Black and White Enough

One of my colleagues handed me an article called "Decoding the Debate Over the Blackness of Barak Obama" the other day. It was written a little over a year ago, and it talks about the idea that Barak Obama isn't "black enough" for the African American community and not "white enough" for the Caucasians. It discusses the culture of African Americans and the identity crisis that this country put them through during the years of segregation and how the effects of decisions made then are affecting how folks are trying to define their communities; we know that communities are in direct correlation to political leanings, now more than ever. One of the assertions is that one of the reasons the African Americans are slow to embrace Obama as their presidential candidate is because his ancestry is not one of slavery, therefore they do not consider him to be part of their community. They do, however, tend to be more accepting than the white democrats.

I am not sure about the absolute validity of the ideas in this article, and I am at least pleased to see that the author, Brent Staples, acknowledges that the younger generation is a lot more color blind than any other generation (read the part where it talks about the many who check more than one box for ethnicity on the census questionnaire). I certainly do see some self-inflicted segregation in my very diverse high school. But as far as politics are concerned, I see the black community and the white community embracing Obama for this election. See the caucus pictures from my community (which boasts many colors) for proof.













Waiting to caucus



















Rich holds sign "A-E" at the caucus















Doing homework while waiting to caucus















It was a mess, but we all eventually got to cast our votes.

Worth Watching

"Creativity expert Sir Ken Robinson challenges the way we're educating our children. He champions a radical rethink of our school systems, to cultivate creativity and acknowledge multiple types of intelligence."

"Why you should listen to him: Why don't we get the best out of people? Sir Ken Robinson argues that it's because we've been educated to become good workers, rather than creative thinkers. Students with restless minds and bodies -- far from being cultivated for their energy and curiosity -- are ignored or even stigmatized, with terrible consequences."
from www.ted.com

Six Months and Counting

I sort of swore to myself that I wouldn't do this. I don't want to be the girl who shows off her baby bump. I don't need photographic evidence of any any sort of bump, lump, or goiter. In fact, I'm not even fond of the words baby and/or bump, especially when put together. There is no rational reason for this. And I don't begrudge the ones who do take their baby bump pictures, so this is another one of those irrationalities that plagues my personality - just like my extreme loathing of Gloria Estefan or my horrific repugnance of the 'lasso-spank' dance move. Whatever. My dad asked me to post pictures, and I know that you are curious too.

People have definitely started to notice that I'm pregnant, what with all of the good luck/prayer belly rubbing performed by perfect strangers. The bad news is my students have started to yell, "Oh my GOSH! You're HUGE!" The good news is that all of the women on the planet who have ever been six months pregnant think I'm small for being this far along. The best news is that my doctor says everything looks healthy. She probably doesn't know that I threw down on two donuts and a bowl of Lucky Charms this morning. Whatever/Sigh.

Here you go:


Please don't ask me for a video of the birth..

Do as I did

It would be hypocritical of me to expect you guys to vote if I didn't exercise my right as well. So, being the overachiever that I am, I voted early. The last time I voted in a presidential election, we Texans didn't pay much attention to what a primary is, much less about platforms and policies. We lived in a country that basically said, "Hey we're feeling a little uncomfortable. That Bush guy - he's a crack-up with all of his noo-cyoo-lur speech and all. But whatever. CSI Miami is on. I wonder what that Horatio will say next. Pass me another Keystone." We laughed through the hilarity of dangling chads*. He he. They said "dangling" and "Chad." And though some of us did make the trek to the voting booth (I remember taking a pleasant stroll to mine), there wasn't nearly this amount of enthusiasm or interest in the election. I think, as Democrat Texans (if I can include myself in this group), we assumed our vote wouldn't matter anyway. And we were pretty much right.

This year is a much different scene. Even at early voting in this primary presidential election, the lines to participate went out of the door and into the parking lot. You're supposed to vote early so that you can "avoid the lines" on the actual election day. People were holding their voter registration cards close to their persons, nervously checking to see that they were current and signed. Though polite, you could feel a little bit of tension in the air... or maybe it was anxiety.. enthusiasm? I noticed that when folks were choosing their ballots^, they would study the "how to" flier before going to the booth, so that they would know exactly how the new voting machines work. I mostly heard the word "Democrat" with a couple of "Republican's" as people were filing in and choosing their ballots, not unexpected seeing as the Republican nominee has pretty much (but not officially) been selected. But I also wondered if Texas really is as Republican as I think it is, or if the Democrats in this state have been lazy (or preoccupied with daily life).

