As white fluffy snow drifts down outside my window and my Christmas decorations beg to be taken down, it's time to pause and consider that 2012 is quickly coming to a close and 2013 is on the horizon. It's been a good year, mostly due to the birth of my son, but I am ready and rearin' for the whirlwind that will be 2013.
I never used to be one to make resolutions at New Years, mostly because I never make promises I don't intend to keep, but in 2011, as I kept telling myself "you gotta do "this/that" more often" or "I'm going to start doing "that" once the baby is born" I realized that I needed to set a goal for myself and stick to it. So last year I resolved to become more (re?) involved in Art History in whatever forms I could. As I announced it on Facebook to the great inter-ether I thanked social media for giving me some form of accountability so that I couldn't just sweep this goal under the rug. I figured getting "more involved" was going to mean something simple like subscribing to The Art Journal or something similar, but it ended up leading me to an independent research project on the function of art in defining identity in colonial Mexico and how (if) similar devices are being used in defining a nationalist identity in contemporary Mexico and the American Southwest. Sounds good right? It's actually a GINORMOUS question with lots of implications that I'm probably not smart enough to answer and would/will take a lifetime to develop informed opinions that may matter, so for now I'm just doing a little focused research on the Casta paintings in 16th-18th century New Spain. But I digress...
A recent pilgrimage to our nation's capital and the Smithsonian National Gallery of Art seemed like the perfect way to wrap up 2012 and transition into the new year. I tend to get big ideas in my head, start them strong, and let them peter out relatively quickly. Reading the tight little blurbs on the walls next to the paintings and walking the marble floors of the national gallery made me feel proud of my huge omni book of notes and stack of library books on my research topic sitting in my little book bag waiting to be taken to my favorite coffee shop. I remembered the feelings I had as a student sitting in ARH 352, wanting to be a part of the world that discussed and considered art as an exercise in meaning. With my new project, I feel that I am well on my way to doing so, and at the very least will avoid letting that desire from my youth slip quietly into the dark night as the sunrise of my family predominates my world.
So now, for 2013. Christmas decorations may glare at me from my walls as a nagging "to-do" that I really gotta get to... but the wreaths and ornaments ain't got nothin' on the constant guilt trip that my idle easel and empty art table constantly send me on. I have endless reasons why I haven't engaged in any art-making since our arrival in Ithaca a year and a half ago. "I don't like to work in the living room, I don't want to risk getting the pergo floors dirty, I don't have a model to draw from, I'm pregnant, I have a baby, I don't have any drawing pencils, it's cold out..." etc. But the bottom line is, if you are an artist, you find a way. Until now, I've constantly been in some kind of art class/studio since I was 8 years old, and used to take refuge in painting and drawing as a way to deal with my external environment and cope with emotions that I couldn't express in any other way. Once I hit college, the class load and assignments due for my art courses halted the production of my own, personal works, and even sketching became a bit of a chore. In the process of growing up, finding a healthy and loving relationship, and just generally getting on with life, I have found that in my happiness I lack the passion inspired by tumult and adversity to really drive me into my work. Without it, I fear that I am losing the technical skills and that my eye is growing dim.
It's time for me to stop the excuses, stop expecting that the next thing I create will be the execution of one of my grand ideas, and just get into the habit of drawing again. I have all the tools I need, I just need the resolve.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Saturday, December 22, 2012
On Bodies
I really need to get better at writing these things as they come into my head and while they are relevant. My mind is now in a pre-Christmas haze of happiness and cuddles, but this topic has to come after the last one so here goes...
It occurred to me that in my previous post, On My Husband, I could have tied the story back to the theme of this blog a little better, and that, in retrospect, I may have come off as a bit of a slut. Although ya know, in the eyes of the kind of people that judge and label women as sluts, I guess I kinda am.
Our society as a whole has some amazingly prudish views on sex and the body left over from the Victorian era, and I for one hope that we can move past them as we continue to march into the 21st century, if for no other reason then that I think it sucks that I can't walk around in my bra and panties once Liam gets old enough to remember things. Its not that I want to be naked in front of my son... that's weird... I just want to be able to be comfortable in my own home. But in America today, he won't be exposed to the nude female body in his everyday life except as a highly sexualized object, and as something that is mystified behind closed doors as the "Anatomical Other". So if his Mama is prancing around in her grungies and is the only bare female form he's ever seen, then that body automatically becomes objectified as well.
