Okay, so my younger daughter, in the middle of the night, stood up, pulled of her diaper, and peed all over her crib -- is this her version of being interested in potty training -- got me and my husband up at 3 a.m., so the middle of the night blog is back. But I digress (can you begin a topic with a digression, or is the rest of the post a digression... hummmm.....)
So, Rosh Hashanah is a American holiday? I certainly have had some pretty strident arguments that Christmas is not an American holiday, but never had to argue for or against the High Holidays. But I agree with Jon Stewart -- what the heck was Congress doing taking off Rosh Hashanah? Two points on this one:
1. Like generations of American Jews before her, my daughter won't get a perfect attendance record because she's a practicing Jew, no matter how healthy she is this year. No, her public school doesn't close for Rosh Hashanah, but Congress, about five miles down the street did. Can Jim Moran, my Representative, still get a good attendance record? Was he in shul, blaming the Jews for the war in Iraq to his neighbor during the Amidah?
2. Well, if the anti-Semites and general small minded thought that Jews controlled the banking industry, they've got proof now! If Wall Street (full of them Jews), being rescued by Congress (with its banking committee headed by a Jew) can take a day off from this end-of-the-world crisis to celebrate the birth of the world, well, it must be because The Jews got it all covered anyway.
But really, did they have to delay meeting until after two days of Rosh Hashanah? You know, there are synagogues in Washington. Barney, Joe, Russ, and anyone else, Jewish or honorary Jew, could drop into one of our many Beth Els, Emmanuels, and and other Hebrew Congregations, have a quick daven, even a little nosh at the oneg, and still be in for deliberation by 1:30 or so (a respectable time to show up on the House floor). Rosh Hashanah isn't even a holy day with full prohibitions of work, it's only a Festival. They could drive back to Congress!!!
But if it's that important that the corridors of power must be shut down for a Jewish holiday, then at least give my kid the day off school, too. Next year, the holidays are on the weekend, but come 5770 (2010), it better be official, or I'm taking off Ash Wednesday and Good Friday!
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Are we as stupid as they think we are?
Putting Sarah Palin on the GOP ticket was an obvious ploy to increase John McCain's support from two specific groups: the religious right and women. The religious right has already shown it cares more about symbols and substance -- they were a large force in the reelection of George W. Bush despite the fact that his administration had done nothing significant in their issue areas in the first term Just saying that he was against choice, separation of church and state,
etc. was enough for them to support him for re-election based on superficial, and insubstantial, reasons. They now support McCain despite proven hostility to the religious right. They are easily bought off.
etc. was enough for them to support him for re-election based on superficial, and insubstantial, reasons. They now support McCain despite proven hostility to the religious right. They are easily bought off.
But are women as naive as this, too? Should we support Sarah Palin just because she's a woman? Sadly, it seems that's enough for some women, given the poll numbers showing a marked increase in white women supporting the GOP ticket. Why are we falling for this transparent
ploy? What will Sarah Palin do for women? Give us reproductive choice (which she and her daughter have the privilege to exercise), promote equality in pay (never said anything about that), fight for good public education for all children beyond just test scores (no, vouchers and charter schools are more important than improving the schools most children go to), pushing for family friendly policies at work? -- doesn't matter to her since she has two sets of grandparents living near by to care for her kids.
When I think back to the women who fought for universal suffrage, I'm sad to say that maybe their critics were right -- women aren't smart enough to vote. Could this be true -- are we can only understand the superficial? Or do we vote thoughtfully, caring not so much for who is running that what they stand for. As women, we care for others -- our family, our community, etc. But should we support a woman who advocates policies that don't support the way we do -- caring for the needy, the young, the vulnerable?
We women are better than this, aren't we?
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Camoflauge
While cleaning my kitchen tonight, after the onslaught of various relatives, including a few little slobs under four feet, I had a random, yet profound thought.
I hate when kids wear camouflage clothes. First off, children are violent and destructive enough, we don't need to encourage them to emulate soldiers. (Yes, soldiers have other admirable quality -- obedience, discipline, loyalty -- but as if green splotches would inspire that in a kid!) Additionally, camouflage is meant to disguise the wearer, so they can't be seen by others. Now this is a great idea -- as I know that if my children are hiding from me, they certainly aren't doing something I wouldn't want them to do.
