We are in the midst of an unseasonable heat wave here in Rochester -- humid, 90-degree days at the end of May! This morning it hit 80 degrees by 9:30. It's ridiculous. And this intense heat has had the effect of turning us into hermits. Today we've spent the better part of the afternoon in the basement, where it's probably only 70 degrees. The past few days we have not emerged from the house until at least 5 o'clock, when things are beginning to cool off outside. We had a brief rainshower this afternoon that had a negligible effect on the temperature and humidity. But it's supposed to cool down tomorrow and the rest of the week, so cross your fingers for us.
Weather.com indicates that it's hot all over the place, so I hope you're all keeping cool. I'm reminded of last summer, when we brought Evan home from the hospital in the middle of a heat wave like this -- that was how he earned the nickname "tomato-head". We're considering resurrecting the nickname, since circumstances are starting to repeat themselves, right down to his constantly sweaty, pink little face. Poor baby -- he and I both don't handle the heat well; we both get cranky.
And what am I focusing on during this crazy heat wave? Food, and more specifically, how to avoid cooking. We had a barbecque with friends on Sunday, so we've been eating leftover hamburgers, hot dogs and potato salad all week. Tonight I'm making a no-cook, cold taco dip. Watermelon has become both boys' new favorite food. Pasta salad is on the agenda, but I'm starting to run out of good hot-weather meals. Help me out, dear readers: what do you eat when it's too frickin' hot to cook?
31 May 2006
feelin' hot hot hot
27 May 2006
busy saturday
Today was a busy day for the Mergenthaler-Schmidts. For the first time in many months, I took the boys grocery shopping with me -- this is always an ordeal, so I prefer to leave them home, but today a muffin bought me good behavior for most of the trip. This was followed by taking James to a birthday party -- another day, I will write a post on how much I hate children's birthday parties. But then, then came the real fun.
First, the minor excitement: Greg bought some fishing gear and a fishing license so that he can teach James to fish, and hopefully catch us some tasty dinners this summer. We live about a mile from the Erie Canal, and there are plenty of lakes nearby, so there will be a lot of opportunities. Incidentally, according to the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation, the fishing license also entitles Greg and James to spear or club frogs -- we even saw some frog spears at the store today -- but I have made it clear to Greg that I will not cook a frog, ever, particularly if it has been clubbed.
But we saved the best part of the day for last. Finally, after so many months of watching other kids race around on their bikes, and surreptitiously sneaking rides on those other kids' bikes, James has a two-wheeler, with training wheels, all of his own, complete with a license plate bearing his name. Now, sadly, his period of bikelessness would not have been necessary were it not for some neighbor of ours, presumably. James did have a two-wheeler, with training wheels, that he was learning to ride last summer, until it up and disappeared one day. Unfortunately, one of the worst aspects of our mostly wonderful community is the way people regard any item left outside as fair game. Kids are constantly "borrowing" toys from other kids' yards; even grown-ups do this, but instead of toys, they're borrowing things like our backyard picnic table without asking (that's a story for another day as well). So James' bike was "borrowed", and never seen again. James swears he saw it in the dumpster, though I'm not entirely prepared to believe that someone threw his bike away.
But James chose his own bike, which was thankfully quite affordable, and Daddy put it together and away James rode. He is one happy boy, and I've got the photo to prove it:
25 May 2006
on gender preferences
When I got pregnant with James, Greg and I did not find out his gender ahead of time. We weren't able to, for one thing, due to the timing of my ultrasounds, but then, we didn't really care, either -- having a baby in the first place was enough for us, never mind getting worked up about the kid's gender besides. When I got pregnant with Evan, we opted to find out his gender ahead of time, partly for practical reasons (ie, how much of James' baby stuff can we re-use?) and partly to help James prepare -- to get him used to the idea of not just a baby on the way, but a brother.
