shokufeh is…home

A week ago, we moved our furniture to the new place. It’s kind of funny that my parents have been in possession of some of our furniture longer than we have. That will change now.
Sunday and Monday did a bit of unpacking.
Tuesday, had my parents and brother over for Christmas lunnir. It was sort of a trial by fire. Everything in this place is new so I had to first endure the smell of dust and such burning out of the oven. Dishes and glasses all had to be washed before use. This was the first time we ate off of our wedding dishes. They were here, while we were in Hawaii, where we headed right after getting married. They survived the storm, despite being downstairs. Don’t worry, they’ve been sterilized, several times over.
Wednesday, lunch at Commander’s to celebrate my dad’s birthday, evening cake over at our new place.
Thursday, coffee with a couple of friends, including one I met for the first time face to face.
Friday, various errands and Chinese food. Without money spent. Seriously. Despite the fact that we came home with stuff. No five finger discounts. Just various gift cards. And running into a friend of my parents who wanted to pay for dinner. We even ordered photos, using someone else’s wireless. And a gift card.
Four nights in the new place. Four nights of MrMan spending the whole night in his own room. Yay!
I’m liking the new place and that it’s just ours. We’ve eaten dinner with my parents every night this week, but never at their table. (Not that I have anything against that – it’s just how it’s been.) I even kind of like the current lack of tv and regular internet access and the resultant early going to bed.

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Where’d I go?
I sit to write, but all I dwell on, it seems, is the bad stuff. Which is goofy, because, really, I have so little bad stuff. I know there’s a lot more room in my life for a lot more bad stuff. Which scares me. I know the bad stuff provides opportunity for growth, but that doesn’t make it any less scary to me. I need to stop holding on so tightly and just let go. Because even if I fall, it means that I’ll probably have a longer ride when I get back on.

In the category of good – this evening, after a quick and yummy dinner of ghormeh sabzi (hmm, I wonder if my mom was visiting Mojan’s blog?), we went to my mom’s school. Yep, all five of us, three generations, went to watch some of the students perform. It was nice to be back there and see some familiar faces and be greeted. I miss going there. I even miss a little bit the days of juggling motherhood and working, trying to help students and corral MrMan, leaving home in the morning weighted down with all the toys and food and MrMan himself, and coming home in the evening too wiped to do anything but lie on the couch. I contemplate how to integrate this age group into my daily life, but haven’t figured out if I’m brave enough to carry through.

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All day, I find myself smiling when I think of this morning’s shenanigans. We were all up early, so there was time for such. MrMan set his LeapFrog schoolbus on his bed, pressed the letter ‘S,’ hurried to a certain spot on the floor and proceeded to do his signature dance of tapping his heels, one at a time, on the floor, to the tune of “She’ll be Coming Around the Mountain.” At least 30 times. There were variations – like when he added some extra bounce, or did some quick double taps, or added some exuberant yells at key points. But, my son, he is devoted to his art and he did not tire of the routine.

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I think she meant the challenge to invigorate me.
But, so far, I’m feeling like it just accelerated the crumbling within.
However, now is not the time to fall apart. Unless I can insure a stronger structure by the new year.
I guess what I’m saying is that the clouds never really left. And maybe they’ve been joined by fog.
I can no longer blame it on my head. At least not its outer layer.

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And so the streak ends. I guess I didn’t have much to say yesterday. Or at least not enough to remember to write it down here. But 44 days in a row of blogging? Okay, it would be more satisfying if that number ended in a zero, but that’s jus the anal-rentative side of me typing.

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Excuse me, I just wanted to let you know that one of the stalls is out of toilet paper.
Mumble, mumble, handicapped.
Oh, not the handicapped stall, the other one.
Mumble, mumble, one.
Oh, there’s only one stall in there?
Come with me.
O-kay? (I follow her into the bathroom)
So, see, when this one is out of toilet paper, you just go in this other stall, get toilet paper, and then do your business.
Uh, yeah, well I already did what I needed to do. I was just letting you know for future patrons.
And I’m just letting you know I know how to do my job.

