Joy and Peace, etc.

Dutch has had a spectacularly wholesome Christmas. It snowed more than a foot, and she romped in the snow, built a snowman, went sledding, participated in snowball fights, built a snow cave, climbed a snow mountain, and shoveled the walk several times.








































She also helped make applesauce, bread, and gingerbread cookies, design and sew a quilt, and string cranberries. She wrote a note to Santa. She woke up at 6:20 on Christmas Day. It was like Little House on the Prairie with more money and without the imminent fear of death. I hope you have all had equally happy holidays!

Portland vs Portland

Last Week:

Sunday: Snow, about 1.5 inches

Monday: Snow has not melted, and due to the total lack of plowing, roads are kind of slippery. DAYCARE CANCELLED.

Tuesday: Snow starting to melt. DAYCARE OPENS LATE.

Wednesday: Mix of snow and freezing rain predicted, instead it rains a bit, all snow and ice is gone by midafternoon. DAYCARE CANCELLED.

Thursday: Some snow and rain in the morning. Nothing sticks. Bare streets at noon. DAYCARE OPENS LATE.

Friday: Snow predicted overnight, but daycare opens as usual, to everyone's relief.

Grand total of maybe 2 inches of snow for the week, two days of daycare lost, and two late mornings. The local school district was closed four out of five days.


Now, of course, a week later, there's been all sorts of snow in Oregon, and if daycare wasn't already closed for the holiday, I'm sure it'd have been closed every day. Happily, we are in Maine now, close to the other Portland, and even when 14 inches of snow fall overnight, the streets are plowed before the workday starts, and NOTHING IS CLOSED. Business as usual, except for the huge mountains of snow in the middle of Main Street. Hooray for the East Coast!

appreciating

Cook and I are trying to appreciate two things for the next 4 months: 

1) Time with no baby! Child-free time in the evenings, going to bed in our own room with no kids.  Free time that's actually free. Reading books. Taking a shower without having to rush. Feeling okay about spending a full 8 hours at work.

2) Time with a kid who's got 4 grand years of experience under her belt! No diapers. No naps. Asking her to do something (get dressed, peel a tangerine, put on shoes, put away toys, entertain herself while we make dinner, answer the phone, etc.) and having her do it.  Understanding what she wants. Not having to carry her everywhere. Trying to explain Zeno's Paradox and having her understand a tiny little bit. Listening to her prattle.

Four precious months! 

knocking

Since I'm home due to Portland's inability to handle snow (daycare was cancelled due to PREDICTED SNOW), I'm surfing the internets. No, not getting ready for our epic holiday vacation. Not cleaning the house to prepare for the insanity of the next six months. The internets are way more fun.

Except also not fun. I blundered onto a blog called Knocked Up, Knocked Down, about pregnancy loss, and then onto a zine on the topic.  Reading these articles pointed out to me how hateful pregnancy can be for people who cannot get pregnant, or who have lost a child. One of my  friends expressed to me (in a nice way) some jealousy that I am embarking on my second kid, when she wants a kid more than anything.  I actually have experienced a faint shadow of this - when I see a pregnant woman, or a woman with more than one kid, I am jealous of them. Even though I don't WANT more than two kids, I have this weird reproductive jealousy. It must be hardwired.

But is is strange to know that now that my pregnancy is showing (though still muffled enough in fat that strangers hesitate to ask), I am a walking, complaining reminder for some people of the fertility that they wish for. With this pregnancy, as with the last, I try not to talk about it much unless I know I have an interested (or at least tolerant) audience, and I definitely avoid the smug-looking belly-rub maneuver. That's just annoying, regardless of the parenting/fertility status of the people around you. But... it's hard not to feel smug and excited about your tucked-away baby-to-be. It's hard not to reach out for the mysterious baby-to-be when it's wiggling around your insides.* It's hard to imagine how it would feel to lose a baby, to want a baby, and to have to watch other people gestating happily (or whinily) away.  Since I can't imagine, I think that the best I can do is pay attention, read the stories, not take anything about this pregnancy for granted, and not complain so much about how much I hate being pregnant. I'm lucky to have this pregnancy, with all its minor irritations, and I will be lucky to have a baby at the end. 

