This explains it better than I could... http://www.workingmomsbreak.com/2012/01/31/advice-you-will-never-hear-from-a-career-counselor/
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
war on germs
I think the reason that the debate on vaccines is so heated on this is because it's an intensely personal parenting decision that is also intensely political. My take on all this is philosophical. The dominant metaphor and paradigm for larger Western society is warfare. The medical industrial complex is steeped in that framework, treating disease and bacteria as enemy combatants, and valuing profit over evidence-based protocols. So that's the context in which the billion dollar vaccination industry was developed.
When we look at the mortality rate associated with any given disease, let's say polio, we'll see that the mortality rate was dropping with the advent of industrialization and better sanitation--prior to the introduction of a polio vaccine. The early polio vaccines were "live" and many people who were vaccinated contracted polio from the vaccine itself before they recalled it. Most pro-vaccine lit only looks at the period immediately after vaccines were introduced as "proof" that they work. Without that larger historical context, yes, it's easy to attribute the salvation of the human race to vaccines.
Even with the recent pertussis outbreak, if you look at the population dying, it's typically very poor children, and in Cali, undocumented Latino immigrant children, who are more likely to have poor nutrition and poor health. Yet rather than address the underlying factors of poverty and anti-immigrant health policies, the DPH is telling the general population to vaccinate.
Let's look at Gardasil as another example--this vaccine for females which supposedly prevents genital warts, an STD, which can lead to cervical cancer. This was fasttracked onto the market and is the controversial subject of mandatory vaccination laws. It's been around a few years now and the deaths or sterilization or other vaccine injury of young girls is only beginning to make the FDA take a second look. What is manifestly clear to me, is that vaccines are a massive human guinea pig experiment funded and fueled by the pharmaceutical industry.
Anyways, I recommend Aviva Jill Romm's Vaccinations book over Dr. Sears. She is a midwife, herbalist and now MD. She actually explains the fine print of what are the benefits, risks & adverse reactions to vaccinations (i.e. what your doctor is supposed to tell you) AND how the disease manifests and it's risks so that one can make a truly informed decision. It's the only book I found to discuss the disease itself.
Final tangent (sorry there's no returns in here): It's only very recently that it's become profitable to understand the immune system and commodify non-invasive healing modalities (i.e. indigenous or traditional healing systems). Hence the sudden commercialization of probiotics as the "friendly" bacteria after decades of vilifying bacteria and creating the self-perpetuated problem of "super-bacteria" which are immune to antibiotics. From a holistic standpoint, the human body exists because of bacteria; we live in symbiosis with bacteria and it's not until our body is out of balance that the bacteria become harmful. In that context, we need to re-evaluate the supremacy of Western medicine and its paradigm over all other traditional modalities.
And as parents, we have to weigh and balance all those personal, political, social, financial factors and make the best decisions for our families. (As a side note, in true service of humanity, India patented their traditional system of healing under Creative Commons license to prevent the continued theft of "intellectual property/patent" by pharmeceutical corporations.)
When we look at the mortality rate associated with any given disease, let's say polio, we'll see that the mortality rate was dropping with the advent of industrialization and better sanitation--prior to the introduction of a polio vaccine. The early polio vaccines were "live" and many people who were vaccinated contracted polio from the vaccine itself before they recalled it. Most pro-vaccine lit only looks at the period immediately after vaccines were introduced as "proof" that they work. Without that larger historical context, yes, it's easy to attribute the salvation of the human race to vaccines.
Even with the recent pertussis outbreak, if you look at the population dying, it's typically very poor children, and in Cali, undocumented Latino immigrant children, who are more likely to have poor nutrition and poor health. Yet rather than address the underlying factors of poverty and anti-immigrant health policies, the DPH is telling the general population to vaccinate.
Let's look at Gardasil as another example--this vaccine for females which supposedly prevents genital warts, an STD, which can lead to cervical cancer. This was fasttracked onto the market and is the controversial subject of mandatory vaccination laws. It's been around a few years now and the deaths or sterilization or other vaccine injury of young girls is only beginning to make the FDA take a second look. What is manifestly clear to me, is that vaccines are a massive human guinea pig experiment funded and fueled by the pharmaceutical industry.
Anyways, I recommend Aviva Jill Romm's Vaccinations book over Dr. Sears. She is a midwife, herbalist and now MD. She actually explains the fine print of what are the benefits, risks & adverse reactions to vaccinations (i.e. what your doctor is supposed to tell you) AND how the disease manifests and it's risks so that one can make a truly informed decision. It's the only book I found to discuss the disease itself.
Final tangent (sorry there's no returns in here): It's only very recently that it's become profitable to understand the immune system and commodify non-invasive healing modalities (i.e. indigenous or traditional healing systems). Hence the sudden commercialization of probiotics as the "friendly" bacteria after decades of vilifying bacteria and creating the self-perpetuated problem of "super-bacteria" which are immune to antibiotics. From a holistic standpoint, the human body exists because of bacteria; we live in symbiosis with bacteria and it's not until our body is out of balance that the bacteria become harmful. In that context, we need to re-evaluate the supremacy of Western medicine and its paradigm over all other traditional modalities.
And as parents, we have to weigh and balance all those personal, political, social, financial factors and make the best decisions for our families. (As a side note, in true service of humanity, India patented their traditional system of healing under Creative Commons license to prevent the continued theft of "intellectual property/patent" by pharmeceutical corporations.)
Friday, January 7, 2011
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Act of Love
I used to joke that the Learning Annex has classes on things only rich people know like how to hide your money in overseas accounts.
Knowing about how to protect your family in the event of death, catastrophe, is one of those cultural capital that so many immigrant/low income families don't know and so get screwed over and remain in poverty. We went to a parents' workshop about it at Bananas Inc (Oakland).
My biggest take away is "A Will is an act of Love; it shows your children you love them enough to take care of them even after you die."
A Will is for when you die; a Living Will is for when you are incapacitated, establishes power of attorney; an Advance Health Directive is re: your medical care if you are incapacitated.
Other things we learned--if you write your own will it must be entirely HANDWRITTEN so that your identity can be verified through handwriting; if it is typed, probate court will disregard it even if you have notarized witnesses. Everything you own is your Estate including property, cars, life insurance, etc. Unless your Estate is in a Trust (a fictional company that your family are the "tenants/employees of"), it will go through probate court to ultimately decide even if there is a Will and your heirs will have to pay heavy taxes (something like 40%). If your Estate is in a Trust and you die, it does not go through probate court, your personal debt will be forgiven. If you don't have a Trust and die, your debtors have first right to claim everything in your Estate before your heirs see a dime and they will still have to pay probate tax on your entire estate, not just the remainder.
Guardianship of minors always goes through Probate court, but your Will can influence placement. No Will means the Court decides what is best for your children. We bought the Nolo book on DIY Wills until we can save up for a lawyer but each state also have different probate laws (it costs something like $500 to do a Will and $2500 to set up a Trust).
Knowing about how to protect your family in the event of death, catastrophe, is one of those cultural capital that so many immigrant/low income families don't know and so get screwed over and remain in poverty. We went to a parents' workshop about it at Bananas Inc (Oakland).
My biggest take away is "A Will is an act of Love; it shows your children you love them enough to take care of them even after you die."
A Will is for when you die; a Living Will is for when you are incapacitated, establishes power of attorney; an Advance Health Directive is re: your medical care if you are incapacitated.
