Over the past almost two years, it's become apparent that the road to heart attacks lies not necessarily with my health. It lies mostly with my son. He loves to prove that - over and over. Like when he was learning to crawl and insisted on doing stage dives off our bed, which is about 3 feet high. Or when he got sick at 8 months and we had to turn him upside down to get him to breathe again. I don't think I'll ever get over hearing him thrashing in the dark, then turning on the light to see him trying to scream while nothing came out.
He proved this again today by learning how to open the door. The front door. I was moving my car around to the front so that the furnace repair guy could get his van near the basement. My husband was talking to the furnace repair guy when I told him, "Hey, I'm going to move my car. Keep an eye on Ragsy and make sure he doesn't kill himself or anything."
So I run out, move my car and park it. As I was throwing on the parking break, a little person streaked out from behind a tree and ran by my car from the sidwalk down to the front door. I jumped out of the car and found the front door ajar and my little one hiding in the bushes next to the porch. I grabbed him (kicking and screaming - apparently he'd been having a fabulous time - bare feet and all) and took him inside and immediately started hunting for my husband.
He was there - just deep into a conversation with the repair guy and hadn't noticed our son's escape. When I told him, he was suitably horrified. We've decided that we'll now have to make sure we bolt the door from the very top as well.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
I want down!
Ever since I had the shingles, I've had problems getting Ragsy to go to sleep for me. After all, there were about 7-10 days there where I was unable to put him to bed for fear of him accidentially snuggling up too close to my face or me getting some of the ooze from the open sores on my head on his pillow (yes, gross - I know). Anyway, ever since then, when I try to put Ragsy to sleep, he screams. He cries. He struggles. He pushes me out of bed and will go so far as to shove me down the hall.
So last night it was no surprise when, after I declared lights out, he began to cry. "Down," he kept wailing. "Down!" And "Door! Go door! Rock? (translates to can we watch Fraggle Rock?)" Then it happened. A crystal-clear sentence. Yes, he's been combining words successfully for a while. "Mommy cook egg," "Mommy sit chair," and "Daddy sleeping" are pretty common requests and questions. But so far, he hasn't really spoken in a full sentence. Until last night, when he declared, "Mommy, I want down. I want down now!"
Fantastic. My son's first clear sentence is basically that he wants away from me. Oh, well. At least it wasn't the same as my first sentence, which was "What's the matter?" My parents were going through a divorce at the time, so apparently I oscillated between asking what was the matter and hiding under the table for hours on end. I vaguely remember doing that - curling up under the table, listening to my mom on the phone and watching people's feet go by. I wasn't too unlike that kid in the Christmas Story who hides in the cabinets.
So last night it was no surprise when, after I declared lights out, he began to cry. "Down," he kept wailing. "Down!" And "Door! Go door! Rock? (translates to can we watch Fraggle Rock?)" Then it happened. A crystal-clear sentence. Yes, he's been combining words successfully for a while. "Mommy cook egg," "Mommy sit chair," and "Daddy sleeping" are pretty common requests and questions. But so far, he hasn't really spoken in a full sentence. Until last night, when he declared, "Mommy, I want down. I want down now!"
Fantastic. My son's first clear sentence is basically that he wants away from me. Oh, well. At least it wasn't the same as my first sentence, which was "What's the matter?" My parents were going through a divorce at the time, so apparently I oscillated between asking what was the matter and hiding under the table for hours on end. I vaguely remember doing that - curling up under the table, listening to my mom on the phone and watching people's feet go by. I wasn't too unlike that kid in the Christmas Story who hides in the cabinets.
Free play.
I was listening to a really interesting story today on NPR. It was an extension of a previous story that asserted that one of the reasons kids have so much trouble self regulating today may be because play is so much more structured. The idea is that unstructured play allows kids the opportunity to set and enforce their own rules, which largely mirror standard cultural rules and make it easier for them to control their impulses later. According to the story, you control your impulses (like the impulse to hit someone when you're mad or scream or just fidget) with executive function. The general idea of unstructured play makes sense to me - I think allowing room for imagination is important, plus, although I think some supervision is important with kids, I don't think "helicopter parenting" is the best idea.
Anyway, the gist of the story was that good executive function - or the control of impulse - was a better indicator of success later in life than IQ. Okay, so far it still makes sense. In fact, most of the story made sense until they started talking about a school that was supposed to encourage the development of executive function. I had thought that, since they were talking about free play, they would go into information on how this school provides pre-schoolers with opportunities for free play. Instead, they started talking about how this school has the kids planning out every second of their play.
In other words, these kids were to sit down, determine what they plan to do at recess and how they plan to do it, then during recess are expected to do what they've proposed, then report back on how they did what they said they'd do. Wait, what?!?
Normally I adore NPR, but the school they featured didn't at all support what it seemed they were trying to say, that unstructured play is important. If they were really trying to promote the idea of increased executive function, it might have been better to start with that first rather than have experts talk about how important unstructured play was.
Furthermore, even though I'm sure the kids were having a good time, the idea of practically having to write a business proposal prior to playing just stinks. I hate it when my personal time is taken over by paperwork of any kind (unless I'm writing, but then, when I'm writing, it's personal time) - I can't imagine what a pre-schooler might think. Yuck.
Anyway, the gist of the story was that good executive function - or the control of impulse - was a better indicator of success later in life than IQ. Okay, so far it still makes sense. In fact, most of the story made sense until they started talking about a school that was supposed to encourage the development of executive function. I had thought that, since they were talking about free play, they would go into information on how this school provides pre-schoolers with opportunities for free play. Instead, they started talking about how this school has the kids planning out every second of their play.
In other words, these kids were to sit down, determine what they plan to do at recess and how they plan to do it, then during recess are expected to do what they've proposed, then report back on how they did what they said they'd do. Wait, what?!?
Normally I adore NPR, but the school they featured didn't at all support what it seemed they were trying to say, that unstructured play is important. If they were really trying to promote the idea of increased executive function, it might have been better to start with that first rather than have experts talk about how important unstructured play was.