* Unless it's pretending your bladder is a trampoline, in which case you want to give it a timeout. 

Sad.

Thanks for trying, everybody. Unfortunately, our new Secretary of Agriculture is... Tom Vilsack. We can expect him to come to work every day to diligently represent the needs of Cargill and Monsanto.

Snow Day

It snowed about an inch and a half yesterday morning. Therefore, Dutch and I are home today, because her daycare is closed.* Here are some photos from yesterday, when Cook taught Dutch the fine art of snowball battling.





















































* Portland has no capacity to handle snow - the streets don't get plowed and people don't even shovel their sidewalks. When there is snow on the road, all vehicles are required to have chains on. When it snows, the city shuts down. City employees are required to work today (so you have to take time off to take care of your children, because all the schools are closed), but are encouraged to come by public transit... you can stop laughing now, Midwesterners and East Coasters.

Logorrhea for Eternity

Cook, in the early days of our relationship, charmed me with a story of how yakkety he was as a child. Apparently he used to stall bedtime by inviting his parents to sit at the foot of his bed "to have a nice chat." Aww. He's still seriously yakkety, in his weird introverted way.

Dutch, however, makes him look taciturn. She also makes him taciturn because she never stops talking long enough for anybody else to get a word in edgewise. Cook and I are pretty fried after this quarter of school, and we spent this morning lying around reading books and not-listening to Dutch while she carried on a continual monologue. We're often able to get away with using "Mmhmm," or "Hm?" or "Ah..." for a while, but somehow after four or five hours, even when virtually no participation is required of you, it starts to feel like you're being bludgeoned with a stick.

But we had a nice day. Dutch and I went downtown to see the big tree in Pioneer Courthouse Square (but mostly just to interrupt the flow of words), and ran into the end of Tuba Christmas. Dutch almost got crushed* by a mob swarming the hapless Starbucks lady giving out free samples, but we did score a tiny free cup of cocoa. Dutch bought another Playmobil figure. We went to the library. Dutch loudly pointed out homeless people to me and said wistfully "I wish nobody was homeless."** We went to the mall so I could pee, and Dutch played on the Reactrix, her favorite thing in downtown Portland. Then we went home. Dutch was great the whole time, and then she spent the rest of the day talking about our adventures and narrating an epic Playmobil drama including the motley assortment of figures she's collected so far (two zookeepers, one truck, a seal, a giraffe, two fairies, a horse, a cat, two rabbits, an equestrienne, a wheelbarrow, a bucket, three flowers, etc.).

I guess the point of this boring travelogue is that our free time tends to be framed by Dutch's constant narratives/monologues/conversation. It just never ever stops. Sometimes I think what I'd like most to steal from my old pre-parenting life (other than to be able to sleep past 7 AM) is the option of silence.



* Okay, not exactly crushed, but I did have to do some serious football-style blocking in order to extract her from the scrum.
** Later on we determined that she thinks there are 12 homeless people in the world.

Your mama is so old...

I was working on my umpteenth powerpoint presentation for school last week, and I realized that when I was doing my senior "comps" in college, we didn't use powerpoint. It may have existed, but only the army and Al Gore were using it. I made transparencies for my final presentation. I used an overhead projector. An overhead projector! And... we had email, but it was a text-command-interface email. We used reference books. Microfiche. Those of you who are not as incredibly old as I am will have no idea what I'm talking about.

I don't feel that old, but the technology I used as a young adult is now spectacularly antiquated. I can't even begin to imagine what kind of technology Dutch will use when she reaches the advanced age of 32.

labels

We're trying to come up with a name for our fetus. Cook and I barely managed to settle on a first and middle name for Dutch, and we never did even come close to agreeing on a boy's name. This time around, we have tentatively settled on a first name for a girl, but I don't know what we'll do if the kid turns out to be a boy. Today Dutch (who's been helpfully coming up with names like Snow White, Totoro, and Wall-E) suggested "Oats Corellian Scot," which must have come from some sort of Star Wars naming source.