So I refuse to buy anything that looks even slightly camouflage-ish for my girls. Of course, my mother arrives a few days ago, with bundles of clothing in hand for the girls, carefully culled from the racks of TJ Maxx. They're all adorable, except the nightgown for the older one. It's pink, yes, it has ruffles, yes, it even has an Supergirl "S". This should be empowering for my daughter -- she either would think she looks like a princess (ruffles, pink) or a superhero. But, alas, it is pink CAMOUFLAGE! What's the message here? Supergirl is a soldier, hiding out in the jungle, knocking out hostiles with her AK-47, wrist ruffles flying!
Okay, so, established, I don't like camouflage. But then, cleaning the kitchen, I thought, why are stoves white or stainless steel? Here am I, scraping burnt egg and such off the top of my white stove. I want a camouflage stove! I like green (although maybe Dessert Storm tan might be a bit more soothing on the eyes) and I hate cleaning. Why stop with a camo stove? How about a camo floor, countertops, even sink? I wouldn't have to clean the kitchen until it started smelling or crunched underfoot, and even then, that would only add to the jungle atmosphere. Maybe I'd add some large ferns to hide the dirty dishes in the sink, too.
Camouflage in the kitchen doesn't work everywhere. The outside of the fridge, yes, the inside, definitely not. Imagine how much more often you'd hear the petulant whine "I can't find it, can you come and find it for me" (that's my husband, my girls just yell "Mamaaaaa!")
But I propose that the next great decorating movement not be a return to avocado and orange a la 1970s, nor Emeril worthy stainless steel industrial size appliances that look more like garbage trucks. Let's see Elle Decor and Dominio and the others feature really useful, cutting edge kitchen style -- camouflage. Overwhelmed, stressed out moms will happily pull out their credit cards.
I hate when kids wear camouflage clothes. First off, children are violent and destructive enough, we don't need to encourage them to emulate soldiers. (Yes, soldiers have other admirable quality -- obedience, discipline, loyalty -- but as if green splotches would inspire that in a kid!) Additionally, camouflage is meant to disguise the wearer, so they can't be seen by others. Now this is a great idea -- as I know that if my children are hiding from me, they certainly aren't doing something I wouldn't want them to do.
So I refuse to buy anything that looks even slightly camouflage-ish for my girls. Of course, my mother arrives a few days ago, with bundles of clothing in hand for the girls, carefully culled from the racks of TJ Maxx. They're all adorable, except the nightgown for the older one. It's pink, yes, it has ruffles, yes, it even has an Supergirl "S". This should be empowering for my daughter -- she either would think she looks like a princess (ruffles, pink) or a superhero. But, alas, it is pink CAMOUFLAGE! What's the message here? Supergirl is a soldier, hiding out in the jungle, knocking out hostiles with her AK-47, wrist ruffles flying!
Okay, so, established, I don't like camouflage. But then, cleaning the kitchen, I thought, why are stoves white or stainless steel? Here am I, scraping burnt egg and such off the top of my white stove. I want a camouflage stove! I like green (although maybe Dessert Storm tan might be a bit more soothing on the eyes) and I hate cleaning. Why stop with a camo stove? How about a camo floor, countertops, even sink? I wouldn't have to clean the kitchen until it started smelling or crunched underfoot, and even then, that would only add to the jungle atmosphere. Maybe I'd add some large ferns to hide the dirty dishes in the sink, too.
Camouflage in the kitchen doesn't work everywhere. The outside of the fridge, yes, the inside, definitely not. Imagine how much more often you'd hear the petulant whine "I can't find it, can you come and find it for me" (that's my husband, my girls just yell "Mamaaaaa!")
But I propose that the next great decorating movement not be a return to avocado and orange a la 1970s, nor Emeril worthy stainless steel industrial size appliances that look more like garbage trucks. Let's see Elle Decor and Dominio and the others feature really useful, cutting edge kitchen style -- camouflage. Overwhelmed, stressed out moms will happily pull out their credit cards.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Why early parenthood is like college
Since I teach undergraduates, I spend much time envying their freedom, self-centerdness, and opportunity to swim, and sometimes drown, in knowledge. Oh, to be back in those days, living in a dorm room (no mortgage, no nagging repairs, minimal cleaning), going out most nights, being in close proximity of friends, and again, all the learning, the brain growing, the becoming. But I can't fool myself into glowing memories of halcyon days,:, one look at my students' faces, and I remember I how really felt -- stressed, anxious, impatient, and as if I were on a roller coaster where the highs and lows were of dire consequence. Only now, when the excitement and freedom of that period is long gone, do I realize how much I had, how much more I could have enjoyed instead of stressing out.