Anyway, I was extremely cautious in the booth and felt the weight of what I was doing. I made my decisions, checked them, confirmed them, and waited for the waving American Flag icon that let me know that my vote had been cast. I took a deep breath and hoped that I made the right decision for my life and for all of the people in my community, especially the ones who chose not to vote. When I left, I was disappointed that I didn't receive a sticker that said "I voted". I imagined that they ran out of them since so many folks were showing up to vote early.

The cool thing is that on Tuesday (MARCH 4th), the day of official voting, I am going to participate in my very first Caucus, the second part of the primary election (also called step two of "The Texas 2 Step"). I'm not sure exactly what to expect, except that I watched some of the Caucuses on TV this year and I know there is a lot of hand raising for "all for's" and "all opposed's". I expect this will be a community building event, and I am completely excited for it. I wonder if they'll let me take pictures..

So, go vote on Tuesday. Participate in the Caucus. This is a fantastic time for our state and for our country! And let me know that you have! We can celebrate together.

* My pregnant brain wondered how many people in Florida named their babies Chad that year.


^One has to declare which ballot he/she wants (Republican or Democrat) before going into the booth. 'One becomes "affiliated" with [that] party... for that primary year'.

Sunday Solace

It's Sunday, and I figure that Sunday is the appropriate day to dial it down a little and seek some sort of desperately needed spiritual solace for the coming week. For me, this solace comes in many forms, whether it be meditation, breathing, praying, writing and/or reading something that is genuine.

I recently read a book called Operating Instructions by Anne Lamott, a book given to me by a person named Gracia. Gracia sent the book via mail with this sticky note affixed to the cover: "I don't know about you, but chickies and bunnies got real old. Here's a different take on the baby thing. Enjoy."

First of all, I have to say that this is the only "parenting" book I've been able to get through without feeling absolute fear and consternation, and maybe this is because the book is actually a memoir. It details the first year of Anne's life with her new son, Sam, and how she absolutely has to rely on her community and her faith to make it through. It is both funny and witty, and extremely genuine. I identified with this part especially, though its only solace is that I get to say, "At least I'm not the only one". Here's the excerpt:

from June 16

I'm trying to keep my faith high, but I feel sort of disgusted and puzzled by God right now. It makes me think of Sam's gratuitous looting; God standing there bored at his table, dropping or letting people's lives drop, to the floor. It's like he doesn't even care, isn't even paying attention. It's like James Joyce said: he's doing his nails.

I have a friend named Anne, this woman I've known my entire life, who took her two year old up to Tahoe during the summer. They were staying in a rented condominium by the lake. And of course, it's such a hotbed of gambling that all the rooms are equipped with shades that block out every speck of light so you can stay up all night in the casinos and sleep all morning. One afternoon, she put the baby to bed in a his playpen in one of these rooms, in the pitch-dark and went to do some work. A few minutes later she heard the baby knocking on the door from inside the room., and she got up, knowing he'd crawled out of his playpen. She went to put him down again, but when she got to the door, she found he'd locked it. He had somehow managed to push in the little button on the doorknob. So he was calling to her, "Mommy, Mommy," and she was saying to him, "Jiggle the doorknob, darling," and and he didn't speak much English - mostly he seemed to speak Urdu. After a moment, it became clear to him that his mother couldn't open the door, and the panic set in. He began sobbing. So my friend ran around like crazy trying everything possible... And there he was in the dark, this terrified little child. Finally she did the only thing she could, which was to slide her fingers underneath the door where there was a one-inch space. She kept telling him over and over to bend down and find her fingers. Finally somehow he did. So they stayed like that for a really long time., on the floor, him holding onto her fingers in the dark. He stopped crying. She kept wanting to go call the fire department or something, but she felt that contact was the most important thing... So she kept saying, "Open the door now,"and every so often he would jiggle the knob, and eventually, after maybe half an hour, it popped open.

