Pot Liquor

Right-sizing Easter Traditions

2010-03-25T22:59:00.000-07:00

Easter is just around the corner. It's supposed to be a time of rejoicing. However, with Easter only a week away, I am elbow deep in pointless checklists. What's on my to-do list this Easter, you ask? Here are just a few things I tend to fuss over:

[✔]hair appointments

[✔]matching outfits

[✔]obnoxiously oversized baskets

[✔]elaborate meal preparations

[✔]family photo appointment

[✔]hefty investments in greeting cardsNote that none of these items bear the slightest relevance to the purpose for the special day.

And so, I find myself in a new season. Learning. Breathing. Growing. Putting things back into perspective.

We're going to scale back our Resurrection Day celebration plans this year. We're going to redirect our energy towards the real reason for the season. We're going to bring our focus back into balance. We'll be right-sizing our traditions, and the first step in our overhaul plan is a simple recognition of one man who gave His life so that we all could have eternal life.

The girls will still decorate eggs and participate in a hunt or two. The Easter egg hunt is a great illustration reminding us of Christ's death, burial, and resurrection.

I'll let someone else take over this part of the story:

(On Good Friday, Jesus died. Hallelujah!)

And really for us, celebrating doesn't get more purposive than that.

Transformative Living

2010-03-03T11:50:00.000-08:00

involves one of these

in these dimensions

to contain all this.

So at least it looks like I'm pulling it all together.

Too Many Toys

2010-03-01T23:14:00.000-08:00

Our family room doubles as a playroom (or maybe it's the other way around). At any rate, now that we share our living space with the girls, Teddy and I are tired of watching toys terrorize our living room. A mismatched-plastic-princess-slipper graveyard is buried beneath the couch. A talking, pooping, vomiting half naked doll is crammed in a corner. A primary colored VTech move and crawl ball that no longer moves or crawls is stowed in the ottoman. We are tired of watching our living room overran with toddler shrapnel.

So, we did what any responsible parents would do. We invested in pastel colored toy storage furniture to clear the clutter. We've sorted, donated, reciprocated, and rotated. However, rather than fostering organization, the bins seem to be the destination place for miniature toy procreation. The more we tidy, the more they multiply. But just what is driving our excessive toy collection?

On problems with clutter and toy consumerism, one Illinois mom blogged about the issue of too many toys and framed the discussion in a broader context of Global citizenship. She put it this way:

... more often than not, kids don't enjoy the plastic toys and you have to beg them to play with them. The only F.P. product he's absolutely loved was his small piano (4 notes) and his bubble mower. Otherwise it's been worthless plastic kid crap that took endless resources to make and mold that ends up being so disposable at the end of it's short life, it ends up getting donated and re-sold for pennies on the dollar. Disposable-ness & cheapness goes along with so easy to buy, so difficult to get rid of.

Is this a matter of American consumerism? We have too much because we buy too much? Is my Fisher Price clutter a play and learn metaphor for global landfills?

Teddy and I are minimalists. Our home is about 1200 sq ft., we have no cable, no form of gas guzzling transportation, and neither of us own a cell phone. The only reason we own a microwave is because it came with the house. Money is tight and we don't purchase many toys, so Deborah's perspective, though broad, may be too far a reach for my small scale toy dump woes. A more conclusive probe was needed. So I looked to a recent discussion with my five year-old.

In the car ride home from school today, Sadia lamented, "Mom, I'm the only one in my class [of five year olds] that doesn't have a Nintendo DS."

This is what she clamored for. A super sleek, super sharp, super expensive game console that is the modern equivalent of the Gameboy popularized when I was a kid.

Like my parents did with me, I too had deprived Sadia of access into the "in-crowd" by not buying her the toy. With children of my own, I have a better understanding of my moms decision, born out of principal rather than financial means. Raising children of substance is the crux where difficult decisions are made and overpriced gadgets don't make the cut. But initially I reacted to Sadia's experience with feelings of guilt.

I know what it is to feel like the only have not in elementary school. It is an extremely isolating experience. While the rest of my peers accumulated the latest gadgets and a reciprocal boost in popularity, I fell further and further behind the approval curve. Sadia felt left out at school and that resonated with me. I wondered whether her mounting toy collection stemmed from my own latent desire for her to fit in. My "brown" daughter already stands out on campus as it is. Could more stuff make this reality less upsetting? Is this growing toy problem driven by feelings of guilt?

On this issue of guilt, Deborah Bohn, co-author of a blog called Babyzone, shared a few insights from Tom Limbert of Standford University's Bing Nursery School of Child Development Research and Training here. According to Tim, sometimes our kid's plethora of toys IS a byproduct of guilt. He writes:

Believe it or not, another common reason parents cite for buying tons of toys is because they feel they ought to. Peer pressure induced by visits to other children's homes often sends mothers running to the store for more junk.

When I heard that Sadia was the only kid in her class without the video game console, I felt like the worst mom in the world. No mother wants her daughter to feel left out, and comments from friends and family like, "You've got to get this new toy and that new gizmo!" or "She doesn't have a DSi?" can have the same isolating affect.

But blaming well meaning family for my overindulged children is far too easy and frankly just does not get to the heart of the matter. I am extremely grateful for my children's grandparents, aunts, uncles and extended family. My purpose here is not to question their love and support. So, I decided to probe more closely at the problem of too many toys.

If I am honest, then the real source of guilt driving my over-consumption of toys stems from my own efforts to occupy my kids attention while trying to balance a family, work, school, and personal time table.

On dealing with the guilt brought on by feelings of parental inadequacies, Michael Grose, Australia's parenting educator and author of the blog Parenting Ideas wrote:

Let’s face it, parents can find plenty of issues to feel guilty about. Leaving children in child-care, long hours spent at work, and even discipline measures are common sources of guilt.

There really is no end to the stream of guilt I experience as a working mom. My kids are at school from 8 to 4 Monday through Friday. As soon as we walk through the door, my kids give me a quick recap about their day while I'm busy preparing dinner. By the time dinner is finished we're pouring over Sadia's homework, and then well into the bedtime routine. Perhaps if the toy is fancy enough, shiny enough, or new enough it will put me more at ease about these compromises. But fancy, shiny, and new only goes so far, and my kids grow disinterested with the toys. It seems like the more toys they have, the more whineyer they become.

I suppose the toy my kids really want, is me. Unfortunately, I have yet to master being fully present for my kids while meeting the demands of managing a busy household piled on top of the pressures of navigating work and school responsibilities. Sometimes I use my summers off as a rationale for my compromise during the year. I can always make this time up during my two and a half months off. Or, still maybe it's easier to make the latest toy accessible, because it appeases my own feelings of guilt for not spending more time with my kids.

From this perspective, my toy management issue is really a quality of life assessment and the matter of too many toys pales by comparison.

Happy Valentine's Day, Mom! Wait, that isn't chocolate....

2010-02-14T08:47:00.000-08:00

Well, it looks like "Simona Pooplooza" kicked off 2010 with a bang. The event coincided with Valentine's Day this year. While Teddy and I relaxed in bed a little later than usual and exchanged Valentine's Day gifts, Simone made a Valentine's Day deposit of her own in bed. It looked like chocolate. She had smeared the tell tale signs of the brown stuff everywhere. Tiny, curious handprints covered her body, crib posts, and linens. Its aroma wafted through the air and invaded my nostrils. Wait...., that isn't chocolate. It was the $#!t... LITERALLY. I'll spare you the pictures, but the cute, hand-picked crib bumper that once lined the safety rails? Gone. The once adorable, matching Abby Rose bedding? Off to the incinerator. Got any recommendations for a new toddler bed?

Blogging for Healthy Hearts

2010-02-11T21:50:00.000-08:00

Hello Blogger Community,
Did you know that coronary heart disease, which causes heart attacks, is the leading cause of death for American women? It's an alarming fact that can't be ignored.

Over the next two weeks, my students and I will raise funds and awareness for the American Heart Association, to help fight heart disease. Will you help us reach our fundraising goal of $100?

Click on the link, donate a buck or two, and join us in saving lives!

Donate.

Anna Quindlen On Being a Mom

2010-02-10T19:19:00.000-08:00

I got this email from a good friend and colleague today. Anna's insights expressed here really resonate with me and I wanted to share them with my mommy-blogger-friends.

All my babies are gone now. I say this not in sorrow, but in disbelief. I take great satisfaction in what I have today: three almost-adults, two taller than I am, one closing in fast. Three people who read the same books I do and have learned not to be afraid of disagreeing with me in their opinion of them, who sometimes tell vulgar jokes that make me laugh until I choke and cry, who need razor blades and shower gel and privacy, who want to keep their doors closed more than I like. Who, miraculously, go to the bathroom, zip up their jackets and move food from plate to mouth all by themselves. Like the trick soap I bought for the bathr oom with a rubber ducky at its center, the baby is buried deep within each, barely discernible except through the unreliable haze of the past.

Everything in all the books I once pored over is finished for me now. Penelope Leach, T. Berry Brazelton, Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry and sleeping through the night and early-childhood education, all grown obsolete. Along with Goodnight Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, they are battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories. What those books taught me, finally, and what the women on the playground taught me, and the well-meaning relations. What they taught me, was that they couldn't really teach me very much at all.

Raising children is presented at first as a true-false test, then becomes multiple choice, until finally, far along, you realize that it is an endless essay. No one knows anything. One child responds well to positive reinforcement, another can be managed only with a stern voice and a timeout. One child is toilet trained at 3, his sibling at 2.

When my first child was born, parents were told to put baby to bed on his belly so that he would not choke on his own spit-up. By the time my last arrived, babies were put down on their backs because of research on sudden infant death syndrome. To a new parent this ever-shifting certainty is terrifying, and then soothing. Eventually you must learn to trust yourself. Eventually the research will follow. I remember 15 years ago poring over one of Dr. Brazelton's wonderful books on child development, in which he describes three different sorts of infants: average, quiet, and active. I was looking for a sub-quiet codicil for an 18-month old who did not walk. Was there something wrong with his fat little legs? Was there something wrong with his tiny little mind? Was he de velopmentally delayed, physically challenged? Was I insane? Last year he went to China. Next year he goes to college. He can talk just fine. He can walk, too.

Every part of raising children is humbling. Believe me, mistakes were made. They have all been enshrined in the 'Remember-When-Mom-Did' Hall of Fame. The outbursts, the temper tantrums, the bad language, mine, not theirs. The times the baby fell off the bed. The times I arrived late for preschool pickup. The nightmare sleepover. The horrible summer camp. The day when the youngest came barreling out of the classroom with a 98 on her geography test, and I responded, 'What did you get wrong?' (She insisted I include that here.) The time I ordered food at the McDonald's drive-through speaker and then drove away without picking it up from the window. (They all insisted I include that.) I did not allow them to watch the Simpsons for the first two seasons. What was I thinking?

But the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of them, sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night.

I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.

Even today I'm not sure what worked and what didn't, what was me and what was simply life. When they were very small, I suppose I thought someday they would become who they were because of what I'd done. Now I suspect they simply grew into their true selves because they demanded in a thousand ways that I back off and let them be. The books said to be relaxed and I was often tense, matter-of-fact and I was sometimes over the top. And look how it all turned out. I wound up with the three people I like best in the world, who have done more than anyone to excavate my essential humanity. That's what the books never told me. I was bound and determined to learn from the experts. It just took me a while to figure out who the experts were.

As I read this post I wished I was less of a doer and more of a be-er. I wished I was the kind of mom that treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.

I always here people talk about living in the moment. More often than not, this concept escapes me. How terribly impractical it sounds. Now however, as I try to remember the quirky way Sadia dished a school yard experience at the dining room table last night, ironically I can't even remember that cute little thing she did that made me fall out of my chair laughing. I remember us all gathered at the table, but the vision goes black at that comedic moment Her mannerisms brought the whole house to a halt and all I can remember is trying to stick to the bedtime routine. Sadly, I was more focused on finishing her homework and less on the personality that was evolving right before my eyes.

Tonight I will lend more of my present self to my children's shovels, picks, extra hugs, kisses, and all other tricks they may take up to excavate my humanity.

This isn't Kansas Anymore Toto

2010-01-19T22:21:00.000-08:00

I couldn't let the landmark event from the Wizard of Oz go without a mention.

Today's weather forecast: Rain? Yes. Thunderstorms? Likely. Hail? Probable. Tornado??????????????? YES???!!!

Apparently a tornado touched down in various locations throughout Orange County today. You can read more about our weird weather here.

Following the tornado, a National Weather Advisory Warning blew through Orange County Schools like a..., well, like a tornado. The warning was prompted by an uncharacteristic storm moving through the area..., and perhaps this incredibly trendy street embellishment had a little something to do with it, no?
(Photo borrowed from the Orange County Register)
SIDEBAR: Sunset Beach residents certainly have a flare for the dramatic (smile).

I know this because at some point between English and Science class a very unfriendly all-school alert came blaring from the PA system:

Will all students and teachers return to their classrooms. Do not proceed to PE. Do not go to the library. Return to your classrooms immediately and close your doors.

Here's the trivia question for the day: What do you get when you cross an all-school alert to close doors and stay away from windows with a classroom full of mischievous elementary school kids? Well, if you're playing along at home and you guessed a wave of curious faces suctioned cupped to the nearest available glass, then you win the gold star for the day. My students were so eager to get a glimpse at whatever transpired outside my window, that they completely ignored all cautionary warnings and vied for any Hot-Cheetos-scented, fog-covered spot they could find at the pane.

No actual images of the phantom twister surfaced on the web, so I asked students to describe what they remembered from their own first-hand experiences.

One account of note, reported lots of flying debris, and a young lady wearing red sparkly shoes and carrying a little dog.

On a serious note Californians don't see weather like this too often, so find a comprehensive list of tornado safety tips here.

Clearly, the site's credibility can be measured more by what's missing from the safety tips, rather than what's included in them. Noticeably absent from among the suggestions are oldies but goodies:

clicking your heels together three times
and saying, "There's no place like home."

Pressure

2010-01-17T01:45:00.000-08:00

When I posted the previous blog, Don't Quit back in October, there was no way for me to predict how frequently I would need to cleave to the principles espoused in those 24 lines of text.

I've been overwhelmed by a lot of pressure over the last four months. I've juggled family, spiritual growth, work, school*, and personal time, which is to say nothing of efforts to wrap my brain around the sheer insanity of the crisis currently plaguing our world. Juggling it all is like juggling heirloom ornaments. With so much going on in my life, some things were bound to drop. Sadly, my spiritual life and my blog were among the casualties and a palpable difference in the quality of my life resulted. I ran on empty, suffered from the damage (most notably an energy deficiency), and am now reflecting on the lessons I've taken away from the experience.