And so, it seems, I will feel a couple of years from now. Right now, I am sleep-deprived, stressed, anxious, and overwhelmed by all that must be done. My moods swing from delight to devastation. I'm not back in college (although I am trying to get a PhD, but more on that later....) I'm an early parent, with two young girls. And I am SO STRESSED!!!!! I'm on a roller-coaster again, thrilled with my child's latest achievement, depressed at the piles of bills, laughing at silly moments, pissed off at my husband -- all in the space of a few hours. I didn't realize, however, how similar this time is to college years until I heard my students going on about how STRESSED they are.
I thought to myself "you have no idea," and, in fact, they don't. Not that life can't get more stressful, it can get way more stressful in ways I can only imagine in my most anxious moments. But what I realized is that, I have no idea, either. These are the halcyon days, too, but I'm too overwhelmed by the challenge of it all to realize the joy I experience at the same time. Like college, the moments of pleasure seem compressed between lack of sleep, competing demands, and self-doubt. Now, it's a child (or children) who keep me awake past midnight. I juggle competing demands on my time, and wonder if I'm screwing it all up anywaay. I know that I have wonderful children, that they are an absolute joy, but I can't seem to let myself just sit back and savor the moment of their early childhood because I feel too pressured by all that is demanded of me.
When I ask my mother "what did you do about X?" when my brother and I were this age, she often says, "I don't know, we were too busy to worry about things like that." She was also too busy to remember many of the little, cute, day to day precious events. As she says "we didn't have any choice". That's how I feel, but I realize I do have a choice. It's not the automatic choice, to respond to the pressures the best I can, batting away incoming meteors before they shatter the very fragile order of our lives, but maybe I should make sure that when I'm not in the very midst of these challenges, I'm in the midst of savoring this short period of my life.
Yesterday, I had way too much to do (as always). The house was a mess, there were bills to pay (with the concurrent stress of knowing we couldn't pay them), books for both the PhD class I'm taking and the undergraduate class I'm teaching were whining to be read (yes, when you have a book that must be read but won't be enjoyed, it seems to whine on, doesn't it?) I had the impulse to plop Maisy in front of a Teletubbies video, again. (She's watched the video so often that she's as good as naming the four Teletubbies as speaking the name of her sister). But instead, I let her climb up the stairs, something that I couldn't mutlitask -- if I wanted my child in one piece, all my attention had to devoted to that little tushie struggling upwards. So I did, and I was rewarded with real pleasure, real uninterrupted joy (I say this as I type and same child is standing up, saying "Mama" and demanding attention -- we always are making these choices....) But yesterday, I didn't try to do, I just watched. I watched as Maisy climbed each stair, then would turn around, grin at me, waive her left hand. and say "bye-bye". I will cherish those five minutes forever (and remember them well when, fifteen years later, she says "bye-bye" while waving car keys to at me.)
The moments to cherish aren't always as clear, or as pleasurable, as this. Lillie will be home from school soon, demanding my undivided attention. Of course, there is no way I can give it to her, with a cute, competing little sister demanding the same. In fact, I'd much rather plop both of them in front of the TV and do my work, which is whining all the more noisily in my head since I've done no academic work since yesterday afternoon. But it's not just that, Lillie is more like a termpaper than just hanging around a dorm, as Maisy seems to be at the moment. Being with Lillie takes work -- not just being there, but actually engaging, thinking, being challenged. The pleasure is not so obvious, it may not even be felt for a long time, if ever; But, if I try to If I ignore her demands, as my students often ignore their assignments, I lose out. I won't get nearly as much from being her mother. Today, I regret that I didn't write a thesis, didn't get an internship. It just seemed too demanding, too unecessary, and all too easy to avoid. Tomorrow, will I regret playing Fairies with Lillie? I absolutely will. So I need to figure out a way to take the time, to find the pleasure in hearing Lillie say over and over, "pretend I'm Tinkerbell and you're Fira" or "pretend I'm Harry Potter and you're Hermione" or (ugh!) "play The American Girl Card Game with me!" It might seem pretty onerous right now, but later on, I'll regret I didn't realize how much I was denying myself by avoiding less pleasurable activitie3s.