But I've noticed over the years, living in a neighborhood full of plenty of pregnant women and new babies at any given time, that some people find out their baby's gender ahead of time for other reasons -- namely, to find out whether they're getting the gender they want. I've had people admit all sorts of disturbing things to me -- the woman who told me matter-of-fact that they needed to find out all of their children's genders ahead of time so her husband could get over his disappointment, before the babies were born, if they should turn out to be girls; the woman who told me that her husband lost interest in her pregnancy once he found out their child was a boy, and agreed to his choice of baby name mostly because he was finally showing a little interest in the baby; two women who regularly claim they had each other's babies, because one wanted a boy and got a girl, and the other wanted a girl and got a boy.
I've no doubt that all of these parents love the children they have, but it bothers me to hear people saying they really wanted a particular gender. Why get so worked up about something you have no control over? Why pin your hopes on something that has a fifty percent chance of disappointment? If it's so important to have a particular gender, why leave it to chance? Why not adopt and eliminate any chance of error? And if gender is not important enough to adopt so that you'll get the right one, then why make a big deal out of it at all? Really, it comes down to being disappointed about a physical characteristic -- it makes about as much sense as being disappointed that your child is brown-haired instead of blonde, or hazel-eyed instead of blue. Gender is a little different, because people attribute so much of a child's personality to gender, but knowing all the kids I've known, I'm dubious that gender accounts for much more of a child's personality than hair or eye color.
I know that the children of parents like this are loved, but I still feel a little bit sorry for them. How must the daughters of Father #1 above have felt when they saw their daddy's obvious joy upon learning that his third child would be the son he'd been praying and waiting for? (Really, this man told Greg he was excited to have a son because now he could finally do boy things with one of his kids; though his second daughter was as much of a tomboy as a two-year-old can be, it wasn't good enogh for him. Though I don't know what kind of "boy things" there are that you can only do with sons -- write your name in the snow? That's about the only thing I can think of.) Kids are perceptive -- his four-year-old daughter is certainly capable of understanding that Daddy sees boys and girls differently, and may treat them differently because of that. Being devalued for something you can't even control about yourself -- well, it's a form of sexism, but I don't think many people see it that way. I'm sure these are the kind of people who, if they had the choice, wouild have chosen their baby's gender ahead of time. I am not one of those people.
I guess in a way I feel lucky that I've never experienced a deep desire for a particular gender, but I think I must be kind of rare in that regard. I was asked regularly during both pregnancies whether I wanted a boy or a girl; people asked if I was disappointed when we learned we'd be having a second boy. Gender is not something that's easy to ignore, even when the child hasn't been born yet. In a way I do think it would have been nice to have a girl, but now that I have boys, that's mostly in a curious sociological kind of way -- wondering how a girl would turn out raised by me and Greg. As it is, our two boys are very different, and it makes me wonder how a girl would compare. It would have been kind of fun to have my own little science experiment -- how much of my chid's personality and disposition is due to gender, and how much is due to our parenting? Nature vs nurture, inborn characteristics vs environmental factors. I realize I may be a little weird in that regard though.
24 May 2006
today, the photos
Hee. Cute.
This morning Evan fell and hit his head -- I didn't see it, since I was getting dressed at the time, but my guess is that he was trying to climb up onto James' bed, slipped, and hit his head on a corner, because the baby had a literal dent in his forehead. I can't wait to see the bruising and goose-egg when he wakes up from his nap. Perhaps I'll have some nice photos to share as well.
23 May 2006
news and photos
I swear, eventually I'll get back into blogging lately. For now, interesting items of late:
- Evan's comprehension is really taking off. He's learning new words all the time. Cuteness: we have a stuffed cow toy that moos, and now when we ask Evan where the cow is, he shouts "DOOOOOO!", which is his version of mooing.
- Bad parenting = happy kid: We went to the Lilac Festival on Friday night, where for dinner, we let James eat a corndog and fried dough. For shame.
- Via Dawn, I found this amazing website. Pandora lets you input a band or song you like and plays music in a similar style that you may also like. I am hooked.