That brings me to point of this post. What you're about to watch is a science demonstration vlog carried out in class last week. It is a great metaphor for my recent bankrupt life. Here we're learning about basic scientific principles related to air pressure. What you don't see in the video is the third investigation, where students decided to reduce the water content inside the can to one teaspoon. The impact was far greater than that of the first trial. Imagine me in place of the Pepsi can.

I've slowly started to progress towards regaining balance, having a healthy caution about extremes, and re-establishing my personal time with God. Thank you to those of you who have (virtually) stopped by from time to time to offer an encouraging word. I realize that my problems pale in comparison to the tragedies faced by countless others. I have a blessed life; the problem is I want more. I want to feel like I am truly living my life and not just surviving, and I don't want to sacrifice my spiritual life on the altar of professional gain.

*I enrolled in Cal State Fullerton's Master Program last Fall.

Don't Quit

2009-10-25T19:12:00.000-07:00

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest, if you must, but don't you quit.
Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As every one of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about,
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don't give up though the pace seems slow--
You may succeed with another blow.
Often the goal is nearer than,
It seems to a faint and faltering man,
Often the struggler has given up,
When he might have captured the victor's cup,
And he learned too late when the night slipped down,
How close he was to the golden crown.
Success is failure turned inside out--
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so far,
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit--
It's when things seem worst that you must not quit.
- Author unknown

Celebrate Halloween, Go to Hell

2009-09-30T19:48:00.000-07:00

I'll admit. This post is long. But I threw in lots of pictures

in hopes that you'll read it!

Meet the Wicked Witch of the West:

Actually, it's just a card I created in preparation for

an October mommy-and-me craft with Sadia!

I love scrapbooking, and, by extension, I also enjoy creating cards. This is a 4x4 card, and it is really easy to make. Here is a list of materials used for the basic layout:

(1. dimensional Halloween stickers by K&Company)

(2. embossed stickers by K&Company)

(3. 12 X 12 focal pattern paper by Making Memories)

(4. 12 X 12 black scrapbook paper cut to 8 X 4 card base)

(and 3 essential scrapbook tools: paper cutter, adhesive 3D dots, and tape runner)

All of these materials can be found at your local Michaels Arts and Crafts store.

I plan to embark on this card-making project with Sadia as a way to bond with her. The goal is to cultivate a shared interest in card making through designing various Halloween-themed cards for her kindergarden class. Planning and prepping for this activity has really challenged me to take a position on a longstanding taboo in my family.

As my children get older, I'm having to make decisions that I didn't have to make before. The deliberation that I'm currently sitting on the fence about is: to Halloween or not to Halloween.

As a Christian, there always seemed to be a clear winner in this debate. Of course my verdict had been reached BC (that is, before kids). Actually, my choice was forged into the fiber of my faith from decades of entrenched Christian rhetoric. Now, admittedly, the "winning" argument is not so clear-cut, and I find myself deciding whether or not I should observe Halloween. Frankly, I'm undecided on the issue. What about you? Are you letting your kids celebrate Halloween?

Ellie Lofarao, who authors a blog called, Kiyria: A Women Chosen in Christ; Called to Influence affirms that in Christian cirlces, the answer to this question isn't so black and white. As a Christian, she always felt that her decision to avoid the holiday was just the right thing to do... that is of course until a turning point, when confronted by her children with an all too familiar rationale. She presents their case:

"Please let us go trick-or-treating next year. We always play dress up and we have so many hats and costumes and wigs, so you don't have to buy any and we only want to get some candy and have fun with our friends! We know Satan is bad and we love Jesus, and I'm sure he'd walk around with us and get candy if he was here. "

Ellie's post pin points the true nature of this argument for Christian parents. What about the kids? They'll miss out!

As parents, should we be allowing anything--even a rational argument from our innocent little ones-- deter us away from the convictions of our hearts?

She goes on to grapple with the fact that her children's assertions began to blur the boundaries of her own resolve. For the remainder of her post, she probes the issue further and concludes with this final notion:

"..there are no evil spirits in our pumpkins, nor do they roam in my neighbor's black cat. As for witches and black magic, the Bible is clear. All Hallows Eve ought to be a social, wholesome, and yes, even joyful time. For our family, it is."

When I read her closing thoughts, part of me wanted to applaud her for stepping out of the rigid box of legalism we Christians sometimes put ourselves into. However, another part of me grew troubled. As a believer, I maintain that there are absolutes in life, but I wondered whether this issue was as black and white as I had originally thought.

Angelo Stagnero, a Christian blogger who writes for the U.S Catholic blog approaches the matter quite pragmatically. He places the evolution of Halloween into a historic context. He believes adamantly that Christians should embrace the day. He writes:

"Halloween is steeped in Catholic theology and piety, and besides, it's just so much damn fun. We couldn't have arranged a more perfect synthesis of devotion and festivity had we tried. When you get to the core of what the holiday is, you find an overwhelmingly Catholic Christian holiday. It should be recognized and celebrated as such-warts, spider webs, and all.

On the Christian calendar November 1 is All Saints Day, or "All Hallows' Day." The word "Halloween" is simply the abbreviated form of "All Hallows' Eve," the vigil celebration in anticipation of the feast day."

He argues that Halloween should not be cloaked in cult folklore, but rather it should be viewed from the historical perspective from which it sprang. For Angelo the answer is clear. He frames his case for Halloween in no uncertain terms:

"Halloween is a great time to get your scare on. If not now, when? Let's indulge in the sticky, the creepy, and in things that go bump in the night on Halloween. This is our night to bump back. You can dress as a devil as long as you don't succumb to the diabolical. If you dress as a demon, you are no more worshiping a demon than you are worshiping an angel if you dressed as your favorite cherub."

I am still a bit undecided on the whole issue, but as a Christian, I think I'll throw myself into the mystery of my faith at this critical juncture.

So for now, we will continue to observe our own hodge-podge-of-a-tradition:

Will we buy costumes? Yes

Will we buy Halloween candy? Yes

Will my kids collect and eat candy? Yes

Basically, we will dress our girls in some kind of Halloween neutral costume, and head to the church, where the Children's Ministry organizes a "Harvest Carnival". While my children will dress in costume, we will avoid the traditional stuff, and focus instead on costumes that center around careers and things of that nature.

What about you? Will your kids be getting their creep on?

Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 8

2009-09-27T21:55:00.001-07:00

Blame public schools for our children's loss of innocence.

Blog Swap!

2009-09-26T14:36:00.000-07:00

Rewind back to 1989!

So why 1989?

Don't know just had this idea and went with it. I thought it would be kind to rewind.

I started by going to google and searching for movies that released that year. That year I would have been around eleven which is a good age, right before you hit that awkward stage and become too cool to watch kids movies. Now, twenty years later and I'm finding that movies from this year were actually very influential part of my life.

See if you can guess this movie quote from 1989.

"Look at this stuff, isn't it neat? / Wouldn't ya think my collection's complete / Wouldn't you think I'm the girl / Girl who has everything / Look at this trove, treasures untold / How many wonders can one cavern hold? / Looking around you'd think / Sure, she's got everything / I've got gadgets and gizmos aplenty / I have whoozits and whatzis galore / You want thingamabobs? I've got twenty / But who cares? No big deal / I want more." imdb.com

Do we actually learn from our parents or do we learn from the things we watch on TV? I guess it depends on the household but when I grew up I loved watching movies and my parents didn't mind.

Thinking back to eleven was a great age. I could rent those rectangle shaped things that had a long tape in it that sometimes bunched up in your VCR, what were those things called........

Oh right VHS Tapes.....What an invention!

Not too long ago I went to Half Price books and outside they have all the books on clearance. I love clearance especially when I find a good deal. Half Price books also sells old VHS movies and that day they happen to have a ton of the classic kids movies like that I used to watch when I was younger.

I just knew my daughter would love them too!

What a bargain. Some really good titles were just a buck! I bought about 8 or 10 different movies for a variety. One of them being All Dogs Go to Heaven.

Such a cute movie!

I bring them home and I'm really excited to have my daughter watch the same things I watched when I was younger. It brings back memories and helps me remember things that I had forgotten such a long time ago. I stood there with a glow on my face for finding such a great bargain.

Ten minutes later.........The movie is OVER!

Hey wait why was it over so soon? I guess the inventor didn't think that far ahead and neither did I. It takes 5 minutes to rewind a whole movie. My daughter thinks 5 minutes is too long. By the time its done she totally forgot about the movie

My golden glow is gone.....I thought "what a terrible invention".

I could kiss the inventor of the DVD....you know the kind of kiss you would give a chef for making a great meal. I have no idea what I would have done back before these gadgets and gizmos were invented. All I know is I want more thingamabobs that make a mom's life easier.

** About the Blog Swap: I signed up for a Blog Swap, where I was paired with Brandy, who authors a blog called Best Children's Movies. You can read more from Brandy here. She sent me this post to publish on my blog!

Sadia's Punch-Out!!

2009-09-20T20:06:00.000-07:00

I think this would be the point in the popular 80's video game

where the announcer comes out and says, "Come on stand up and fight."**

**It's interesting to see how cultural stereotypes are so deeply embedded even in the video gaming culture:

(1) Doc Louis, Little Mac's trainer in "blackface";

(2) Glass Joe, the weakest most defenseless looking opponent from France;

(3) Piston Honda, who wears a head band much like Daniel from The Karate Kid;

(4) Don Flamenco, the effeminate boxer from Spain;

(5) Great Tiger, an Indian turban-wearing Sikh, who brings a tiger with him to the ring; and

(6) Soda Popinski, the Russian boxer, who always took a swig of "pop" from a jug of soda that bore an unmistakable resemblance to a liquor bottle, and who uttered phrases like, "I can't drive, so I'm gonna walk all over you."

As a kid the preponderance of such racially charged caricatures completely escaped me-- or did they?

Previous Post: Sadia Says the Darndest Things: Volume 2

Sadia Says the Darndest Things: Volume 2

2009-09-18T09:27:00.000-07:00

I noticed Sadia limping downstairs on her way to the dining room table for breakfast this morning. Curious to learn the cause of this new development, I asked her to explain her feeble gait. Here was her diagnosis:

That's right blog readers, you no longer have to wonder about the elusive precursor to a pesky limp. Who knew that a foot headache could be the root cause for agony of de-feet.

Previous Post: Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 7

Next Post: Sadia's Punch-Out!!

Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 7

2009-09-15T23:34:00.000-07:00

I usually sing Simone a song right after her bath during her bedtime routine. One oldy-but-goody that she doesn't seem to mind singing over and over again is the Itsy Bitsy Spider song. Well, tonight after her bath, she decided she wanted no part of my version of the song. Instead, she sang her own rendition of the popular nursery rhyme. Here is her mashup:

The itsy bitsy diaper

crawled up the water spout

down came the rain and

washed the diaper out

out came the sun and

dried up all the rain and

the itsy bitsy diaper

crawled up the spout again.

Certainly, her "mondegreens" was completely incidental, but may have been warranted. The word diaper does sort-of rhyme with spider, and I did ask her to bring me a diaper just before we sang the song. But, I am sure you can see how her version of the song may have had an immediate relevance at the time.

Stuff Mommies Do Volume 7:

Use context clues to deduce when to change the baby's diaper.

Previous Post: I *Don't Heart* ~~Begging~~ Fundraising

Next Post: Sadia Says The Darndest Things: Volume 2

I Don't Heart Begging Fundraising

2009-09-12T19:25:00.001-07:00

I need to vent...

I hate school fundraisers!

A bit hypocritical, I know. I am, after all, a teacher. I guess you could say I represent the very institutions that endorse this kind of exploitation, which underpins much of public schools' enrichment programs. I realize that the budget is lean and that earnings from fundraisers directly prop-up underfunded arts programs. Parents' pocket books are perhaps a direct lifeline to most of the enrichment that takes place in public education today. Nevertheless, my scorn towards fundsponging simmers and I'm sure it will be at full boil come fundraiser's end.

My kindergartner has been in school for all of 14 days and already her school is sending home the dreaded beggar's dossiers. I oppose this kind of manipulation: fundraising that basically amounts to pimping out children to mega corporations in the name of subsidizing public school enrichment programs. But truth be told, our children are not really the ones being pimped, are they?

Let's face facts: I am the one that's really on the hoe stroll here. Since Sadia is only 4 years old, I am the one literally wading through tupperware/ portrait/ wrapping paper/ pizza stick/ calendar/ magazine/ candy sale booklets. I am the one who will put friends/ neighbors/ family members/ co-workers in the awkward position of having to dodge the sales pitch. I am the one who has to study the catalogues, do all of the accounting, reconcile each line item, promote the consumption of ridiculously overpriced products, and pound the pavement. I am the one who has to get on the phone and "remind" gracious donors who neglect to pony up. Then, I am the one who has to drag out my purse when it comes time to underwrite that big fat conciliatory check to balance lopsided calculations. And if I am the one that has to do all of the work, then what the heck is the point?

You know that circus performer who balances spinning plates on sticks, and juggles pins all while he balances on a unicycle? That's how my child's school fundraiser makes me feel.

I am frustrated by those bogus incentive schemes that lean on mother daughter relationships. Cheap, brightly-colored, plastic toys in no way justify what children across the nation are being asked to do: panhandle. How do I explain things like "overhead" and "profit margins" to a 4 year-old-- who values nickels over dollars because nickels are "shinnier"?

I can't win pitted against the guilt laiden rants that result when kids don't get to ride in the limo because they didn't meet a sales quota. I simply won't compete with the brainwashing that promotes toys like the Shake Wobbler Noise Pen, that can only be redeemed if children sell $199.99 worth of junk.

I don't mind giving money to my child's school. At the start of the year, I bought school supplies to help off set Sadia's teacher's out of pocket costs. What's great about this kind of giving is I know 100% of my money goes directly to the school, whereas with fundraisers only a fraction of the proceeds go to schools.

What about you? Where do you stand on the issue of children fundraising for schools? Are you buying in to it?

Previous Post: Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 6

Next Post: Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 7

Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 6

2009-08-31T21:34:00.000-07:00

Belabor the point as evidence by excessive utterances of dreaded phrases like:

What do I always say..?

How many times do I have to tell you...?

Do I have to repeat myself?

Didn't I already tell you...?

and my personal favorite

If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times...

Previous Post: Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 5

Next Post: I *Don't Heart* ~~Begging~~ Fundraising

Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 5

2009-08-24T06:45:00.000-07:00

Neglect meaningful relationships with their pedicurists.