Names are tough, though, even when you're inspired by Steven Spielberg. It's basically the only thing you can control about your kid, and even then they can change their name later on. (I insisted on being called "Heidi" for a while, and also "Tiffany."*) We'd like something not incredibly common, but not uncommon enough to attract bullying (which we fear will be attracted to our combined gene pool no matter what we name the kid). And it's hard not to feel like you've got to get the perfect one. When I wrote Dutch's name down on her birth certificate and social security application, I felt weird - when you meet people and hear their names, you experience those names as organic and part of the person, so actually assigning a name feels very artificial and awkward, and also sort of rude, like you're imposing a label on this tiny person. Also, when you announce to people your baby's brand-new name, there are invariably some negative responses...

Anyway, whatever we name this kid (and I'm still taking suggestions, folks), I'm sure you'll all be very positive about it. Little Oats will thank you.



* I liked that name before I moved to Connecticut and started at a new middle school, where I met the Evil Queen Tiffany. I guess, looking back on her, that she couldn't possibly have been as horrible as I remember her, but now I have a conditioned fear response to the name, and just typing it makes me feel kind of shaky.

Action Item!

Hey everybody!

Please go read this, and then go sign this petition.

It's important.

I'm done!

Just with school, I mean, and just for three and a half weeks. Hooray!

Turning my world upside down...

Today I found myself reading a David Brooks column, nodding and smiling. This has never ever happened before. You should read it! This may never happen again!!

Give us the bike!

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Clusterf#@k to the Poor House - President Goofus and President Gallant

Barack Obama Interview
John McCain Interview

Sarah Palin Video
Funny Election Video

Embracing my inner yuppie mommy

Tonight I became the mommy who sits outside the classroom, chatting with the other mommies about our children. Actually, not quite, since I didn't talk to anybody, but I see it coming. I took Dutch to her first ballet class (a free trial, but there was no doubt in anybody's mind that she'd enroll for more classes), and sat there in the lobby with lots of well-groomed mommies, shepherding their younger/older children while waiting for little Sophia/Olivia/Laurel/Helena/Teagan/Roan/Arden to emerge from the tutelage of Miss Michelle. It made me feel a little queasy. Dutch is putting some of her birthday cash toward the classes, it's not that expensive, and I know she'll love it, so I don't regret doing it ... but there's something so... smug-yuppie-mommy about enrolling your 4-year-old in ballet class. I'm not really comfortable with it. Happily, there was one not-obviously-yuppie-y young Latino father there, eagerly watching his daughter through the little observation window, and his presence made me feel a little better. But then I thought about myself, sitting there (studying for my real estate development exam) in my Danskos and down vest, waiting for my own yuppie-named daughter... and it became clear that I should just come to terms with this. I AM a yuppie mommy. A poor, disheveled, frumpy yuppie mommy, but still.

Different worlds

I'm too busy to be cheerful. I'll write something happy on Thursday, when I'll be done with school for the quarter.

Dutch, however, is happy. She LOVES December! Every morning she rockets out of bed to open the day's advent calendar window, and gleefully shouts out whatever is behind the window -
"Mommy! It's a toy mouse! A MOUSE!!!!! I didn't know mice were Christmas things! It's a toy mouse!"

Last night we decorated our small wooden tree. I don't think we'd bother if we didn't have a kid, since we're going to the East Coast for two weeks over Christmas, but there was absolutely no way Dutch was going to let us not decorate. She was so excited she was practically vibrating all afternoon, and shoveled down her dinner without complaint (since it was white beans and escarole, this is kind of amazing - that's the sort of meal she'd ordinarily dismiss without even tasting it), all in anticipation of cocoa and cookies and decorating. The experience entirely lived up to her expectations, too, which also surprised me. No gifts, just hanging tiny ornaments while consuming sugar. A wonderful thrill.

Also, she went to see the Nutcracker on Friday. What a great month.

Enough already

One of my aunties called me up to say* that I should stop whining and write something cheerful. So I feel that I should mention that, in spite of all my whining, I'm actually feeling pretty chipper. And Cook has finished the last project of his last quarter at school, and I'm excited to get to converse with him when half his brain isn't occupied solving some sort of obscure GIS network problem.