Furthermore, even though I'm sure the kids were having a good time, the idea of practically having to write a business proposal prior to playing just stinks. I hate it when my personal time is taken over by paperwork of any kind (unless I'm writing, but then, when I'm writing, it's personal time) - I can't imagine what a pre-schooler might think. Yuck.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Compulsion.
I have a long history of being extremely stingy where it comes to buying things for myself. As some of my friends who have shopped with me will note, getting me to buy clothing that fits and looks decent but that aren't on sale, clearance or otherwise extremely cheap is not easy. Which is why I'm shocked at my recent compulsion to spend.
Lately I'm finding myself spending money on coffee and food out when I have my own food at home. It's pretty silly. And it's not like I don't eat breakfast before I leave, prepare some coffee to bring to work or put together a lunch to eat while I'm there. It's like I'm a little kid who wants someone else's food just because it's someone else's. And the really annoying thing is that it's not any more satisfying once I get it. Actually, 8 times out of 10, as early as the first bite or sip, I like mine better or wonder what the heck I was thinking buying something else in the first place. Or, a couple of hours later, I don't feel as energetic as if I had eaten my own or I feel slightly ill because I'm pretty careful about the fat content and protein/veggie/starch/fiber content of my food. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to buy something other than what I've got.
I think I'm going to try to go for a week without spending on anything extra except gas and necessary groceries. Necessary meaning anything I need to supplement what I already have to make food, like milk, maybe meat (though we don't eat meat all that often), bread if we run out and fruits & veggies. It'll be interesting to see what happens. I'll start today. I brought my coffee this morning, ate breakfast before I left and made my lunch. We'll see if I can get by without getting some Baked Lays from the vending machine or a diet coke at 3 p.m.
If I really get a craving, I have a diet coke in the fridge at home that I can bring tomorrow.
Lately I'm finding myself spending money on coffee and food out when I have my own food at home. It's pretty silly. And it's not like I don't eat breakfast before I leave, prepare some coffee to bring to work or put together a lunch to eat while I'm there. It's like I'm a little kid who wants someone else's food just because it's someone else's. And the really annoying thing is that it's not any more satisfying once I get it. Actually, 8 times out of 10, as early as the first bite or sip, I like mine better or wonder what the heck I was thinking buying something else in the first place. Or, a couple of hours later, I don't feel as energetic as if I had eaten my own or I feel slightly ill because I'm pretty careful about the fat content and protein/veggie/starch/fiber content of my food. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to buy something other than what I've got.
I think I'm going to try to go for a week without spending on anything extra except gas and necessary groceries. Necessary meaning anything I need to supplement what I already have to make food, like milk, maybe meat (though we don't eat meat all that often), bread if we run out and fruits & veggies. It'll be interesting to see what happens. I'll start today. I brought my coffee this morning, ate breakfast before I left and made my lunch. We'll see if I can get by without getting some Baked Lays from the vending machine or a diet coke at 3 p.m.
If I really get a craving, I have a diet coke in the fridge at home that I can bring tomorrow.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
I just saw the stupidest question on my favorite message board.
I'm very disappointed. To paraphrase, the question was, "When you were little, when did you realize that you were smarter than all your peers?" Uh, right...
Even better, a poster put in a single sentence what it would have taken me about a page to say. Again, to paraphrase, she said that she wasn't an idiot, but other people who she considered inept could easily make her look like and feel like one because they might be skilled in an area where she wasn't. She didn't say it quite that diplomatically, but she did say exactly what I was thinking. Hah! And I call myself a writer.
Anyway, I haven't read a question that disingenuous and arrogant in a long time.
In other news, while I had the shingles and my right eye was swollen shut, I got it into my head to cook. Preparation for said cooking required a very large knife. Fortunately, I'm up on my tetanus shot from the last time I sliced off a bit of a finger. Oh, and don't eat the chicken unless you also like the taste of thumb.
Note to self: when you don't have any depth perception, perhaps it's time to order takeout. Stupid thumb - always getting in the way of sharp objects.
Even better, a poster put in a single sentence what it would have taken me about a page to say. Again, to paraphrase, she said that she wasn't an idiot, but other people who she considered inept could easily make her look like and feel like one because they might be skilled in an area where she wasn't. She didn't say it quite that diplomatically, but she did say exactly what I was thinking. Hah! And I call myself a writer.
Anyway, I haven't read a question that disingenuous and arrogant in a long time.
In other news, while I had the shingles and my right eye was swollen shut, I got it into my head to cook. Preparation for said cooking required a very large knife. Fortunately, I'm up on my tetanus shot from the last time I sliced off a bit of a finger. Oh, and don't eat the chicken unless you also like the taste of thumb.
Note to self: when you don't have any depth perception, perhaps it's time to order takeout. Stupid thumb - always getting in the way of sharp objects.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
From relaxed calm to near explosion in 30 seconds.
I am annoyed. I can't seem to help myself. Last night was just sublime - having just those few minutes of quiet to do nothing at all. Today I decided to carve out a few minutes after hanging around the house with my husband so I could write. I haven't written in months and I've finally committed to making some time to do so because I feel like I've been neglecting a very important part of myself, kind of like I feel when I don't exercise.
And yet, and yet, I can't get away from anyone for long enough to write. Goddamn it. The more I think about it, the madder I get. At myself. Not two minutes after I had settled the cats, folded my laundry and booted my computer up, my husband came downstairs and asked if I minded if he joined me. The obvious answer was that yes, I do mind because he has a tendency to a) read over my shoulder - not cool at all for me (or most writers I know), b) talk constantly or c) listen to music really loudly, none of which do anything at all for my concentration.