(Photo by Teddy Sincire)

Previous Post: Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 4

Next Post: Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 6

Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 4

2009-08-24T06:12:00.001-07:00

Believe unequivocally that the world revolves around their children, because their Facebook status updates certainly do.

Previous Post: Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 3
Next Post: Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 5

Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 3

2009-08-23T16:58:00.001-07:00

Painstakingly coach their children in church not to out mommy and daddy's arguments via prayer request, during Sunday School.

Previous Post: Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 2

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Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 2

2009-08-22T20:46:00.000-07:00

Unwittingly disregard the "Press and Lock" feature on the box of Reynolds Wrap.

Previous Post: Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 1
Next Post: Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 3

Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 1

2009-08-21T11:46:00.000-07:00

Accidentally leave ornery children in the naughty corner

long enough for comatosity to set in...

Previous Post: Simone's First Day of Pre-School
Next Post: Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 2

Simone's First Day of Pre-School

2009-08-20T15:54:00.000-07:00

Simone looking smart in her First-Day-of-Pre-School outfit.

*DISCLAIMER: If the sight of small children crying rips your heart out, then you should probably stop watching the clip at the 3:15 mark.

Previous Post: My Baby Starts Kindergarten!
Next Post: Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 1

My Baby Starts Kindergarten!

2009-08-19T16:55:00.000-07:00

I've changed her dirty diapers, tolerated her temper tantrums, and showed her how to dress herself. Now, another milestone is upon us: tomorrow, my baby will embark on her first day of kindergarten. We're nervous, excited, and we have no clue of what to expect.

I'm very anxious about preparing her for this new phase of life. Since registering her in June, not a day has gone by that I haven't thought about ways to ease the stress of first day jitters. There has been pre-packing of backpacks, triple checking her big debut ensemble, pencil sharpening and re-sharpening. And that's just what I've been busying myself with.

So, what is my baby worried about on the eve of her big day?

If you're playing along at home, and you guessed the absence of a nap-time routine, then you get the gold star for the day. Ironically, neither does Sadia take naps at home, nor does her new school endorse a nap-time policy, so this will be the least of her worries.

We were excited to learn that Sadia's new school arranged a "Meet and Greet" for today. Parents and students were encouraged to attend the event as a way to minimize some first-day stress .

Here is a picture of the family anxiously awaiting Principal Roach's (real name) address incoming Kindergartners and their families.

Sadia introduced herself to Mrs. Smith, her teacher. Meeting her teacher in advance helped to take away some of the mystery of the unexpected.

Sadia was tasked with finding the desk housing a packet, that displayed her name.

After carefully inspecting the names on a few of the packets,

she excitedly found her desk.

This activity helped relax her fears about inclusion, calmed her nerves about

knowing where to sit, and gave her some independence

in finding her way around the classroom.

There is something about seeing your name proudly displayed throughout

the room that gives you the sense of ownership and of belonging.

Here is Sadia's section of the writing wall.

Immediately, I began to see the calming effect that this function had on Sadia

as she bravely explored other parts of the classroom.

Indeed, she is growing right before our eyes, and the growth is significant.

Dad even helped her read the subtly displayed "Rules Chart".

Knowing how Mrs. Smith governs her class, helped set behavioral expectations. My baby found no surprises here, since the experience reinforced the qualities she learns at home.

Even though tomorrow will be filled with lots of excitement and new adventures for my baby, I am confident that she will be ready, because we've done a lot to help her enjoy her first day.

Now....

.... if only there were some type of orientation to help THIS big baby accept Sadia's new milestone.

Previous Post: Health Care Reform: It's Ugly, Scary, and Completely Harmless

Health Care Reform: It's Ugly, Scary, and Completely Harmless

2009-08-15T12:40:00.001-07:00

I have been completely taken aback by the recent surge of emotional instability exhibited by some objectors to health care reform over the past few weeks. The sheer number of people going off the deep end has really baffled me, and the extent to which some have plunged is alarming. Dissenters are reaching new lows in this country by the minute. The last time I saw someone fly off the handle in this vein, was when my four-year old became completely unglued the other day because of something ugly, scary and completely harmless.

I was putting the girls down for a nap yesterday afternoon, when Sadia's routine was broken up by a visit from a June-bug hovering just outside the window beside her bed. It scared the bejesus out of her, to the extent that she refused to get into bed.

"AAAAAH! MOOOOOOM, ITS GOING TO EAT ME! DON'T LET HIM GET ME!"

She flipped. The thought of that huge bug remotely near her was paralyzing. The beastly sound of its wings flapping feverishly in the air gave her the willies. She's not used to an insect producing such a hideous racket.

I often wonder why people get so frightened by these beetles. Perhaps their characteristically clumsy flying makes them appear aggressive, but they're actually very gentle creatures. Still people often react disproportionately to the beetle's presence.

Sure, beetles are ugly and scary looking, but the bottom line is they are completely harmless. Sadia's reaction seemed erratic. She jumped, she screamed, she flailed her arms in hysteria. She went berserk.., over a bug.., on the outside of the window. Her reaction was excessive, but I hesitate to become too critical. Her experience awaken my own traumatizing childhood encounter with an insect.

I was thirteen or fourteen-years old. One night while bathing, I got an unexpected visit from a spider. I was completely caught off guard after I looked up to find the pest dangling from the ceiling just above my head. The thing looked hideous and I was afraid of it. To this day, I still get a good start when I see the hairy creatures. (If you need additional proof, just check out my reaction to this guy.)

My imagination got the best of me. I entertained notions that the small spider would jump at me and attack me. Steven Spielberg's 1990's horror movie, "Arachnophobia" contributed to my irrational fear, and as a result seeing this hairy menace gave me visions of spiders overtaking the neighborhood. Without a second thought, I yelled at the top of my lungs:

"AAAAAHHHH! HE'S GOING TO GET ME! DAD, HELP! HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME! I bellowed while fighting back a fit of hyperventilation.

It wasn't long afterwards that my father arrived beating on the door, struck by fear that my life was in mortal danger. And who would blame him; fear only produces more fear. He turned the door knob eratically. I locked it earlier to ward off my pesky little sister, who was at that awkward invasion of privacy stage of adolescence.

"Unlock the door!" came his troubled voice as he frantically pulled on the knob.

"I CAN'T OPEN IT!" I freaked. I was so frozen with anxiety that I couldn't move a muscle.

My father stood on the other side of the door faced with a worst case scenario. His daughter was trapped in a locked room screaming bloody murder, and he was gripped with terror of the unknown. A visceral reaction to the madness incited my dad to bust the door off its hinges, knocking it completely off the wall and onto the bathroom floor. And in his mind at that moment, the ends justified the means.

As the dust and the crackling and snapping of the door's exposed interior settled, two things had occurred to me: 1) Perhaps I should have specified that the spider was the object of my fear; 2) I had no idea that my reckless actions could lead to such brute force.

Sadia's knee-jerk reaction to the June-bug this afternoon was immobilizing. My overdramatic response to the spider over twenty years ago was at best excesive, and dangerous at worst. We behaved in a way that most people would expect of fool-hearty youth.

In hindsight, our overblown reactions to the bugs, were probably fueled by the illusion of danger rather than the insects themselves. We had been sucked into the drama of it all. My fear was elevated thanks to the magic of Hollywood, and Sadia's fear had been intensified by fantasy born out of youthful imagination. But whether the threat that both Sadia and I faced was real or imagined, our reactions aren't unique.

Have you ever been afraid of something that you didn't fully understand? What fueled that fear? Lately, our country has been tinged with anxiety surrounding the health care debate. Fear has reared its ugly head and people have gotten unglued.

I'll use the case of William Kostric as an example. He brought a loaded handgun to protest a town hall meeting on health care reform. A bit extravagant, no? Not convinced, huh? Well, the gun touting protestor also showed off a sign that read, "It is time to water the tree of liberty," which is actually a reference to a Thomas Jefferson quote that reads in full: "The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of tyrants and patriots."

Loaded guns and handmade signs alluding to violent rebellion is over-the-top and reckless. Suppose someone else who opposed his views had shown up with a loaded gun as well? It's not completely implausible, after all carrying a holstered loaded weapon is legal in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Suppose all of the protestors had arrived bearing arms to demonstrate their disapproval. Since guns are used primarily to kill, it is safe to assume that the result would have been violent. Or perhaps that was the intent. You can read more about his story here.

While others may seem less demonstrative, their words are no less reckless. With accusations like murderer flying around, there's no wonder people are responding with paranoia. You don't yell "FIRE" in a crowded theatre, because fear motivates people to freak out. The hysteria results in panic, and panic can be dangerous.

Some have even gone so far as to compare the health insurance reform bill the Hitler's health care plan of the 1930s. I guess anyone with a Crayola marker and the ability to scribble a Hitler mustache can make this divisive statement. What is supposed to be a strategy meant to show strong conviction, really boils down to just an immature attempt at getting an emotional response. Lessons learned from genocide should be held in high regard and not trivialized when adapted to health care reform by indiscriminate protestors.

It just doesn't seem like all people are doing is protesting the bill. There isn't that civil exchange of ideas that America and its citizens are always flaunting in front of the world. Agitators have blown this issue way out of proportion, and in so doing have lost credibility. People are shouting, "HE WANTS TO KILL ME! OBAMA WANTS TO KILL ME!" and seemingly without regard for the resulting collateral damage.

For the most part, some fear is healthy. It is our most instinctive and primal aversion to things that are new, things that are ugly, and things that are scary. To ideas. But it sometimes gets an unnatural hold on us, darkening and narrowing our perspective.

In Sadia's case, the June-bug was not the enemy. In my case, the spider wasn't the obstacle. In the case of Mr. Kostric, the threat of change was palpable. Fear is the real monster and the path to overcoming fear is sober thinking and understanding.

Previous Post: Stop Trying and Move Maggot
Next Post: My Baby Starts Kindergarten!

Stop Trying and Move Maggot

2009-08-12T19:47:00.000-07:00

(Photo found at caica.org)

The poem...

The Sergeant

drills off-beat maggots on the cadence

yelling, You have fallen off the Pine!

Grab your crutch, lean, and toe the line!

With my kids

I step back, look straight ahead, and try

not to move a muscle.

The change....

I've had a change in perspective over the last few days. It's been a gradual change; like tick, tick, tick, a-ha! I've thought a lot about being a mom. Confession. Reflection. Rehashing. Feeling insecure all over again. But it ran it's course, so I was "over it". Then it became clear, like your vision the first moments after you wake. The view comes into sharper focus after you wipe the haze from your eyes.

The process....

As a mother, I get so much unsolicited parenting advice from well-intentioned people. It's as if there's a sign taped to my back that reads: HELP! I'm a Newbie, and I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing wrong.

Maybe the fact that I am constantly second-guessing my own decisions makes it seem that other people are more critical of me than they actually are. But despite the fact that I'm doing my best sometimes I get the sense that I am being nitpicked, and that some people are just being downright nasty.

Sometimes I feel like I'm in mommy boot camp, and that my insecurities signal that I need a refresher course in basic training. My naiveté becomes a welcome matt on which nit-pickers perch and bark orders.

The new direction....

In these moments the criticism is debilitating, and all I want is the strength to stand up for myself and say, "Thanks, but no thanks," then set my sights ahead, and begin moving my feet in a more positive direction; down a path that does not involve getting beat-up over imperfection. From this stand point, I am fearless. I can tackle any parenting obstacle that comes my way and do it with reassurance that God is able, my best is enough, and I am enough.

HOORAH!

Previous Post: Sadia Says the Darndest Things: Volume 1

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Sadia Says the Darndest Things: Volume 1

2009-08-09T22:46:00.000-07:00

Sadia had a doctor's appointment a few months back, and the trip involved a updating immunizations. There was no way to mentally prepare Sadia for the 5 shots she would receive. I resorted to bribes: the promise of stickers and candy if she didn't make a big scene in the exam room.

However, I couldn't compete against the five huge needles the nurses had lined up on the examination table, the two nurses that were sent in to hold her down in case she got jumpy, and the less than personable nurse who administered the shots in succession instead of combining some of the inoculations in one needle (which is a common practice). It was as if they were inviting her to have a huge meltdown. I wasn't particularly satisfied with the level of care we had received.

What you'll see in the clip is Sadia's impression after the appointment. Here is Sadia with her definition for the term doctor's appointment. Please pay close attention to the way she pronounces the phrase:

It doesn't matter how often I pronounce the words doctor's appointment-- careful to enunciate each syllable for her-- this is what she hears. Sadly, I fear that her interpretation may well become the first of many phrases in her lexicon of health care disappointments.

Previous Post: Sadia Says the Darndest Things
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Sadia Says the Darndest Things

2009-08-08T11:08:00.001-07:00

If you have kids, you know that they speak the God-honest truth, and sometimes to a fault (a painfully embarrassing you-don't-have-to-broadcast-the-fact-that-the cashier-looks-really-really-old fault). They say the first thing that comes to their minds, without mincing any words; they lay it all out for you in no uncertain terms. No masking. No sugar coating. No editing. No faking the funk! They tells the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. If you really don't want to know--you probably shouldn't ask a kid.

Sadia is constantly surprising us with her colorful sayings. I find that with every day, I am growing more and more interested, while at the same time fearful to hear what she'll say next. She does in fact say some of the darndest things. I have posted a few of her candid moments here and here, but I didn't really feel like my anecdotal writing did these scenarios much justice.

Inspired by an old TV series called Kids Say the Darndest Things, I've decided to record these interactions to give you a glimpse into her insights, her bright young mind, and her innocent heart. This is an introduction to (hopefully) many more posts, where I attempt to pry into Sadia's beliefs, experiences, and reactions to life. I treasure these moments because they seem to represent things of little consequence to me, but are close and meaningful to her as she is learning more and more about this big world around her.

I will affectionately tag these posts: Sadia Says the Darndest Things.

Previous Post: An Open Letter to Barack Obama
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An Open Letter to Barack Obama

2009-08-07T15:28:00.001-07:00

Dear Barack,

Something unusual has happened to me over the past few days. To be frank: you have been the subject of my dreams. That's not unusual, you might be thinking. Women dream about me all the time.

Yea, well, it's not those kinds of dreams that I'm talking about here. The truth is, I've encountered lots of discrimination this summer and lately the topic of acceptance is always churning in the back of my mind. I went out on a limb and blogged about my deepest insecurities brought on by bigotry here and here, which opened my eyes to a world of self discovery. I love the intentional visibility of your love for Michelle in such a public forum.