Also, the weather today was beeeeyoooteeful. Sunny and cold.

I'll try to come up with some sort of happy topic for my next post, I promise.

* She actually called to tell me when we're going to get to see her and Uncle Taek Won Do this weekend for brunch - hooray!

Halfway there

This week I started feeling Pregnant. I wore a maternity sweater. I almost passed out in the pool.* Two people I don't know very well patted my belly. I suddenly feel really really really really tired.** I have heartburn and restless legs at night.*** I'm feeling a little grouchy about this.

But hey, there'll be a baby! And then, as my midwife reminds me, I will have no more heartburn!


* This is a problem, since if I swim any slower, I run a serious risk of sinking.
** This could be due to the fact that I'm also operating under an enormous sleep deficit.
*** Adding to that sleep deficit.

I think I'm okay where I am.

I'm all tangled up over the bailout of the auto manufacturers. I have a grasp of economics not much stronger than Dutch's (or Barbie's) , and I have an instinctive hatred of CEOs who make more money in a day than I do in two years. Also, I hate cars. But I don't think it's a great idea to let an entire industry go down in flames without taking care of workers. All of which makes me totally confused.

However, this makes me utterly furious. I can't believe that these idiots have the temerity to come ask for my money without having considered giving up their salaries. Mulally has come around, under pressure, and offered to cut his salary to $1 for the year, after refusing to cut his own salary at ALL even as the company floundered.

What I don't get is how anybody on the planet could possibly think that what they do is worth $21 million. Actually, I don't see how anybody could think that what they do is worth more than $1 million a year. And that seems kind of inflated. I'm a natural socialist, I guess.

So from my socialist, non-economist perspective, I'm thinking we take that $34 billion and invest it in something else. Like worker retraining and jobs creation in sustainable transportation businesses. Universal healthcare would be really helpful for the economy. I'm just saying.

What I really want for Christmas

I want a wife. I really do. Cook and I have talked about this; we feel that we need a wife and a husband to support us, especially with a new kid gestating happily away. I still can't believe how much work it is to run a household, even to our slovenly standards. So the wife will really come in handy in 2009 - maybe you can order one for me off Amazon.

Festivity

I went to a small party last night, for a friend who was briefly back in town. The party-goers were all thirty-something liberal over-educated white people like me and Cook - a freelance reporter, a musician, a teacher, a non-profit employee, etc. It was a nice party, and there was a warm, low-key feeling to the event, but over everything hung a pall of fear. Everybody was talking about their dim prospects for the future.

Cook and I don't have a lot of friends in Portland, and we're scrambling just to keep up with our lives at the moment, so we really haven't talked to a lot of people about the economy, and the people we talk to aren't generally in the same boat as we are; they're employed people worried about losing their benefits or their jobs. At my internship workplace, they're having regular meetings to figure out creative ways to trim the budget without laying anyone off. At Cook's workplace, they're laying people off. I find it's changed the way I look at people. Listening to my coworkers complaining about their pensions disappearing, I find myself bitterly sneering (silently) "well, at least you have a damn pension. And HEALTH INSURANCE!!!! And how exactly are you more deserving of those things than I am? How the hell did you get this job, anyway?" I have no sympathy.* And let's not even start talking about all the Baby Boomers who tell me they now have to work 5 years longer than they'd planned, which oh by the way means one less job available for the next generation of workers.

But at this party, everyone was like us. Employed, yes, and paying their rent, but only just barely, through part-time or insecure work without benefits, unable to get health insurance due to the terrible sin of having reached 30. Nobody is dreaming of the future anymore. We're crouching under the table, hoping the future will only crush us a little bit. It was really sad.

* Okay, I do, but not that much. I'm sure it's awful to blithely take all your benefits for granted, have your life unfold comfortably before you in the expected manner (college, a career, a family, a house, etc.) without too much effort on your part, and then WHAM! have the rug yanked out from under you. For those of us who have been early disabused of the notion that anything will unfold comfortably in our lives, this is not so much of a surprise. But we're also pretty freaking demoralized.