Soon enough, I'll only have memories and poor second chances. Doing a masters was not nearly as life-illuminating as my undergraduate studies, and I doubt my PhD study will be much different. And certainly, being a grandparent will be a joy, but it will never equal the moments spent engaging with my young girls. So I'll end here, and go blow bubbles with Maisy.
And so, it seems, I will feel a couple of years from now. Right now, I am sleep-deprived, stressed, anxious, and overwhelmed by all that must be done. My moods swing from delight to devastation. I'm not back in college (although I am trying to get a PhD, but more on that later....) I'm an early parent, with two young girls. And I am SO STRESSED!!!!! I'm on a roller-coaster again, thrilled with my child's latest achievement, depressed at the piles of bills, laughing at silly moments, pissed off at my husband -- all in the space of a few hours. I didn't realize, however, how similar this time is to college years until I heard my students going on about how STRESSED they are.
I thought to myself "you have no idea," and, in fact, they don't. Not that life can't get more stressful, it can get way more stressful in ways I can only imagine in my most anxious moments. But what I realized is that, I have no idea, either. These are the halcyon days, too, but I'm too overwhelmed by the challenge of it all to realize the joy I experience at the same time. Like college, the moments of pleasure seem compressed between lack of sleep, competing demands, and self-doubt. Now, it's a child (or children) who keep me awake past midnight. I juggle competing demands on my time, and wonder if I'm screwing it all up anywaay. I know that I have wonderful children, that they are an absolute joy, but I can't seem to let myself just sit back and savor the moment of their early childhood because I feel too pressured by all that is demanded of me.
When I ask my mother "what did you do about X?" when my brother and I were this age, she often says, "I don't know, we were too busy to worry about things like that." She was also too busy to remember many of the little, cute, day to day precious events. As she says "we didn't have any choice". That's how I feel, but I realize I do have a choice. It's not the automatic choice, to respond to the pressures the best I can, batting away incoming meteors before they shatter the very fragile order of our lives, but maybe I should make sure that when I'm not in the very midst of these challenges, I'm in the midst of savoring this short period of my life.
Yesterday, I had way too much to do (as always). The house was a mess, there were bills to pay (with the concurrent stress of knowing we couldn't pay them), books for both the PhD class I'm taking and the undergraduate class I'm teaching were whining to be read (yes, when you have a book that must be read but won't be enjoyed, it seems to whine on, doesn't it?) I had the impulse to plop Maisy in front of a Teletubbies video, again. (She's watched the video so often that she's as good as naming the four Teletubbies as speaking the name of her sister). But instead, I let her climb up the stairs, something that I couldn't mutlitask -- if I wanted my child in one piece, all my attention had to devoted to that little tushie struggling upwards. So I did, and I was rewarded with real pleasure, real uninterrupted joy (I say this as I type and same child is standing up, saying "Mama" and demanding attention -- we always are making these choices....) But yesterday, I didn't try to do, I just watched. I watched as Maisy climbed each stair, then would turn around, grin at me, waive her left hand. and say "bye-bye". I will cherish those five minutes forever (and remember them well when, fifteen years later, she says "bye-bye" while waving car keys to at me.)
The moments to cherish aren't always as clear, or as pleasurable, as this. Lillie will be home from school soon, demanding my undivided attention. Of course, there is no way I can give it to her, with a cute, competing little sister demanding the same. In fact, I'd much rather plop both of them in front of the TV and do my work, which is whining all the more noisily in my head since I've done no academic work since yesterday afternoon. But it's not just that, Lillie is more like a termpaper than just hanging around a dorm, as Maisy seems to be at the moment. Being with Lillie takes work -- not just being there, but actually engaging, thinking, being challenged. The pleasure is not so obvious, it may not even be felt for a long time, if ever; But, if I try to If I ignore her demands, as my students often ignore their assignments, I lose out. I won't get nearly as much from being her mother. Today, I regret that I didn't write a thesis, didn't get an internship. It just seemed too demanding, too unecessary, and all too easy to avoid. Tomorrow, will I regret playing Fairies with Lillie? I absolutely will. So I need to figure out a way to take the time, to find the pleasure in hearing Lillie say over and over, "pretend I'm Tinkerbell and you're Fira" or "pretend I'm Harry Potter and you're Hermione" or (ugh!) "play The American Girl Card Game with me!" It might seem pretty onerous right now, but later on, I'll regret I didn't realize how much I was denying myself by avoiding less pleasurable activitie3s.