Just recently, my need for public acceptance resurfaced when I saw this intimate portrait of you and your gorgeous wife Michelle here:

At first glance, someone might wonder what you could possibly be whispering in Michelle's ear. But a closer look revealed what I believe to be at heart of this candid moment:

As I look at the expression on Michelle's face, immediately something deep inside me was stirred. My first thought was....there is no pretending here. This is the face of a woman that is loved. And desired. And romanticized. And her delight is being broadcast for all to see. Michelle's expression partially resonates with me. I say partially because while at home I live these emotions daily, but sadly the world lags in embracing black love publicly.

My husband is the most sentimental man I know. He is very romantic and I experience great fulfillment through his expressions of love, which begs the question: If I am so fulfilled at home, why am I dreaming about you?

Well, I am an attractive brother? You might be thinking. Nope. You're fine and all, but that ain't it. Then it must be my power and prestige? No, that isn't it either. Your presidency is so deeply personal to me because in my experience, being dark-skinned in America and being desirable in America are two mutually exclusive ideas. Your publicity puts man's desire for black women at center stage and it flies in the face of conventional thinking.

As a child, I experienced a lot of public ridicule both within the black community, as well as in the mainstream. Even at a tender age, I was always aware that I was black. I don't mean black as in African American. I mean black-black, which is the kind of black that is inexcusable for that grade of desirable folks in America: those who are pretty to a point of pain for young dark-skinned women like me.

When I was a little girl, being called ugly by my peers was an everyday experience, and for others like me who didn't exactly pass the brown paper bag test. At school (dressed up in my nicest clothes, my braids tightened in neat cornrows) no one ever noticed me. Instead, I was relentlessly taunted and called names like Tar Baby or African Booty-Scratcher by the very people whose acceptance I sought (it's a shame what we put each other through).

As a young woman in college, I dated a few black guys. In these relationships I found myself conforming to something that was not quite me: I began straightening my hair; adding long silky extensions to it. But pretending to be that girl wasn't really my thing, and most brothers weren't ready to accept me for who I was, so I shrank from the world and for years went unnoticed.

That is until I met my husband. Teddy loves the black out of me. Through his love, I feel secure in embracing my blackness--bushy hair and all.

He relishes me. I am awakened by his love. And there is nothing more sexy than my man, who romanticizes over wholly me.

So, why have you been the subject of my dreams for the past few days? Because you have displayed before the world what I have experienced in a private context. Your affectionate candor for your lovely wife, somehow quenches my own personal thirst for public acceptance. There is no mistaken; you are completely in love with Michelle--a black woman-- and I have a great appreciation for a man who desires dark-skinned women.

Barack, you are a tall glass of water.

Sincerely,
Dionne Sincire

Previous Post: Low Supply Draws Suspicion
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Low Supply Draws Suspicion

2009-08-06T12:49:00.000-07:00

"Mom, are you wearing one of MY Pull-Ups?"

--Sadia

Previous Post: Tracking Life: Where I Stand
Next Post: An Open Letter to Barack Obama

Tracking Life: Where I stand

2009-08-04T14:33:00.000-07:00

Teddy and I watched this incredibly corny movie last night called "The Wedding Weekend". Perhaps its one redeeming quality is the fact that Molly Shannon adds some much needed comedic relief from beginning to end. Also, I was introduced to this little nugget. I wanted to share this neat little chart from the movie in the spirit of accentuating the positive.

David, played by actor David Harbour, introduces this graph after reuniting with his college buddies. The chart plays a significant role in illustrating some much needed perspective on how their lives have progressed (or in some instances regressed) since their college heyday. For those of you who follow my blog, you know that I am a visual person, so I tweeked the chart a bit.

David's chart is based on and 80 year lifespan, which is accurate. In the recent census, the US Census Bureau estimated the average lifespan for Americans to be about 78.1 years. Whereas my chart is based on an 84 year lifespan (I needed a number that was divisible by 12 to make adding the other reference points quick and easy). Also, I added a watermark.

To read the chart, you simply plot your age on the life line, then draw a vertical line down from that reference point. In doing so, three other reference points are created to measure against the 84 years of your life: one year; one hour; and one minute. So, if you're 42 years old, you'd be approaching the summer or midday of your life.

I liked this exercise for two reasons. One, it provided three unique lenses through which life can be viewed, which raised some interesting questions for me. At this stage in my life, I'm looking at the woman I've become and wondering if I am journeying in the direction that I really want to go. I am questioning whether some of the tentative decisions I've made are becoming permanent before I really want them to.

Two, it made me recognize how grateful I am for God's presence in my life, because the closer I get to God the more obvious the answers to these questions become. The more I learn about God's character, the more I understand my need for His divine guidance. Through this lens of relationship with God, a more important question emerges: Am I willing to entrust my life in the hands of Almighty God, so that I can enjoy the maximum possibilities of my life?

Previous Post: You get on my nerves!
New Post: Low Supply Draws Suspicion

You get on my nerves!

2009-08-02T21:48:00.000-07:00

We've read from Rebecca's blog about laughter as a stress reliever, but what if relief were as simple as exercising a little sass? Maybe a little backtalk can alleviate a real pain in the neck caused by an irritating person.

This evening, Sadia embarked on a scientific study to show whether a smart mouth may serve an important function in relieving pain. In a modest experiment, she monitored her pain-in-the-butt tolerance while being insolent toward her father.

Even after her dad repeatedly asked her not to touch anything on the shelves at Blockbuster, Sadia continued to take candy from the rack. She even put a wrapped Snicker bar in her mouth. Teddy directed Sadia to stand in front of him with her hands to her side.

"You get on my nerves," she said aloud in line. Teddy, infuriated by her temporary insanity, asked her to repeat herself, to which she replied, "I said, you get on my nerves!" Only this time she added emphasis to the words "said", "get", and "nerves". Early results from her study seemed favorable; Sadia reported an instant release after mouthing off to her father.

In a related study conducted by her father, results confirm that smart-mouthed children are twice as likely to experience more actual pain in the butt than their well-mannered counterparts.

Previous Post: One Year of Potliquor

Next Post: Tracking Life: Where I Stand

One Year of Potliquor

2009-08-01T08:36:00.000-07:00

Quintessence...sounds like a first-class, grade-A, crash course in snobbish jargon 101, doesn't it? Well, it was showcased as today's Word of the Day on Wordia. More importantly, it embodies the theme of my first anniversary post.

Thanks to a nudge from my good friend Diane, I published Potliquor one year ago today. In an effort to capture the essence or substance of my blog, I spent a lot of time reflecting on my first year of internet journaling. In anticipation of this milestone, I looked to my blogger family for ideas.

I stumbled across a post by the Projectionist, which I stalk quite often. It's a tumblelog that draws me because I love being challenged by experiencing something new. I'm also a visual person, so I really like what he does with his "Four Years of Projectionist" post. I am sad that I can't build something like this on Blogger, but his post led me to try and illustrate my journey.

A few months back I was introduced to Wordle through a link on Jen's page. I get excited by all things creative, so I was immediately taken by the chaotic yet artistic possibilities provided on this site. Words seem to take on a meaning of their own in that space. I simply uploaded the text from my blog. The site then used word frequencies to generate a tag cloud that emphasizes the most popular words in the source text.

I wanted to visualize the topical content revealed by this objective art form. What common themes would emerge from my blogs? What insight about the substance of my writing would this rendering point to? Here's the result: The Quintessential One Year Potliquor Post:

(Click to enlarge.)

What stands out to you?

It has been a great journey. Thanks to my blog family and all of my readers for taking it with me!

Previous Post: My Black Belt Ranking System
Next Post: You get on my nerves!

My Black Belt Ranking System

2009-07-31T09:49:00.000-07:00

A bit unorthodox, I know, but if you're playing along at home here's the gist...

A. Sandan or third degree black belt: current ranking

B. Shodan or first degree black belt: ranking before I had Sadia

C. Nidan or second degree black belt: ranking before I had Simone

D. Yondan or fourth degree black belt: ranking I wish to achieve in the next year

Ironically, little discipline is required to get a black belt these days and anyone that's ovulating is guaranteed to matriculate through the levels fairly quickly. I am currently accepting applications at my McDojo . Incidentally, you'll also receive a small box housing a kimono and a cute plastic primary-colored toy with your registration.

Previous Post: Whale Watching Wednesday

Next Post: One Year of Potliquor

Whale Watching Wednesday

2009-07-30T13:08:00.001-07:00

Okay, that's enough alliteration for one day! Teddy pleasantly surprised the family by planning a whale-watching day trip! Our three hour excursion left port from Shoreline Village in Long Beach (insert corny Gilligan's Island theme song here), on Wednesday at 3:30 pm. The weather was gorgeous and I couldn't have asked for a more picturesque backdrop for our family adventure on the high seas.

The journey began with a rocky start, but I won't blog about the events that almost led to our missing the trip entirely, or the ticket fiasco at the wharf, or Sadia's embarrassing Public Restroom Announcement, or the adorable young couple who delayed our trip, or the meltdowns that nearly ruined our experience, or the gas shortage that could have ended with the family hoofin' it to the nearest gas station. No, I'll save that for another post, so suffice it to say that despite all minor set-backs, Teddy did a wonderful job at pulling it all together!

Here is a photo of the family at the end of the tour as we're getting ready to dock. I am making a more conscientious effort to get family pictures on our trips, because what generally ends up happening is either Teddy or I end up taking all of the pictures and the result is usually this:

Lot's of great pictures of Teddy and Sadia or....

...of me and Simone or....

...of just Simone or....

...of just Sadia, and in many cases...

....of Sadia and the new friends she's made on our trip.

Ironically, we didn't manage to get any really great pictures of whales. I have this huge inferiority complex when it comes to taking pictures on these kinds of nature trips. I so want to get a great shot that captures our whole experience.

However, as you can see I failed miserably. If you can't tell (honestly I wouldn't blame you if you can't) this would be a picture of a blue whale's blow hole...

... and this would be a picture of a blue whale's dorsal fin. I was going to label these pictures for you, but I think that only would have belabored my point. These are BAD pictures.

While there were many sightings of whales on our trip, I was very disappointed not having gotten any good shots of whales. You know the kind of picture I'm talking about, something dramatic like a great blue leaping out of the water doing a gynormous back splash and dousing the boat with salt water (something like what you might find at a theme park). I would have even settled for a sort-of okay shot of a whale ushering up gallons of water onto the bow of the boat with its tail.

At one point I even secretly anticipated this type of manufactured experience with each whale that surfaced. I wasn't the only one with visions of state-of-the-art choreography by these magnificent mammals. There was a collective buzz in the air; a corporate sense of readiness shared by all of the passengers on the boat for a truly breathtaking experience also fueling the frenzie. The suspense was so thick you could cut it with a filet knife. I think at one point I could actual hear the soundtrack for Shamu's "Believe" promo playing in my head.

A bit looney, I know..,but I blame National Geographics with award winning shots like this one:

and Sea World for spectacular killer whale promo's like this one:

for my unrealistic expectations and diminished capacity for taking a half-way decent photo of a blue whale on our trip.

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Best Wedding Invitation of ALL Time

2009-07-29T11:31:00.001-07:00

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Argiope-aurantiahobia

2009-07-20T12:31:00.000-07:00

Check out the fancy web action she's got going on in the center.

Imagine that while walking down the street one beautiful summer morning, you approach a low hanging branch, where nestled in between the thickets you find THIS! We stumbled across this hairy black and yellow orbed lady, also known as a Garden Spider, as we were walking home from the park this morning. She was just hanging out in the sun probably trying to snag herself some breakfast. Perhaps the promise of a small bird or a careless rodent peaked her appetite enough to lure her out of the shadows and into the sun.

I might be exaggerating about spidey here's breakfast menu, but I don't want to understate her size. My picture doesn't really do her justice, so to give you some idea of the scale of this thing, picture her abdomen ranging close in length and width to your thumb from tip to the first joint. Her legs stretch out to about the width of a toddler's palm. I read online that female Garden Spiders can grow up to 3 inches in diameter (with legs included). Since males are thin-bodied, I'm assuming our find is female cuz baby's got curves!

While I was taking this picture, I was hemmed in at the hip and feet by Sadia's arms and legs. Meanwhile, her nails dug and clawed into my skin. Her tacit signals clearly pointed to beating a hasty retreat in the opposite direction. Truth be told, my imagination did start to get away from me as I was taking this picture. I kept envisioning this black and hairy beast jumping out at me and giving me the heebeegeebees, as I crept in closer to the shrub where she hung. Even though Wikipedia deems her completely harmless, judging by her size and over all creepiness I can see why these guys can't catch a break in popular media outlets.

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Pouring Part 1: Conjuring Newfangled Things!

2009-07-13T15:08:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, I blogged about our experience with inadequate childcare, which prompted a summer of my pouring into the girls. You can read more about that here. One aspect of the pouring involves reigniting their playful nature. So, I thought what better way to add some levity, than to indulge them in silly childhood clapping games! Now, this little song is a bit different from the way I remember singing it when I was their age, but I think we accomplished our goal none-the-less.

Remember those hand games we used to play as kids? You and your girlfriends or-- if you were as fortunate as I was-- your sisters would sing a song accompanied by rhythmic clapping and hand gestures. For example, here the girls are singing a novel chant that goes: Down, down, baby; I can do karate. Down, down, baby; I can call my mommy. Down, down, baby; I can eat salami. Oops! I'm sorry. I'm not sorry. Peek-a-peek-a-boo! Peek-a-peek-a-boo!

These silly hand games have a way of making them revisit their silliness in ways that nothing else can. They can't keep from giggling when playing these games. It doesn't matter that the songs they chant don't make any sense or that they butcher the rhythm. There are no age or ethnic pre-requisites. In this space of innocence all that matters is that everyone is laughing and having fun! I think everybody should do this every once in a while with their kids.

So, take a walk down memory lane with your kids today. Sing some nonsensical song from childhood. Laugh! Clap! Recite away, as loud as you can or as fast as your hands can slap! And when you realize that you've just chanted a bunch of stuff that makes absolutely no sense at all, sing some more nonsense! Pat your thighs, touch the ground, and conjure some other newfangled thing!

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Where God Left His Shoes

2009-07-09T14:12:00.000-07:00

I watched Where God Left His Shoes last night. It's about a young family that gets evicted from their apartment in New York at Christmas time. They have nowhere else to go but a homeless shelter. It is an awesome portrayal of family sticking together during the darkest time in their lives and it touched my soul. This movie redefines family survival in this world , and reminds me how suffering--while universal--can also be relative. This isn't a feel good movie. It cleverly side-steps your typical Hollywood ending and I highly recommend it to everyone. I'd like to know your take on the movie. Share your thoughts.