Other things we learned--if you write your own will it must be entirely HANDWRITTEN so that your identity can be verified through handwriting; if it is typed, probate court will disregard it even if you have notarized witnesses. Everything you own is your Estate including property, cars, life insurance, etc. Unless your Estate is in a Trust (a fictional company that your family are the "tenants/employees of"), it will go through probate court to ultimately decide even if there is a Will and your heirs will have to pay heavy taxes (something like 40%). If your Estate is in a Trust and you die, it does not go through probate court, your personal debt will be forgiven. If you don't have a Trust and die, your debtors have first right to claim everything in your Estate before your heirs see a dime and they will still have to pay probate tax on your entire estate, not just the remainder.
Guardianship of minors always goes through Probate court, but your Will can influence placement. No Will means the Court decides what is best for your children. We bought the Nolo book on DIY Wills until we can save up for a lawyer but each state also have different probate laws (it costs something like $500 to do a Will and $2500 to set up a Trust).
Saturday, December 18, 2010
wretched of the earth
My ong ngoai passed away very early this morning. He had a heart attack at home, called all his daughters, and accompanied by my youngest uncle and my mother, he died without prolonged suffering. One of his last wishes because he had already a lifetime of suffering. His heart was broken after my ba ngoai died two years ago. The had been married over 60 years.
He was a good man who lived through a lot of hardship. Born a Catholic peasant in 1925 in a tiny hamlet called Lien Thuy under French colonization, though he was chau dich ton--the patrilineal heir, the firstborn son beget of the firstborn son beget of the village chief and so on and so forth, he tilled the catholic-ceded land land under peonage to his own grandparents for his disowned father's gambling debts; his mother left him at age 7 and a baby brother behind to become a wet nurse in the big city Ha Noi. He minded the water buffalo, ploughed & harvested the rice paddies and fished in Ha Long Bay and learned to be self-sufficient though unloved. He never gave up the hope and faith that his father's family would love him and perhaps even restore him to his rightful place.
As he grew of age, he was conscripted as coolie labor to the colonial Army and learned to build bridges and to hate the French. He had an customary arranged marriage with my ba ngoai. In his teens, he survived the Japanese invasion and their torching of the granaries and their deliberate famine that took 2 million lives. When armistice was declared, he joined the Viet Minh to prevent the French from regaining colonial power. And when it became clear that religion and Communism would never reconcile, he left behind his what ought o have been his ancestral lands, uprooted his family--ba co|his mother, ba ngoai, my eldest aunty and mother--to enter the South where he tried to find a small piece of earth to call his own. Roaming through the Mekong for many years, they finally settled in Quy Nhon in the Central region where my parents grew up.
My ong ba ngoai, my parents & siblings (& me in the womb), 4 aunties, 3 uncles, all left Viet Nam to join my oldest aunty in Honolulu where land was scarce to be had and jobs even scarcer. My grandparents, 3 of my aunties and 3 uncles tried to make a go of it in Missouri but the winters and the chicken factory were misery.
We were all reunited in San Diego; we all lived together until I was 12. I still mark time not by years but what street we lived on--Reynard then Ohio (ong ba, aunties, & uncles on Whitmen) then Auburn (then ong ba and 2 youngest uncles on Alta Dena), then mom & us separately Oro Vista, and finally Jason; for peasant stock, we were awfully nomadic.
I learned so many things from my ong ba ngoai. My ba ngoai of unconditional maternal love, spoke the love language of food. My ong ngoai though had only his stories of loss and perseverance to give to us grandkids, and at Tet, his handmade banh chung and his sesame candy gooey and almost scalding. I am one of the only grandkids who is fluent enough and was around enough to have listened to his stories. Ong ngoai secretly loved my siblings and I best he once told me years ago because he said, my mother suffered the most from my father's heroism and fate; and perhaps too, because we were his only full Viet grandkids and he had not the prospect of a chau dich ton|patrilineal heir to carry on the Phamily name and to remember his legacy. He taught me to be proud of being Viet; that was my first day of kindergarten when we lived on Reynard Way, when I came home proclaiming I was American, he took me by the hand, squatted down beside me, and told me that to Americans, I would always have yellow skin, black hair and eyes. I would always be Viet.
I learned to love tools and making things from watching him make banh chung|pork sticky rice cake every Tet, building non-permitted additions to our rented houses (Ohio & Auburn and later their house on 54th), and making flapping wooden angel harnesses from scraps of wood and cloth for the Christmas pageant (Auburn Dr).
I don't grieve very well. I tattoo.
I lost my father when I was too young to understand and taboo to speak of it. And so, I write. I feel so bereft to have lost my roots in this world. There were so many more things I wanted to learn from them, about them. And with the narcissism of youth and American-ness, I marked not the time until too late.
My grandfather wore 3 piece suits, fedoras and pocket watches, loved cognac and good food, made the best banh chung and keo me every Tet up until very recently, and lived to play with his great-grandchildren. In his elder years, he learned to forgive (not the French nor Japanese) but certainly his paternal family, and to love. He still dreamed I think of water buffaloes and rice paddies (and thit cay on occasion) but he and my grandmother had their garden, family, and Church. And now he has peace and rejoined my ba ngoai in the either.
An era has passed. I am disconsolate, desiring what is in the past, a byproduct perhaps of being partly raised by my grandparents. I feel in this modern society we lose our rituals and I feel it the most with death. We've lost our rituals of death and honoring our loved ones by being with them as they die and our hands that loved them so well, preparing them for their final resting place. I am bracing myself for the artifice of mortuary preparation and the dullness of performance.
He was a good man who lived through a lot of hardship. Born a Catholic peasant in 1925 in a tiny hamlet called Lien Thuy under French colonization, though he was chau dich ton--the patrilineal heir, the firstborn son beget of the firstborn son beget of the village chief and so on and so forth, he tilled the catholic-ceded land land under peonage to his own grandparents for his disowned father's gambling debts; his mother left him at age 7 and a baby brother behind to become a wet nurse in the big city Ha Noi. He minded the water buffalo, ploughed & harvested the rice paddies and fished in Ha Long Bay and learned to be self-sufficient though unloved. He never gave up the hope and faith that his father's family would love him and perhaps even restore him to his rightful place.
As he grew of age, he was conscripted as coolie labor to the colonial Army and learned to build bridges and to hate the French. He had an customary arranged marriage with my ba ngoai. In his teens, he survived the Japanese invasion and their torching of the granaries and their deliberate famine that took 2 million lives. When armistice was declared, he joined the Viet Minh to prevent the French from regaining colonial power. And when it became clear that religion and Communism would never reconcile, he left behind his what ought o have been his ancestral lands, uprooted his family--ba co|his mother, ba ngoai, my eldest aunty and mother--to enter the South where he tried to find a small piece of earth to call his own. Roaming through the Mekong for many years, they finally settled in Quy Nhon in the Central region where my parents grew up.
My ong ba ngoai, my parents & siblings (& me in the womb), 4 aunties, 3 uncles, all left Viet Nam to join my oldest aunty in Honolulu where land was scarce to be had and jobs even scarcer. My grandparents, 3 of my aunties and 3 uncles tried to make a go of it in Missouri but the winters and the chicken factory were misery.
We were all reunited in San Diego; we all lived together until I was 12. I still mark time not by years but what street we lived on--Reynard then Ohio (ong ba, aunties, & uncles on Whitmen) then Auburn (then ong ba and 2 youngest uncles on Alta Dena), then mom & us separately Oro Vista, and finally Jason; for peasant stock, we were awfully nomadic.