Like a big freaking moron, I said, no, then asked that he not talk to me or listen to music really loud. This sparked one of those idiotic verbal dances. "Why don't I just go upstairs then and wait until you're ready for me?" he asked after a long, drawn-out pause (which I assumed was hurt, but probably was confusion). "No, no. It's okay. Really. Just, um. Try not to read over my shoulder, okay? That makes me really irritated. And would you try not to talk?" To which he responded by heading for the stairs. And like some fool, I demanded he come back. Why am I such a contrary dork? Why???
When I was a freelancer, I had the freedom of the silence I extolled in the last post. That was my environment. But now I don't get silence. I don't get solitude. And I need it and it makes me mad at myself when I'm too stupid to take the very precious few opportunities I'm presented with in order to get it. Grrr...
And yet, and yet, I can't get away from anyone for long enough to write. Goddamn it. The more I think about it, the madder I get. At myself. Not two minutes after I had settled the cats, folded my laundry and booted my computer up, my husband came downstairs and asked if I minded if he joined me. The obvious answer was that yes, I do mind because he has a tendency to a) read over my shoulder - not cool at all for me (or most writers I know), b) talk constantly or c) listen to music really loudly, none of which do anything at all for my concentration.
Like a big freaking moron, I said, no, then asked that he not talk to me or listen to music really loud. This sparked one of those idiotic verbal dances. "Why don't I just go upstairs then and wait until you're ready for me?" he asked after a long, drawn-out pause (which I assumed was hurt, but probably was confusion). "No, no. It's okay. Really. Just, um. Try not to read over my shoulder, okay? That makes me really irritated. And would you try not to talk?" To which he responded by heading for the stairs. And like some fool, I demanded he come back. Why am I such a contrary dork? Why???
When I was a freelancer, I had the freedom of the silence I extolled in the last post. That was my environment. But now I don't get silence. I don't get solitude. And I need it and it makes me mad at myself when I'm too stupid to take the very precious few opportunities I'm presented with in order to get it. Grrr...
The busy-ness hierarchy
Last night, I actually sat down for a while without the TV on while my husband was putting our son to bed. It was quiet. It should have been completely unremarkable. I should have been doing about a dozen other things, like working out, writing, cleaning, folding things, tidying, cooking, organizing, preparing for the next day, etc. But I didn't. I sat down and was quiet. And it was good.
For the first time in weeks I went to bed calm but not exhausted. And I was able to sleep instead of either lying awake for hours or passing out. It was fantastic.
Anyway, it sounds pretty basic, but it was a milestone for me. As I've noted before, I grew up in a house where silence and inactivity were considered really odd. Silence and idleness are anathema. Not because they're the devil's workshop or any such nonsense, but because my mom also grew up where not doing anything was simply not acceptable.
So, the "busy-ness" hierarchy works like this: most strenuous, crappy tasks take greatest priority. The least crappy tasks are the least important. But no where on that organizational chart does silence fall.
So, at the top of the hierarchy, most important but least fun, is having a job - depending on your job, of course. If you don't have a job, the top rung is heavy-duty cleaning. If you do have one, cleaning comes just barely second. (But everyone knows that, job or no, women are absolutely, positively 100% responsible for ensuring a clean and pleasant home, right?!? After all, that's what we LIVE for.)
Anyway, then comes cooking, which runs in a closed loop with cleaning.
After that, manual labor: gardening.
Once you're done with that, there's the detail work, running neck and neck with laundry and ironing (though laundry can take precedence over gardening). As in, the top rung of cleaning is the really crappy stuff - toilet scrubbing, floor washing, mass dusting, etc. The detail work is going around the stovetops with Q-tips, washing your grout in the bathroom, etc.
Once you're done with that come the home improvement projects.
Then if you've finished all those and you're still looking for something to do, well, you're in luck! There's mail to sort through and throw out. Spices to alphabetize and correspondence to keep up with (fortunately I get to do this by e-mail now).
Once you've finished all that, you better darn well have a sewing project handy to keep your hands busy. Who knows what might happen if you don't keep those hands busy (hairy palms, anyone?)!
If you've done with that or need a break, you can watch TV or call someone. Or read a book. Or, better yet, start planning the grocery list and menu for the next week, pay some bills or balance your checkbook!
But silence? Sitting around and not doing anything is just...weird. Who does that anyway?
So, it was nice last night to break through the guilt (there's so freaking much to do I almost didn't bother) and just sit and be quiet. It felt indulgent, completely decadent. And absolutely wonderful.
For the first time in weeks I went to bed calm but not exhausted. And I was able to sleep instead of either lying awake for hours or passing out. It was fantastic.
Anyway, it sounds pretty basic, but it was a milestone for me. As I've noted before, I grew up in a house where silence and inactivity were considered really odd. Silence and idleness are anathema. Not because they're the devil's workshop or any such nonsense, but because my mom also grew up where not doing anything was simply not acceptable.
So, the "busy-ness" hierarchy works like this: most strenuous, crappy tasks take greatest priority. The least crappy tasks are the least important. But no where on that organizational chart does silence fall.
So, at the top of the hierarchy, most important but least fun, is having a job - depending on your job, of course. If you don't have a job, the top rung is heavy-duty cleaning. If you do have one, cleaning comes just barely second. (But everyone knows that, job or no, women are absolutely, positively 100% responsible for ensuring a clean and pleasant home, right?!? After all, that's what we LIVE for.)
Anyway, then comes cooking, which runs in a closed loop with cleaning.
After that, manual labor: gardening.
Once you're done with that, there's the detail work, running neck and neck with laundry and ironing (though laundry can take precedence over gardening). As in, the top rung of cleaning is the really crappy stuff - toilet scrubbing, floor washing, mass dusting, etc. The detail work is going around the stovetops with Q-tips, washing your grout in the bathroom, etc.
Once you're done with that come the home improvement projects.
Then if you've finished all those and you're still looking for something to do, well, you're in luck! There's mail to sort through and throw out. Spices to alphabetize and correspondence to keep up with (fortunately I get to do this by e-mail now).
