Shokufeh is... home

The fleur de lis thing is out of control

As I look out of the window, I see a truck marked X Sanitary Supplies. Flanking the words are fleurs de lis. Some might associate the symbol with purity. But in this post-storm landscape, I can think only of my city. Which I suppose is actually their goal. But I can't help but wonder if they're doing themselves a favor. The closest I've ever come to assocating New Orleans with sanitary is when I lived in New York and looked forward to coming home to a cleaner city. But cleaner than New York is a long way from sanitary, my friends.

But I want to see how it -looks-

Am I the only one who loathes Reading Layout? Why, Office, must you thrust it on me?

It's not just the words that interest me. It's how they look.

Highlights

Highlights of this weekend for MrMan:

Highlights of this weekend for Mee:

I'm now on my way to a financial advisor sort. Very stressful. Because I fear she's going to yell at me about how out of order my financial house is. Yikes.

Update: She didn't yell at me. Me and my run-away imagination. I sure know how to make my heart pound, conjuring things to stress over. Funny story: I walked over to where the meeting was. Or where I thought the meeting was. Went up the elevator. Walked around the floor twice, unable to find the room number. Checked my paperwork. Still no room number. Went downstairs. Found out I was supposed to wandering around the building next door.

Loving the things he says

MrMan has finally started verbally* orally indicating affirmative answers. It used to be that "no" meant no, and silence meant yes. But lately, he's started saying yes. Except that he doesn't actually say, "yes." He says, as if he's several years older than he is, "ye-ah." While not so proper, it's totally cute.

Speaking of saying cute things, last week, he and I were in the store that sells everything. A group of three girls and one man went by, one of the girls riding a bike to the checkout. This did not go unnoticed by MrMan. "Bike. Wow! Cool!" He's been saying "wow" for a while, but this was the first "cool" I've heard.

Unrelated: Thanks for all of your kind comments. I'm doing much better and now am unwrapped.

*I used to work with a lawyer who liked to point out that verbal can refer to written or spoken.

My day

From: Me@work
To: Sam@work, Mom@work, Pop@work
Date: Oct 24, 2007 11:05 AM
Subject: me

Such a self-centered subject line. I thought you all would be
interested in a status update. About an hour ago, I went the bathroom
and freaked out a little when I saw myself in the mirror. My forehead
had developed some major swelling, such that I looked a bit like a
Klingon. I called the nurse and headed across the street. The doctor
seemed a bit surprised at my appearance. He said they could open me up
again or apply pressure for the time-being. I opted for the latter. So
I went from looking like a Klingon to looking like an escaped head-wound
patient. I am currently sporting white bandages around my head and
under my chin, such that my face is squished into a relatively small
opening. Later this afternoon, I'll go back for them to have another
look. Nothing to freak out about, just thought you'd like to know.

After this afternoon's visit:

Face lifts and face zits

Isn't another sign of aging a propensity for focusing on one's ailments?
My head has healed nicely. No pain, no more uncomfortable tightness, no blatent indication of what was done. I'm even no longer weirded out (and maybe even like it a little bit?) by reaching up and feeling the stiff ends of the stitches mixed in with my hair. I was supposed to get my stitches out today. And I suppose I am. Just not the way I'd anticipated. Instead of just removing the stitches themselves, the doctor will be cutting some more of the area away. The nurse called last week - it's not cancer, but the biopsy (or bibopsy, as I and Aunt Voula like to say) indicates that more needs to be removed. I'm trying to view it as an insurance-covered facelift. My second in two weeks!
Also in the department of status-of-the-body, I suspect that if I were able to compare my current hormonal mix with my hormonal mix at the beginning of 2005, before Bean took up residence, I would find a match. For the first time since the hormonal changes of pregnancy and breastfeeding, I am experiencing the slight zit-tiness and night sweats that were a monthly occurrence. So, at least for this woman, almost three years to return to "normal."

It's official

I'm old. I just came from seeing the doctor (about some pains in my chest - I'm falling apart). Seeking medical attention with the frequency I have lately is one indication that I'm aging. But the real kicker? I'm pretty sure that the physician I just saw was younger than me. I'm not ready for this phase of life.

Twenty-three months

Dear MrMan,

You are 23 months old today. One month shy of two years old! That seems a little bit wrong, because how can so much time have passed since we first met face to face? But mostly, it's exciting, because we've known each other this long, yet have so much longer to go together. And I'm really liking you. I was saying to your Dayi Anis the other day that I've really been remiss in writing about you and your you-ness, and your great sense of humor, and how much I enjoy you.