I learned so many things from my ong ba ngoai. My ba ngoai of unconditional maternal love, spoke the love language of food. My ong ngoai though had only his stories of loss and perseverance to give to us grandkids, and at Tet, his handmade banh chung and his sesame candy gooey and almost scalding. I am one of the only grandkids who is fluent enough and was around enough to have listened to his stories. Ong ngoai secretly loved my siblings and I best he once told me years ago because he said, my mother suffered the most from my father's heroism and fate; and perhaps too, because we were his only full Viet grandkids and he had not the prospect of a chau dich ton|patrilineal heir to carry on the Phamily name and to remember his legacy. He taught me to be proud of being Viet; that was my first day of kindergarten when we lived on Reynard Way, when I came home proclaiming I was American, he took me by the hand, squatted down beside me, and told me that to Americans, I would always have yellow skin, black hair and eyes. I would always be Viet.
I learned to love tools and making things from watching him make banh chung|pork sticky rice cake every Tet, building non-permitted additions to our rented houses (Ohio & Auburn and later their house on 54th), and making flapping wooden angel harnesses from scraps of wood and cloth for the Christmas pageant (Auburn Dr).
I don't grieve very well. I tattoo.
I lost my father when I was too young to understand and taboo to speak of it. And so, I write. I feel so bereft to have lost my roots in this world. There were so many more things I wanted to learn from them, about them. And with the narcissism of youth and American-ness, I marked not the time until too late.
My grandfather wore 3 piece suits, fedoras and pocket watches, loved cognac and good food, made the best banh chung and keo me every Tet up until very recently, and lived to play with his great-grandchildren. In his elder years, he learned to forgive (not the French nor Japanese) but certainly his paternal family, and to love. He still dreamed I think of water buffaloes and rice paddies (and thit cay on occasion) but he and my grandmother had their garden, family, and Church. And now he has peace and rejoined my ba ngoai in the either.
An era has passed. I am disconsolate, desiring what is in the past, a byproduct perhaps of being partly raised by my grandparents. I feel in this modern society we lose our rituals and I feel it the most with death. We've lost our rituals of death and honoring our loved ones by being with them as they die and our hands that loved them so well, preparing them for their final resting place. I am bracing myself for the artifice of mortuary preparation and the dullness of performance.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
non-toxic baby products
i've got chemical sensitivities. i know this sounds like some Bay Area hippy psychosomatic thing, but ever since i was a kid, i would always get unexplained rashes and all my blood tests come out with elevated levels of eocinophils (white blood cells; in other words, my immune system is constantly on the offense). the worst outbreak was after we painted the house in the late 80s and i swolled up. not just my skin, but also my lips & eyeballs to the point we called poison control who were absolutely useless by the way. bathing in baking soda only addressed the symptoms. if you have ever had swollen fish eyeballs you understand that this is not some crazy imaginary thing i made up in my head. my immune system just doesn't handle very well the thousands of toxic chemicals that have become increasingly present in our society & environment. ever since then, i've been sensitive to chemical vapors including most synthetic perfumes/fragrances, deodorizers, etc. and i became more sensitive under the stress & duress of grad school.
so upside is we try to be as ecologically responsible and non-toxic as possible on a very tight budget. when we remodelled our fixer upper, we went as non-toxic as we could afford--non-formaldehyde treated lumber, non-off-gassing insulation, milk paint (and when that didn't work out b/c of the vinyl joint compound, non-VOC paint). i also went on a gluten/wheat-free and dairy-free diet the year before I got pregnant. it was really hard, but i'm lucky to be living in the epicenter of all things hippy and natural and near a gluten-free bakery. my allergies almost completely went away. of course, i fell off the wagon but i keep meaning to purge wheat & dairy yet again.
it's not always affordable to buy non-chemically treated organic products though so a neat trick that i recently learned
so upside is we try to be as ecologically responsible and non-toxic as possible on a very tight budget. when we remodelled our fixer upper, we went as non-toxic as we could afford--non-formaldehyde treated lumber, non-off-gassing insulation, milk paint (and when that didn't work out b/c of the vinyl joint compound, non-VOC paint). i also went on a gluten/wheat-free and dairy-free diet the year before I got pregnant. it was really hard, but i'm lucky to be living in the epicenter of all things hippy and natural and near a gluten-free bakery. my allergies almost completely went away. of course, i fell off the wagon but i keep meaning to purge wheat & dairy yet again.
it's not always affordable to buy non-chemically treated organic products though so a neat trick that i recently learned
- vinegar vinegar vinegar! strips away toxic chemicals!
- carpet cleaner-mix mild soap (castile or natural soap) with vinegar
- baby products-(tip is from Organic Grace) wash all new baby products with a cup to a cup and a half of vinegar. This removes a good amount of the toxic flame retardent chemicals that most baby products are coated in. You can remove padding from car seats, swings etc. Wash new non-organic clothing with it. Use a drop of lavender essential oil in the wash to make it smell nice and soothe baby.
- Earth Mama Angel Baby Bottom Balm has the best diaper rash/first aid balm. Cleared up VL's milk allergy bottom rashes.
- I use EMAB baby soap/shampoo which is a castile soap. Castile soaps tend not to strip so it feels a little tacky on her hair. While VL doesn't have the (luxuriant) thickness of my hair, she definitely has my hair waviness plus. So it's better not to use stripping shampoos on her. But I don't like the feel of castile soap on hair. I've switched to using my organic Aubrey Island Natural shampoo and conditioner (a must for her curls!) on her which has fantastic results on her hair, but of course it's not baby soap so if it gets in her eyes, she cries. I've switched to using natural handmilled bar soap and Dr. Bronner's Baby Mild. It's way less expensive than EMAB castile soap. But I've got to find a toddler-friendly, wave-friendly conditioner.
- Gaia Natural Baby Conditioning Detangler-everyone I know loves California Baby, and while it's better than Johnson & Johnson by farI'm still a little horrified that it contains antimicrobial ingredients polyaminopropyl biguanide. I had to buy Gaia products from Canada when I first got it around a year ago. It's available on a major monopoly webstore now which if you are going to buy from it at least find an affiliated charity/non-profit that will get a minuscule percentage of the sale. [It looks like California Baby reformulated without anti-microbials. We're giving it a try now. We picked it up at Tarzhay]
- Nature's Baby Ah-choo Chest Balm for colds. Total late night anxious parent saver.
- Weleda Sunscreen Spf 18 This German homeopathic brand is nice though EWG supposedly docks them for their use of fragrance that is essential oil-based and therefore not toxic petro-based. Germans have a thing with purity (and yes, that is a major historical/cultural generalization but I'm anthropologically minded so get over it) so I tend to "trust" their products more; they make the best non-toxic toys and were the original innovators of the baby wrap sling in the 70s. I don't know enough about the chemistry of fragrance to know if it is truly toxic or not, but though the smell is assertive, it doesn't irritate me. You really have to have yellow-undertones for this sunscreen. Some folks have said it leaves them pasty. It comes out of the tube creamy yellow already. I like it though I haven't refilled because it is expensive and hard to find. I did find that the Pharmaca in Rockridge has it.
- TruKid Face stick SPF 30-great for when you are in a hurry. You have to rub it in pretty good. The mom who owns this has her HQ in West Oakland and is happy to have pick up orders which mean no shipping & handling charges and sometimes, ahem, tax discount. She gave me free lotion (too strong smelling and kid-fruity for me) and samples! VL associates facestick sunscreen with facepainting. She says "con mèo|cat" and meows everytime we put it on her.
- Loving Naturals Sunscreen SPF 30-we used this in Hawaii, intermittently. We liked it well enough though once your hands get greasy, the cheap sticker label ink rubs entirely off which is slightly annoying to have questionable ink flakes all over your body and then a now unlabelled white bottle. Like most mineral-based sunscreens, it starts off purply tinted and then is supposed to absorb.
