Not Black or White

High schools in Utah have things called "color wars." It's a week when students at the school divide into two teams (usually freshmen and sophomores versus juniors and seniors) and battle in a series of really stupid contests, each team representing one of the school's two representative colors.

Sounds harmless, right? Well, sure, unless the colors of the school are black and white. Then you end up with kids yelling "black power" and "white power" and possibly wearing white hooded like garments (pillow cases, they say), and all hell breaking loose.

One kid has now been suspended, as have the Vice Principal and Principal for not stopping the events as they happened. Everyone involved (except for the people who were offended) say it was all in harmless fun, and that they were thinking of the "color wars" and not any racist overtones. The parents of the boy suspended say his punishment doesn't fit the crime, since he never "meant" the pillow case to look like a hood, and he didn't bring it to school anyway. The NAACP says they don't care, and want him expelled. They want the administration fired too.

The thing that really gets me is the fact no one wants to take this moment as to teach, rather than a moment to punish. Was that kid wrong? Hell yes. Should the administration have paid more attention? Oh, yeah. Could they all have really not meant any harm and just have been lulled into not seeing racism because no one wants to acknowledge it or teach their children what it looks like any more? I think that's entirely possible.

We teach our kids to recognize poison, and danger, but when it comes to racism, we try to pretend it can't hurt them, that we are "past that." We aren't past that. Race is an issue. Trying to pretend it isn't, and that are not racist undertones in everyday society, is like not telling kids poison can harm.

I think the first thing we need to do is get rid of "color wars." I mean, does no one see the problem with that? Are we going to call field day "race riots," next because running like that is so fun?

Yeah, not so harmless.

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Oh, Mexico

For seven days I wore sandals, if I wore any shoes at all. Now it's back to big bulky boots so my toes don't freeze.

For seven days I smelled like sunscreen, salt, and ocean. Now I keep getting whiffs of mildew, and I think it might be me.

For seven days I watched whales and dolphins. I saw every sunrise and sunset. I chased little lizards and crabs while Meg squealed in delight. Now I will go back to watching the clock, and NBC "comedies."

For seven days I ate whatever I wanted, and drank beer no matter what time of day it was. Now I am back on my diet, and I doubt they will let me sip on Corona at my desk. It wouldn't taste as good anyway...

For seven days Meg and Ryan never left my sight. We giggled, and swam, and sang, and cuddled. Tomorrow Ryan and I go back to work, and Meg goes back to day care.

Oh, how I loved those seven days. Oh, how lucky I was to have them. Now I will let the memories sustain me until the next seven, next year.

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Keep Calm and Carry On

I will be back in a week. In the mean time, check out my stellar blogroll, or two cool new sites Tired and Stuck and Sprocket Ink.

Catch you on the flip side.

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Meg Takes Manhattan

Being with Meg is like being with a rock star, only with fewer temper tantrums and less vomiting. Everywhere we go people stare at her, and faun all over her, and tell her how wonderful she is. They are willing to give her anything they want just to get her to smile, and hate to see her upset. Up until now I thought this was just a Utah phenomenon since it is less, how do I say this, um "colorful," here than in other parts of the world. Our recent trip to New York proved I was wrong.

People were stopping on the street to stare at her. Waitresses were slipping her lollipops as we came in. Cops were giving her high fives. Street musicians were playing just for her. The way things were going I fully expected Mayor Bloomberg to show up at our hotel with a key to the city. The only person who didn't think Meg was darling? This guy:

This guy not only looked like Michael Jackson, he thought he was him. He was dancing on Broadway and 36th, right outside of Macy's, with a huge crowd around him. The minute Meg saw him and heard the music, she wanted to shake her groove thing. We got her out of the stroller, she started dancing, and no one saw Michael any more. The murmurs in the crowd went from "look at him dance" to "look at that baby dance." Ryan started getting concerned people were taking pictures of Meg. This did not make Michael happy. He came up to Meg, took her hand, and walked her back to Ryan. "They came to see Michael," he said.

We didn't tell him we saw people leave once Meg stopped dancing.

As I said, she's a rock star.

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Really? You Are Saying That?

People are assholes.

Yes, I know that was blunt, but really, that's what it boils down to. Today, among all of the coverage of the devastation in Japan, all the stories of people having to flee their homes or identify their dead children, there were also reports of how hundreds, if not thousands, of Americans had taken to the web to spout bullshit about how the quake and tsunami were karmic justice for the attacks on Pearl Harbor.