Soon enough, I'll only have memories and poor second chances. Doing a masters was not nearly as life-illuminating as my undergraduate studies, and I doubt my PhD study will be much different. And certainly, being a grandparent will be a joy, but it will never equal the moments spent engaging with my young girls. So I'll end here, and go blow bubbles with Maisy.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Insanity at 4 a.m.
Picture the scene.....
Time: 4:15 a.m.
Place: my older daughter's bedroom
Action: Oldest daughter, sitting stark naked, wide-awake, organizing her "magic wands" (pencils) by size under the bright light of her bedside lamp. Mama walks in, bleary eyed.
Olkay.... now what?
Take one: Mama is empathetic. She's had nights (like right now) where she wakes up and can't fall asleep. Asks what Daughter is doing, feigns interest. Goes to move pencils lined up on bed, Daughter howls, Mama leaves them be. Tells her to turn off the light and go to sleep by 4:30 (points to digital clock on nightstand) gives her a kiss, wanders back to own bed and passes out.
Take two: (One hour later). Mama, again walking bleary eyed, emerges from Younger Daughter's room (5:15 nursing --purely for comfort -- for Mama) to see light still blaring in Older Daughter's room. "You were supposed to go to sleep an hour ago!" "I didn't look at the clock." (Well, that's one way to avoid obeying an order to go to sleep at 4:30). Leaving pencils still lined up (but taking book being read) Mama turns off light strernly, stumbles back into bed.
Take three: (Less than three mintues later) Light emerges from under closed door of Older Daughter's room. Mama looks at clock, past 5 a.m., justifiable to wake (morning person) husband. Informs him of situation, rolls over and tries to go back to sleep. Hears Abba go into Older Daughter's room, bellows (somewhat quietly) at her to TURN OFF THE LIGHT and BE QUIET! Takes pencils. Daughter howls (higher pitch, almost as loud as Abba bellow). Abba repeatedly hisses (still loudly) BE!!!! QUIET!!!! Mama lies in bed, praying Younger Daughter doesn't wake (having just been put back into crib after emo-nurse) and wondering if she did The Right Thing by sending in Cranky Abba. Now child is snuffling miserably, Abba is bent out of shape, Mama can't sleep (Younger Daughter, miraculously, is still sleeping).
Now, what would you have done if you walked in on your 6 1/2 year old, starkers, lining up pencils and in the middle of the night. Is this Normal? Is it Weird? Does it Matter?
Could this be anxiety about starting a new camp tomorrow? A brilliant, over active imagination that won't let her sleep? A blazing streak of independence that refuses to anything but what she wants to do? All of the above? And is the whole scence, Mama, Older Daughter, Abba (let's leave out Younger Daughter until she can at least talk) -- INSANE?
Or am I just overtired?
Time: 4:15 a.m.
Place: my older daughter's bedroom
Action: Oldest daughter, sitting stark naked, wide-awake, organizing her "magic wands" (pencils) by size under the bright light of her bedside lamp. Mama walks in, bleary eyed.
Olkay.... now what?
Take one: Mama is empathetic. She's had nights (like right now) where she wakes up and can't fall asleep. Asks what Daughter is doing, feigns interest. Goes to move pencils lined up on bed, Daughter howls, Mama leaves them be. Tells her to turn off the light and go to sleep by 4:30 (points to digital clock on nightstand) gives her a kiss, wanders back to own bed and passes out.
Take two: (One hour later). Mama, again walking bleary eyed, emerges from Younger Daughter's room (5:15 nursing --purely for comfort -- for Mama) to see light still blaring in Older Daughter's room. "You were supposed to go to sleep an hour ago!" "I didn't look at the clock." (Well, that's one way to avoid obeying an order to go to sleep at 4:30). Leaving pencils still lined up (but taking book being read) Mama turns off light strernly, stumbles back into bed.