I think that even in my generation of young parents, moms and dads still dread sitting down and having "the talk" with their kids once they hit that tumultuous and confusing age of puberty, because most of us wait until the hormones are raging in a child to bring up issues of sex and the body. But sex and the way we express affection (both physically and emotionally) is one of the most important factors in developing adult relationships, so why wait until our children are almost adults to begin to teach them? Just like learning a language is infinitely easier for the mold-able mind of a toddler, waiting until puberty to teach the language of love is like trying to sit through a mindless recitation of -AR verbs in first period Spanish. Is it possible? Yes of course. There are tons of healthy relationships out there built on the traditional views of today. But is there a better way? I think so.
Maybe we are a long ways away from shared bath houses and a general familiarity with the nude forms of the opposite sex (or the same sex for that matter), but we can still help our children feel comfortable with their own bodies and not feel embarrassed by the natural curiosity we are all born with. The more open we are as adults, the more comfortable they will be to come to us with questions and concerns, so that we are making sure that they have the tools to foster healthy, loving relationships. Hug each other. Dance in the kitchen. Kiss your spouse right on the mouth. Showing affection and making intimacy part of the every day routine is the first step towards raising a kid who is comfortable with their own feelings of love and affection, including those awkward and unavoidable teenage urges.
**My favorite source of straight-forward information and help with talking to young adults has always been Sue Johanson. The woman just does wonderful work.**
It occurred to me that in my previous post, On My Husband, I could have tied the story back to the theme of this blog a little better, and that, in retrospect, I may have come off as a bit of a slut. Although ya know, in the eyes of the kind of people that judge and label women as sluts, I guess I kinda am.
Our society as a whole has some amazingly prudish views on sex and the body left over from the Victorian era, and I for one hope that we can move past them as we continue to march into the 21st century, if for no other reason then that I think it sucks that I can't walk around in my bra and panties once Liam gets old enough to remember things. Its not that I want to be naked in front of my son... that's weird... I just want to be able to be comfortable in my own home. But in America today, he won't be exposed to the nude female body in his everyday life except as a highly sexualized object, and as something that is mystified behind closed doors as the "Anatomical Other". So if his Mama is prancing around in her grungies and is the only bare female form he's ever seen, then that body automatically becomes objectified as well.
I think that even in my generation of young parents, moms and dads still dread sitting down and having "the talk" with their kids once they hit that tumultuous and confusing age of puberty, because most of us wait until the hormones are raging in a child to bring up issues of sex and the body. But sex and the way we express affection (both physically and emotionally) is one of the most important factors in developing adult relationships, so why wait until our children are almost adults to begin to teach them? Just like learning a language is infinitely easier for the mold-able mind of a toddler, waiting until puberty to teach the language of love is like trying to sit through a mindless recitation of -AR verbs in first period Spanish. Is it possible? Yes of course. There are tons of healthy relationships out there built on the traditional views of today. But is there a better way? I think so.
Maybe we are a long ways away from shared bath houses and a general familiarity with the nude forms of the opposite sex (or the same sex for that matter), but we can still help our children feel comfortable with their own bodies and not feel embarrassed by the natural curiosity we are all born with. The more open we are as adults, the more comfortable they will be to come to us with questions and concerns, so that we are making sure that they have the tools to foster healthy, loving relationships. Hug each other. Dance in the kitchen. Kiss your spouse right on the mouth. Showing affection and making intimacy part of the every day routine is the first step towards raising a kid who is comfortable with their own feelings of love and affection, including those awkward and unavoidable teenage urges.
**My favorite source of straight-forward information and help with talking to young adults has always been Sue Johanson. The woman just does wonderful work.**
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
On My Husband
(^heh...heh... giggity.)
Just had an AWESOME day at the Corning Museum of Glass with my hubby, but any indication of what our experience was like would need to include a description of my man and who we are together. So to avoid this problem in the future, here's a little long-winded background... (Its my blog and I can ramble if I want to!)
Colin and I met on the day after my birthday in 2008. My mom and Grammy were visiting me in my first apartment, and I had only been living there for about two months. I never moved back home after my freshman year of college. I went straight from the dorms into a little one bedroom with a hallway kitchen and a nice little patio on the back. I still miss that place... but that's an entry for another day.