- I've been exercising recently in preparation for my return to the frisbee fields this summer. I'm tiiiiiired.
And, I don't know what's up with blogger but it's not letting me upload the adorable pictures of my kids that I was going to post. Sorry -- hopefully I'll be motivated to try again tomorrow.
12 May 2006
friday photos
I've been slacking with the blog, I know. We've been boring lately -- no trauma or adventures or anything. But we have been spending a lot of time outdoors in the beautiful weather, so I thought I'd post some cute photos of the munchkins.
Evan at the playground
James at the playground
Little superheroes
Evan among the tulips
James among the lilacs
05 May 2006
03 May 2006
good news and a cute baby
We got the job! Hooray! I kind of knew we would, but it's nice to be right. And I'm actually feeling pretty positive about the job. I hope I like it. If nothing else, I'll like saving $300+ a month on the rent.
In other news, I have an exceptionally cute baby. I haven't posted any new photos in a while, so here is one of my favorites, ever, of Evan. He's just discovered a taste for frozen blueberries (a favorite snack at our house) and is clearly in love:
By the way, April pictures are now on the Yahoo site, if you're interested.
02 May 2006
you may soon know me as a published writer
Sort of. I just wrote a Letter to the Editor of my local paper, the Democrat and Chronicle. I'll let you know if it's published, though I only read it online, so if it's in the print edition I'll miss it.
My letter was kind of a response to this little gem:
'Nuestro Himno' is a terrible idea
Count me among those who are infuriated at the thought of "The Star-Spangled Banner" sung in a language other than English. The next thing these people will want to have is a separate Bill of Rights, Constitution and flag. The suggestion from the record label Urban Box Office urging Hispanic stations to play this at the same time to show solidarity is a farce.
If this succeeds, then next will be all of the above in French, German or the language of any other group not satisfied with what they have been given by this country. Then throw in a few lines in English condemning U.S. immigration laws.
What UBO should do is to start a fundraiser so that they can buy property in another country, move there and establish their own anthem, constitution and flag. Then open its borders to all without any restrictions.
Huh? So, because Hispanics are singing an American song in Spanish, they no longer want to follow our laws? The anthem is a song. Translating a song into a different language is not analagous to re-writing the Constitution. I see it as a way to further an expression of patriotism, because, you see, many of the Spanish speakers in America are citizens, and most of them have chosen to live in America because they think it's a great country. And if other immigrants follow suit? Good for them! We can welcome culture and languages without handing our country over to foreign dictators. I expect that any group of immigrants demanding a new Constitution or American flag would be laughed right out the door. Does this man have the slightest idea how our government works? That's hardly a legitimate concern.
What is the big deal about the national anthem being translated into Spanish? Hispanics are not trying to take over the country. They are singing a song that proclaims the greatness of the nation they live in, and they are singing it in their native language. I think it's scary for some people that "Nuestro Himno" is being released in the midst of the debate about immigration. But I can't understand why either of those is a bad thing. Immigrants are vital to our nation -- they founded our nation! And they shouldn't be required to leave their native language and customs at the door.
But I'm a big proponent of multiculturalism, and multilingualism. I may be biased, living in such a diverse neighborhood, full of educated, multilingual people, but I think these things are really important. You've heard this joke, right? What do you call a person who speaks three languages? Trilingual. What do you call a person who speaks two languages? Bilingual. What do you call a person who speaks one language? American. I know English is the dominant language here; I know it's one of the dominant languages on the planet. But I can't see anything but benefits when it comes to everyone learning other languages. What's so bad about understanding? About communication?
Well, the D&C has word-count limits, so I couldn't say everything I wanted to say as eloquently as I might have said it had I been given unlimited space, but I think I did pretty well getting my point across. Here's my letter:
The controversy over “Nuestro Himno” is silly. What are its opponents afraid of?Dozens of countries around the world have two or more official languages – America has no official language! Surely the national anthems of those countries are sung in multiple languages without inciting revolution or anarchy.