Yeah, I know. Assholes.

I know we all have free speech. I know the Internet makes it very easy to access it. I know that ignoring these trolls is the best justice. Oh, and I also know that if karma had anything to actually do with this tragedy that they better watch their backs -- and so should other "Americans" think God only has our backs.

What about Hiroshima? Or Cambodia? Or Vietnam? How about Bosnia? Or Iraq? We really better hope Karma doesn't know about Guantanamo Bay, or the black site prisons around the world. That would bring some serious shit down on our heads.

Well, except along the gulf coast. Karma owes those people.

I mean, except for those who really think this was all because of Pearl Harbor.

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The Bowl Secret

If Meg had her way her diet would consist of three things: snacks, dips for said snacks, and apple juice.

Wait.

Now, before you start thinking that I am worse than that mother who feeds her kids dog food, let me explain. You see, it's all about the bowl.

About three weeks ago I bought a set of small bowls for her to have at snack time. She LOVES them. However, since the first time she used one I called it a "snack" bowl she thinks that everything that goes in them is a snack. Crackers? Snack. Standing rib roast? Snack. Pasta? Snack. Fruit snacks? Well, that one is just obvious. Since she always wants to eat out of those bowls, be it at breakfast, lunch, or dinner, everything is a snack.

The dipping is a bit harder to explain. I blame my mother. She's the one who taught Meg that for every food imaginable there is something it can be dipped into to make it more delicious. Meat has ketchup. Cookies have milk. Fruit has yogurt or peanut butter. Pretty much everything else can be dipped in syrup, either maple or chocolate, depending on taste. Dips must be placed not in the bowl, but to the side of it, preferably in a smaller bowl. I mean, we're not animals. And if a dip is not available? Foods can be dipped into other foods in order to at least make a semblance of a well balanced meal.

The apple juice? Yeah, she just loves it. I figure it's not horrible for her as long as we cut it with tons of water. I can only imagine the sugar crash she will have the first time someone gives her full octane juice.

I am hoping that as Meg gets older her eating habits get a little less esoteric. Either that, or we will be sending her away to college with thousands of tiny bowls, every condiment imaginable, and apple juice.

Oh, what the hell. Even if that happens I doubt she will have the weirdest eating habits on campus...

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Twenty Months

We may have made a mistake in naming Meg. Her middle name really should be danger.

Meg's last month has been filled with death defying leaps, stunt crawls, eating things they wouldn't put on "Fear Factor," and basically looking common sense in the face and laughing. She no longer wants to wear her straps in her car seat, or in any other seat for that matter, and will get out of them in seconds if she can. Once she is out of them she will try and stand, or reach, or twirl or jump, regardless of if she on a chair that can tip, a shopping cart four feet off the ground, or in a moving car. You know, because that's how she rolls.

She climbs like she is trying to reach a world record, or give me a heart attack. If I turn around for a moment she gets up on a chair, then the table, and is reaching for the chandelier by the time I look back. Last night I walked maybe three steps away from her to get a blanket from her crib, and when I turned back she was up on the rocking chair, with one foot on the bookcase, reaching for a decorative toy that is most definitely a choking hazard.

Of course, every hero has an Achilles' heel, and Meg's is people who want to give her attention. Yes, that is when she becomes "shy" and buries her head into my legs or Ryan's shoulders, pretending she just can't stand the thought of facing the cold cruel world.

The minute they stop paying attention though? She's strapping on her waterskis and getting ready to jump that shark -- wearing her leather jacket, of course.

Oh, how we love our girl.

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Not Here Today

But, you can find me elsewhere on the interwebs. I am over at Tired and Stuck! So, what are you waiting for? Go! Just go! Nothing more to see here!

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Welcome Wagon

We have a rental house next to us, which means that we don't always have the most reputable neighbors. About a year after we moved in we had a group of college boys that were loud every night. If they weren't having a party, they were playing midnight Frisbee, or loudly calling their demon dog. One night I had had enough, so I went outside to yell at them. However, I didn't feel all that confident, so I did it in an English accent. Not my best moment. I ended up talking that way for the next four months until they moved out. Luckily, Ryan could not keep a straight face when I was doing it, so he looked stupider than I did.

I really thought that was going to be my worst neighbor story. I was wrong.