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Children Gone Fishing....

2009-07-07T22:50:00.001-07:00

The Chinese proverb goes: Give a man a fish and you will feed him for a day. Teach him how to fish and you will feed him for a lifetime. Well, a small altercation between the girls this afternoon seemed to imply that I could add a parental twist to update this old expression-- saying something like: Give your children fish and you will feed them for a day. Give them time to fish and you will give them the ability to sustain long-term relationships exercised in love through reconciling sibling fish, while simultaneously saving mommy fish's energy by ensuring that the fish habitat remains ordered. Or something like that. I won't butcher the saying any further, but my experience this afternoon amounted to a lesson in fishing.

There was lots of housework waiting for me after a busy 4th of July weekend. Laundry was first on my list of priorities. So, I purposed to plop the girls in front of the TV ,to nourish them with a "Curious George" DVD, then --and with great determination-- to vanish up the stairs, and tackle the mountain of laundry flowing over the sides of the dirty clothes hamper. About 15 minutes into my chore, I overheard a ruckus brewing between the girls downstairs.

And then a few seconds later, a "MOM..., MOOOOOOOOOOOM????!!!" bounced off the walls of our narrow stairway. Simone's cries for intervention grew louder and louder. My first instinct was to plunge down the stairs to investigate the matter. However, in that moment I experienced a hesitation kindled by what I can only describe as the Holy Spirit guiding me. My repose could be measured by the hunched-over position of my spine as I eavesdropping on their candid argument.

Normally, in a situation like this one I want to race down the stairs in an effort to avoid a more serious altercation, which is generally born out of these types of tiffs between the girls. An overwhelming burst of adrenaline fuels the need to uphold a sense of order in the house. Certainly, ripples of discord is a true enemy to order in our small pond. For this reason, I like to exercise a routine of rules reinforcement, followed by an allocation of consequences, and then wrap it all up with lots of love. Yet in spite of this, I remained still.., and at the top of the stairs.., and poised to listen.

Ironically, amidst the disharmony there I found myself perched and a calm fell over me. A few minutes later there was an exchange of words between the girls, and then quietness. The arguing stopped, and almost immediately I heard God's voice clearly speaking to me. His words were punctuated by a peace that overcame the whole house and it was literally fish food for my soul.

He said, sometimes what's needed is not exacting judicial scrutiny, but rather an opportunity for the girls to work out their own differences. In other words, I don't always have to be the instrument for conflict resolution. It didn't matter who instigated the fight or whether rules were enforced (as is the status quo). Rather what was most important was that they had an opportunity to work out their disagreement without my intervention. This idea seems so rudimentary as I journal about it now, but weighing it amidst the girls' dispute was a tough worm to swallow.

Reflecting over the matter, I can't say for sure what the girls discussed in the brief exchange that preceded the quiet, but of this I am certain: Whatever transpired between them must of required a lot of love expressed through forgiveness, which is a learned quality. Sadly, I don't often allow the girls either space or opportunity to practice what they've learned while working out their own differences. I get so caught up in giving them fish, that I never afford them the opportunity to practice fishing by themselves.

Previous Post: When was the last time you went star gazing?
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When was the last time you went star-gazing?

2009-06-30T22:14:00.000-07:00

And seeing the multitudes, He went up on a mountain, and when He was seated His disciples came to Him. Then He opened His mouth and taught them. --Matthew 5:1-2

From our hilly green-belted community, on a clear night like tonight, I could easily count a gazillion stars in the sky. In stark contrast though, the night sky in LA was far different than tonight's. For a long time, to me stars did not exist.

Smog, pollution, and a barrage of bright city lights were a constant blanket over the sky. They robbed me of the stars, so in my young mind beautiful moon-lit nights were fantasy. I had seen these radiant skies in paintings and books. For instance, I could vividly remember the final scene in the movie ET--that of ET and Elliot flying across the luminous night on a bicycle. However, unlike Elliot, I was not so privileged as to experience the sky saturated with such a host of stars until the summer of '87.

Aside from these superficial experiences, it wasn't until I turned 11 years old that the Woodcraft Rangers (an after school program that served disadvantaged kids) deemed me old enough to go up into the mountains and stay overnight at Stanley Ranch camp. Until that summer, I had always grouped star-gazing into the same category as unicorns, pots of gold at the ends of rainbows, and tooth fairies. After that, the eagerly sought after privilege only came around once a year for this young city kid.

Imagine never having wished on comets or connected twinkling stars like strands of diamonds on a necklace in the sky, or the child who is never dwarfed by the astronomical silver dollar shining against the dark sky. Consider the child who is never quickened by the opulence of the Milky Way, or that has never with outstretched hand traced the frames of the Big and Little Dipper under the heavens. I longed to know that dreamland.

Associating star-gazing in the same category as mythical creatures sounds tragic, but how often do we approach biblical principals from this same disadvantaged frame of reference. We know that God is awesome because we've read about His works in the bible. However, if that knowledge is purely one-dimensional, it never transcends the stuff of fairy tales in our lives.

To put it differently, the only way we can truly experience God's fullness is when we walk with Him. We miss out on God's redemptive works all around us if we remain in the crowd. When life begins to press in on you, perhaps God will lead you to a solitary place to manifest His Word. The next time you are in a crowd, consider it an opportunity to ascend into the mountains to gaze among His brilliance and discover God's heart for ministry.

May Their Cups Overflow

2009-06-23T10:44:00.000-07:00

I know that I have been neglecting my blog over the last month, but it is not for lack of desire or material. Even though I am on vacation from teaching, I feel like I just traded in one full-time job for another more important one-- bonding with the girls.

Two weeks ago marked the end of a long struggle with childcare. Being a working mom, my children are really vulnerable when it comes to finding a provider who really cares. Unfortunately, the last few months have been a lesson in navigating the storms of inadequate daycare (to say the least). Fortunately, the storm is over now and our children will be moving on to something more nurturing.

It seems unreal, but Sadia will be starting Kindergarten in the fall. We've experienced a barrage of documentation, updating records, and testing for her placement. I am both anxious and excited for my soon-to-be Kindergartener. On the one hand, Sadia has overcome so many hurdles from her previous experience in daycare. She has endured prejudice, mistreatment and only God knows what else, but she has become a stronger and more resilient kid as a result. I have high hopes for what her school years will bring: perhaps a fresh start with more skilled and loving people who genuinely care for her and embrace her differences. On the other hand, there is still a part of me that worries. I realize that I cannot raise my children in a bubble, but what I can do is raise them to love in the face of hatred. I want them to learn to champion injustice with audacity and emerge from it unscathed. Enrolling in a new school will be an opportunity for elasticity.

Simone too has seen her fair share of set-backs. Last month she was diagnosed with Eustachian Tube Disfunction, a condition in the ears which causes her to hear as though she is underwater. When I learned of her diagnosis, my heart sunk. As a parent, it is amazing just how much of my children's regular body functions I take for granted. Thankfully, the complication with her ears will correct itself as she matures, but in the meantime in between time, she will struggle. Since her diagnosis, we've been back and forth from this specialist to that, from audiologist to speech therapist trying to equip Simone with the skills to weather this storm. With each appointment comes probes and prods from this instrument and that, and she is growing increasingly more an more agitated. Clearly, she too is being dealt her own measure of toughness.

Teddy and I are still taking it all in. Trying to process it all has proven to be quite the undertaking. Although, I am sure of one thing. Never have I experienced anything more challenging than being responsible for these two precious little souls that God has gifted to us. And so, for me and my three, this summer will be a time to pour. When Sadia reacts to bias with bitterness, I will pour into her patience and tenderness. When Simone grows agitated with her own shortcomings, I will pour into her tolerance and acceptance. I will pour into them until I cannot pour anymore and when my cup becomes empty, I will seek the Lord's bounty and continue poised to pour some more.

Agonizing Beauty

2009-05-14T07:39:00.000-07:00

This video is an amazing portrait of perspective. I admit, that at the onset I was annoyed by the singer's voice. The delivery is grating. My senses were irked with each missed key. As my frustration mounted from the music, I became more aware of another aggravation, which grew from my inability to make out the picture created on the canvas. As a matter of fact, at one point I even played with the idea of muting the speakers on my laptop, just so that I could focus on deciphering the image in the painting.

These feelings, as earnest as they are harsh, are not easy to admit. In fact being in that space, or even admitting my discomfort only made my total experience with this video all the more poignant. After all, I would never have been able to grasped the power exuded from that final frame, had I never been annoyed or dissatisfied with the clips opening shots.

This video illustrates such a profound metaphor for life, and how I sometimes start a thing without the end in mind. Hope abruptly turns into distress. Or maybe I have a clear vision for my destination, but I am a little foggy on the details and how the final picture will emerge. Still perhaps I've entered into a new relationship or partnership, and the connections just don't seem to come together as quickly as I had hoped. In these moments, it is easy to lose sight of the big picture.

I'm sure Abraham knew what it meant to agonize over God-sized Perspective in Genesis 22 when God sent him to the land of Moriah-- a name transliterated from the root words ra'ah {raw-aw'} meaning to see, look, or perceive and Yahh {yaw} meaning the same as Jah (Jehovah in the shortened form). The pinnacle of Abraham's walk of faith came when God commanded Abraham to go to the land of Jehovah's perception.

Life can seem like little more than a canvas having amassed a jumble of incongruous strokes, and whose boundaries are so finite, that I am often rendered deaf or blind. I become so fixed on trying to make out the picture, that I cannot even see how God is moving all around me. Or I concentrate so much on my hardship that I am no longer encouraged by praise and worship music, which echo the very Word of God. This video reminds me to trust God more deeply and to see as God sees.

Because You Can't Tell Your 4-Year Old to "Get Over It"

2009-04-22T17:34:00.000-07:00

Picture this: It's scorching outside. You buy your little one an ice cold lemonade. Being the conscientious mommy that you are, you portion out a little bit of the sugary beverage; some for now, and some for another time. A day later, your little girl runs to the refrigerator in anticipation of finishing off the cached portion, only to find the juice is missing. She is screaming and crying because the lemonade--HER lemonade-- is gone.

You understand the problem. She's hurt because someone --some indiscriminate adult--took her juice without her permission. And despite all comfort-- even a conciliatory CapriSun juice pouch -- nothing stops the huge meltdown from erupting.

She's a smart girl. She devoured the very same juice pouch with delight just the other day, so why won't she be reasonable? There are so many other things in this world deserving of a category 5 flood, but Sweetheart this ain't one of them. You want to delicately navigate these emotional waters, but you're pretty sure that any maneuver to gain compliance from an already hurt and agitated four-year-old will only worsen the impending tantrum. So, what do you do?

Validate her feelings. Acknowledge that her feeling stripped of control is legitimate. Look at the situation from her perspective: you feel stripped of control because she won't accept a reasonable substitute for the lemonade, but that doesn't mean her preference for lemonade is bad.

It sounds so simple in theory, but the reality is I have a hard time allowing my children to own their feelings. I don't like to see them upset, especially when I am the indiscriminate one in this case who siphoned the lemonade. To boot, I don't have the time or the patience to deal with an "irrational" hissy-fit. Still, validating her feelings makes her feel better, teaches her to identify her emotions, and helps her recognize her right to own them.

Where I'm From

2009-04-17T09:47:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'm jumping on the bandwagon with this post. I'm not sure who started this, but Jen, Diane, and Lisa have all created their own versions of the poem using this frame here. I was so inspired after reading theirs, that I caved and decided to do one of my own. The result is a really cool walk down memory lane. So, here goes....

Where I'm from

I am from lycra biker shorts under navy uniform skirts; from knock-off Polo shirts and mid-year growth spurts.

I am from the neighborhood checker-boarded with parents, single parent households.

From honeysuckle vines, rose bushes, and Ms. Roses' bushes splashed with marigolds.

I am from broken backs when sidewalk cracks are unavoidable, elbows excluded from the tops of dining room tables, Joseph David, and Patricia Marlene-- emotionally unavailable.

I am from self defense when necessary to sweet meet pinches in church when contrary.

From streetlights signaling it's time to go and the irrefutable logic of because I said so...

I am from Designer-dress Baptist Church as Christ's bride, where clean on the outside of the cup is what's up, so don't worry about the inside.

I'm from the City of Angels, you buy we fry, and Scoe's #1; from Mustang GTs with ragtops dropped, cruisin' Crenshaw Blvd. in the sun.

I am from Summer, Summer, Summertime, cooling off naturally outside, red flavored Kool-aid, and no one ever getting hurt on a Slip 'n Slide.

I am from 32nd Street School, and series 1 Garbage Pail Kids. Where Adam Bombs are in short supply, Nervous Rex are prone to cry, and Don't Worry, Be Happy are words to live by.

Remembering Sadia's First Easter

2009-04-14T14:05:00.000-07:00

This Easter came and went so quickly. Here is a candid shot of Sadia and Simone just before we whisked them away to church on Sunday morning.

While editing Easter photos this year, I came across a first. This video is the first in a long list of videographies that I've created over the course of the last 3 years. This one captures Sadia's first Easter:

We were in the neighborhood park that day taking Easter photos.

Sadia and I frequented this park on my summers off. It is only a few blocks from the apartment complex we lived in when Teddy and I first got married. Although it was a transitional period for us, the environment wasn't what you would call nurturing. Beer cans and graffiti were the most notable litter items. Curbsides were always plastered with parked cars, no matter the time of day. Dense apartment structures broke up the skyline. Essentially, it was a concrete jungle.

As if the ambiance could be worsened by yet another detail, I'm fairly certain that our upstairs neighbor was a drug dealer. Of this I am certain, because the walls in our apartment were so paper thin that I could hear the details of just about every meth transaction that took place upstairs. One day, the dealer's water pipes burst sending rusty water surging through the soffit cavities leaking through the ceiling. It took the owners so long to extract the moisture from the crawl space, that mold began to settle. I despised my humble beginnings.

One afternoon after church, while searching for a spot to park among the sea of circa 1980s generously used vehicles, Teddy encountered a young man and woman who were engaged in a heated argument. The guy was a thug, with prison tattoos as neck ornaments. He quickly became abusive with the woman, who was presumably his girl friend. At some point, Teddy felt compelled to step in to protect the woman's safety. As he approached, the guy stuck his hand in his jacket pocket, and gestured vehemently, as one might if he were concealing a weapon. The sum total of our living nightmare in that neighborhood converged in that moment, and thus began our search to find more adequate housing.

