

Now for something frivolous

In the past few weeks, I've read several interesting and eye-opening, yet depressing, books:

First They Killed My Father: a Daughter of Cambodia Remembers, by Loung Ung (non-fiction): an account of life as a child in Cambodia under the Khmer Rouge,

Kaffir Boy, by Mark Mathabane (non-fiction): an account of life as a child in South Africa under apartheid, and

Anil's Ghost, by Michael Ondaatje (fiction): an account of a woman's return to Sri Lanka in the early 90s during a time of civil unrest.

While reading the first two, I had the advantage of knowing the end, if you will. As sad as everything is, you know the author makes it through the hardships and makes a new life, one that includes publishing the book. But after three books in a row set in environments of death and sadness, I'm ready to read something light and fun. Any suggestions?