Once you've finished all that, you better darn well have a sewing project handy to keep your hands busy. Who knows what might happen if you don't keep those hands busy (hairy palms, anyone?)!
If you've done with that or need a break, you can watch TV or call someone. Or read a book. Or, better yet, start planning the grocery list and menu for the next week, pay some bills or balance your checkbook!
But silence? Sitting around and not doing anything is just...weird. Who does that anyway?
So, it was nice last night to break through the guilt (there's so freaking much to do I almost didn't bother) and just sit and be quiet. It felt indulgent, completely decadent. And absolutely wonderful.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Okay, so my outlook on the universe has improved.
Not for any particular reason. Just that, as I was driving home from my doctor's appointment last night, I started to see the humor in things. It can take a while sometimes. It struck me as ridiculously funny that not only do I work in senior programs, but I've managed to get a disease typical of that population. It also seemed like a sitcom that Ragsy should get sick at the same time and I'd be left ranting that, even when I have a debilitating and painful illness, I still can't get a break a la Homer Simpson.
Plus, having my husband scream "No! Not the POX!" every once in a while can't help but make me laugh. So, even though I have a pretty constant headache and my calves are tightening ever more, somehow things are good again. For now.
Since I can't exactly do a whole lot of work, nor do I particularly want to, I'm trying to use this as an opportunity to relax, be a couch potato and also reorganize my house, which looks like a nuclear bomb hit it. Since I schedule 30 minutes a day to clean and my husband does not without prodding, there's crap everywhere. I'd also like to do some gentle exercise to get my calves to loosen.
Plus, I've got more discipline issues with Ragsy. It doesn't take long, does it? Last night was the first time I've put him to bed since last Thursday. He'd gotten used to his dad's more lenient method of reading to him, then letting him play until he's thoroughly exhausted, then turning out the light for a quick conk out. Unfortunately for him, mommy doesn't work that way. I'm all about the cuddles and the playing for a while, but once the clock hits 7:45, it's books away, lights out and we have calm quiet time until sleep takes us, preferably with me next to the bed instead of in it. With the eventual goal of being able to leave the room entirely, of course, but with minimal crying and screaming.
Well, Ragsy hasn't been used to me being the disciplinarian lately. I've been the one who shows up magically after a long absence to play savior and make him happy. Also, because I couldn't even sit up well for a couple of days after I started to get better, I let him watch hours of TV for a day and a half. (Yes, yes - bad mother for letting my kid watch so much Fraggle Rock, but I'd like to see anyone get over a three- or five-day migraine where they feel like their eye was being dug out with a rusty spoon with just loads of energy.)
So, when last night came and we were done reading, the screaming started. For about forty minutes. After the first ten, Ragsy shoved me off the bed. So I sat next to it. He kept shoving, so finally I left after turning on the nightlight. This did not go over well. He came out, shrieking and held up his palm to ward me off while he looked for daddy. But daddy wasn't sympathetic and dammit, it was my night. So I calmly picked him up even though he was doing his best to get away, kissed him and whispered "night, night" over the shrieks, tried to rub his back and calm him down, only to be shoved right off the bed again. I left again, and this time when he came out to the hall and saw me coming to meet him, he threw himself on the floor in an all-out tantrum. Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat. Until finally, finally he pulled me to him, cuddled up to me and conked out.
We had planned to work on getting him to sleep on his own after I got better. But I think for a week or so, we'll need to work on getting him to understand that bedtime means sleep time and that he needs to listen not just to daddy, but to mommy, too. Amazing how quickly you lose that edge with a little one.
Plus, having my husband scream "No! Not the POX!" every once in a while can't help but make me laugh. So, even though I have a pretty constant headache and my calves are tightening ever more, somehow things are good again. For now.
Since I can't exactly do a whole lot of work, nor do I particularly want to, I'm trying to use this as an opportunity to relax, be a couch potato and also reorganize my house, which looks like a nuclear bomb hit it. Since I schedule 30 minutes a day to clean and my husband does not without prodding, there's crap everywhere. I'd also like to do some gentle exercise to get my calves to loosen.
Plus, I've got more discipline issues with Ragsy. It doesn't take long, does it? Last night was the first time I've put him to bed since last Thursday. He'd gotten used to his dad's more lenient method of reading to him, then letting him play until he's thoroughly exhausted, then turning out the light for a quick conk out. Unfortunately for him, mommy doesn't work that way. I'm all about the cuddles and the playing for a while, but once the clock hits 7:45, it's books away, lights out and we have calm quiet time until sleep takes us, preferably with me next to the bed instead of in it. With the eventual goal of being able to leave the room entirely, of course, but with minimal crying and screaming.
Well, Ragsy hasn't been used to me being the disciplinarian lately. I've been the one who shows up magically after a long absence to play savior and make him happy. Also, because I couldn't even sit up well for a couple of days after I started to get better, I let him watch hours of TV for a day and a half. (Yes, yes - bad mother for letting my kid watch so much Fraggle Rock, but I'd like to see anyone get over a three- or five-day migraine where they feel like their eye was being dug out with a rusty spoon with just loads of energy.)
So, when last night came and we were done reading, the screaming started. For about forty minutes. After the first ten, Ragsy shoved me off the bed. So I sat next to it. He kept shoving, so finally I left after turning on the nightlight. This did not go over well. He came out, shrieking and held up his palm to ward me off while he looked for daddy. But daddy wasn't sympathetic and dammit, it was my night. So I calmly picked him up even though he was doing his best to get away, kissed him and whispered "night, night" over the shrieks, tried to rub his back and calm him down, only to be shoved right off the bed again. I left again, and this time when he came out to the hall and saw me coming to meet him, he threw himself on the floor in an all-out tantrum. Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat. Until finally, finally he pulled me to him, cuddled up to me and conked out.
We had planned to work on getting him to sleep on his own after I got better. But I think for a week or so, we'll need to work on getting him to understand that bedtime means sleep time and that he needs to listen not just to daddy, but to mommy, too. Amazing how quickly you lose that edge with a little one.