I keep thinking of that story, how much it feels like I'm the two-year-old in the dark and God is the mother and I don't speak the language. She could break down the door if that struck her as being the best way, and ride off with me on her charger. But instead, via my friends and my church and my shabby faith, I can just hold onto her fingers underneath the door. It isn't enough, and it is.

Completely Extracted

So, I had a tooth extracted on Monday. For those of you who have had this procedure done, you know that it isn't a pleasant experience. That being said, it could have been much worse. (Have Rich tell you the story about Dr. Death extracting some extra teeth..)

What occurred to me as I sat in the chair with several metal "instruments" sticking out of my mouth was not that my cheek skin was being stretched to its maximum uh.. stretch-itude, nor was I curious about what exactly was making that high pitched "sawing" sound. It was actually that, for some odd reason, I needed to be able to "handle" the extraction with some sort of ease and dignity if I am expected to, in 3 months, give birth to a baby. I felt like I was having some sort of dress rehearsal for a big event, a notion that is COMPLETELY mad seeing as one does not relate to the other - wrong doctor type, wrong body parts, wrong everything. The only thing the two situations might have in common is that there were needles involved, and a great deal of stress on my part. Oh, and both cases involve matter being "extracted" from my body.

The point is that having the tooth extracted was more of a mental battle to me. If I'm not brave for something this minor, then how in the hell am I going to perform in the majors? If proven unsuccessful, the baby will have to apply for college via my womb.

In the end, I think I did OK. I did ask for more of the numbing stuff so that I wouldn't actually feel anything but pressure. Things got a little "iffy" half-way through. I did leave the office with a swollen, stunned and betrayed, "How could you do this to me?" look on my face, especially after the special connection we made. And I sort of meant it, seeing as I felt totally vindicated when I "stole" a complimentary toothbrush from the lavatory. That'll show 'em.

But the doctor told me that I was a good patient. And I told him that he performed the best extraction I've ever had. So there you go. That means.. Well, it means nothing really. But I feel like I've had some sort of victory.

Just when you thought I couldn't gripe anymore, ours goes to eleven

People lie. They do. And, as a veteran teacher, I'm pretty good at reading the bullshit meter. So that's why I was dumbstruck that I actually believed all of those "mommy and me" types who talk about the wonder of being pregnant. And yes, though Jenny McCarthy has already said it under the guise of comedy, and though "the girlfriends" act like they've been brutally honest, mostly by crossing out the word "nine" and putting the word "ten" in parenthesis, I'm here to tell you, straight up, that pregnancy is not at all about "feeling the baby's butterfly kicks" and "nesting" in some "serene" and "beautifully glowing" moment in your life.

It effing sucks.

It's about your hips separating from your torso; waking jolting up in the middle of the night, not just to pee (for the fiftieth time), but because you've just realized that you've vurped in your mouth and now you are choking on it; it's about your stomach being in your throat and your spleen filling out a residence card in Canada. There are aches in parts of your body that you didn't know could ache. And it's tiring. So, so tiring. And before you accuse me of being overly hormonal and whiny (oh yes, another endearing side effect), please don't be the person who would just like to remind me that, "it's worth it in the end because you'll be bringing home that beautiful baby, after having pushed him, screaming, out of your vagina. All the pain will melt away, except that you'll have to sit on ice for the next three months, and you will be consumed by the little life that is now and forever a part of yours. And aww! Look at how teeny his hands are.."

Ew. I just vurped again.

I think they forgot to mention all of the nights we'll be up taking care of a colicky baby and making deals with God to just please "make it stop". And there will be lots of poop. Lots of poop. And worry - about the baby, about the finances, about fading into nothingness because I'll have surrendered wholly to the idea that I will never be a full person again.. And then after a grace period of learning wonder and Disneyland (i.e. ages 3-9, when parents tend to conceive again), the pre-teen and teenage years sneak-in with the sole purpose of kicking our 40 somethings' asses.

I keep having to remind myself that I chose this. And maybe if I try to anchor myself in some sarcasm reality, I might actually find the experience pleasant. But one thing is FOR CERTAIN: next time Rich is carrying the baby.