There were no redeeming qualities about that place. It had obviously lost its charm decades ago. So, it is with a heavy heart that I reflect on these memories. Strangely though, the juxtaposition of Sadia's tender years against a backdrop of that harsh environment makes the whole experience more unique.

Matryoshka Dolls

2009-04-02T09:07:00.000-07:00

There are days when I don't face crisis with temerity. I don't always cope with trauma as a 32 year old should, because age is a lot like those stackable Matryoshka dolls that fit one inside the other. On the outside, I am 32, but on the inside I am also 31, 30, 29, 28, 27, 26, 25....

Like the day my mother left me. I was 16 years old, but the one year old inside me wanted to curl up in the fetal position and hibernate until the pain went away. Or that day last year in December when I learned that I had my first miscarriage with my third child. I should have been able to explain to my husband how empty I felt, because I am 32. I am expected to convey those complex feelings in a sophisticated way. But all I could say was, It's not fair....not fair....not fair.., and then the three year old in me came pouring out of my eyes like so many waterfalls.

Now, I wish I was 50. Then, I would have known how to address the white woman who pulled her midnight blue Toyota up to my bumper. She followed behind me hugging my bumper while blaring her horn. I should have known what to say when she spewed all over me and my two girls her 2 minute tirade of foul mouthed abuse from her driver's side window, instead of just sitting there with that dumb look on my face and nothing coming out of my mouth. Apparently, I hadn't taken advantage of a wink in time to make a right turn just before a pedestrian had stepped off of the curb. Or maybe I was driving too slowly towards the stop light moments earlier. Still perhaps it wasn't my driving that had set her off at all. If I was 150, I would have known what to say when she pulled along side me at the next stop light, and called me and my daughters F*#@ing N*&&ers and Crack Whores. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

In that space, I was keenly aware of my girls, and the onlookers. I was overcome with shame. In my head I'm thinking how long till we get home, how long until I can just close myself up in my room and let go all of the years that I had been holding inside since that moment at Chapman Avenue.

My Clark Kent?

2009-03-31T21:01:00.001-07:00

Now all she needs is a telephone booth, leotard, tights, and a cape.
My sister took the girls to see Monsters vs. Aliens, the latest computer animated movie from Dreamworks, on Saturday. Since then, Simone walks around the house wearing her fenced 3-D glasses like she's waiting for the moment when objects will begin to lung into her lap with startling effect. Now, if I can just get her to stop talking to the Jell-O mold!

General Observation....

2009-03-31T08:15:00.000-07:00

Common sense is a lot like jelly. When you don't have much of it, make it spread.

Robert's 5th Birthday Party

2009-03-28T18:18:00.000-07:00

Sadia and Simone attended Robert's 5th birthday party today. It was a themed party, and I must say that my friends' creativity with birthday party planning never disappoints. For instance, I would have never in a million light years thought to put electrical tape and water logs together to create "lightsabers".

My thoughts after today's droid attack is a mixed bag. On the one hand it's fun to watch our kids growing up together, but on the other hand I am regretting my diligence at pushing my children to crawl, walk, and talk. They really are growing up so quickly, and it seems like the days when Cheerios and velcroed pink bows have faded into a galaxy far, far, away...

Darn You, Burger King Drive Thru!!!

2009-03-25T09:33:00.001-07:00

Few things are more disappointing than making a pit stop at a local drive thru in anticipation of an ice cold carbonated beverage, only to take that first swig of coke while driving off, and discover that your drink is flat!!!! It plum knocks the fizz right out o' ya!

Roshambo

2009-03-19T21:12:00.000-07:00

I teach 6th grade. I think that it's safe to say that I've seen my fair share of disagreements. In the good, the bad, and the ugly, ranging from who gets to use the scissors first, to who's idea to use for a group project, to who knocked the basketball out of bounds, there is one conflict resolution strategy that has stood the test of time: Rock-Paper-Scissors.

Despite the circumstance, and no matter how married students are to their positions, ultimately there is no disputing a best of 3 R-P-S tournament. It's like the game wields some magical influence over the irrational thinking that fuels playground conflicts. So, where once deep rifts in childhood friendships teemed, now harmony abounds. It's quick. It's simple. It's random. It's fair.

Why can't more adults be as practical about problem solving. While I wouldn't base the fate of a country on the outcome of a Roshambo game, imagine what would happen if March Madness Bracketologists sat down for a little tournament play before the one-and-done frenzy that determines the best college basketball team in the nation? Just think about the untapped potential we could harness and time we'd save if we could be more elementary in our decision making!

Give Politicians Pink Slips, Not Teachers!

2009-03-10T20:38:00.000-07:00

Teachers rallied at the corner of Harbor and Chapman of Fullerton this afternoon for solidarity. With the adopted State budget cuts, termination notices will be sent to teachers on Friday, March 13th. Teachers, administrators, parents, and students showed up in support donning our pink and black. Our presence was felt, and our voices were heard. I was encouraged by all of the support, and especially touched by the rally poster that read: TERMINATED with images of the eight permanent teachers (fellow co-workers) who were pink-slipped on Wednesday. These are the faces of education. These are faces of State budget cuts. Here's what you can do to help. Stand up for our schools and Pink Friday, March 13th.

Stay-at-Home Mom Just a Butt on a Log

2009-03-06T20:43:00.001-08:00

When I came across this newspaper clipping from the Washington Post's "Tell Me About It" column..., well what can I say... I wanted to both roll my eyes in perturbation, and thrust my fist clinched arm in a downward "YES!" gesture signaling a victory for all moms everywhere. I'll refrain from commenting, and leave that up to all of the quick witted mommys in the blogosphere.

****** Begin Copied and Pasted Dear Carolyn Question******

Dear Carolyn: [My] Best friend has [a] child. Her: exhausted, busy, no time for self, no time for me, etc. Me (no kids): Wow. Sorry. What'd you do today? Her: Park, play group . . .

Okay. I've done Internet searches, I've talked to parents. I don't get it. What do stay-at-home moms do all day? Please no lists of library, grocery store, dry cleaners . . . I do all those things, too, and I don't do them EVERY DAY. I guess what I'm asking is: What is a typical day and why don't moms have time for a call or e-mail? I work and am away from home nine hours a day (plus a few late work events) and I manage to get it all done. I'm feeling like the kid is an excuse to relax and enjoy -- not a bad thing at all -- but if so, why won't my friend tell me the truth? Is this a peeing contest ("My life is so much harder than yours")? What's the deal? I've got friends with and without kids and all us child-free folks get the same story and have the same questions.

Tacoma, Wash.
***** End Copied and Pasted Dear Carolyn Question*****

Hang on a sec. Cool your jets, and read on for Carolyn's response to Little Ms. Child-free Tacoma Washington.

*****Begin Carolyn's Reponse to Tacoma Washington *****
Relax and enjoy. You're funny.

Or you're lying about having friends with kids.

Or you're taking them at their word that they actually have kids, because you haven't personally been in the same room with them.

Internet searches?

I keep wavering between giving you a straight answer and giving my forehead some keyboard. To claim you want to understand, while in the same breath implying that the only logical conclusions are that your mom-friends are either lying or competing with you, is disingenuous indeed.

So, since it's validation you seem to want, the real answer is what you get. In list form. When you have young kids, your typical day is: constant attention, from getting them out of bed, fed, clean, dressed; to keeping them out of harm's way; to answering their coos, cries, questions; to having two arms and carrying one kid, one set of car keys, and supplies for even the quickest trips, including the latest-to-be-declared-essential piece of molded plastic gear; to keeping them from unshelving books at the library; to enforcing rest times; to staying one step ahead of them lest they get too hungry, tired or bored, any one of which produces the kind of checkout-line screaming that gets the checkout line shaking its head.

It's needing 45 minutes to do what takes others 15.

It's constant vigilance, constant touch, constant use of your voice, constant relegation of your needs to the second tier.

It's constant scrutiny and second-guessing from family and friends, well-meaning and otherwise. It's resisting constant temptation to seek short-term relief at everyone's long-term expense.

It's doing all this while concurrently teaching virtually everything -- language, manners, safety, resourcefulness, discipline, curiosity, creativity. Empathy. Everything.

It's also a choice, yes. And a joy. But if you spent all day, every day, with this brand of joy, and then, when you got your first 10 minutes to yourself, wanted to be alone with your thoughts instead of calling a good friend, a good friend wouldn't judge you, complain about you to mutual friends, or marvel how much more productively she uses her time. Either make a sincere effort to understand or keep your snit to yourself.

********** End Carolyn's Response to Tacoma Washington*********

I don't know about you, but I have lots of child-free friends that get it. So, either she is actually a husband trying to figure out what his wife does all day, or the letter writer is not on the level.

Suggestions for New Cabinet-Level Agencies by Andrei Codrescu

2009-02-25T20:21:00.000-08:00

I'm a big fan of Andrei's essays:

A Pregnant Pause

2009-02-24T20:43:00.000-08:00

There are days that I just want to stay in bed, with the covers pulled over my head. I want to plug my ears to the tune of more bad news echoing economic hardship. I want to avoid life's uncertainties.

Today was one of those days.

There is a dark cloud looming at work. Teachers are bracing for the first wave of layoffs forecasted for March. Notices will be issued in two weeks. Ironically, the actual date that pink slips will be delivered falls on Friday the 13th. I'm not superstitious, but regrettably this day will go down in history as having lived up to its folklore.

The prospect of cuts hitting close to home has divided our staff into two groups: those who will be employed next year, and those who won't. Based on a few casual conversations in the lounge, there doesn't seem to be any animosity, but there is that pregnant pause punctuating each interaction, as we are all keenly aware of the elephant in the room. The question on everyone's minds... Who will get cut? Regardless the outcome, it will mean a great miscarriage to education.

Tagged

2009-02-19T18:56:00.000-08:00

I've been tagged by friend and fellow blogger, Jen, but you might be more familiar with her blogger pen name, "Brazenlilly".

The first time that I met Jen was the fall of freshman year, in Steve Richardson's Life of Christ class at PCC. I had gotten this crazy idea that putting caricature print band aids across the toe of my All Stars, would make me a trendsetter in the relatively blah world of Christian higher education. I thought the shoes punctuated my personality. I'm sure that Jen was just being her super-nice and exuberant self, when she commented that my fashion statement was "cute". In many ways that moment in my broken life, was like a much needed flare on a painfully boring, white canvas.

Our brief exchange, though trite, stood out to me. It was an open door for a kid who felt out of place at PCC. Being one of three black students at a predominately white university was very intimidating. I wanted to fit in, but --given my unfortunate home life--I really felt emotionally devoid, and unable to connect with people. I wasn't from the typical Christian home, thriving in the typical suburban community where nurturing stay-at-home moms reared replete children for college life. I wasn't in college for the pursuit of a dream. Rather I was there strictly for the utilitarian purpose of having a roof over my head and food to eat. My focus was on survival. However, Jen's kind gesture was greatly appreciated, and ironically brought a little color to my otherwise bleek world.

So, I'm supposed to post the fourth picture in the fourth folder on my computer. Here it is:

Simone was ten months old, and wearing eighteen month clothes at the time this photo was taken. Strangers and friends alike would always comment on her chubby cheeks. I remember feeling extremely aware that she hadn't begun to walk yet, mostly because her older sister starting taking her first steps at that age.

I stalk blogs often, but from time to time I have been known to check out Brad's blog, which coincidentally I came across through Jen's blog.

I'm not sure who to tag that hasn't already been tagged, so I'll take a gamble with Sarah T., Jen W. and Kristi.

Facebook's Controversial Facelift

2009-02-17T23:05:00.000-08:00

I'm sure that you've heard the news about Facebooks rules change. If not, then here it is in a nutshell...Facebook has re-written their terms and conditions regarding your right to delete or remove personal information from their site. Find their updated terms here.

Essentially the controversy is over who actually owns the material you upload and share on the social networking site. Under the new terms, you agree to let the company use whatever you upload onto their site in any way they choose. Even if you delete your profile. Under normal terms of service, the rules grant companies a license to store my data. Facebook deleted a provision in the original contract that gave users the right to remove content at any time. Additionally, the new terms include language that grants Facebook the right to retain my content even after my account has been deleted.

This may seem harmless, but that's only because it's difficult to anticipate the way Facebook may choose to use my information in the future. For example, a cherished family photo could show up in a future Facebook ad, or worse my copyrights to the material could potentially be forfeited.

You can read the full download on the controversy here.

So, even though the privacy settings on my precious profile are set to high alert, Facebook now reserves the right to do with my content as they please.

How do you feel knowing that your information, published in a somewhat personal capacity, is now protected under the rights and property of Facebook?

*BTW, the graphic used in this post is an original work created by yours truly.

Fun with the Lyons

2009-02-08T22:20:00.000-08:00

Today we joined the Lyons' crew in celebrating Tanner's 2nd birthday. I was excited to meet Tanner for the first time, and introduce him to Sadia and Simone. I was also pleasantly surprised by all of the familiar faces, among whom were Kristi, Derek, JJ, Jennifer, and Brian.

The whole experience really left an impression on Sadia. When I tucked her in for bed, she couldn't stop talking about Tanner's party. Here is Sadia on her experience.

A Lesson from My Students

2009-02-05T13:21:00.000-08:00

I don't often blog about work, and that is because as a teacher, I have a professional obligation to preserve my students' anonymity. However, I couldn't keep this nugget to myself.

My students were asked to reproduce an iconic image of Barak Obama--the face of hope and optimism-- using a Grid Drawing process. Ironically, at the onset, my students were very pessimistic about the challenge. This is a vlog of their experience from their point-of-view.

I was blown away by their attentativeness. Essentially, the process transcended the narrow frame of an art lesson, and as a result I became the student. In their lesson, I found so much application for my own life. For instance, when I experience hardship, my attention converges on the obstacle before me.

Currently, I am coping with a blow dealt to me by life. I may blog about the details later. Right now, though, I am very much the wounded animal, that seeks safe haven in a cave somewhere to nurse my wound. I want to detach, because detaching is innate, and doing what is innate comes easily.

However, I realize that this narrow focus puts me in a very vulnerable position, because it has the risk of isolating me from the people I care most about. When I withdraw like this, I often fail to see the bigger picture, which is to say that my perspective is one of a lone fighter, when the truth is the exact opposite. I am apart of something greater than myself.

I am a mother, a wife, a friend, a sister, a daughter, a teacher, a parishioner, a citizen of my city, my state, and of the world. I have an amazing support system that-- when I invite them in--helps me weather the storms with more tenacity. More importantly, my students' reminder makes the daunting task of coping with life on life's terms more manageable.