- I just got Badger sunscreen SPF 30 and Facestick. They have the lowest toxic rating on EWG. I love their balms which contain only natural pronounceable ingredients from plants. Like LN above, you got to rub it in very well. Not waterproof and you must reapply frequently. T & I got a mild burn from 5 hours of Tahoe sun and a single application.
- We've mostly used reusable flannel wipes for VL along with butt/diaper spray (punkin butt has their in house brand and there's also another one which name I forget), but now that she is a messy toddler, we occasionally indulge in the ubiquitous disposable baby wipes. I hated how soapy Earth's Best is, so we found this European brand Nature Babycare. It claims to be biodegradable and it actually works great for gentle cleaning. It doesn't sting either. Our local Farmer Joe's has it, but only the scented one. I prefer the unscented which I got bulk offa the monopoly capitalist named above (affiliated non-profit link)
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Dead Dad's Club
I once caught this scene from Grey's Anatomy, that struck me with its truth:
For so many decades, I have lived with death and loss and I am ever so very sorry to welcome anyone to one of life's fundamental rites of passage.Christina: There's a club. The Dead Dad's club, and you can't be in it till you're in it. You can try to understand, you can sympathize but until you feel that loss.... My Dad died when I was nine. George, I'm really sorry you had to join the club.
George: I don't know how to exist in a world where my Dad doesn't.
Christina: Yeah, that never really changes.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
inward facing dog
weo, i did it, am doing it. i am examining myself and why i've been on such a short fuse--banging cupboard doors and drawers with disproportionate growling irateness (ok, so it still sounds relatively tame but the physical toll, the cellular attrition of such "restraint" is smothering the vitality out of me).
it could be the stress of having 4 jobs at two workplaces and fulltime workload expectations. it could be mine own hot temperment, unresolved grief, and emotional childhood wounds in desperate need of healing. it could be the chafing demands of balancing infinite-love-motherhood with 30+ years of self-centered Self ("i just need mother-fracking 15 minutes" when minutes become hours and whole days pass by). it could be the strain of a relationship deferred to all of the above. and it is all of the above. no duh, but causality is only slightly less ... interesting than the effects, the symptoms of a deteriorating inner life and a dusty social life.
so, i've enacted a 21st millenial cliche. i started doing yoga. downward facing dog has transformed my Life; i refer to my instructor as my guru; i wear OM jewelry, tribal yoga tatts and organic fair trade tibetan hemp parachute pants; my house now has a fountain & shrine dedicated to an eclectic pantheon of hindu and buddhist goddesses; and most importantly, i greet all people with prayer hands and a hushed "namaste" to socially mark my profound spiritual conversion.
ok, mostly a lie. i'm not a smug, middle class white born -again-yogini searching for the meaning of life in the consumption of other people's culture. i have a small soul and a petty mind and i couldn't resist mocking the Smuggles.
i do do yoga though, restorative yoga. it helps me to stretch out muscles rigid with a lifetime of tension, the gimpy arthritic limbs, and the habititude of pain. i am not transformed but then i don't expect instant gratification. it is enough that for one hour, once a week, i can breathe and quiet the riot of a bazillion synapses.
and, i sat down T and admitted the festering emotions--the rage, resentment, almost hatred, and then scariest of all, the nothing, that i sometimes felt. towards him. my bestest friend. the toll that homeownership, marriage, mourning, and now, parenting have taken on my half of the relationship over the last ten plus years.
(to be continued..)
it could be the stress of having 4 jobs at two workplaces and fulltime workload expectations. it could be mine own hot temperment, unresolved grief, and emotional childhood wounds in desperate need of healing. it could be the chafing demands of balancing infinite-love-motherhood with 30+ years of self-centered Self ("i just need mother-fracking 15 minutes" when minutes become hours and whole days pass by). it could be the strain of a relationship deferred to all of the above. and it is all of the above. no duh, but causality is only slightly less ... interesting than the effects, the symptoms of a deteriorating inner life and a dusty social life.
so, i've enacted a 21st millenial cliche. i started doing yoga. downward facing dog has transformed my Life; i refer to my instructor as my guru; i wear OM jewelry, tribal yoga tatts and organic fair trade tibetan hemp parachute pants; my house now has a fountain & shrine dedicated to an eclectic pantheon of hindu and buddhist goddesses; and most importantly, i greet all people with prayer hands and a hushed "namaste" to socially mark my profound spiritual conversion.
ok, mostly a lie. i'm not a smug, middle class white born -again-yogini searching for the meaning of life in the consumption of other people's culture. i have a small soul and a petty mind and i couldn't resist mocking the Smuggles.
i do do yoga though, restorative yoga. it helps me to stretch out muscles rigid with a lifetime of tension, the gimpy arthritic limbs, and the habititude of pain. i am not transformed but then i don't expect instant gratification. it is enough that for one hour, once a week, i can breathe and quiet the riot of a bazillion synapses.
and, i sat down T and admitted the festering emotions--the rage, resentment, almost hatred, and then scariest of all, the nothing, that i sometimes felt. towards him. my bestest friend. the toll that homeownership, marriage, mourning, and now, parenting have taken on my half of the relationship over the last ten plus years.
(to be continued..)
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Thursday, November 6, 2008
n-squared home training
so i recently sent out our family groundrules for VL to my immediate family since we have our set of values that may or may not be shared and the holidays (prime gift giving season) are approaching. our primary value is protecting our daughter from materialism/commodification and toxins. nothing controversial, no comment on religion or politics, no judgement on other families' rules.
the reactions i got were kinda funny. my ma sez "Sorry dear, your daughter will be so sad with no funs for the first 5 year in her life." which i think is hilarious because like my ma's own childhood in rural VN did not have any of the things we ban from our house and i'm sure she had funs (weo after doing her chores that is). and she herself pointed out to me that all the food she grew up on was organic because pesticides (and agent orange and napalm) hadn't been introduced yet. and for the first five years of his life and the first three years of my sis' in central VN, my siblings played with family, household objects and objects in nature with little detrimental impact on their imaginations or body burden unlike the toys & material objects of today's modern household.
my step dad who would be chief offender on all counts (especially candy, red dye and princess stuff) said nothing. he doesn't ever check his email except for once a year when he has me un-close his email account or set up a new email for him when i come visit for the holidays. to be fair, he also generously gives us lots of cash to buy clothes and savings bonds for school and helps us with travel money too.
my bro who might be potentially a giver of the battery-operated, plastic kind (like Whack-A-Mole which would be so cool if they made a wood version) didn't respond either. it's cool. as an uncle, i fully expect him to pass along his gourmand predilections to the child with full appreciation for the ways he's introduced me to good food all my life (first caviar, first truffles, first crab cakes, first clam dip, first sake bombers, first gourmet meals, first fine champagne... and the list goes on.).
my sis who gives very thoughtful and wonderfully handcrafted gifts sez "It's truly more blessed to give than receive." sure, at the same time, i guess i'm more pragmatic when it comes to gifts, why waste other people's money on things i don't want or we don't allow? we didn't register for wedding gifts, we went the traditional route (and by this i mean vinamese tradition) and got cash gifts which paid for the reception; for the baby registry i asked people to get stuff used from craigslist and asked for cloth diapering supplies mostly and most folks gave cash with which we were very grateful to purchase all the stuff we needed, some new, alot of it used. registries themselves are wishlists of things you want, which practice i find eminently practical, but it's only socially acceptable to have registries on major social rites of passage rather than events like holidays & birthdays. and sometimes, people buy you things off registry anyways which can result in something delightful that you wouldn't have bought for yourself (like a digital labeller! awesome!) and sometimes results in something that makes you go huh? (like the talking Stewie doll. you do realize one, i'm like in my 30s and don't collect dolls from animated TV shows. and two, i didn't have a TV for most of the nineties & 00s, right bro? i didn't even ever watch the family guy or the simpsons.)
