Category Archives: Social Science

Manifestation

It’s been entirely too long since I’ve sat down to write. Claire’s four molars are still cutting, and when she’s awake she is clingy with me. But she has changed remarkably — every day there is greater comprehension, and we are astonished. I want to make a note of this, so here’s a quick list.

  • One morning, I pulled out her construction trucks puzzle and noticed the concrete mixer piece was missing. I commented on this, saying I wondered where it went. Immediately Claire began digging into a basket full of stuffed animal toys and pulled out the piece. Maybe she put it there the previous day for some reason?
  • Claire increasingly asks “Doing?” as she watches us. Sometimes she’ll say “Mommy doing?” (or Daddy), and we’ll describe what it is we are doing: loading the dishwasher, eating lunch, reading mail, etc.
  • She has cute little one-piece footed pajamas; one of them has pigs all over. As I dressed her the other night, she began to kiss the piggies. Claire loves to kiss: pictures of animals in books, her stuffed animals, Stella cat, us, her friends. She’d kiss dogs and cats she meets if we’d let her. I’ve never seen such an affectionate child.
  • Speaking of affection, I had special moment with her the other morning. I was sitting on the kitchen floor where we’d been playing. Claire had walked away but I hadn’t stood up yet. I was resting. My back was toward her, and she walked up to me. She leaned against my back, nuzzled her head against my neck, and patted my arm. It was a deliberate moment of expressed affection that she initiated. It was the first time, and I just wanted to hold her forever and kiss her to pieces for that.
  • Claire is game to say any word or phrase if you say, “Can you say [fill in the blank]?” We always say “I love you” to each other and to her, and the other day I asked her if she could say that. And she did (slightly garbled but still). I think she understands what this means too, because once I said “I love you” to her and she came over to give me a kiss. Another time, when I was putting her down for a nap, I said it, and she said it in response.
  • Claire also likes to play a game called “I gitchoo!” She walks around saying this, and I chase her on my hands and knees while she runs away squealing. Then she turns and runs towards me so I can “get her,” which results in squeals of delight. I hug, kiss, and tickle her, and she loves it. She initiates this game often.
  • Peering around corners or furniture and saying, “I see you!” is another game she likes to play. And if she can stand on anything (even a book), she likes to announce that she is “up high” over and over again.
  • Until recently, according to Claire dogs said “Bow.” In that past two days, she says dogs go “bow wow.” And she calls them dogs now (where “bow” was the word for dog and their sound).

There is more, but this is all I can think of right now.

I’ve created a problem situation for us, however. Over time, Claire has come to drink milk only from a bottle and only lying in my arms. I had not pushed getting to milk in a sippy cup (she drinks water from a sippy) because she was so small and ate so little that I wanted to be sure she got a good amount of calories daily. I was supposed to have her off bottle by the time she turned 15 months. (But then the handout I was given at that appointment said to have them off the bottle by 18 months, and I’ve heard some children don’t give up the bottle until 24 months. However, the pediatrician said to get her off by 18 months, and Husband wants to follow that.)

Anyhow, any time we offer milk in a sippy a terrible storm occurs. She screams, cries, stomps her feet, bangs her head on stuff, rolls on the ground, and is generally inconsolable. Since her molars have been cutting, she has increased her use of the bottle for comfort. She often demands milk and walks to the kitchen. She will only drink it if I hold her (handing her the bottle is unacceptable); sometimes she drinks a significant amount but usually she has only 2-3 ounces. I do continually offer milk in a sippy cup (we’ve tried several types and brands), but she rejects it.

I keep rationalizing. Her mouth hurts, she needs comfort. It’s the holidays, I don’t want to have a lousy Christmas with temper tantrums. Her grandma is coming for a week at the end of the month, I want to wait until after that. My friend and her daughter, Fia, are returning January 8 from a trip. She’d offered to take the bottles and store them to keep temptation out of reach. So Husband and I agreed we would take the bottles away on January 10th. I know that the longer I wait the more set in her ways she becomes. It’s going to be rough for however long it takes. I talk to her about being a big girl and not a baby anymore, and about how big girls use cups. Several times she has said “Baby! Baby!” and clung to me. And believe me, we have a lot of cuddle time during the day. It’s not as though losing the bottle will mean losing cuddle. I’ve even held her while offering the cup, but this is met with an arched back and screaming.

As with the napping in the crib, Claire and I have to negotiate this. It starts with me acting like the adult, like the… oh my gosh, the parent.

and then what happened?

After Eight Years

For the first time in eight years, I feel hopeful about the future of our country. I am thrilled with the historic presidential election results.