Mr. Novocaine

2009-02-03T19:56:00.000-08:00

Mr. Novocaine--Don McClosky

Rhoades' image of fingers as life is remarkable. Fingers push and pull. Currently, I feel as if I'm grasping at life with futility.

Superbowl XLIII: Pittsburgh Puts Their Foot Down.., or Did They?

2009-02-01T21:00:00.000-08:00

Pittsburgh wins the Superbowl, but not without controversy. I still think that referees dropped the ball on Santonio's clutch play in the fourth quarter. The right foot never touched the turf!!!!! I'm not bitter.., I'm just saying...

This is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object...

2009-02-01T15:10:00.001-08:00

Whenever buttermilk-ranch dip accompanies appetizers and/or hors d'oeuvres trays at the table...the dip becomes instant clown make-up for Simone.
Notice the lone celery stalk on the table near her right arm. The dressing was meant to enhance healthy snack choices. She nibbled on the celery briefly, but soon decided that the topping was a tastier treat. At which point, she bypassed the celery, and went straight for the sauce.
("Wait 'til they get a load of me!")If you look closely, you can almost make out a Joker-like grin on her face, accentuated by the the dressing.

A Side of Test Taking that Most Parents Don't Get to See

2009-01-28T21:21:00.000-08:00

A co-worker emailed these images to me the other day.

Thanks Susie! Teddy and I got a good laugh. :)

Endearing or Convoluted?

2009-01-27T21:30:00.000-08:00

"A mother is only as happy as her saddest child."
-A line from the movie "Loving Leah".

When I first heard this quote, instantly I was overcome by an estrogen overdose. I wanted to burst into tears, run upstairs, jar my girls from sleep, and smother them in warm embraces. The sentiment seems timeless and endearing, because from the moment they were born, my whole life has been committed to ensuring their happiness. However, after a little sleep and some sober thinking, it occurred to me that a relationship characterized by such interconnectedness is doomed from the onset.

Sure, the truth embodied in this view does not seem like such an imposition when suppressed by a weighty maternal overtone. What mother wouldn't find some comfort in easing a child's anguish. Yet, the whole idea of my joy so closely tied into my child's well being seems charming only when nursing a sick toddler. I do feel fulfilled when I can meet a need that they can't meet for themselves.

However, at some point children grow older; life happens to them. What happens when my influence over their lives begins to shrink considerably? At what point does this pressing practice of wanting to fix a hurt child turn into a tangled web of co-dependence?

TMI***

2009-01-22T20:31:00.000-08:00

Do you remember Peter Parker's conclusion about his Spidey senses from the movie "Spider-Man", "This is my gift, my curse."?

Yeah.., well.., that quote sounds really magnanimous when it's coming from a superhero in an ergonomic leotard, and on the big screen.

Enter The Gift...

When I got pregnant, my body obviously evolved. However, one modification that caught me off guard, was my heightened sense of smell.

I inherited a solid set of sleuthing skills. Now, like a bloodhound, I can pick up a scent wafting through the air from over a mile away. For all practical purposes, this gift is most useful when determining whether produce has exceeded it's shelf life, sniffing out soured leftovers, and detecting curdled milk. After all, the unconscious choice to sacrifice self for the good of my children is by divine design, right? That is until, those rare moments when the gift backfires--literally.

Enter The Curse...

You know, when people pass gas, they carry the foul baggage with them. The rancid dust lingers in the air behind them at least 20 or so paces. Leaving the grocery store this evening I found myself sinus deep in some guy's vapor trail. It wasn't pleasant, so I'll spare you the details. Suffice it to say that The Mystery Pooter was more skilled at passing gas than a Nascar pit crew.

***Probably more than you cared to know about me, but you were warned.

Obama, and Driving

2009-01-20T22:43:00.000-08:00

I got my driver's license

for the first time, in '09

welcoming thirty-two

wuthering past wasilla

I got shotgun inside this

vehicle for change, strange

figure in the photo

captures a modern era

origin:

neither African

nor American

but born in Yeswecan

height:

entering from the front

eating at the table

eclipsing the glass ceiling

weight:

palpable

eyes:

rose-colored

DOB:

1-20-09

King Marched, So That Obama Could Run

2009-01-20T20:13:00.000-08:00

Lyrics | McFadden & Whitehead - Ain’t No Stopping Us Now lyrics

I Go Pluck in the Night

2009-01-15T21:50:00.000-08:00

Teddy woke up this morning with a chip on his shoulder.., actually it was more like a bald patch on his leg.

I wished him a good morning, and fully expected the same greeting in return, but when he mumbled something under his breath and proceeded to brush his teeth, it became apparent that I was the source of his irritation. When I asked why he was in such a grumpy mood, he cast a menacing look my way, as if I were harboring some disorderly secret.

Many people choose waxing as a source of hair removal. Some embrace tweezing over waxing. Still, there are others who weather the exotic waters of the Mid Eastern threading method. I, on the other hand, employ a plucking technique-- or so I've heard.

Apparently, I yanked a patch of hair out of Teddy's leg in my sleep last night, murmured something incoherent, and then dozed back off into la la land.

I've heard of sleepwalking and sleep talking. I've even heard of sleep eating, but sleep plucking?

Is this an extension of my subconscious? Am I repressing some sort of unresolved frustration with Teddy's leg hair? I have no idea what it all means, but possibly I am the one with a chicken to pluck.

My Valentine's Day Tradition

2009-01-10T23:10:00.000-08:00

Okay, it's a little early to be blogging about Valentine's Day, but I wanted to share a Valentine's Day tradition that you might actually love. I published this post early, because pulling it off will take some planning ahead and lots of preparation. Wouldn't it be great if you could send your special someone a greeting card that bears a postmark from Kissimmee, Florida?

This city is one of many having a special name, and whose postmark can add a touch of charm and romance to your Valentine's Day mail. Some postmarks even say, "I love you". How cute is that!

Here's what you do:

Send your addressed and stamped gift (or greeting card) in a separate stamped envelope to the Postmaster in the city of your choice (an envelope within an envelope if you will).

Include a note requesting the special cancelation. The postal worker will open the outer envelope, remove the contents containing the pre-addressed and stamped Valentine's Day gift (or greeting card), stamp it with the special cancelation, and then send it on its way. This is a free service.

Just make sure you adhere the correct postage.

Other cities providing special postage include:

Lovely, KY 41231
Lovejoy, GA 30250
Lovejoy, IL 62059
Loveville, MD 20656
Loving, NM 88256
Loving, TX 76062
Lovelock, NV 89419
Loveland, OH 45140
Lovelands, OK 73553
Valentines, VA 23887
Valentine, NE 69201
Valentine, TX 79854
Romance, AR 72136
Bliss, NY 14824

I like to send my Valentine's gifts at least 3 weeks in advance to be sure that they arrive on time. I send 3 to 4 gifts, which arrive in succession beginning somewhere around the 10th, and I usually leave a postscript from, "Your Secret Admirer". Included with each package is some sort of riddle that hints at the contents in the next parcel. The fun culminates with a final envelope on Valentine's Day, and a big reveal of the true sender.

One year, the theme was What You'll Wear and each package had an article of clothing that I wanted Teddy to wear for our Valentine's Day evening (did I hear somebody say butt naked with a smile). When the gifts arrive, I like to play coy pretending that I am clueless.

At the onset of this tradition, BC (before children), Teddy was flattered by the gesture. He was especially titillated at the idea of having a secret admirer--even more than he cares to admit.

So, if you're looking for something different that will likely add some flare to your Valentine's Day greeting this year, consider adding a special touch with romantic postmarks for sweethearts.

Tooth Fairy Bail-out Package

2009-01-07T20:25:00.000-08:00

Many presumed that the bailout saga would conclude with the auto industry's gynormous handout. Instead, the saga continues.

So, no one is surprised that immediately following Sadia's tooth loss on Saturday, one of the largest financial institutions in the world joined in the ranks of the many businesses in need of a economic rescue packages. Ahem... (clearing my throat)

That's right, the dollar-under-the-pillow tradition underwent a little financial restructuring.

In other words, I....I mean the "Tooth Fairy"..., recycled a dollar from Sadia's piggy bank (don't judge me; I'm a Capitalist ).

While projections show that the small loan won't exactly break the bank, economists are estimating that this Emergency Economic Stabilization Act will bring Piggy Bank of Sadia's (or PB of S's) deficit to an all-time high of $2 dollars.*

Footnote:

*In a moment of weakness, during the throws of a chocolate addiction, I weaseled my fingers into the piggy's gut, bypassed the coins, and landed a dollar for a candy bar at the grocery store. I stop at nothing to satisfy a chocolate fix?

Slap-yo-mama!

2009-01-06T20:15:00.000-08:00

Caution: Readers of the wholesome variety, read no further.*
There are few absolutes in this world: There is a God; you will pay taxes; and you will die.

However one largely overlooked certainty in life is this: My fried chicken tastes so good it'll make you wanna slap-yo-mama!

I don't like to brag--and I can't deny the unequivocal fondness of my people and chicken--but this here yaard burd is tha bomb and a hand grenade!

Here is my fried chicken recipe that I know you'll love:

The key to good fried chicken is to create a tasty, and crispy crust that acts like a barrier to trap the juice inside the chicken. To achieve this culinary trifecta, use buttermilk instead of egg to bathe the chicken. Also, add about two tablespoons of baking powder to the flour mixture.**

It's the chemistry between the baking powder and the buttermilk that gives the crust its delicate crunch. It also keeps the meat moist while adding a slight tang to the finish.

Dredge the buttermilk-bathed chicken in the flower mixture until completely coated. Shake off the residue and fry until golden brown.

Now, I know that some of my readers are having a hard attack just reading this recipe, so I modified the frying liquid to include vegetable oil, rather than the traditional Crisco. And, as with all things, moderation is the key. This is not an entrée that I would serve often--maybe three to four times a year.

Finally, drain chicken on a paper towel, and voila! you have a soul-food dish that will likely place you in an adversarial position with yo mama!

Foot Notes:*Seriously, do you get any joy in this world, or do you just waif through life nibbling on carrots? (smiley face)

**My flour mixture consists of garlic powder, seasoning salt, and lemon pepper to taste. I season the flour, rather than the meat to amp up the flavor.

Palmolive: Soothes burns while you fry bacon...

2008-12-31T14:51:00.000-08:00

Colgate-Palmolive Company used Madge the Manicurist in their commercials to sell dishwashing liquid in the early 90s. In the ads, Madge claimed that the soap softens hands while you do dishes.

Well, the other day I was frying bacon when grease popped up off the pan and all but sautéed my neck. Teddy (a.k.a My MacGyver) suggested that I rubbed neon green Palmolive on the burned area. I was skeptical at first, but after a few swipes of my soapy fingers, instantly my irritation was soothed.

Amazed at how quickly the throbbing subsided, I grabbed my laptop to do a little research. As it turns out, our typical dish soap contains additives such as humectants which are useful in alleviating the pain caused by minor burns. Essentially, humectants absorb the moisture that usually builds-up under the skin, and which is responsible for the pulsating sensation that gives you the sense that your flesh is burning from the inside out. Since the humectants soak-up the pus, unsightly blisters are avoided.

Normally, I'm a natural dissenter from trends in home remedies, but the makers of Palmolive could certainly expand their market shares of dishwashing detergent under this new slogan:

Palmolive:

Soothes burns while you fry bacon.

Written History from Unwritten Records

2008-12-24T21:01:00.001-08:00

If there is one thing that my parents are good for at family gatherings, it's those back when I was a kid.... refrains. This year was no different, and back history bail-out packages for the "kids of today" were in short supply.

Back when I was a kid, these choruses bored me to smithereenes, with their cumbersome superlatives emphasizing hard-knocks living. However, now that I'm 30-ish, and donning a family of my own, I'm beginning to understand the mores of the older generation and their oral traditions, which are rooted in West African history. Essentially, it is the duty of the younger generation to pass along these legacies, and --as a rule --to deliver them with the same sing-song artistry.

In lieu of singing, I would like to transcribe one such story that my dad shares every year. Through exaggeration, he illustrates just how far the dollar stretched in the 50s:

When I was a kid, my daddy used to give me a dollar and say, 'I want you to go to the store and pick up a pack a cigarettes for me, and a pack for your mother. Then, I want you to get a gallon of gas for the mower so you can make some money this week. Oh.., and bring me back my change.'

My dad's memories are for me a melody that sticks in my head.

This is in part due to the fact that my 4-year old and 16 month old now hang on the cadence of their grandfather's hymns. One day, his stories will become theirs.

In this way his music is a talking drum for my family. Having no written record of my family history, I'm inclined to listen more intently, perhaps so that I can pass the tradition on to my children.

After all, it is through the act of passing on these songs, stories, and sayings that life's priceless heirlooms are preserved.

About that "God is On Your Side" Theory

2008-12-22T21:57:00.000-08:00

Tonight, Teddy read to Sadia from one of her usual bedtime stories. This is a nightly routine, and Sadia is pretty consistent about her book request. In fact, they read from the same book each night, so Sadia has the story memorized.

Because the story line is fixed in her mind, Sadia can "read" the book on her own. Tonight was no different. She picked up her book, and began narrating. However after finishing just two pages of the text, she grew tired of reading, and remarked:

"Daddy, you read this part, the rest is too difficult."

Teddy, expecting to reassure Sadia's confidence and fully realize the learning potential in that twinkling of a second, gently squeezed her chin, looked her square in the eyes, and said:

"Sadia, you can do anything. Nothing is too hard for you, because you are smart! And God is on your side."

Sadia, making a tangible connection rather than the meaningful one that Teddy intended, sensed the need for some cerebral thinking. She argued:

"But Daddy, God is not on my side because I can't see Him..,"

She extended her left arm to the side, stretched it towards the wall, cuffed her tiny fingers into a bolstered fist, and hammered her knuckles on the wall as if to present State's Exibit "B" in her case against this God is On Your Side Theory.

[KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!]

Then she claimed with pointed clarity:

AND,

because the wall is on my side.

What a cute exchange, but Sadia's experience illustrates the essence of her pragmatism. She sees, hears, and understands largely in concrete terms (no pun intended). Since being on a "side" is also a matter of proximity, her comment made perfect sense.

It is easy to take for granted her naive understanding of the world. Still, her comment offered a fresh perspective that kept me giggling well into the night.

The bible in 63 Days? (More like 82 days)

2008-12-18T19:25:00.000-08:00

So, I've exceeded the time for completing a personal challenge of reading through the bible in 63-days. Though I fell short of my goal, I am extremely excited to be finished.