i don't care for the social ballet of receiving gifts with one hand with genuine appreciation for the gift giver's intention of course, and some white lie nicety about using it, and passing it behind my back and with the other hand returning or recycling it.
my ma frequently gives me new & used clothes, shoes & avon products (she's an avon lady) and while i love her care & thoughtfulness, i always have to return them to her because it doesn't fit (i have a very different body type from my ma--i take after my paternal grandmother--and a different style sensibility because i'm in my 30s, not my 50s nor what she projects 30s ought dress like [um, ma, i don't go clubbing anymore and certainly not while i was pregnant. weo, only once and it was really just a bar and it was really no fun hanging out with smoking, emeryville quasi-hipsters at Kitty's, and anyways, i don't wear sheer blue leopard print chiffon because no one needs to see my big belly, navel & stretch marks. but then, in her 30s ma was a clubbin' disco queen and i have the photos to prove it!] and she thinks i'm bigger than i am or my feet are smaller than they are.) and i'm allergic to the cheap synthetic toxic chemicals in avon products. for some years i took the gifts and re-distributed them to friends, but nowadays, i don't have room in my luggage nor space in my house nor time to do that. so i thank you ma, and i can't use this because... happily, my ma isn't neurotic (in that way at least) and doesn't take it personal.
of course, our choices are political and spiritual in essence especially because what we want for our daughter and how we choose to go about getting there runs counter to dominant popular culture (and unfortunately what constitutes popular culture is corporate marketing). my cousins have nicknamed the baby "Moonbeam" for a reason. shrug. we love each other; we don't have to love each other's parenting choices. (and funnily enough i had considered naming the baby Moon something in vinamese Nga or Nguyet, but the english transliteration would really butcher the cadence of it. and we ended up choosing a historical name rather than a poetic one.) so this is how we do it in the n2 household:
the reactions i got were kinda funny. my ma sez "Sorry dear, your daughter will be so sad with no funs for the first 5 year in her life." which i think is hilarious because like my ma's own childhood in rural VN did not have any of the things we ban from our house and i'm sure she had funs (weo after doing her chores that is). and she herself pointed out to me that all the food she grew up on was organic because pesticides (and agent orange and napalm) hadn't been introduced yet. and for the first five years of his life and the first three years of my sis' in central VN, my siblings played with family, household objects and objects in nature with little detrimental impact on their imaginations or body burden unlike the toys & material objects of today's modern household.
my step dad who would be chief offender on all counts (especially candy, red dye and princess stuff) said nothing. he doesn't ever check his email except for once a year when he has me un-close his email account or set up a new email for him when i come visit for the holidays. to be fair, he also generously gives us lots of cash to buy clothes and savings bonds for school and helps us with travel money too.
my bro who might be potentially a giver of the battery-operated, plastic kind (like Whack-A-Mole which would be so cool if they made a wood version) didn't respond either. it's cool. as an uncle, i fully expect him to pass along his gourmand predilections to the child with full appreciation for the ways he's introduced me to good food all my life (first caviar, first truffles, first crab cakes, first clam dip, first sake bombers, first gourmet meals, first fine champagne... and the list goes on.).
my sis who gives very thoughtful and wonderfully handcrafted gifts sez "It's truly more blessed to give than receive." sure, at the same time, i guess i'm more pragmatic when it comes to gifts, why waste other people's money on things i don't want or we don't allow? we didn't register for wedding gifts, we went the traditional route (and by this i mean vinamese tradition) and got cash gifts which paid for the reception; for the baby registry i asked people to get stuff used from craigslist and asked for cloth diapering supplies mostly and most folks gave cash with which we were very grateful to purchase all the stuff we needed, some new, alot of it used. registries themselves are wishlists of things you want, which practice i find eminently practical, but it's only socially acceptable to have registries on major social rites of passage rather than events like holidays & birthdays. and sometimes, people buy you things off registry anyways which can result in something delightful that you wouldn't have bought for yourself (like a digital labeller! awesome!) and sometimes results in something that makes you go huh? (like the talking Stewie doll. you do realize one, i'm like in my 30s and don't collect dolls from animated TV shows. and two, i didn't have a TV for most of the nineties & 00s, right bro? i didn't even ever watch the family guy or the simpsons.)
i don't care for the social ballet of receiving gifts with one hand with genuine appreciation for the gift giver's intention of course, and some white lie nicety about using it, and passing it behind my back and with the other hand returning or recycling it.
my ma frequently gives me new & used clothes, shoes & avon products (she's an avon lady) and while i love her care & thoughtfulness, i always have to return them to her because it doesn't fit (i have a very different body type from my ma--i take after my paternal grandmother--and a different style sensibility because i'm in my 30s, not my 50s nor what she projects 30s ought dress like [um, ma, i don't go clubbing anymore and certainly not while i was pregnant. weo, only once and it was really just a bar and it was really no fun hanging out with smoking, emeryville quasi-hipsters at Kitty's, and anyways, i don't wear sheer blue leopard print chiffon because no one needs to see my big belly, navel & stretch marks. but then, in her 30s ma was a clubbin' disco queen and i have the photos to prove it!] and she thinks i'm bigger than i am or my feet are smaller than they are.) and i'm allergic to the cheap synthetic toxic chemicals in avon products. for some years i took the gifts and re-distributed them to friends, but nowadays, i don't have room in my luggage nor space in my house nor time to do that. so i thank you ma, and i can't use this because... happily, my ma isn't neurotic (in that way at least) and doesn't take it personal.
of course, our choices are political and spiritual in essence especially because what we want for our daughter and how we choose to go about getting there runs counter to dominant popular culture (and unfortunately what constitutes popular culture is corporate marketing). my cousins have nicknamed the baby "Moonbeam" for a reason. shrug. we love each other; we don't have to love each other's parenting choices. (and funnily enough i had considered naming the baby Moon something in vinamese Nga or Nguyet, but the english transliteration would really butcher the cadence of it. and we ended up choosing a historical name rather than a poetic one.) so this is how we do it in the n2 household:
- no princess stuff
- all natural materials like cotton, wool or wood are preferred
- no plastic toys, no battery-operated toys. toys should be educational or stimulate the imagination
- no corporate logos on the clothes (example: anything that has Disney on it, Tommy, Polo, Old Navy, etc). she's a baby not an advertising billboard
- no commercialized product tie-ins. no Disney, no Pixar, no Hello Kitty/Sanrio or TV cartoon characters like Dora or Sponge Bob. no hypersexualized toys like trampy Barbie or hooker Bratz dolls.