One of your favorite jokes is to pretend that something is something else. For example, if we ask you what a dog says, you might say "moooo." Or if we hold up a stuffed tiger, you might claim it's a fish. After you say what it's not, you then say, in this don't be silly voice, "No-o." And set us straight.

You've got a great sense of drama. It's very common to hear you saying, in a high-pitched voice, "Oh no!" This is often accompanied by toys falling off the edge of tables or by your body falling onto pillows.

You love to hide your face or little things, and then raise your upturned hands, while saying, "Happen?" Of course, we always play along - "What happened to your X?"

Your trademark phrase is "boom-boom." It doesn't mean anything in particular. But it's a phrase of bonding. You might say it to MamanJan as she heads out the door in the morning. The other night, as you were falling asleep, you called to Dee, and once you had his attention, simply said, "Boom-boom," and waited for him to say it back. You also claim to have boom-boom in your diaper. You take great pride in your diapers and, when being changed, will often claim that there's "poop" present. But when I let you know that the diaper is poop-free, you mention the boom-boom. I've come to think of it as your sense of spirit, your mojo.

You like to sing along to songs. Usually it's the last word of the lines when you chime in. But you're a quick learner and will join in on songs on the radio that you may have heard only then or a couple of times before. One of your favorite songs that a teenager wouldn't turn off is Rihanna's Umbrella. When it comes on, we'll hear you going "ella ella eh eh eh." And the other morning, when I was carrying my closed umbrella, your eyes fell upon it and you started saying, "ella ella eh eh eh."

Music videos you often request include the Rhino Song (from Big Green Rabbit), the Hippo Song (he has noodles on his back), and the Crazy Dancing Cow (who like to moo, moo). You're also a big fan of Pat and Stanley, a French hippo and dog duo, and find the goozing in the bathtub short particularly funny.

You have an unhealthy obsession with Curious George. There is often talk of "George" and "man." It's cute, but sometimes it gets frustrating having to turn down so many of your requests to watch the Curious George movie. If we fulfilled all of them, you would happily sit in front of the TV from the time you came home until it was time to go to bed. Except you'd probably fuss about going to bed, because you'd want to see it again.

You continue to love books and can recite parts of some of your favorites. You will usually chime in on the last word of each line or page. A couple of the books that I often read to you at night are Baboon, by Kate Banks and The Carrot Seed, by Ruth Krauss. Last night, I started reading Go, Dog. Go! and you kept flipping through the pages, so I could only get a sentence or two of each page read. You finally found the page you were looking for and stopped flipping. It turned out that Dee had been reading the book to you earlier and that's where he'd stopped.

You lately have the strange habit of choosing a random spot in the house in which to lie down. The kitchen, the hallway, the doorway between the living and dining rooms. With great deliberation, you head toward the spot that only you see as the one for that moment, and lie on your stomach, face turned to the side. Sometimes, you'll lie there as long as five to ten minutes. I haven't noticed a pattern, but I guess you just recognize the need for some down time.

You love to tromp around the house in all of our shoes. You know which shoes belong to whom. Yesterday, you were wearing two mismatched brown shoes and easily identified that one belonged to me and the other to MamanJan. I think your favorite shoes to dress up in are my mauve wedge sandals - they totally put a grin on your face. This morning, you insisted on taking my old running shoes to the car with us. And having them placed on the other back bucket seat. Somehow we convinced you that it was best that they stay in the car while you went to daycare. I just couldn't figure out how I would explain them to your teacher. In general, when you bring something to the car, you insist on its being placed on the other seat, facing forward - stuffed animals, action figures, and now shoes.

The things you choose to take to bed with you are eclectic. Most nights, it's nothing. But the other night it was a book. One of your bigger books. And you were so insistent that it be next to you that you got upset when you woke up in the middle of the night and it was missing from your side. Some weeks ago, it was the shirt (in the style of a baseball jersey) that you'd been wearing that day. You were very upset to get out of it, but finally settled for snuggling with it. Similarly, on a recent morning, you carried your pajamas to the car with us as we were going to school and work.

Lately, you seem like a bottomless pit. Always eating more than what I initially put in front of you. One of your favorite foods these days is mushrooms. But you'll eat most things, for which I'm thankful. Tonight, you fed a plastic dinosaur part of your dinner. As in, stuffed his hollow body with food particles. Gross.