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If you’re a mother parent, or considering becoming one, I highly recommend seeing The Business of Being Born. Really, I recommend it to anyone who has any interest in healthcare in America, and how messed up and expensive it is. The focus of the film is birthing, and it advocates for home birth, but I think it could apply to a variety of health events and conditions. I myself don’t really want a home birth (is that a symptom of having drunk too much of the American health system koolaid?), but I wish that there were other feasible and widely-available options for giving birth without it becoming a huge medical production. Remember that post where I wrote about four of us having c-sections? Much of the discussion we had that night was addressed in the film. I think once it comes out on DVD, I’d like to have another viewing and discussion.

So, once you have a child…
Is it child abuse that I had MrMan walk through pretty much our entire visit to the zoo yesterday? It was quite the walk, covering much of the zoo (rhinos, giraffes, Jaguar Jungle, carousel, elephants). My thought was that if it was truly too much for him, he would plunk down or at least cry a little bit. But he did great. I rewarded him with carrying him from the elephants to the car (with a brief frolic in the bubbles at the gift shop), and free cheese cubes at Whole Foods. I think my mom isn’t sure what to think that I had a two-year-old walk what was surely a mile, maybe more. Good thing it was a fun mile.

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The NY Times had an interesting article the other day, A Holiday Medley, Off Key, about the holidays for interfaith families. It mostly focused on interfaith in terms of Christians and Jews, and the “battle” between Hanukkah and Christmas. As a Baha’i, who grew up not celebrating Christmas, I struggle every year around this time, as to how much I should embrace my Catholic husband’s traditions. Or, rather, I guess, the Christmas that permeates American society. I’m not a big fan of the materialism that goes with this time of year, though it’s hard to resist. I’m also not a big fan of the assumption that everyone celebrates Christmas, even if we believe in Christ. But I’m also not a big fan of my own inclination to dig my heels in the mud and be a scrooge. Especially since the family I married into, and thus am a part of, does celebrate Christmas. Perhaps one day I’ll find the balance and stop feeling some inclination to be that person that helps others realize that not everyone celebrates Christmas.

I often think about something I observed in December 2003. We were in Chicago for Christmas with Sam’s family. But it was a year when Hanukkah fell later in the Gregorian calendar and actually overlapped Christmas. So, there we were, in the foyer of the Barnes and Noble at Old Orchard, in Skokie, bastion of Judaism, waiting for my brother-in-law to pick us up. A high school boy was there with a girl friend. I liked this boy. He was friendly, had a sense of humor as he chatted with his friend. He obviously didn’t take himself too seriously – he wore pink gloves with his hipster clothes. At some point, as customers came in, he wished them a Happy Hanukkah. People looked at him as if he were crazy. A couple corrected him with the tone of voice in which they responded, Merry Christmas. Despite the fact that he was more timely, and likely more personal, than if he had been wishing them a Merry Christmas.

Can’t we all just get along and celebrate not just ourselves, but each other? Hmm, perhaps good advice to take to heart in tackling my feelings toward Christmas celebrating….

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My child, some weeks ago, decided the identities of my earrings.
The lone pearl stud in my right ear? Dee (named after Sam)
The matching pearl in my left? Papa (named after my Dad)
The pair of gold studs in my left? Neenees (babies)
The small gold hoop in my left cartilage? Still to be determined

Some kids are limited to their mother and father in assigning identities to inanimate objects. MrMan has four adults in the house to choose from. Not sure why he chose the two who don’t wear earrings to become earrings.

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Is it just one week since I informed the universe of my wishes? Tomorrow, we’re going to sign a lease on a place. Let’s review:
hardwood floors – check
yard – check, with bonus of a shed and driveway
washer and dryer – check, and in the house
den/study/third-bedroom – check, with bonus of second bathroom
a few stairs off the ground – check
central air and heat – check
neighbors – we have yet to meet, but the upper level of the duplex will be occupied by just one guy
price range and a neighborhood we feel comfortable in – check, and just six blocks from my parents
able to move in during winter break – check

As I typed these things a week ago, I wondered if I was being too greedy. Apparently not.
And if that good news weren’t enough – this week, I also got the call that MrMan has finally moved off the waiting list and into the classroom of a daycare we’ve been trying to get into. That starts next month, and will reduce our already-short commute time, and allow us a bit more time together.

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