- no TV until she is 5 yo
- gently used, second-hand & hand-me-downs in good condition are great. what's important is the sentiment and utility, not the cost
- no princess stuff
- no dairy (this means no butter or milk or ice cream), no candy or artificial dyes in food (especially red)
- homemade is lovely too
- oh, and no princess stuff.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
father's day
father's day has always been something of a mystery to me.
my first memory of father's day is in the kindergarten because school is where one acculturates to holidays when you come from an immigrant family. my parents had just separated and mom & us kids had moved to the mainland from honolulu before the school year started to be closer to my maternal grandparents and motley aunties, uncles, cousins, malteses, zebra finches & seahorses crammed into a three-bedroom across the street. mom was working in a factory job. i played store with food stamps. i had hot cocoa for the first time and burnt my tongue. and i think my dad was going to visit us that summer. my teacher was Mrs. Alexander and at that time, single mothers were still very uncommon. for father's day Ms. Alexander had us twist two strands of yarn around a wire hanger to make a padded hanger for our fathers. well, i chose green & black. camouflage colors. for the jungle. because my dad was in the army. and a whole lot of jumbled things about international politics, smuggled black & white documentaries, war, patriotism, and sacrifice that my 6-year-old brain could wrap itself around. i vaguely remember explaining this to Mrs. Alexander and her assistant. i also faintly remember Mrs. Alexander coming to a home visit with mom though the timing isn't clear and me having some trepidation about it as i played on rusty-nail planks in the backyard of our first apartment on Reynard Way. i know that since that time it was verboten to mention my father for various reasons. i didn't stay long at that school.
i don't know what happened to that hanger. our inheritance consisted of abstruse heartaches and a couple of briefcases of scattered contents that we siblings have secretly pilfered over the years. my brother has the flag; my sister the passport; myself the news clippings. i remember seeing only one token of father's day in there. a construction paper card from my sister that resembled a button-up shirt & tie--the quintessential symbol of a white white-collar father. i guess elementary school indoctrinates kids to be upwardly mobile (teleology of the nation-state blah blah). our father went bare-chested, he wore aloha shirts, tight butterfly blue-collars, formal khaki guayaberas, bộ áo bà ba đen with hierarchically-knotted keffiyeh, and camouflage.
so since my dad was an ocean away, father's day has been rather disconnected and enigmatic to me though i did learn rather quickly and shrewdly how the refugee-single-mom-absentee-dad thing garnered lots of sympathy partic when i flaked on some homework (see bright but does not apply herself for more on that.) my friend's fathers and their relationship to them were all intimidating, baffling, and inexplicable to me.
of course, i make an effort on father's day for my stepdad; at least, i have since i stopped being angry at the world for my laissez faire-latch key childhood and angsty adolesence, ceased being resentful that he wasn't my real father, and finally accepted the unconditional love he always gave us kids (i'm probably the only person who got all misty-eyed when phillip "he's not my father"stepfather became a zombie in Shaun of the Dead. that scene gets me everytime.) still, it is an effort, not burdensome mind you, but something that doesn't come easily to me, like a favored ballad that i can only hum and sing the chorus and occasional odd word or lyric. perhaps i still take him for granted.
so this father's day is the first that i have felt freed of all those past memories, forgotten memories, and lack of memories. the first that i have felt the simple gratitude and love that makes this a holiday. and all for my daughter's father. it is said that having children is healing; through them you remember the magical wonder in Life and through them you re-live your past hurts and hopefully learn, and forgive, and heal. and so, this is the first father's day that i know what it is to feel gratitude for a father, to have a loving, engaged, and present father. one who stays up til the wee hours cooking & cleaning that i may be with our child.
thank you, my love.
my first memory of father's day is in the kindergarten because school is where one acculturates to holidays when you come from an immigrant family. my parents had just separated and mom & us kids had moved to the mainland from honolulu before the school year started to be closer to my maternal grandparents and motley aunties, uncles, cousins, malteses, zebra finches & seahorses crammed into a three-bedroom across the street. mom was working in a factory job. i played store with food stamps. i had hot cocoa for the first time and burnt my tongue. and i think my dad was going to visit us that summer. my teacher was Mrs. Alexander and at that time, single mothers were still very uncommon. for father's day Ms. Alexander had us twist two strands of yarn around a wire hanger to make a padded hanger for our fathers. well, i chose green & black. camouflage colors. for the jungle. because my dad was in the army. and a whole lot of jumbled things about international politics, smuggled black & white documentaries, war, patriotism, and sacrifice that my 6-year-old brain could wrap itself around. i vaguely remember explaining this to Mrs. Alexander and her assistant. i also faintly remember Mrs. Alexander coming to a home visit with mom though the timing isn't clear and me having some trepidation about it as i played on rusty-nail planks in the backyard of our first apartment on Reynard Way. i know that since that time it was verboten to mention my father for various reasons. i didn't stay long at that school.
i don't know what happened to that hanger. our inheritance consisted of abstruse heartaches and a couple of briefcases of scattered contents that we siblings have secretly pilfered over the years. my brother has the flag; my sister the passport; myself the news clippings. i remember seeing only one token of father's day in there. a construction paper card from my sister that resembled a button-up shirt & tie--the quintessential symbol of a white white-collar father. i guess elementary school indoctrinates kids to be upwardly mobile (teleology of the nation-state blah blah). our father went bare-chested, he wore aloha shirts, tight butterfly blue-collars, formal khaki guayaberas, bộ áo bà ba đen with hierarchically-knotted keffiyeh, and camouflage.
so since my dad was an ocean away, father's day has been rather disconnected and enigmatic to me though i did learn rather quickly and shrewdly how the refugee-single-mom-absentee-dad thing garnered lots of sympathy partic when i flaked on some homework (see bright but does not apply herself for more on that.) my friend's fathers and their relationship to them were all intimidating, baffling, and inexplicable to me.
of course, i make an effort on father's day for my stepdad; at least, i have since i stopped being angry at the world for my laissez faire-latch key childhood and angsty adolesence, ceased being resentful that he wasn't my real father, and finally accepted the unconditional love he always gave us kids (i'm probably the only person who got all misty-eyed when phillip "he's not my father"stepfather became a zombie in Shaun of the Dead. that scene gets me everytime.) still, it is an effort, not burdensome mind you, but something that doesn't come easily to me, like a favored ballad that i can only hum and sing the chorus and occasional odd word or lyric. perhaps i still take him for granted.
so this father's day is the first that i have felt freed of all those past memories, forgotten memories, and lack of memories. the first that i have felt the simple gratitude and love that makes this a holiday. and all for my daughter's father. it is said that having children is healing; through them you remember the magical wonder in Life and through them you re-live your past hurts and hopefully learn, and forgive, and heal. and so, this is the first father's day that i know what it is to feel gratitude for a father, to have a loving, engaged, and present father. one who stays up til the wee hours cooking & cleaning that i may be with our child.
thank you, my love.
Monday, February 4, 2008
fertility charm
okay, i've been eagerly anticipating the public release since i first heard in early january. and its finally out...
my sister is pregnant!
i (not so) secretly believe its because i'm her fertility charm. twice now, she hangs out with me on vacation and during that time, lo & behold, she gets pregnant. coincidence or supernatural?
weo, of course her husband has 50% to do with this. duh. but i like to think i have a beneficial effect on the other 50% like alcohol did for my youngest aunty, happy vibes = implantation!
in any case, blessed day! blessed news! more babies!
my sister is pregnant!
i (not so) secretly believe its because i'm her fertility charm. twice now, she hangs out with me on vacation and during that time, lo & behold, she gets pregnant. coincidence or supernatural?
weo, of course her husband has 50% to do with this. duh. but i like to think i have a beneficial effect on the other 50% like alcohol did for my youngest aunty, happy vibes = implantation!
in any case, blessed day! blessed news! more babies!