In his famous Gettysburg Address, President Lincoln urged every American to take on “the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far nobly advanced.” That work remained unfinished, though, for a century and a half. For despite decades of civil rights legislation, judicial interventions and social activism — despite Brown v. Board of Education, Martin Luther King’s I-have-a-dream crusade and the 1964 Civil Rights Act — the Civil War could never truly be said to be over until America’s white majority actually elected an African-American as president.

That is what happened Tuesday night, and that is why we wake up to a different country. Yes, the struggle for equality is never done. But we can start afresh now from a whole new baseline. Let every child and every citizen and every new immigrant know that from this day forward: Everything really is possible in America.

–Thomas Friedman, Finishing Our Work

It’s not looking so good for Prop 8 and Prop 4 here in California, though.

Lean and Tall

Today was Claire’s 12-month doctor visit. At her 9-month visit she weighed 16 pounds, 5 ounces and was 27 inches tall. Today she weighs 17 pounds, 10 ounces, and is 29.5 inches tall. My little bean sprout. Everything else is normal. The poor child received four vaccinations today (two in each arm). She has the remnants of her cold and I think her gums hurt. Considering all this, she’s been in a cheerful mood today.

I do remember what this day is. My body remembers; I’ve been tense, agitated, irritated, tired, and I suddenly realized at mid-day why this is the case. But I’m going to focus on the good in the day as a way of honoring what was lost in 2001.

45

I have 45 minutes to write this, so we’ll see what pours out.

Today
I have a beautiful nine-month-old daughter who is pulling up and longs to stand by herself. She is starting to cruise. She’s becoming more aware and more of a little individual daily. Today I am physically and mentally healthy. Today I am in a secure, strong, happy marriage. Today I am able to stay home to raise my daughter, while Husband works at a good company at a job he enjoys. Today dinner will be a hefty ribeye steak with corn on the cob and a nice Syrah, followed by Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream for dessert. I am loved and enjoy a beautiful life. I feel I have found my life’s calling in motherhood. I didn’t realize this was the case, that this is what my heart longed for all along, until Claire arrived.

2003 – 5 Years Ago
On this day, I was in Syracuse visiting my parents and one of my sisters celebrating my 40th birthday. It was a lovely visit, and I felt much joy at turning 40. I resided in Austin, living with but not yet married to Husband. I had earned my certification as a Licensed Professional Counselor and, having “paid my dues” working in community mental health, I had a growing private practice. I had been blogging for one year, and in 2003 I learned a very painful lesson about what was appropriate for blogging. The lesson cost me three friendships and some deep family heartache. On the other hand, I was blessed by many friends via the Internet because of this new type of social expression and connection.

1998 – 10 Years Ago
I was attending graduate school full-time and working full-time at UT Austin. On this day that year I was arranging to get my navel pierced and deciding what my first tattoo would be. I was battling a serious bout of major depression triggered by a number of factors (working through the aftermath of a sexual assault that happened in 1994, grief over the untimely death of an animal companion, a romantic relationship gone bad with someone I worked with daily, the loss of community upon leaving a fundamentalist religion, a potentially violent scary neighbor upstairs who kept me up all night) — all of which compounded a physical disposition toward depression. (In other words, it runs in my family genes.) I was riddled with self-doubt and fear; I fought a compulsion to injure myself with sharp objects. I started Vipassana meditation this year, and this helped. Much later in the year I tried anti-depressants for the first time, and they catalyzed a dramatic improvement in my well-being.

1993 – 15 Years Ago
On this day I celebrated with friends. Co-workers bought me roses, cake, and funny balloons. On my 30th birthday I embraced a new decade. My twenties had been difficult, shrouded with depression, financial problems, confusion about my identity, and trouble becoming mentally emancipated from family dynamics. I had finally completed my bachelor’s degree at SUNY Oswego after ten arduous years. I was dreaming about a new life, which I brought about for myself in 1994 by moving to Austin, Texas.

1988 – 20 Years Ago
I had moved home briefly to live with my parents after ending a five-year relationship, because I was deeply in debt. I worked two jobs to get out of debt and save money so I could attend college full-time in 1989. I agonized over my age; every birthday in my twenties was an occasion to lambast myself for not having accomplished anything with my life. I felt time was escaping me and I was afraid.

1983 – 25 Years Ago
I was attending a business institute for secretarial studies (which I hated, but it was an act of desperation so I could become employable and independent). I worked part-time, rented a room from my parents until the end of the year. In December I moved to a room at the Mizpah tower in downtown Syracuse, a low-cost residence for women. It was a heady time, living on my own at last. I declared my sexual orientation as lesbian. I met a woman who became my companion and partner for five years.