Democracy is an act.

"Democracy is not a state. It is not some high plateau that we struggle to reach so we can finally settle down to rest. Democracy is an act. It is an act that requires participation, organization, and dedication to the highest principles. It is an act, a series of actions that require us to continuously verify our commitment to civil rights and social justice at every challenge."

- John Lewis
American Freedom Rider, 1961
United States Representative in Congress (GA) since 1987
"The conscience of the US Congress"

Dear Texans,

For the first time in a really long time we matter in a primary election. We actually get to have an opinion about which presidential candidate's name goes on the ballot. This is an exciting time for us, and it also gives us great responsibility. It is our duty to voice our opinions. PLEASE vote on March 4th. Please act.

Sincerely,
Ginger

I'm a riddle in nine syllables

So, it would be a complete understatement to say that these days I'm scared. A lot. And of course I'm afraid of childbirth (although my ObGyn patted me on the knee yesterday and reminded me that women have been birthing babies since the beginning of time and then proceeded to tell one of those "funny, funny" stories about a woman who, while delivering, let out some sort of Towanda type warrior yawp that stunned her husband into a mute, stationary trance), but it's more than that.

It's more than even being afraid about being responsible for another human being. I'm firmly confident that I can keep him clothed and fed; it's the whole "how do you keep him from climbing a bell tower with a loaded rifle" type thing, though a student reminded me today that that sort of thing might have more to do with misfiring synapses than with actual upbringing. And yeah, I AM being dramatic. But really, how do you direct a person's character? At least I've got the guidance of the ones who guided me, and I suppose you might say that I turned out OK... so far. So that's not the whole of it.

I think what frightens me most is the fact that I am losing myself. I'm walking a very fine line these days, balancing the mandatory changes that come with having a baby (those that are already here and those that are coming quickly) with being who I am, or rather who I want to be. And how will I allow my life to move forward without getting totally consumed, as most wonderful mothers are, with my baby? I am already annoyed at myself for having little conversation/thought beyond baby names and pregnant girl ailments (this blog post is exhibit A).

Also, my relationships are changing: 1. The way in which people communicate with me and 2. The way in which I communicate with others.

1. It's true that when you are pregnant, you have joined an exclusive club of mothers who are eager to swap stories. And how can you blame them for their enthusiasm? The experience of carrying and bringing another human being into the world is a freaking HUGE thing. And (apparently) if you've never done it, then you will never understand it. I'm just now learning the secret handshake, and I think in June there may even be some sort of hooded ceremony complete with a blood signed oath or something. People who don't normally talk to me are eager to know about very personal things, and they want to tell you their very personal things. And I indulge them, mostly out of respect, because what the hell do I know? I have a feeling that the "soccer mom" club is very similar.

2. I'm freaking going insane. I've been thinking about the relationships I have with people and how they are changing, and can see how easy it will be to let some go and hold some closer than ever. I've already semi-subconsciously been making double-columned mental lists that, on one side, detail hurtful past grievances that are not so healthy and that won't be healthy for my kid versus the other side, which lists the wonderful things that that person "adds to" my life. Then I obsess. What happens if I lose a really great friend just because I'll be so busy learning to be a mom? What happens if all I can think about is the color of the baby's bowel movements, and the breast milk that will (inevitably) be soaking through my shirts? What will I add to my friends' lives then? What happens if I'm too tired all of the time and I lose my creativity, which is already fading as I work at being more responsible? I'm already abandoning my rationality (clearly).

I probably have a lot more control over all of these things than I allow myself, and I know that the simple answer is wait and see. And well, just like all things in life, I suppose I'll have to do just that, though the list maker in me is cringing. Things just feel a little out of control and A LOT overwhelming.


Metaphors

I'm a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.
Money's new-minted in this fat purse.
I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I've eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there's no getting off.

Sylvia Plath

Sunshine and Sunglasses

Yesterday was a gorgeous day in the Metroplex, so we decided to make a pilgrimage to the local arboretum for some breathing time and some much needed sunshine. Here are a few pics from the day. Go to the Flickr badge to see more (and to catch a glimpse of the pregnant girl's belly!). :)