Tonight I pulled in the driveway to see a man staggering up the street. He collapsed on the lawn of the rental house. Twice I asked him if he was okay, and twice he didn't answer. I went inside and watched him from my window for about five minutes, and then I called the cops.

I think you know where this is going.

By the time I got off the phone Ryan was in the front yard talking to this guy, finding out what was wrong. He said he was having chest pains. Ryan said to come get us if they got worse. When Ryan came up the stairs I asked him why he would tell this stranger to come to our house if he was having chest pains. "That's one of our new neighbors, " Ryan replied, just as the fire truck and ambulance rolled up.

We still aren't sure what happened. We know he was taken away in an ambulance. I now know he is the nephew of the family moving in. We know no one has really been home since, but they haven't fully moved in yet, so they could be at the other house. We are hoping when they do fully arrive they don't hate us.

Ryan says I might be able to make it better if I break out the English accent.

I think we might have to move.

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Expanding Vocabulary

We are going to Mexico (yay)! So, I need a new swimming suit (boo)!

I haven't bought a swimming suit in five years. Yes, that means the last time I wriggled into Lycra in front of a three way mirror was long before the fertility treatments -- and the pounds that came with them. Now, granted, I have lost some of that weight since, but I was still nervous. I needed support. I needed a distraction. I needed Meg.

Look at the cute toddler, not at the fat girl in the Mom swimsuit.

And no, I wasn't just taking pictures of myself, I was sending them to Tara for advice.

Meg thought shopping for swimsuits was hilarious. She loved running through the aisles, putting on the straps, and taking all the compliments from the saleswomen. She loved the echo in the dressing room. Most of all though, she loved watching me try them on.

Wait, that sounded bad. I'll explain.

Meg is at that age where she wants to know EVERYTHING. If there is a thing she cannot name, she points and says "that." We then tell her what it is called, and she repeats it at least four times, cementing into her brain. One of them words she recently stuck there? Boobs. So, every time I would take a swimsuit off, or start to put one on Meg would look up at me, point, and say "Mom's boobs."

Did I mention the dressing room echoed?

I was embarrassed at first. I tried to distract her with games on my phone, but every time I was topless she would comment. Finally, I just gave up. Every time she said it I would just say "yes, those are my boobs, or breasts. Can you say breasts?" I figured that would at least sound a bit classier to the women in the neighboring booths, and get her practicing her r sounds.

In the end though, Meg made it the most painless swimsuit shopping experience. After all, I will never see any of those people who heard her yelling about my boobs again, plus I'm pretty sure most of the saleswomen are almost totally deaf.

Oh, and I didn't focus on my thighs at all...

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And Now, The Tears

One month ago...

Me: I think I am going to dye my hair.

Tara: By yourself?

Me: Yeah.

Tara: Don't.

Me: Why not? I'm not going to do something radically different. It will just blend in when my hair grows out and gets lighter in summer.

Tara: Really, don't.

Me: I don't have time to go to the salon and get it done. And my hairdresser just raised prices again.

Tara: I am warning you.

Me: I can totally do this.

Tara: It will end in tears.

Today...

Sometimes I really hate Tara.

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Branching Out

I am thinking about jumping back into the baby making business. Or at least the attempting to make a baby business. Meg is growing up so quickly, and I think it would be a really wonderful thing for her to have a co-pilot through life. I may not always like my sisters, but I know we have shared history. They have my back. I want Meg to have that.*

However, while I am thinking about trying for another baby, I am not thinking about going back to fertility treatments. This time, I am going to try something I never thought I could do, and still am not sure if I can -- get out of the way and let my body do it's thing. To that end I going to try and do this all through lifestyle changes, and maybe a little acupuncture. It's a plan laid out in the book "Making Babies: A Proven Three Month Program For Maximum Fertility."

This is not going to be easy. Actually trying to make changes instead of just hoping western medicine has the magic bullet never is. I am going need people keeping me honest in order to stay on track. To that end, I have entered into a joint blog venture with Erin and Christina. They are using the program too, and together we will hash it out, overcome the difficulties, and hopefully all end up pregnant.

If not, at least it will be entertaining reading. I hope you will join us at TiredandStuck.blogspot.com.

*I know many of you are thinking "why not adopt again." I wish I could, but that is not financially possible at this time. Not ruling it out in the future though.

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