The most outstanding insight gained from this undertaken seems counter-intuitive. It's a given that the bible holds the answers to many of life's questions. However, I ended my journey with more questions than I began with, especially difficult questions concerning my life.

As Christmas approaches, I am praying for the courage and faith to come to terms with those hard questions.

Thanks to all of my blog readers for your words of encouragement throughout my journey. :)

Recycle? Reduce? Reuse?

2008-12-17T22:31:00.000-08:00

What will be the final resting place for all of those Christmas cards you receive this holiday season?

Here are a few Green suggestions.

And, the Best Daddy Award goes to...

2008-12-16T18:03:00.000-08:00

This brief exchange ensued between Teddy and Sadia, while he fished for what seemed a sure compliment. After all, he did just serve Sadia a piece of cake following dinner.

Teddy: Aren't I the best daddy you ever had?

Sadia: No (matter-of-factly).

Teddy: (taken aback) No? Well, who is?

Sadia: (without missing a beat shoveling cake into her mouth) My mom.

Service

2008-12-15T12:21:00.000-08:00

"Service is the rent we pay for being. It is the very purpose of life, and not something you do in your spare time." --Marian Wright Edelman, Children's Activist

I Am The Face of Persecution

2008-12-12T22:32:00.000-08:00

Not that I have been persecuted for my faith, but rather I persecuted you because I lacked faith.

There is freedom in Christ.

I have hindered you from developing in your own personal relationship with Him, because I--much like the Pharisees-- have held you to an unattainable standard, one in which I, myself, have not and cannot attain. There is no good in me, save the promise, which Christ has given freely to all who believe in Him.

I am at fault. I have fallen short. My shortcomings are realized. I confess it and trust that God is working it out for His good.

I used to believe adamantly that each of is faced with the freedom of choice: God, or the world. Good or evil. Now, I understand that I don't freely choose God. In fact, I don't freely choose anything at all. God alone elects, as we are by nature scandalously incapacitated in the realm of free will.

First, Paul explains in the first chapter of Colossians, verses 15 through 20 that God has reconciled everyone and everything to Himself. He chose us because He is, Supreme.

What follows in verses 21 through 23 demonstrates my inadequacy all the more:

The Good News is that righteousness has been imputed to me. Any good that I have done is simply an extension of a Supernatural Line of Credit (if you will). The power of the Holy Spirit working through me.

I ruminated over this and other insights gained from two completely different sources this week. At first glance, the two laws seemed to be at odds with one another. However, after careful reflection, the principle of each highlight some fundamental truths.

I stumbled across the first article in Science News entitled The Decider. In it, scientists assert the nihility of free will, affirming that it is an "illusion", and that the complexity of decision making is veiled. The prospect of rewards and the anticipation of reprisals, send neurological signals to the brain triggering our decision making. Our brain, which essentially is subject to the same programming that enslaves a computer, makes choices based on receptivity and biochemistry. In other words, our will is less characterized by the notion of freedom, and more distinctively reduced to a conditional expression, or an if-then construct.

Initially, I rejected this position, in part because much of the arrogance of religious thinking is based on the idea of free will and one's ability to choose between good and evil. However, truthfully speaking, all decisions that I make -- by virtue of human nature-- are at the core selfish, and therefore evil.

As a Christian, my faith was rooted in the misconception that humans have the freedom to choose right from wrong; to bring forth good or evil. However, after careful consideration, I have come to realize the truth. Free will is indeed an illusion. I do not posses the faculty of volition. I am confined by my brain which is constantly networking with my body proliferating evil. The complexity of this "decision making" can best be summed up in the seventh chapter of Paul's letter to the Romans.

In verses 21-24, Paul writes:

I find it to be a law that when I want to do right, evil lies close at hand. For I delight in the law of God, in my inner being, but I see in my members another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?

Here, Paul illustrates the end to which we are bound to the mechanism of choice-- to the extent of reprobation-- whereby even if I will to do good, my actions indelibly fall short. I might erroneously point to my good deeds and argue, "I have proof that truly I can choose to do good." But the truth is that the good that emerges from my actions, emerges not as a result of my choosing to do what is right, but rather it is evidence of the Holy Spirit working in and through me.

Jesus clarifies this reality in his response to the "Rich Young Man", who refers to Christ as the Good Teacher in Mark 10: 18: "And Jesus said to him, 'Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone.'"

I once vehemently believed that the persecution of the church referred to throughout the New Testament, resulted when the world rejected Christians who choose to separate themselves from the sin of the world. However, clearly, the face of persecution is found in those who repudiate the freedom that is in Christ, crush people with unbearable religious demands, and never lift a finger to ease the burden.

12 Days of Christmas

2008-12-07T21:51:00.000-08:00

We're thinking about taking this show on the road!
Potential business investors may want to think about getting in on the ground floor?

la Recesión

2008-12-05T08:38:00.000-08:00

THIS WOULD BE FUNNY IF IT WEREN'T TRUE!!!!

Spreading Some Christmas Cheer

2008-12-04T21:45:00.000-08:00

I'm High!

2008-12-02T12:04:00.001-08:00

Reading the bible is a powerful drug.

It's a known fact that there are many physiological and mental benefits to exercise. But what of the merits of bible reading?

Okay. So, I've reached a crucial mile marker in my trek through the bible. However, with only thirty days and forty three books to the finish line, I am seriously starting to have some doubts about whether I'll be able to deliver. This intensely lengthy reading has stretched me to my physical and spiritual limits.

Despite the challenges, one thing is certain: The pace has emboldened me. I have attained the reader's equivalent of what marathon junkies often refer to as the runner's high.

I've read through the bible before, but I've never tread so vigorously. The exhilaration drives me. But what triggers the high?

Maybe it's the daily 2 to 3 hour reading schedule, which affords untapped opportunities for making connections and cross references like never before. For example, just yesterday, I read Isaiah's prophecy of God's impending judgement on Israel after repeated failures to keep the perfect law of God. I can recall with clarity their fall from grace, under who's leadership, and by who's hands, because I had read about it just days before in the Chronicles. Or, perhaps it is the promise of accomplishing what is, for me at least, the impossible--the bible in 60 days (yikes, what was I thinking).

I feel as though I am working at my maximum potential, and the sky's the limit. Still maybe there is a more practical explanation for what I am experiencing. Possibly there is something to the whole mind body connection, because my endorphins are flying all over the place, and I'm feeling loopy.

It could be that this is all in my head, but this bible reading euphoria can best be summed up by a famous lick from Grateful Dead's "Truckin'": What a long strange trip it's been.

Strip Pooper (photos included)

2008-11-30T15:53:00.000-08:00

Not to be confused with Strip Poker.

It never fails. Whenever Sadia gives back to the community, she always strips down to her birthday suit before delivering the goods.

I asked Sadia why she shed her clothing to do the deed. Her response was simply that she needed to "get comfortable".

We all have our own dumping routines, some which have taken years to forge (our routines that is).

Ordinarily, I can appreciate a level of comfortability on the throne, but where does she get this disrobing ritual from? I haven't the foggiest.

What's most intriguing is how dutifully our children pave their own way in this world?

This Year I Lost 10 Pounds.

2008-11-29T09:11:00.000-08:00

Today I found them.

Thanks, Brad

2008-11-26T06:40:00.001-08:00

There has been a correction to my last post:

Thank you Brad for the oversight.

Apparently I overlooked a few (three) zeros in my crunching. Yet, not surprisingly, my panties remained bunched.

What if we narrowed the field to 150 million people? I'm guessing not every citizen pays taxes? I wouldn't mind a $4,000 dollar bail out/stimulus/welfare check (or whatever they're calling it these days).

Americans are SUCKERS!!!!

2008-11-25T17:08:00.000-08:00

You know? I’ve been thinking about this whole "Economic Bailout Plan" and it's got my panties in a bunch!

$700 BILLION. BILLION???

As in a 7 followed by 11 zeros…?

Here's a better idea.

How about giving $2,000 to every tax payer in America?

300 million people X $2,000 = $600 BILLION.

Now wouldn’t that solve all of our problems AND save us $100 billion?

Please shoot holes in my theory…

Birthday Dish

2008-11-24T18:46:00.000-08:00

Teddy makes growing old an event to look forward to. For starters, he showed up unexpectedly at my job on Friday to take me out to lunch. When he arrived, he wasn't empty handed. Draped across his arms were a dozen of the most stunning long stemmed roses I've ever seen. Typically, I don't like a whole lot of ta do over my birthday. However, I was extremely blown away with the extent of his plans.

He organized a family excursion that night to Medieval Times, in Buena Park. I love that place. It's the one destination where grown ups can act like complete fools without fear of reprisal. I had a blast! My voice is still recovering from all of the screaming. The girls thoroughly enjoyed themselves as well.

Also, since Sunday was our 6th wedding anniversary, Teddy arranged an afternoon family picnic at the Irvine Regional park. He even remembered to pack extra goodies to toss to the ducks in the lake. I didn't get many photos during the picnic, mainly due to the fact that I wasn't able to attend (but that's a blog for another day). I did, however, manage to get some footage of Sadia trotting on a miniature pony at the park. Can somebody say, whiplash? Of course, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to add a little flare to the clip.

Sadia's pony ride. Enjoy!

Birthday celebration at Medieval Times.

Happy Birthday to Me!!!

2008-11-21T06:33:00.000-08:00

Twenty-one years ago today, a precious baby girl was born to a young family in a modest home in LA. That child's name? Dionne Lynette Glenn. :)

Pragmatic

2008-11-18T18:07:00.000-08:00

Me: Sadia, what makes you cry?

Sadia: Onions.

Me: Onions make you cry?

Sadia: Yes. They hurt my feelings.

Fireproof

2008-11-17T20:40:00.000-08:00

Dionne Sincire
1976
2008
Anaheim
11-15
Triangle Complex Fire
Frailty and volatility
Plans disheveled
Family exiled to Esperanza***
The best of human nature is not fireproof...

I'm still sorting through Saturday's experience. Since everything was so chaotic and incongruent, that is how I have been working through my thoughts these past few days. My recollections are so disjointed. The last statement of this poem is not meant to be the defining moment of my ordeal. It just sums up some of the perplexity of human nature that I witnessed--that internal struggle which prompts us to do evil instead of good.

A woman, clearly distraught over not being able to return to her home stood on the street corner and berated one of the evacuation officials. Why would you mistreat the very people who are here (probably on a voluntary basis) to save your life? Though her actions seem absurd from a rational perspective, the prospect of losing everything in a matter of minutes is anything but rational.

Moments after evacuation shelters were established, con artists arrived pretending to be insurance agents trying to scam victims of what remained of their life savings.

A few looters were caught scavenging through evacuated neighborhoods.

Some hotels in our area raised room rates by 30% hours after mandatory evacuations were issued.

After searching for hotel rates online, I Googled "Triangle Complex Fires, news", to get updates on the fire and evacuations, and clicked on the first "news" link that came up. The link navigated me to a porn site.

***Esperanza is a reference to Esperanza High School, which was established as one of the evacuation centers that night. We didn't actually go to an evacuation center. In an effort to hold on to some normalcy for the girls, we elected to stay with family instead. The use of the word here is meant to be ironic. Inspite of the interplay of man's propensity for evil in times of devastation, there is still hope. Maybe I'll write more on that later.

12,600 People Evacuated

2008-11-16T13:09:00.000-08:00

We were counted in the number of the 12,600 Anaheim Hills evacuees yesterday, who clogged the 91 freeway, which was flanked by a 20 foot fire wall marching up a 10 mile belt of dry hillside. We spilled out onto adjacent streets congesting major arteries leading out of the city, as police officers, firefighters and other emergency vehicles--parting a sea of cars traveling in the opposite direction-- weaved in and out of traffic . Many of those municipal employees raced to join the front lines of the blaze--some while reconciling the reality that their own homes were simultaneously being vanquished by the inferno.

Several fixed winged air crafts performed reconnaissance overhead. It seems ridiculous, but each time they flew by I ducked behind the steering wheel. The roaring of the DC10 engine was amplified, as the craft's belly all but nudged the ridge lines and rooftops of the nearby landscape. It looked like a war zone. I felt like I was in the middle of an H.G. Wells radio broadcast. The chaos was psychologically disturbing.

Neighbors use words like "apocalypse" and "Armageddon" to describe the mushroom cloud of soot that plumed in the air.

Fortunately, we are the lucky ones. As we returned home this afternoon, unsure of whether the Triangle Complex Fire--as it is now being called-- was merciful to our modest home, we marveled at the landscape, which now resembles a checker board pattern with alternating charred and unburned patches of brush.

Thankfully, our small condo community went unscathed. Our home is intact. Yet, some of our neighbors in the foothills didn't fair as well. With reportedly 86 buildings damaged or destroyed, 14 homes lost, and 280 apartments burned to the ground here in Anaheim Hills, acknowledging my family's chance good fortune is awkward.

It's hard to make sense of what just happened. I think I'm in shock. I can't even begin to describe the randomness of it all.

The blue "X" on the map above illustrates our location relative to the spot fires outlined in red. Our area was evacuated shortly after 1:00 pm yesterday. I'm still processing the whole ordeal. More to follow.

Fire Evacuations

2008-11-15T18:40:00.001-08:00

I just want to let family and friends know that we have safely evacuated from our home in Anaheim Hills, CA. Everyone got out safely. More later.

Cute test

2008-11-14T20:59:00.000-08:00

I stole it from Robin.

Dionne's Dewey Decimal Section:

940 History of Europe

Dionne = 495445 = 495+445 = 940

Class:
900 History & Geography

Contains:
Travel, biographies, ancient history, and histories of continents.

What it says about you:
You're connected to your past and value the things that have happened to you. You've had some conflicted times in your life, but they've brought you to where you are today and you don't ignore it.

Find your Dewey Decimal Section at Spacefem.com

A Change is Gonna Come

2008-11-06T21:32:00.000-08:00

Recorded by Sam Cooke in 1963

I was born by the river
In a little tent, and o
just like that river
I've been running ever since

It's been a long long time coming, but I know
A change is gonna come, oh yes it will

It's been too hard living
but I'm afraid to die
'cause I don't know what's up there
beyond the sky,

It's been a long time coming, but I know
A change is gonna come, oh yes it will

I go to the movie and I go downtown
Somebody keep tellin' me
don't hang around

It's been a long time coming, but I know
A change is gonna come, oh yes it will

Then I go to my brother
and I say brother help me please
But he wind up knocking me
back down on my knees

There have been times that I thought
I couldn't last for long
But now I think I'm able to carry on

It's been a long time, but I know
A change is gonna come, oh yes it will