Two nights this week, you finished eating and then announced, "Hamam." How could I deny you a bath, when you're requesting one? Tonight, after you finished eating and I'd gotten you down from your booster seat, you disappeared into the kitchen. It was unusually quiet. Just when I'd gotten up to check on you, you opened the kitchen door, saying "Yay!" and clapping. It seems you were quite pleased with your urinating in your underwear (which we sometimes put on you in the evenings and on weekends). And then immediately insisted that they be taken off. You're getting the idea. Now if only we could get you to go to the bathroom before you urinate.

You're not a big fan of the "mess." You will often stick out your hands to be wiped when they get covered with food. You ask for a napkin if we forget to give you one with your food. (Which, when having breakfast or snacks, you eat on a commandeered side table in the kitchen, while sitting on one of your variety of wee chairs. It's quite cute.) You panic a little bit when things spill on you or the table or floor. (Yet somehow have no qualms about purposely throwing food on the floor.) Sometimes I worry about you, but mostly I recognize that there's no hope for you to be otherwise, given your parents, and just call you Adrian (as in Monk). All is not lost, though - you do like to walk barefoot outside.

MrMan, it's so hard to remember what life was like before you. I know that it involved more time to my self, more leisurely meals, more days when I didn't have to worry about the example I was setting and would sit in front of the TV for hours at a time. But it also involved fewer smiles, less free entertainment, less love. Thank you for sharing yourself and your you-ness.

Love,
Mee

What are the odds?

Last night was book group.
The Memory Keeper's Daughter. A great book. My second time reading it. My favorite line, which kind of sums up much of the story:
She did not know that her discarded clothes fluttered in a wind that he himself had set in motion so many years ago. (p. 197)

Of the six of us there, four of us are mothers. To boys. Born within three months of one another. In four different states. All by emergency c-section.

Several of those aspects can be explained by choosing friends with whom you have something in common. But the c-sections?! While I'm thankful to have ended up with a happy and healthy baby, it really brings more to the forefront of my mind what was already a question: was delivery by this fashion truly neccessary?

Public service announcement

I got my flu shot. Did you?

Sharing too much

I've written about asparagus pee and beet pee. Now, after having eaten a tasty daikon salad at dinner last night and lunch today, can tell you that daikon may cause your body to create some unique pee as well.

Show me the numbers

I just looked out the window and saw a UPS truck, with a (mostly) white roof. What happened to the brown roof with the truck's ID number painted on it? Is this some security-inspired change? It is strange times we live in when that's my first thought. But seriously, what gives?

I'm smiling inside

I've never really entertained thoughts of Botox. Except to think, "Eeew, why would anyone choose to have a toxin injected into their face so that they're rendered incapable of expressing themselves?" But, yesterday, as the local anesthetic started to wear off, I started to discover how very connected my mouth is to my scalp. Nooo, don't make me laugh. Or even smile. Only soft foods to chew, please. It became very apparent to me that I'm much more facially expressive when interacting with MrMan than with anyone else. Painfully apparent. And I started to wish that I'd gotten a Botox injection to go with my ... whatever you want to call it. I'm hoping that the discomfort washes down the drain with some of the congealed blood, when I wash my hair tonight. Sorry to be so gross.

On my mind*

This morning, I am going for a headcut. No, that's not some cutesy way of saying a haircut. It's my way of saying that, barring some other option he didn't mention last time, the dermatologist will be cutting out chunks of my scalp and forehead. Gross and ugly, in and of itself. But adding an extra level of, "Even if it's not cancerous, it sucks," is the fact that I keloid (again with the verbing). So, not only will I have scars, I'll have big scars. Right where everyone can see them. Not a happy day. Oh, how I hope I'm making a mountain out of a molehill. Or keloids out of tiny scars.

I picture myself looking kind of like this.

*Get it? Aren't I punny?

Update: As my cool and collected husband predicted, it wasn't as bad as I'd anticipated. We're ignoring the forehead mole for now. The one on the scalp, near my front hairline, was the source of discussion and pondering - me, the physician I had the appointment with, a resident, a medical student, two nurses. The dermatologist, after hearing my keloid concerns, gave me the option of watching the mole for next few months. (I'm suddenly picturing a more boring version of "The Truman Show.") I was on the fence, since I felt it would prolong the stress. But, after I brought up the possibility of pregnancy a few months from now (possibility - simmer down, guys), he said let's do it today. And now that it's done, and my hair is brushed over the spot, I'm okay. A little grossed by seeing the chunk, complete with hair stubble, in the vial, but okay. Time will tell how bad the keloid will be.