About 30 million Americans speak Spanish – and most of them also speak English to a proficient degree. Insisting on the superiority of the English language, and refusing to accommodate those who speak other languages as well makes Americans look ignorant and rigidly nationalistic while denying the cultural diversity inherent in this country’s history. Multiculturalism enhances our shared American culture, builds bridges between neighbors, and strengthens communities. If Spanish-speakers want to celebrate our country in their native language, more power to them! In fact,
let’s translate the national anthem into French, Polish, Chinese, Hindi, Afrikaans… Let’s sing the praises of our nation in every language we know! “The Star-Spangled Banner” honors America no matter what language it’s sung in.
Comments?
on bird watching and conservation
I've never really been a fan of birds. Never found them very interesting, and in fact, I've always thought they were a little creepy. Those beady black eyes... My distaste for birds only grew when I dated a boy in high school whose family owned a cockatiel (I think it was a cockatiel; big white bird anyway) that alternately screeched and mumbled demonically, and two bitey African greys (though they were very good at mimicry, which was pretty neat). The eyes, the talons, the skittishness, all contributed to my opinion that birds were best avoided.
But I've come to realize, over the last few years, that birds are actually pretty cool. Even amazing. I mean, dude, there's a bird that can moonwalk! How many other animals can claim that? And March of the Penguins showed the world just how awesome penguins are. But what really interests me is watching the birds in my own neighborhood. The diversity just in this small area is kind of astounding to me. Birds I've seen in our backyard include robins, crows, sparrows, chickadees, cardinals, starlings, woodpeckers, blue jays, and morning doves, off the top of my head. There is a pair of geese who have taken up residence in the neighborhood (this morning one of them stood on the roof of one of the buildings and honked incessantly for at least ten minutes, while the other stood below on the ground, beating his wings and strutting around). There are also hawks in the area, though not in our immediate neighborhood, and there's the occasional seagull flying through. That's a dozen that we've seen, right here in one little corner of the world. I still wouldn't want to own one -- I don't like the way they look at me -- but to watch them in the wild is pretty interesting.
Thinking about the diversity of birds makes me think about the diversity of life in general on this planet. I like reading books about animals and extinction (two of the best I've read are Monster of God by David Quammen and The Ghost with Trembling Wings by Scott Weidensaul). I think the diversity of life on this planet is unspeakably amazing, and to learn about how different animals have evolved and learned to survive is fascinating. That's why I was so sad to read this article about a report from a Swiss-based conservation group that predicts the extinction of more than 16,000 species of plants and animals, thanks in large part to humans' destruction of natural habitats. It's a hard situation, though; I recently read Gorillas in the Mist by Dian Fossey, and that book really impressed on me the difficulties of conservation work when it comes into conflict with local people. It's easy to be a conservationist from the vantage point of a middle-class suburban American, but it's a different story in developing nations where people are struggling just to survive from day to day. If the only way to feed your family is to cut down trees and sell the wood, or to kill animals and sell their parts, what will your priority be? Who's going to starve their family to allow an animal to survive? When it's a choice between conservation and personal survival, I don't blame people for choosing their own lives.
But it is tremendously sad for me to think about the world my children are inheriting. The Yahoo article says that the most widely accepted estimate of the number of species on the planet is 15 million -- how many will be left when my sons are adults? The article says there are 65 species that exist only in captivity -- how much higher will that number be when my children are grown? I don't know whether there's even a way for humans and nature to coexist peacefully, to maintain a balance. Our track record so far shows that it's pretty near impossible on our part to live and let live. As our population increases at alarming rates, it will probably only get worse.
Sorry to get all depressing there. Consider this my late Earth Day post. Consider donating money to a conservation organization, or even visiting your local zoo, since zoos are often involved with conservation work too. We've got a totally amazing, wonderfully diverse planet, but it's disappearing. We've got to at least try, right?