Last leg - Bombay.
Okay, this is the last bit of our India trip. By now, I was looking forward to getting back home to a schedule and to disciplining my son. I didn't particularly want to punish him for anything, but by this point, he'd developed certain behaviors that just needed to go. Primarily, he screamed at the drop of a hat, and sometimes for no reason at all. He'd just stand in the middle of a room and let loose, probably to get attention. His sleeping was also all screwy again and he'd beat things with sticks at the drop of a hat and no one would gainsay him, so some of those things included glass doors, windows, china, etc. Fortunately, he only managed to break one thing.
Anyway, getting to Bombay was very welcome - we were there for six days and spent most of our time lounging about my father-in-law's flat and visiting friends and family or taking visitors. The best part of our visit was meeting my husband's best friend from high school. He has a very similar sense of humor to my husband's. I loved it.
We also met his wife, a very nice lady, and my husband's best friend's mom and dad, who live in their flat. Additionally, we met the best friend's kid. If you want the perfect example of an Indian child in my husband's family's circles this is it. The kid is brilliant and ridiculously indulged. He speaks three languages, two of them fluently, and is working to pick up a fourth. He's given more or less everything he wants and is literally hand fed by his mom at every meal. There's usually a special, multi-dish meal made just for him before the adults, then the adults eat a different, equally elaborate meal (granted, adult food and kid food is pretty different - kids' food is less spicy, though there are still lost more chilies than Ragsy's used to). Anyway, this child is three and a half years old and makes me and most linguists I know look like yokels.
We also saw a lot of my brother-in-law and his girlfriend, which was actually really refreshing. The brother-in-law I met when he was living in the US was kind of a jerk who painted everyone he met with a broad brush and did it straight to their faces. This guy has matured considerably and has learned a lot of diplomacy and far more tact. Plus, three years after dropping out of college, he has his first paying job and is actually doing quite well as an ecological consultant. His girlfriend was wonderful - very intelligent, very nice. And very different from all the other Indian women I'd met thus far. She was a lot more opinionated and direct and participated a lot in the conversation even in mixed company.
Not that Indian women are demurring nimrods - every single woman I met was really well spoken and very smart, especially my husband's grandmother, who never went past the fifth grade in school because she was being groomed for marriage. But most of the women I met don't speak up much in male company and are very rarely contradictory.
Let's see here - we met a lot of interesting people throughout. Quite a few characters. My father-in-law's girlfriend was there to meet us at the airport and took us to meet her son after we'd had a nap on landing. Her son is in Bollywood and is currently shooting two films. His girlfriend I think is an artist and teacher. Regardless, both are insanely beautiful people, though not plasticky looking like Hollywood types.
The last two or three days in Bombay were mostly spent shopping during the daylight hours and visiting friends at night. We shopped a heck of a lot and still having a dining table full of stuff that we have yet to dole out to friends and family or start using ourselves.
Anyway, like I said, we didn't do a whole lot except for meet some really cool people and hang out a lot. But it, along with Rajkot, were probably some of the best parts of the trip, not because we don't like to see things, but because Ragsy was relaxed. And when Ragsy's relaxed, everyone's happy. I think he spent at least a third of his time playing in bowls of water dressed in nothing but his diaper on various people's terraces.
Still, I was pretty happy when the day came for us to get home. My husband was homesick just being in India and asked me several times if I would be interested in moving there. I told him I'd be willing to talk about a temporary move, but that a longer-term move might be harder. Then we got stuck in traffic one day in Bombay for more than two hours and he decided he didn't even want to move there temporarily, but that we'd visit more often. Which is just fine with me. Especially because the next time we go, Ragsy will be required to have his own seat and will probably be old enough to know to stay in it.
And that, at last, is the end.
Anyway, getting to Bombay was very welcome - we were there for six days and spent most of our time lounging about my father-in-law's flat and visiting friends and family or taking visitors. The best part of our visit was meeting my husband's best friend from high school. He has a very similar sense of humor to my husband's. I loved it.
We also met his wife, a very nice lady, and my husband's best friend's mom and dad, who live in their flat. Additionally, we met the best friend's kid. If you want the perfect example of an Indian child in my husband's family's circles this is it. The kid is brilliant and ridiculously indulged. He speaks three languages, two of them fluently, and is working to pick up a fourth. He's given more or less everything he wants and is literally hand fed by his mom at every meal. There's usually a special, multi-dish meal made just for him before the adults, then the adults eat a different, equally elaborate meal (granted, adult food and kid food is pretty different - kids' food is less spicy, though there are still lost more chilies than Ragsy's used to). Anyway, this child is three and a half years old and makes me and most linguists I know look like yokels.
We also saw a lot of my brother-in-law and his girlfriend, which was actually really refreshing. The brother-in-law I met when he was living in the US was kind of a jerk who painted everyone he met with a broad brush and did it straight to their faces. This guy has matured considerably and has learned a lot of diplomacy and far more tact. Plus, three years after dropping out of college, he has his first paying job and is actually doing quite well as an ecological consultant. His girlfriend was wonderful - very intelligent, very nice. And very different from all the other Indian women I'd met thus far. She was a lot more opinionated and direct and participated a lot in the conversation even in mixed company.
Not that Indian women are demurring nimrods - every single woman I met was really well spoken and very smart, especially my husband's grandmother, who never went past the fifth grade in school because she was being groomed for marriage. But most of the women I met don't speak up much in male company and are very rarely contradictory.
Let's see here - we met a lot of interesting people throughout. Quite a few characters. My father-in-law's girlfriend was there to meet us at the airport and took us to meet her son after we'd had a nap on landing. Her son is in Bollywood and is currently shooting two films. His girlfriend I think is an artist and teacher. Regardless, both are insanely beautiful people, though not plasticky looking like Hollywood types.
The last two or three days in Bombay were mostly spent shopping during the daylight hours and visiting friends at night. We shopped a heck of a lot and still having a dining table full of stuff that we have yet to dole out to friends and family or start using ourselves.