Learning from setbacks, and each other

This morning, when I first heard the news about yesterday's Chicago marathon being called off several hours into the race, I was impressed by the flexibility of race organizers. To me, one of the greatest signs of a leader is taking into account the people you are serving. I'm still impressed, given the set of conditions they were working with - a starting time of 8:00 am, temps in the high 80s, high humidity levels....

But, as I read about the disappointment of the runners in not being able to finish the race, and the numerous runners who collapsed, I once again think of my idea that there should be a database of best practices, of everything. Not so that everyone across the world will do things the same way, but so that people can learn about some of the other ways of doing things. For example, I was suprised to read the Chicago marathon starts as late as it does. Even though I've lived in Chicago, the most recent place (before here) that I lived, was Honolulu. A hot place with a marathon. And you know what time their marathon starts? 5:00 am. Yes, it's still dark out. Totally dark. But it's also much cooler than if the sun had already risen. And, it means the race starts with fireworks!

Thinking about it makes me miss life there a bit. It also makes me wish the Chicago marathon officials had demonstrated the flexibility earlier in the week, when they became aware of the weather forecast, and started the race sooner in the day.

Intersecting lives

One of the things I love, as we go through life, is the way our lives intersect with strangers'. I was once again thinking about this idea this morning, as I pulled out of the driveway and paused to make sure that Girl-who's-probably-around-eight-and-walks-with-her-mom-and-dog-before-school was stopping her scooter before it crossed paths with our car. And as Mom-who-walks-dog-with-daughter-before-work-and-carries-an-empty-plastic-shopping-bag waved to us as we passed her on the street. We've never chatted with one another, but I'd say we've come to expect that many, if not most, weekday mornings, we expect to see the other.

As I sat in the car in front of MrMan's daycare, while Sam delivered the boy to his classroom, I thought about running family, whose path we also often cross in the mornings. She has dark hair, worn in pigtails, and always runs in a skirt (an idea I love!), usually a magenta one, often paired with an orange tank top. She pushes a blue double jog stroller. Some mornings she and two kids are accompanied by a man, presumably her husband/their father. But she is always the one pushing the stroller. And much to my delight, once Sam returned to the car and we continued our trip to work, as we reached the intersection, I spied running family. Unlike Mom-who-walks-dog-with-daughter-before-work-and-carries-an-empty-plastic-shopping-bag and Girl-who's-probably-around-eight-and-walks-with-her-mom-and-dog-before-school, they don't expect to see me. I am just one of many anonymous drivers along their run.

I wonder who I am, if anybody, to strangers. Am I short-brown-woman-who-is-always-wearing-her-ipod? Am I downtown-worker-who-drives-downtown-with-her-husband-who-always-opens-the-lobby-door-for-her? Am I somebody else?

In Honolulu, I'm sure that, to some, I was woman-who-walks-home-from-work-while-reading-a-book. Did they notice when I became pregnant-woman-who-walks-home-from-work-while-reading-a-book? Kind of like when I noticed when orange-backpack-man, whom we would pass on our way to work, got new shoes? And wondered where he was from, whether he played soccer, and what he did once he reached downtown?

Whose life does yours intersect with?

Modifying

MrMan is totally getting the concept of the adjective these days.

While stuffing his mouth full of food, "Big. Noodles."

While contorting himself in the bathtub, sticking various body parts in the water dripping from the faucet, "Hot. Knee.... Hot. Toe."

I just love it. Pause and all.

A ladder

Once in a while, you come across a piece of music that speaks to your soul, that makes your heart well, such that you feel like your chest might explode. But in a good way.
Smith & Dragoman's Divine Tapestry is such a piece of music for me.

We have made music a ladder by which souls may ascend to the realm on high.
(Baha'u'llah)

Feet and flick

This weekend, my mom and I got pedicured. (I don't think that's a word, but I'm all about verbing the nouns these days.) St. Petersburgundy. From OPI's new Russian collection. Perfect! I love how red toenails - good red tonails - make me feel.
How does one say it? O-P-I? Or Opi? And who gets to come up with all their color names?
While basking with one foot in warm water and the other leg being massaged and exfoliated, I flipped through a magazine. Discovered existence and upcoming release of Rendition. A movie I look forward to. Please let it not disappoint.