Take three: (Less than three mintues later) Light emerges from under closed door of Older Daughter's room. Mama looks at clock, past 5 a.m., justifiable to wake (morning person) husband. Informs him of situation, rolls over and tries to go back to sleep. Hears Abba go into Older Daughter's room, bellows (somewhat quietly) at her to TURN OFF THE LIGHT and BE QUIET! Takes pencils. Daughter howls (higher pitch, almost as loud as Abba bellow). Abba repeatedly hisses (still loudly) BE!!!! QUIET!!!! Mama lies in bed, praying Younger Daughter doesn't wake (having just been put back into crib after emo-nurse) and wondering if she did The Right Thing by sending in Cranky Abba. Now child is snuffling miserably, Abba is bent out of shape, Mama can't sleep (Younger Daughter, miraculously, is still sleeping).
Now, what would you have done if you walked in on your 6 1/2 year old, starkers, lining up pencils and in the middle of the night. Is this Normal? Is it Weird? Does it Matter?
Could this be anxiety about starting a new camp tomorrow? A brilliant, over active imagination that won't let her sleep? A blazing streak of independence that refuses to anything but what she wants to do? All of the above? And is the whole scence, Mama, Older Daughter, Abba (let's leave out Younger Daughter until she can at least talk) -- INSANE?
Or am I just overtired?
Friday, June 29, 2007
Political nightmare
Warning: This post is NOT for the faint hearted......
Recently, my little one has been in a growth spurt, which means that when she's not eating, she's sleeping, and thus, so am I. And during this more abundant sleep, the dreams have been coming fast and furious. Most are your basic anxiety dream, occasionally R-rated, but nothing truly interpretive. Until now.
Maybe I've been reading the news too much, maybe speaking to my husband (and politics junkie) too much (not possible, we barely have time for conversation), but it's seeped into my unconscious. Last night, I dreamed I was a Muslim woman, veiled and all, having sex with (hold on to your lunch) George Bush! But this same woman, when walking down a secret flight of stairs, was then transported to Georgetown, and was now unveiled and a Paris Hilton type. Disturbing, no?
So what does this mean? It CERTYAINLY does not mean I find George Bush attractive. Is it about said Head of State and his policy towards the Middle EAst -- i.e. let's screw it? My interpretation is a little more nuanced -- that the powers that be in DC have misled Georgie into thinking that the Mid East wanted him and was his to "enter", tricking him into thinking the will of the "Georgetown" was the will of the Mid East.
But whatever. In the end, I jsut feel a little grossed out and have GOT to stop reading about Paris Hilton :)
Recently, my little one has been in a growth spurt, which means that when she's not eating, she's sleeping, and thus, so am I. And during this more abundant sleep, the dreams have been coming fast and furious. Most are your basic anxiety dream, occasionally R-rated, but nothing truly interpretive. Until now.
Maybe I've been reading the news too much, maybe speaking to my husband (and politics junkie) too much (not possible, we barely have time for conversation), but it's seeped into my unconscious. Last night, I dreamed I was a Muslim woman, veiled and all, having sex with (hold on to your lunch) George Bush! But this same woman, when walking down a secret flight of stairs, was then transported to Georgetown, and was now unveiled and a Paris Hilton type. Disturbing, no?
So what does this mean? It CERTYAINLY does not mean I find George Bush attractive. Is it about said Head of State and his policy towards the Middle EAst -- i.e. let's screw it? My interpretation is a little more nuanced -- that the powers that be in DC have misled Georgie into thinking that the Mid East wanted him and was his to "enter", tricking him into thinking the will of the "Georgetown" was the will of the Mid East.
But whatever. In the end, I jsut feel a little grossed out and have GOT to stop reading about Paris Hilton :)
Saturday, June 2, 2007
strapped
My husband's koala, Einstein, did himself in today. Daniel found him hanging by his (Daniel's) belt from the wardrobe in our bedroom. Okay, so Einstein is a puppet, but still, it was quite the statement, wasn't it? Did I have anything to do with it.... hmmm? Well, let's just say that this morning, in a half awake, very cranky state (as is of most mornings) I was woken by noisy child #1 (due to the benign neglect of said husband), shuffled into the bathroom, took a look at myself in the mirror on the door, and added to the horrors of my unwashed for two days hair, was a long, leather belt, hanging from the hook above.