Anyway, like I said, we didn't do a whole lot except for meet some really cool people and hang out a lot. But it, along with Rajkot, were probably some of the best parts of the trip, not because we don't like to see things, but because Ragsy was relaxed. And when Ragsy's relaxed, everyone's happy. I think he spent at least a third of his time playing in bowls of water dressed in nothing but his diaper on various people's terraces.
Still, I was pretty happy when the day came for us to get home. My husband was homesick just being in India and asked me several times if I would be interested in moving there. I told him I'd be willing to talk about a temporary move, but that a longer-term move might be harder. Then we got stuck in traffic one day in Bombay for more than two hours and he decided he didn't even want to move there temporarily, but that we'd visit more often. Which is just fine with me. Especially because the next time we go, Ragsy will be required to have his own seat and will probably be old enough to know to stay in it.
And that, at last, is the end.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Now I really must protest.
I promised myself that I wasn't going to post about anything but India until I finished slogging through our trip and boring you with tales of our adventures (we had fun, though). However, something has happened that has nullified that desire. My next post will be about Bombay, but for now, a brief rant.
My husband has been trying to tell me for a couple of months now that the universe is inherently unfair. Until last week, I persisted in my Pollyanna-ish thinking, asserting that you just needed to look at things the right way. Then it happened. Then I got shingles. What. The. Hell?? At 32, I got a disease more typical of a 50- or 60-year old. Why? Apparently it was stress that cause it to erupt.
I first noticed...something about two weeks ago, a week before it started. My head kept tingling, not a good sign, especially for someone with a seizure disorder. But I ignored it. It happens every once in a while and has never meant anything, but you do tend to pause at the least little abnormality when something's wrong with your brain.
Then I got the weird thingy at the corner of my eyebrow. Do I have dandruff on my eyebrow? I thought. How does that happen? Nah, must be a pre-zit or something. But the next day I noticed it was wet. Ewwww! Then the stabbing pain began in my eye. For three days, I would be forced to pause or double over in pain as an ice pick was driven into my skull. I was really tired, too. I had been exercising a lot, so that was kind of weird, since I live on exercise. My muscles were stiff and aching every time I woke up, when I stood up, walked, climbed stairs at work - more or less anything I did. Then I started losing my appetite. Definitely weird.
Finally on Thursday night the migraine started. Stabbing, throbbing pain as I tried to pat my little boy back to sleep in the middle of the night. Finally, I just lay down on the floor and held my head until my husband came in and took over. I took the next morning off, then tried to drive into work, almost throwing up from the pain by the time I got there. I grabbed my laptop's power cable and left again and went to bed. By Saturday morning, I was at the ER where some chuckling doctor told me I had shingles. I gaped at him and he kept on chuckling, telling me that if he had a dime for every 30-year old who was surprised to get shingles, he'd be rich.
At 4 a.m., I was released with a prescription for an anti-viral med and some vicodin ("heh, heh, you'll definitely need the pain medication," the doctor said. The jackass.). Finally, I got home, took some pills and got into bed. There was nothing but pain for the next 48 hours. I'd pass out for an hour and a half and try to stay as still as possible until my next allowed dose of vicodin. Plus, my eye swelled shut when the virus moved toward my optic nerve. I had to go back to the ER to have them make sure there was no damage. There is a little bit, but it should repair itself.
Then my son started having trouble breathing. My husband took him to the ER. They came back, went back to bed. My husband spent Monday babysitting both me and our son. Tuesday I watched Ragsy in the morning and my husband came home again to watch both of us.
For the first three days of the illness, I wasn't allowed to touch my son. The pain was awful, but not being able to help him feel better was pure hell. I still can't kiss him or let him anywhere near my face. I can't put him to bed or comfort him at night because my head may touch his pillow and I have sores all over the right side of my face and in my hair on my scalp.
Then last night the fever came again. I have his infection. Plus, I have phantom pain lingering from the shingles. Every once in a while the right side of my face throbs sharply. And my calves have started to tighten, another side effect, so sometimes I get charlie horses at night.
I know other people have it lots, lots worse. I can't imagine getting this illness if I were bedridden and already sick. Just another bit of proof that the universe is not fair. Stupid universe.
My husband has been trying to tell me for a couple of months now that the universe is inherently unfair. Until last week, I persisted in my Pollyanna-ish thinking, asserting that you just needed to look at things the right way. Then it happened. Then I got shingles. What. The. Hell?? At 32, I got a disease more typical of a 50- or 60-year old. Why? Apparently it was stress that cause it to erupt.
I first noticed...something about two weeks ago, a week before it started. My head kept tingling, not a good sign, especially for someone with a seizure disorder. But I ignored it. It happens every once in a while and has never meant anything, but you do tend to pause at the least little abnormality when something's wrong with your brain.
Then I got the weird thingy at the corner of my eyebrow. Do I have dandruff on my eyebrow? I thought. How does that happen? Nah, must be a pre-zit or something. But the next day I noticed it was wet. Ewwww! Then the stabbing pain began in my eye. For three days, I would be forced to pause or double over in pain as an ice pick was driven into my skull. I was really tired, too. I had been exercising a lot, so that was kind of weird, since I live on exercise. My muscles were stiff and aching every time I woke up, when I stood up, walked, climbed stairs at work - more or less anything I did. Then I started losing my appetite. Definitely weird.
Finally on Thursday night the migraine started. Stabbing, throbbing pain as I tried to pat my little boy back to sleep in the middle of the night. Finally, I just lay down on the floor and held my head until my husband came in and took over. I took the next morning off, then tried to drive into work, almost throwing up from the pain by the time I got there. I grabbed my laptop's power cable and left again and went to bed. By Saturday morning, I was at the ER where some chuckling doctor told me I had shingles. I gaped at him and he kept on chuckling, telling me that if he had a dime for every 30-year old who was surprised to get shingles, he'd be rich.