30 April 2006
national poetry month comes to an end
I've done a pretty terrible job with National Poetry Month; it was my intention to post poems on a regular basis, but I guess I just got lazy and forgetful. Story of my life. Anyway, I thought I'd post one more poem for the month, one I was only recently introduced to and immediately fell in love with. I can't tell you exactly what I love about this poem, because I'm the sort of poetry lover who usually can't explain what a poem means, or anything about it. I'm the type who loves a poem for the language, and the feelings and images that language evokes in me. I love it as an art form as much as I love any message or story a particular poem might have.
Before I post the poem (because it's long, and I don't expect that you'll all read to the end of it, though I highly recommend that you do), I'd like to put some questions to my readers (who, I've found, number perhaps six or seven, or possibly even eight, instead of the four I previously presumed): What are your favorite poems? Who are your favorite poets? Which poetry has really moved you? Post some good poetry in the comments; there's little I like better than being introduced to poetry and poets I haven't read. And please, no comments about hating poetry -- I'm convinced that anyone who says that just hasn't read the right poem yet. There's one out there for each of us.
And now, on to the poem:
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.*
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
. . . . .
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
________________
*From Dante's Inferno; Guido da Montefeltro, a thirteenth-century Italian military and political leader, in the eighth cirlce of hell (fraud) tells Dante his story because he believes that Dante will never be able to repeat it: "If I thought my answer were to one who would ever return to the world, this flame should stay without another movement; but since none ever returned alive from this depth, if what I hear is true, I answer thee without fear of infamy."** Likewise, Prufrock tells his sad story because he thinks it will never be repeated.***
**From my copy of Dante's Inferno, translated by John D Sinclair, which I possess because I took an entire course on it in college -- just the Inferno, not Purgatorio or Paradiso; although I do own a copy of Purgatorio which I've never read, and probably never will, since without an Italian professor to explain Dante to me, he's a little over my head. The Inferno course was pretty good, though, and the cover art on my book shows a group of people missing various limbs; one guy is even holding his own decapitated head in his hands. Oh, so morbid, I love it.
***That is likely the only gem of poetical analysis you'll ever get from me, and I've only written that because I actually had to spend a few minutes looking up the Inferno reference, and thought that as long as I was looking it up, I might as well mention why Eliot included it. And I'm sure you could have figured it out on your own, but it's so rare that I make a conclusion or interpretation about poetry that I think is actually what the poet intended, that I needed to share my little moment of pride.
27 April 2006
cross your fingers for me
So, I had a job interview this morning, and I think it went really well. The position is a "Graduate Community Assistant" -- someone to organize and plan events to try and make the community where we live more interactive. I've already been doing some work in our community here, as well as party planning at James' nursery school, so I think I'll enjoy it. Greg and I would be kind of a team for this, and I think, for a variety of reasons, that they'll be offering the job to us. Of course I'm not sure yet, but I'm optimistic.
The best part by far is that instead of being paid, we'll have our rent reduced, which will save us a lot of money without affecting our taxes or my Medicaid coverage, which are both important things to not mess with at this point. And it will give us a chance to meet more people, be more social, and be more involved in the community, all good things. At first I was kind of like, "Eh, work," but now that I"ve had the interview I'm excited about more than the money and I'm really hoping that we'll get the position. Wish us luck!
26 April 2006
what a pity
I can't believe no one told me! Not only is Flock of Seagulls still touring (or touring again, perhaps), but they'll be in Rochester tomorrow night! If tickets weren't $18, and if I didn't already have plans for a busy evening of sitting around the house, I'd probably consider thinking about possibly going.
But seriously, I heard "Space Age Love Song" on the radio tonight, and that is truly a fine specimen of '80s pop.
if i should die before i wake
Today in the mail, I got my first-ever pamphlet from a cemetery about burial options. Okay, so it's addressed to "Resident", but that applies to me. So I thought I'd write a slightly morbid blog post about what should happen to my body when I die.