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
holidays
i thought the photo of her reaching up to squeeze my right breast in tentative amazement was way funnier. ah to be 5 again...
scenes from the "baby loves disco" shower my sis & phamily threw for us.
do Bruce Lee and Disco Dave really require explanation?
in case you didn't realize, my phamily is fun. here are three of my aunties & mom playing twister (after boogeying with the DDR contest).
and what's a disco party without a deathstar--uh, i mean disco ball pinata
my favoritest custard fruit tart on phyllo dough which can now only be found in San Gabriel and which my big bro obligingly fetches for me. it's nice to pregnant with my phamily.and this is neither here nor there
aren't they precious?Wednesday, January 2, 2008
silly games to whilst away
when i was just a little girl, my sis, cousines & i would make up satirical skits and perform them for the phamily or just for ourselves, especially the ones with foul language. A-S-S. oh and "slut makeup." think judy blume meets wierd al yankovic meets saturday night live.
this propensity to parody manifested in my successful, albeit brief moonlight run as a playwright in high school. my one act, tongue-in-cheek comedy "on the side" was a hit at the high school variety show and made it as far as the citywide performances. it had a lifespan briefer than my thespianism (i have a Best Actress "Oscar" to show for that though. actually my mom does. along with all my diplomas and report cards.)
last night, wakeful from one on my wee hour weez, i thought up a fun parody for a PSA and thought it'd be just the thing to fill up space. see if you can guess which commercial i plagiarized. the first person to guess wins a Sock Blocker(TM)--a draft preventing sock filled with that awful dry-supposedly-jasmine-but-really-long-grain-brown-rice-that-i-didn't-like-the-taste-of-but-have-20-lbs-of mixed with lavender. mmm.
SCENE 1
A pregnant woman late in her third trimester sits on the pottery barn couch next to her dude. They are the picture of suburban domestic bliss. She is watching a TV offscreen.
Cut to DUDE getting behind the wheel of his car when his cell phone rings. He answers.
Cut to PREGGO opening the bag and pulling out a stack of bestseller books--mystery, thrillers, literature.
Cut to title
this propensity to parody manifested in my successful, albeit brief moonlight run as a playwright in high school. my one act, tongue-in-cheek comedy "on the side" was a hit at the high school variety show and made it as far as the citywide performances. it had a lifespan briefer than my thespianism (i have a Best Actress "Oscar" to show for that though. actually my mom does. along with all my diplomas and report cards.)
last night, wakeful from one on my wee hour weez, i thought up a fun parody for a PSA and thought it'd be just the thing to fill up space. see if you can guess which commercial i plagiarized. the first person to guess wins a Sock Blocker(TM)--a draft preventing sock filled with that awful dry-supposedly-jasmine-but-really-long-grain-brown-rice-that-i-didn't-like-the-taste-of-but-have-20-lbs-of mixed with lavender. mmm.
SCENE 1
A pregnant woman late in her third trimester sits on the pottery barn couch next to her dude. They are the picture of suburban domestic bliss. She is watching a TV offscreen.
PREGNANT LADY: (pensively) hmmm... i want something... savory...At this, DUDE promptly gets up and dons a baseball cap. He is a man on a quest. He pauses as she adds additional descriptors of her whimsical cravings.
PREGGO: and salty... and juicy.He pauses on cue and waits for her tone of finality before valiantly heading off into the night.
Cut to DUDE getting behind the wheel of his car when his cell phone rings. He answers.
PREGGO: and meaty.DUDE groans perplexed. Cut to DUDE happily getting his card back from the worker at a counter and carrying away a bag of goodies.
Cut to PREGGO opening the bag and pulling out a stack of bestseller books--mystery, thrillers, literature.
Cut to title
Think Inside the Book
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
our first halloween
this is the first halloween we haven't lived in a locked gate apartment building (Oakland norm) and we're finally experiencing hallow's eve revelers. though our street gets alot of pedestrian activity in general since its up the block from the Laurel shopping district, we got less than two dozen kids (assumably cuz the single family homes in the Hills have better loot than the apartment dense Flats and the elementary schools hold safe halloween parties on campus). and we got the good candy reese's peanut butter cups, kit-kats, snickers, butterfingers...
so there were a handful cute little kindergartners & babies in full zip up costumes accompanied by their parents--and don't think the parents didn't try to hustle for their fair share--they got three pieces.
then there were the middle school kids who are starting to be a little too cool for costumes, so they rocked their urban stylishness, trendy tops, cropped jeans oh and a mask that they carried in their hand and would only don by request. we got some backtalk, but mostly they were sweet. saccharine sweet. they got two pieces.
then there were the packs of high schoolers or as i like to call them roving teenage bandits. these young'uns didn't even bother with costumes. they just roll up on your doorstep, do a a quarter turn when you answer the door so you could put the bribe--i mean treats--in their backpacks.
RTB: "trick or treat!"
me: "what are you dressed as?"
RTB: "oh. mahself." all sassy attitude.
me: "uh-huh. nice try." give two pieces of candy anyway because at this point, it's extortion.
RTB: "Happy Halloween!"
five of them at time. then roll out. and one of them threw their candy wrapper on our lawn. roll eyes.
Halloween sucks. is it just the new millenium and the culture of violence & depravity that have sucked all the fun out of this childhood ritual?
we watched the highly promoted reality show live Halloween special Ghost Hunters on the SciFi channel. six hours in a haunted abandoned sanitorium. yawn. we get suckered by this show every week by teasers that promise spectral thrills and all we get is temperature fluctuations, boring conversations between investigators as they while away the wee hours, and then anti-climactic electronic voice phenomenon (eery voices on a tape recorder. anything remotely exciting (like the blankets that mysteriously got pulled off the feet in the middle of the night) they go out of their way to debunk in that WASPy new england empirical way.) and yet like a sucker, i will watch the reveal next wednesday anyways.
the most exciting thing that happened is that all the commotion at the door freaked out our "special needs" cat rồngtý and he started obsessively licking his elbow raw again. so we double dosed him with rescue remedy and let him nurse tiêntý for comfort. hey, who are we to impose our human morals on other beings? we took their reproductive organs and this is how they get their rocks off. it's the rare time that they actually purr for more than 30 seconds.
so there were a handful cute little kindergartners & babies in full zip up costumes accompanied by their parents--and don't think the parents didn't try to hustle for their fair share--they got three pieces.
then there were the middle school kids who are starting to be a little too cool for costumes, so they rocked their urban stylishness, trendy tops, cropped jeans oh and a mask that they carried in their hand and would only don by request. we got some backtalk, but mostly they were sweet. saccharine sweet. they got two pieces.
then there were the packs of high schoolers or as i like to call them roving teenage bandits. these young'uns didn't even bother with costumes. they just roll up on your doorstep, do a a quarter turn when you answer the door so you could put the bribe--i mean treats--in their backpacks.
RTB: "trick or treat!"
me: "what are you dressed as?"
RTB: "oh. mahself." all sassy attitude.
me: "uh-huh. nice try." give two pieces of candy anyway because at this point, it's extortion.
RTB: "Happy Halloween!"
five of them at time. then roll out. and one of them threw their candy wrapper on our lawn. roll eyes.
Halloween sucks. is it just the new millenium and the culture of violence & depravity that have sucked all the fun out of this childhood ritual?
we watched the highly promoted reality show live Halloween special Ghost Hunters on the SciFi channel. six hours in a haunted abandoned sanitorium. yawn. we get suckered by this show every week by teasers that promise spectral thrills and all we get is temperature fluctuations, boring conversations between investigators as they while away the wee hours, and then anti-climactic electronic voice phenomenon (eery voices on a tape recorder. anything remotely exciting (like the blankets that mysteriously got pulled off the feet in the middle of the night) they go out of their way to debunk in that WASPy new england empirical way.) and yet like a sucker, i will watch the reveal next wednesday anyways.
the most exciting thing that happened is that all the commotion at the door freaked out our "special needs" cat rồngtý and he started obsessively licking his elbow raw again. so we double dosed him with rescue remedy and let him nurse tiêntý for comfort. hey, who are we to impose our human morals on other beings? we took their reproductive organs and this is how they get their rocks off. it's the rare time that they actually purr for more than 30 seconds.