Call me neurotic, call me father fixated or penis envious or childhood traumatized, but I cannot stand seeing his belt hanging like this. He could say it's pure laziness but if that's so, why are the rest of his clothes on the floor with only the leather member swinging in the bathroom breeze? Not only do I have to see it menacingly on the door, but in front a mirror, so it's double the aggression. Needless to say, I don't think it's just laziness. Now is this my thing? Well, sure, partly. As a kid, my brother and I were spanked, and my father often threatened bad behavior with "I'm going to take off my strap" -- i.e.. belt. Did he actually hit us wth the belt? No. It was just the brutality of the threat, clearly made in anger. That was scarier -- it wasn't a belt, it was a strap!
So when I see it hanging in our bathroom, don't blame me for being offened by the, at minimum, arrogance, and maximum, threat and aggression evidenced by my husband.
And don't say I'm one of these women who expects her husband to read her mind. Trust me, I let my husband know exactly what's on my mind like the daily headlines. I've been telling him not to hang his belt there since we first moved in together nine years ago. And this morning, cranky as I was, I took a deep breath and gently pointed out to him that he had left his belt hanging again after his shower, along with his glasses on the stepstool in front of the sink (not THAT'S smart - just perfect for little feet to step on). So he went back in, and put away the glasses. And later, when I woke up, there the belt still was.
So poor furry little Einie had to suffer for his "daddy's" mistake. As I explained to Daniel, maybe Einstein didn't want to live anymore in a world, or at least a home, so filled with strife. Or maybe I just wished for a moment that my husband would take that belt and put it around his own neck (just for a moment -- his life insurance policy probbly doesn't cover suicide).
Fortunately, Einie pulled a Heather. Or at least Einie's poor life was saved when my daughter asked "what happened?" All of sudden, Einstein was just bungee jumping. So he got a reprieve -- I'm still convinced, however, that this will come out in Lillie's therapy session circa 2038 -- "my mother was so passive agressive, she hung my father's stuffed animal with his belt"-- well, yeah, although there's nothing "passive' about it.
Will Daniel put his belt away next time, probably for a week or two, but then he'll revert to the same semi-conscious passive-agreessive habit of his own. And I don't believe in passive-aggressive. So next time, I'll just belt him. THAT should be good fodder for my children's future therapists.
Call me neurotic, call me father fixated or penis envious or childhood traumatized, but I cannot stand seeing his belt hanging like this. He could say it's pure laziness but if that's so, why are the rest of his clothes on the floor with only the leather member swinging in the bathroom breeze? Not only do I have to see it menacingly on the door, but in front a mirror, so it's double the aggression. Needless to say, I don't think it's just laziness. Now is this my thing? Well, sure, partly. As a kid, my brother and I were spanked, and my father often threatened bad behavior with "I'm going to take off my strap" -- i.e.. belt. Did he actually hit us wth the belt? No. It was just the brutality of the threat, clearly made in anger. That was scarier -- it wasn't a belt, it was a strap!
So when I see it hanging in our bathroom, don't blame me for being offened by the, at minimum, arrogance, and maximum, threat and aggression evidenced by my husband.
And don't say I'm one of these women who expects her husband to read her mind. Trust me, I let my husband know exactly what's on my mind like the daily headlines. I've been telling him not to hang his belt there since we first moved in together nine years ago. And this morning, cranky as I was, I took a deep breath and gently pointed out to him that he had left his belt hanging again after his shower, along with his glasses on the stepstool in front of the sink (not THAT'S smart - just perfect for little feet to step on). So he went back in, and put away the glasses. And later, when I woke up, there the belt still was.
So poor furry little Einie had to suffer for his "daddy's" mistake. As I explained to Daniel, maybe Einstein didn't want to live anymore in a world, or at least a home, so filled with strife. Or maybe I just wished for a moment that my husband would take that belt and put it around his own neck (just for a moment -- his life insurance policy probbly doesn't cover suicide).
Fortunately, Einie pulled a Heather. Or at least Einie's poor life was saved when my daughter asked "what happened?" All of sudden, Einstein was just bungee jumping. So he got a reprieve -- I'm still convinced, however, that this will come out in Lillie's therapy session circa 2038 -- "my mother was so passive agressive, she hung my father's stuffed animal with his belt"-- well, yeah, although there's nothing "passive' about it.
Will Daniel put his belt away next time, probably for a week or two, but then he'll revert to the same semi-conscious passive-agreessive habit of his own. And I don't believe in passive-aggressive. So next time, I'll just belt him. THAT should be good fodder for my children's future therapists.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