I've never been into the idea of traditional burial -- it seems kind of meaningless to me. I've attended many a funeral, and visited many a burial site, without ever feeling a shred of emotion or attachment to the place, to that hole in the ground, nor have I ever needed that physical location to remember and honor my deceased loved ones. I always kind of thought I'd like to be cremated, and have my ashes scattered, this being for a long time the only alternative I knew of to burial. But it turns out that cremation releases harmful gasses into the air, and burial leaks harmful chemicals into soil and water. So what's an eco-friendly girl to do? Why should we have to pollute to dispose of our dead?
I didn't really think about this much, though, until I read Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach (recommended, if you're into that sort of subject matter -- I found it really interesting), which talks about the variety of things done to bodies once their occupants have died. The idea of donating my body to science appealed to me at first, until I found out that some donated bodies are used for practicing plastic surgery, among other things. Call me shallow, or superficial, but there will be no plastic surgery performed on my dead face.
And then I read a really attractive idea, which may sound kind of terrible if you haven't heard of it before: human composting, a method developed by a Swedish ecologist (read about the process here). Then, thanks to my random pamphlet, I was doing some internet searching on burial options, and found out about green burials. What better way to spend death than to become part of the earth and help new life to grow and flourish? I've always thought cemeteries were a tremendous waste of space that could be turned into public housing or something. I do enjoy cemeteries such as Rochester's own Mt. Hope Cemetery (the resting place of Susan B Anthony and Frederick Douglass), which was designed (in the Victorian Era) to be a park and picnic area as well as a burial place, complete with gardens, picnic tables, benches, fountains, and a gazebo -- it's a lovely and fascinating place to visit. But so many cemeteries are not like that -- they're empty, silent, lonely. I love the idea of the green cemeteries mentioned in the article linked above -- "nature preserve first, cemetery second".
So someday, should all go as planned, my body will be laid to rest in an ecologically-friendly way. Of course, I'm an organ donor, so that'll be taken care of first, but then a green burial, or composting, should it become available in the US by the time I die. I do feel a little odd for thinking about this in so much detail, and actually researching it a bit, when I'm only 24 and I hope to live at least, oh, let's say 70 more years, to be optimistic. But I do think it's interesting in a larger sense to think about the land use, the pollution, and the impracticality of the traditional burial procedure. And I suppose it never hurts to be prepared.
25 April 2006
baby updates
It seems that every time Evan hangs out with his cousin, 6 weeks older than him, he learns something new and seems so much more grown-up by the time we get home.
This time, he's learned to wave good-bye, which is so totally adorable. He flaps his whole arm up and down, sometimes both, and sure, sometimes he's looking in the wrong direction, but it's charming just the same. He's also been more responsive over the last few days; for example, when we say the word "outside" he will point to the door, or when we say "light" he will look to the ceiling lights. The jury's still out as to whether or not he's intentionally saying words -- he'll babble "ba-ba-ba" when given a ball, and sometimes says "ow" when we talk about going outside -- but it's clear that his comprehension is really taking off.
And his cousin is not the only baby who inspires him -- yesterday we were visited by a friend of mine and her three children, two of whom are 3.5-month-old twins. Evan, in his excitement to see the babies (he really loves babies) actually walked across the entire living room, which is easily twice as far as he's ever voluntarily walked before.
It never ceases to amaze me how quickly babies grown and learn. And it's never going to stop!
21 April 2006
sadness
Robert Wegman has died.
Any Rochesterian can tell you that Wegman's is the best grocery store in the entire world, and it's all because of the Wegman family. Any loss for Wegman's is a loss for the whole community.
time for another post on gender
My sister has a good post up about the cultural focus on little girls' appearances rather than personalities or accomplishments, and, consequently, the tendency of little girls to emulate this focus by idealizing princessses, while boys, on the other hand, are encouraged toward a more broad range of interests. Her post set me off on a whole variety of gender-related trains of thought, some of which I'm going to attempt to organize here.