At 4 a.m., I was released with a prescription for an anti-viral med and some vicodin ("heh, heh, you'll definitely need the pain medication," the doctor said. The jackass.). Finally, I got home, took some pills and got into bed. There was nothing but pain for the next 48 hours. I'd pass out for an hour and a half and try to stay as still as possible until my next allowed dose of vicodin. Plus, my eye swelled shut when the virus moved toward my optic nerve. I had to go back to the ER to have them make sure there was no damage. There is a little bit, but it should repair itself.
Then my son started having trouble breathing. My husband took him to the ER. They came back, went back to bed. My husband spent Monday babysitting both me and our son. Tuesday I watched Ragsy in the morning and my husband came home again to watch both of us.
For the first three days of the illness, I wasn't allowed to touch my son. The pain was awful, but not being able to help him feel better was pure hell. I still can't kiss him or let him anywhere near my face. I can't put him to bed or comfort him at night because my head may touch his pillow and I have sores all over the right side of my face and in my hair on my scalp.
Then last night the fever came again. I have his infection. Plus, I have phantom pain lingering from the shingles. Every once in a while the right side of my face throbs sharply. And my calves have started to tighten, another side effect, so sometimes I get charlie horses at night.
I know other people have it lots, lots worse. I can't imagine getting this illness if I were bedridden and already sick. Just another bit of proof that the universe is not fair. Stupid universe.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Rajkot
I ran out of steam once more the last time I blogged (that happens when you don't sleep for a week thanks to a cranky, molar-getting toddler), but I want to get through India so I can complain and I'm almost there. So, here's Rajkot in a nutshell (or not so much as a nutshell - more like a biosphere):
After our flight to Amedebad was cancelled, we finally had to leave Delhi, go to Bombay, fly into Amedebad and then drive from there to Rajkot. So, our 9 a.m. flight and anticipated arrival in Rajkot via Amedebad at noon turned into a midnight arrival. I have to say, Ragsy was absolutely wonderful. Even though he was dragged around constantly, forced to sleep in airports, airplanes and cars and his movement was limited most of the day, he was still relatively sweet and relaxed.
When we finally got to Rajkot just after midnight, we had to spend about 20 minutes waiting outside before we could enter the house since they apparently had to wake everyone up for a ceremony before we could come in. So, I sat with Ragsy in the car until about 12:30 when we were greeted at the door by all the servants, my husband's aunt and uncle, his Nanima (who had picked us up at the airport), two dogs and the driver.
The ceremony involved a lot of yelling, turmeric paste, rice and garlands. And photos. Lots of photos. It was a welcome unlike any I had ever experienced.
We went in and, after a couple of hours, managed to get Ragsy back to sleep. Since he'd been dragged all over India and had slept in the car on the way to Rajkot (except when we stopped at a roadside restaurant for dinner during which he understandably screamed his head off since he was tired), he was pretty wired. We finally calmed him down enough to sleep around 2:30 and went to bed around 3.
The next day was wonderful because we did nothing. In fact, that was kind of our MO in Rajkot. The pace of life is so different than anywhere else. Probably because my husband's family can afford it and they don't live in a big metropolis like Bombay.
We took a few day trips, one to the family fort and then on the way back visited cousins at their palace. Then a few days later, we went to the family temple and had a ceremony and lunch and went home. We also had a party for my husband's birthday and shopped a lot. But, for the most part, the eight days we spent there all had a similar structure:
- Wake up - everyone's usually up by 9:30, though one of us usually got up with Ragsy at 7:30
- Putz around until Ragsy's nap at noon
- Sit down to lunch at 1
- Putz around again for about an hour
- Afternoon nap for the adults around 3 (my husband and I took turns with Ragsy because he'd be up by this time)
- Coffee or tea at 5 once everyone's up
- Visiting hours from about 6 - 8:30 (my husband's grandmother still has people come by for a cup of tea and to chat; people come by more or less every day to pay their respects and have tea - it's actually a really nice custom I'd like to adopt...if I could just get the house clean enough I'm not embarrassed to have people over)
- Ragsy to bed around 8:30
- Dinner at 9
- Hang out and chat for an hour to an hour and a half
- Bed around 11 or 11:30
It was a really nice rhythm to get into. Actually, it was nice to have a predictable schedule period, given our earlier taste of India and the hectic pace we'd had everwhere else.
The last three or four nights we spent either going to other people's houses or having people over for dinner. We just tossed Ragsy on someone's bed in the evening after he'd eaten and grab him on our way out the door. He's a lot more portable than I ever expected, even at this age. I don't know whether it was because he was forced to be or if he's just a lot more laid back than I thought. But why look a gift horse (or kid) in the mouth?
After a nearly idyllic time in Rajkot, we left for six days in Bombay and the last segment of our trip. By the end of our stay in Rajkot, I was really looking forward to getting back home and working once more.
Things I learned in Rajkot:
1. I like to work. Even if it's just cleaning.
2. Kids in my husband's family are coddled and catered to to a ridiculous degree. Yes, after about 5 years old, a lot is expected of them intellectually and the pressure can be absolutely immense (my husband's best friend's kid is 3 and speaks 4 languages!), but still, as long as they're smart and do well in their studies, kids can get away with murder and no one will say anything against them. Case in point: my husband used to throw all his toys off the terrace or out the window. The servants were required to go get them. And he'd do it again. And they'd get them again. And he'd do it again. The same happened a couple of times with Ragsy until I caught him in the act. Then there were no more toys until they stopped going off the terrace.
3. Kids aren't watched very much in my husband's family. I sometimes have helicopter-parent syndrome and probably interfere and oversee my son too much, although far less so here at home than in other people's houses. However, my son almost fell off a balcony without any railing that happened to overlook a concrete courtyard at one point. I was in the bedroom and my husband was washing his hands while someone told us not to worry - that they would watch Ragsy. But no one bothered to follow him outside when he wandered toward the balcony and he almost stepped off.