Friday, October 5, 2007
my grandmother whups đít
you ever feel like scientists/researchers lack common sense? and maybe some home-training by their grandmothers? as my bà ngoại likes to say "đá cho mày mà đá bây giờ!|i'm gonna kick your ass!"
anthropologist researchers "discover" that grandmothers are productive members of society and have a social-evolutionary role that prolongs longevity & survival in non-industrialized societies. whether its childrearing or economic production, grandmothers the world over hold their own and keep families alive. grandmothers are powerful.
it's a sad commentary on the patriarchal nuclearization of the modern american household in the industrial capitalist era that somehow that piece of info should be revelatory. elders are denied dignity and a social role in this society. i have only to visit the nursing home where my bà ngoại is staying until she's well enough to have the feeding tube taken out to get depressed & indignant about how this society treats its elders. or as i learned in high school with the few non-immigrant schoolmates (and in that area of town, they were white trash and/or military brats), the kids would get kicked out or forced to pay rent at 18 and then they in turn would stick their parents in nursing homes as soon as they got the chance. karmic payback.
we need a council of grandmothers in government. maybe they could make sense of the billions of dollars spent on the war machine, profiteers, and cutthroat mercenaries and straighten out our nonsensical health care system, public education and social security/elder care.
anthropologist researchers "discover" that grandmothers are productive members of society and have a social-evolutionary role that prolongs longevity & survival in non-industrialized societies. whether its childrearing or economic production, grandmothers the world over hold their own and keep families alive. grandmothers are powerful.
it's a sad commentary on the patriarchal nuclearization of the modern american household in the industrial capitalist era that somehow that piece of info should be revelatory. elders are denied dignity and a social role in this society. i have only to visit the nursing home where my bà ngoại is staying until she's well enough to have the feeding tube taken out to get depressed & indignant about how this society treats its elders. or as i learned in high school with the few non-immigrant schoolmates (and in that area of town, they were white trash and/or military brats), the kids would get kicked out or forced to pay rent at 18 and then they in turn would stick their parents in nursing homes as soon as they got the chance. karmic payback.
we need a council of grandmothers in government. maybe they could make sense of the billions of dollars spent on the war machine, profiteers, and cutthroat mercenaries and straighten out our nonsensical health care system, public education and social security/elder care.
Friday, September 14, 2007
maternity sweatshop
T's 70-year-old, diabetic, partially deaf mợ 2|aunty #2 has been industriously sewing me a new bà bầu wardrobe pulling all nighters this week out of concern for my seeming lack of pregnancy-appropriate attire. i guess she missed the elastic waistband demonstrations or didn't think it was adequate.
it's one thing when it's malnourished brown orphans deprived of childhood and limbs industriously producing one's wardrobe piecemeal for pennies because there is the global economy, multinational corporations, layers of manufacturing subcontracting, clever marketing ploys, shiny store displays and discount store prices to buffer and inure me from the human consequences of my first world decadence.
it's a whole nother thing when it's your kin. and its heartfelt concern. and its muumuus. and they are made from love.
maybe like the golden garments of love that Ariel learned to spin from the depths of her heart for the wraiths in the fantasy novel DarkAngel, the muumuus will wear less burdensome than garb made from coercion, loathing and pain, and will wear lightly filled with the grace of compassion and the gift of sisterhood.
it's one thing when it's malnourished brown orphans deprived of childhood and limbs industriously producing one's wardrobe piecemeal for pennies because there is the global economy, multinational corporations, layers of manufacturing subcontracting, clever marketing ploys, shiny store displays and discount store prices to buffer and inure me from the human consequences of my first world decadence.
it's a whole nother thing when it's your kin. and its heartfelt concern. and its muumuus. and they are made from love.
maybe like the golden garments of love that Ariel learned to spin from the depths of her heart for the wraiths in the fantasy novel DarkAngel, the muumuus will wear less burdensome than garb made from coercion, loathing and pain, and will wear lightly filled with the grace of compassion and the gift of sisterhood.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
big brother
once upon a time, bro and i had lunch--rather, like the gourmand foodie he has become after decades of waiting tables in high end establishments, (heo, they got megastars in the michelin guide for service) he ate raw oysters with a clean melon finish while i stole complimentary matchboxes and dipped sourdough in extra-spicy tabasco--has just informed me that financial institutions don't care what your signature looks (gasp) and they will do NOTHING about janky simulacra signatures other than cut the payouts and charge you interest, unless you complain about the matter pugnaciously--i was nano-indignant--therefore with the desultory insolence of the disenfranchised, he periodically changes his signature. without telling anyone. scandalous!
his newest signature which could pass for nk spy hangul chicken scratch, when held up to the refracted light from a chain restaurant window in a freeway-side suburb and glimpsed in reverse reads, "FUCK YOU".
in the words of the Shark Tale shrimpy shrimp with five shrimp legs (do these appendages have a scientific classification?) crossed earnestly over shrimpy heart while the other five shrimp legs held palm-errr, first joint up in the scout's pledge with a shrimpy castrato sotto voce, proclaim "Truuue Story".
do you think i have a shot of getting a segment produced for "This American Life"?
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While that is all centuries ago, its legacy is this--Mothers are not valued in the mainstream power structure; the US is the ONLY 1st world nation that does not provide mandatory paid maternity leave. FMLA is a watered down approximation of a well meaning thought. If you are on welfare, you can only take of other people's children for pay, you cannot be paid to raise your own children. So the rallying cry that a "women can do anything men can do" is mostly true, but more importantly, men CANNOT do everything women can--give life and sustenance--and that is exactly what remains unacknowledged, unvalued, and unremunerated.
(ASIDE: the New Yorker had an interesting article a while back about the "liberating" American invention of breast pumps and how it forced mothers to go back to work sooner because now biology wasn't a barrier for women to be like men in the workplace.)
SAHM label is an effort to reclaim the degraded "homemaker."
All that to say that I don't take the gender dynamics as solely an individual couple's relationship problem, but a social problem. I struggle with it too, not because my husband is a patriarchal narcissist (far be it from true!), but because we live these socially imposed power dynamics and norms. And this all without bringing in other dynamics like race and culture.
Motherhood is still unpaid work.
The patriarchal nuclear family structure and the ruptures in extended family networks from immigration and American nomadic existence makes it so much harder; no grandmothers and elders live with us to raise our babies.
Dennis Brutus once gave met Tstsi Dengaremba's novel Nervous Conditions. And I think it gets exactly at the tension between Western feminism/norms and cultural roles.
Having exclusively breastfed and coslept until 1yo meant that my daughter was squarely attached to me which created its own cycle of emotional dependence. It wasn't until ~2.5yo that VL would ask for her Ba when she needed comfort or nurturing. Now this wasn't my husband's refusal or irresponsibility; he picked up the slack on all the household chores and other non-BF parenting so that I could nurture our child. When he was back at work FT, I voluntarily did all the diaper changes at night while I was on maternity leave in equitable appreciation of him working outside the home. For SAHMs, the household chores do fall on their shoulders more, because that is what is equitable. For families where both parents work outside the home, chores and parenting may be more negotiated in the 3 hours we have with the offspring before they go to sleep.
Until males start lactating (physiologicaly possible, if socially/cultural taboo. google it), the first few years fall squarely on the mother's breasts. I still struggle with what mainstream feminism enculturated in me and traditional/cultural roles.