It's interesting, the different challenges that parents face. Parents of girls who are aware, like my sister, of implicit cultural norms and standards, are faced with the challenege of raising girls to be independent, intellectual, creative beings despite the cultural imperative to be merely pretty and passive. Parents of boys, on the other hand, realize the need to encourage openness, sensitivity, and emotional awareness in a culture that encourages boys to be the strong, silent type. Parents of girls may be worrying that their daughters will be overly interested in princesses and fairies and other useless idols, while I'm worried that my sons will pick up on the cultural cues for boys to disdain "girly" things.
I still worry, even though I can see that James is growing up with a more gender-neutral childhood than many kids. His school environment certainly encourages this; school is where he picked up the "No Girls Allowed" refrain, but also where he learned why that's a harmful attitude. And the parents in our neighborhood are largely an enlightened bunch, and so, by extension, are their children. One of James' best friends in our neighborhood is a 7-year-old Chinese girl, and they spend a lot of their time building in the sandbox. For the most part, kids in our neighborhood are really inclusive, in terms of both gender and race, and that's one of the reasons I'm really grateful to have lived here -- there are probably few other environments where James could have had the exposure to so many different people, while in a tolerant, inviting community.
I have to share a moment of triumph I had recently in regards to gender. James, one morning, discovered some of my hair ties -- the double-ball elastics usually worn by 6-year-old girls -- and asked to try one. His hair's getting pretty long, so I was able to put the front of his hair into a little ponytail. He looked in the mirror and said, "I look like a girl!" and I said "You look great." He was happy with it and decided to wear his hair that way all day. Later that afternoon, we went to a friend's for a playdate. James' playmate opened the door and the first thing he said was, "You look like a girl!" James grinned and shouted, "Yeah!" and the two ran off to play without mentioning James' hair again. And that just made me smile.
I'll close with a pic of James and his ponytail -- ignoring the tongue, I think it's adorable:
16 April 2006
happy easter!
James in his new gardening gear
Evan loves to play in the dirt
James with our newly dyed Easter eggs
Highlights of the day: Both boys were delighted with their Easter presents (gardening tools, gardening gloves, and flower seeds for James; rubber balls with fake insects inside for Evan), not to mention the candy (which we really didn't do much of). We spent most of the afternoon weeding and planting in the garden. So far we have mint, marigolds, and chives. Evan had a grand old time flinging dirt around, and James started a Worm Rescue Operation (although he was disappointed to learn that it's not really rescue if he's tranfering them to a tree). We dyed eggs (first time for both me and James). And that pretty much covers it. A lovely day overall.
15 April 2006
how insulting!
So I've been uploading more videos to YouTube (now added to my links on the right) and minutes after I had posted an adorable video of James swimming last summer, someone, some stranger probably, watched it and rated it. And what rating did this viewer give? One star. One star out of five. Okay, now I know a three year old swimming with water wings is not the height of internet video entertainment, but surely it merits more than one star, if only for how cute he is!
Seriously, you do not tell a mother her child rates one star. That is just not done. It's like telling someone she has an ugly baby: first, she's going to be insulted, and second, she's not going to believe you anyway, so why bother?
14 April 2006
sick little boy
James is sick. He's had a high fever since yesterday afternoon. At first I thought he was pretending to take a nap to get out of picking up the living room, but then when he actually fell asleep I knew something wasn't right. So he is having lots of rest and lots of fluids, and we're in wait-and-see mode for now.
It's always a tremendously sad thing when your child is sick. Especially something vague and, as yet, untreatable, because you feel so helpless. Your child feels terrible and you can't necessarily fix it. But on the flip side, when there's an easy cure like antibiotics, it's so rewarding to feel as though you've healed your child.
Trying to look on the bright side though: a sick child gives you more unprompted "I love you"s and thank yous than at any other time, because he is so grateful for anything you do that makes him feel a little better. He also snuggles more, because he is sleepier and in need of comfort and actually sitting still for more than five minutes at a time.
Here's hoping it's just a quick little virus that runs its course quickly.