4. Handwashing is a way of life. Seriously, when you eat with your hands, you really need to wash them before and after every meal. Lots of people have wash basins in their dining rooms because of this. It's just easier.
5. The caste system and the concept of royalty is not dead in India.
6. When you visit, people give you money. Just because you're there. If you happen to have brought a kid with you, they give you more. And if you're having a birthday, they give you even more. Very, very weird. But I would walk into a room sometimes when guests were over to tea and someone would put hand me an envelope with money in it. Then they came for my husband's birthday and gave him more - for his birthday and for Ragsy.
Anyway, we were sad to leave Rajkot, especially my husband, who was getting somewhat homesick for India while there. Life is very, very different there - much slower in the smaller towns, more relaxed and a lot more family-oriented. I can see why he would be homesick.
And, on to Bombay.
After our flight to Amedebad was cancelled, we finally had to leave Delhi, go to Bombay, fly into Amedebad and then drive from there to Rajkot. So, our 9 a.m. flight and anticipated arrival in Rajkot via Amedebad at noon turned into a midnight arrival. I have to say, Ragsy was absolutely wonderful. Even though he was dragged around constantly, forced to sleep in airports, airplanes and cars and his movement was limited most of the day, he was still relatively sweet and relaxed.
When we finally got to Rajkot just after midnight, we had to spend about 20 minutes waiting outside before we could enter the house since they apparently had to wake everyone up for a ceremony before we could come in. So, I sat with Ragsy in the car until about 12:30 when we were greeted at the door by all the servants, my husband's aunt and uncle, his Nanima (who had picked us up at the airport), two dogs and the driver.
The ceremony involved a lot of yelling, turmeric paste, rice and garlands. And photos. Lots of photos. It was a welcome unlike any I had ever experienced.
We went in and, after a couple of hours, managed to get Ragsy back to sleep. Since he'd been dragged all over India and had slept in the car on the way to Rajkot (except when we stopped at a roadside restaurant for dinner during which he understandably screamed his head off since he was tired), he was pretty wired. We finally calmed him down enough to sleep around 2:30 and went to bed around 3.
The next day was wonderful because we did nothing. In fact, that was kind of our MO in Rajkot. The pace of life is so different than anywhere else. Probably because my husband's family can afford it and they don't live in a big metropolis like Bombay.
We took a few day trips, one to the family fort and then on the way back visited cousins at their palace. Then a few days later, we went to the family temple and had a ceremony and lunch and went home. We also had a party for my husband's birthday and shopped a lot. But, for the most part, the eight days we spent there all had a similar structure:
- Wake up - everyone's usually up by 9:30, though one of us usually got up with Ragsy at 7:30
- Putz around until Ragsy's nap at noon
- Sit down to lunch at 1
- Putz around again for about an hour
- Afternoon nap for the adults around 3 (my husband and I took turns with Ragsy because he'd be up by this time)
- Coffee or tea at 5 once everyone's up
- Visiting hours from about 6 - 8:30 (my husband's grandmother still has people come by for a cup of tea and to chat; people come by more or less every day to pay their respects and have tea - it's actually a really nice custom I'd like to adopt...if I could just get the house clean enough I'm not embarrassed to have people over)
- Ragsy to bed around 8:30
- Dinner at 9
- Hang out and chat for an hour to an hour and a half
- Bed around 11 or 11:30
It was a really nice rhythm to get into. Actually, it was nice to have a predictable schedule period, given our earlier taste of India and the hectic pace we'd had everwhere else.
The last three or four nights we spent either going to other people's houses or having people over for dinner. We just tossed Ragsy on someone's bed in the evening after he'd eaten and grab him on our way out the door. He's a lot more portable than I ever expected, even at this age. I don't know whether it was because he was forced to be or if he's just a lot more laid back than I thought. But why look a gift horse (or kid) in the mouth?
After a nearly idyllic time in Rajkot, we left for six days in Bombay and the last segment of our trip. By the end of our stay in Rajkot, I was really looking forward to getting back home and working once more.
Things I learned in Rajkot:
1. I like to work. Even if it's just cleaning.
2. Kids in my husband's family are coddled and catered to to a ridiculous degree. Yes, after about 5 years old, a lot is expected of them intellectually and the pressure can be absolutely immense (my husband's best friend's kid is 3 and speaks 4 languages!), but still, as long as they're smart and do well in their studies, kids can get away with murder and no one will say anything against them. Case in point: my husband used to throw all his toys off the terrace or out the window. The servants were required to go get them. And he'd do it again. And they'd get them again. And he'd do it again. The same happened a couple of times with Ragsy until I caught him in the act. Then there were no more toys until they stopped going off the terrace.
3. Kids aren't watched very much in my husband's family. I sometimes have helicopter-parent syndrome and probably interfere and oversee my son too much, although far less so here at home than in other people's houses. However, my son almost fell off a balcony without any railing that happened to overlook a concrete courtyard at one point. I was in the bedroom and my husband was washing his hands while someone told us not to worry - that they would watch Ragsy. But no one bothered to follow him outside when he wandered toward the balcony and he almost stepped off.
4. Handwashing is a way of life. Seriously, when you eat with your hands, you really need to wash them before and after every meal. Lots of people have wash basins in their dining rooms because of this. It's just easier.
5. The caste system and the concept of royalty is not dead in India.
6. When you visit, people give you money. Just because you're there. If you happen to have brought a kid with you, they give you more. And if you're having a birthday, they give you even more. Very, very weird. But I would walk into a room sometimes when guests were over to tea and someone would put hand me an envelope with money in it. Then they came for my husband's birthday and gave him more - for his birthday and for Ragsy.
Anyway, we were sad to leave Rajkot, especially my husband, who was getting somewhat homesick for India while there. Life is very, very different there - much slower in the smaller towns, more relaxed and a lot more family-oriented. I can see why he would be homesick.
And, on to Bombay.
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