1978 – 30 Years Ago
I was a fundamentalist born-again Catholic struggling to feel some self-worth. I was a loner in high school and had one close friend. I had poor self-esteem and felt hopeless most of the time. This was the onset of minor depression. I began writing journals in earnest.

1973 – 35 Years Ago
I was lost in a family storm. I won’t provide details out of respect for the privacy of family members.

1968 – 40 Years Ago
I was a cute little kindergartner who adored my stuffed animals and was terrified of thunderstorms. That was the year of social craziness with RFK and Martin Luther King Jr. being assassinated, plus the Tet offensive in Vietnam. I have an image from television news branded into my memory of an injured soldier with his brains outside his head on the ground. (It haunted me. What the hell were newscasters thinking?)

1963 – 45 Years Ago
I came into this world at 3:47 a.m., which explains why I’ve always been a night owl.

Life for me improved over the years. I’m aging well. 🙂 I’ve received many sweet cards and gifts today. I thought I’d share a chuckle from my brother.

My Brother, He So Funny

my brother, he so funny

The New Homemaker

I’ve discovered a new blog and resource portal that will become a staple of my reading: The New Homemaker. I was doing research on the origin of “Susie Homemaker” (which I’ve not yet found because I wandered off into this new discovery). From the About page:

Who is the New Homemaker? She is the person who has discovered that having both partners in the work world is not “having it all.” Children, elders and the community have been sacrificed for two generations to the crazy notion that households can run themselves. Well, they can’t, and never have. Working parents have struggled valiantly to “have it all,” but are increasingly saying “we’ve had enough”; someone has to be home. Even single parents are exploring ways to spend more time at home and less at work, or to work at home.

Unexpectedly at home, the New Homemaker now finds herself completely unprepared to run that household, with few resources to turn to. Skills and knowledge housekeepers took for granted for centuries have been lost in just 50 years’ time. Traditional women’s magazines are filled not with solid homemaking advice and resources, but with diets, celebrity interviews, horoscopes, romance quizzes, career advice, fashion spreads and the like. Where help is available it’s frequently packaged with religious advice that may be appropriate for some women but hardly all, or even most.

I could print the entire manifesto here, but I won’t. You should read it, however. It speaks sense.

Losing and Gaining

In 2004, I posted briefly about the firing of Deborah Voigt from a role at the Royal Opera House. The reason? She was considered too fat for the role, particularly because she couldn’t fit into a little black dress that was part of the contemporary production.

She had gastric bypass surgery and has now returned to the role. She said she didn’t have the surgery in response to being fired.

“I did it because I wasn’t feeling well, because my knees were hurting, because I would cross the street and feel as though I wasn’t going to be able to catch my breath,” Voigt told “Good Morning America.” “Because, ‘Oh my lord, I might have to sit in that chair at dinner and there are arms on it. And will I fit into that chair?'”

I’m really glad she’s lost weight to improve her health and general well-being. I continue to think that it was a shame she was ever fired in the first place.

What do you think?

I Don’t Know What To Do With What I Feel

Yesterday, in Stanislaus County, California

TURLOCK — A crazed man parked on a dark country road Saturday night, took a toddler from the car seat in his pickup and beat the boy to death until a Modesto police officer, dropped on the scene by helicopter, shot the man dead, authorities said.

Passers-by calling 911 at 10:13 p.m. described a horrific scene on West Bradbury Road near the intersection of South Blaker Road in rural Stanislaus County, 10 miles west of Turlock. At least one tried to stop the 27-year-old attacker, who swung and slammed the toddler into the asphalt and stomped on him behind his parked four-door Toyota pickup.

“In the shadows and light it looked like he had hit an animal,” said Dan Robinson, the chief of Crows Landing Volunteer Fire Department, who came upon the chaos on his way home from a late dinner in Turlock. “As we backed up again, I could see that he had blood on his arms. I could see that it was a small child.”

—Modesto Bee

The articles I’ve read state that witnesses attempted to stop the man but couldn’t. How can this be? How can adults fail to protect a baby? The man exclaimed the boy had demons in him. How is it that a bunch of adults failed to somehow grab the child away or pile on top of the attacker to subdue him? I know, I wasn’t there, I shouldn’t judge. I’m trying not to judge. I ask the questions out of shock and horror, because this news is difficult to apprehend.

Once police arrived on the scene, the attacker was shot to death. The child is guessed to be 12 to 24 months old, but DNA tests will be needed to identify him, because the boy was beaten beyond recognition.

I want to weep.