On this day in July, the three of us were just pulling in from a shopping trip at the mall to get me my very own first vacuum cleaner (still have it, that things a champ!) and the new season of Dexter when we see two bros playing Frisbee in the parking lot of my complex. My mother insists that she introduced Colin and me, because at this point, as we were getting out of the car, she made some embarrassing comments about joining their game, I grabbed the vacuum cleaner out of the trunk and gave the boys a little head shake and a smile trying to say "Whatt're ya gunna do? She's my mom". We all head inside, and I think my mom made a comment about how I should be more open to new people, then I went back outside to let my dog Zoie out to pee.
I smiled and made eyes at the boys, let Zoie do her business, walked her shit to the dumpster, and then on the way back, the shorter of the two threw the Frisbee into my white Ford F-150 (later to be dubbed the Bat Truck), where I had a huge 60ish pound TV chillin' waiting to be moved to the dumpster. I can't exactly remember how I wove my magic spell and talked the boys into hauling that TV to the trash for me... but +5 at least to charisma for me! We stood outside talking for a little bit and did introductions. The taller one's name was, let's say... Michael and he lived across the lot from me with his Choral major frat buddies, and this guy here in the green Guinness shirt was his buddy Colin, who lived down the road. Oh, you go to NAU too? That's cool, what do you study? You play french horn? I was in the marching band!
After awhile, my neighbor (Jemma? Gemma? Fuckin' gorgeous little piece with tattoos and daddy issues working as a pre-law intern) comes out with her two dogs and all four of us get to chatting for a good few hours. My madre eventually felt the need to remind me that I had guests and Dexter to attend to, which, since I was a few years everyone's junior, felt like the equivalent of being told that the street lights were on and it was time to come home (which they were and it was). Mike at least had the foresight to invite my neighbor and me to dinner the following Tuesday, and I think we all left that breezy piece of grass a little bit twitterpated.
Let me back up here and describe where I was as a young woman at this time. The previous November I had broken up with my high school sweetheart of four years, and had immediately fallen into a 6-month rebound "relationship" with a guy I affectionately refer to as my mistake. By my birthday I think I had been truly single for about a month and was loving the freedom of living alone and supporting myself like a real-live grown up, even if I was a little lonely with all of my friends gone for the summer. I was fresh off my freshman year of college, and SO done with relationships. Ready to just mess around and drink too much and enjoy my formative years.
So later that week I walked into that house looking for trouble, and loving every moment of the unknown experience. I remember having a generally good time, meeting the other room mates, and being Wii remote buddies with Colin. At one point he laid his hand on my leg with a gentle pressure that held all the giddy excitement of a new relationship. The warm shivers that ran down my spine at that timid touch still resonate with me today.
HOWEVER it became pretty clear pretty quickly that nice little Colin (who btw is only an inch taller than me and thus barely meets the height requirements for this girl's ride) was as sweet as sweethearts come, and definitely not looking for a casual hook-up, so I gravitated to the taller, more out-spoken (because he liked to hear himself speak) of the Frisbee boys. We all exchanged numbers, and were invited back for dinner the next week.
After that, Colin disappeared to Denver for the International Horn Symposium, and I started hanging out a little more with Mike, conveniently located across the street. He (like most guys would be) was all excited to hear about my commitment to non-relationships and my desire to mess around and have a good time. Add to that a couple'a beers and an excellent wing-man, and you've got a everything you need for a footloose one-nighter! It was made unnecessarily awkward the next morning when Mike felt the need to be stand-offish in order to discourage sharing breakfast (as if I was interested... its hard for guys to understand that not all girls want their cuddles), but I left in good spirits feeling like a liberated woman of the modern age, and we were still on for dinner on Tuesday.
Before that though, on Sunday, Colin had arrived home from his conference (at which he professes to have been thinking about his Wii remote buddy the whole time :P) and asked me to hang out with him and a buddy at the lake that was about a 15 minute drive from my place. They said I could take my dog, so I was in. I had a blast, still feeling proud that I was accepting the world with open arms, and when it came time for dinner we all agreed that sushi sounded amazing and Steve, the buddy, was going to go home and shower, pick up his lady, and meet back up with us after. So we hung out at my place for a bit then headed over to the restaurant, only to find that Steve had decided not to come. (There is still some debate in this household as to whether that tricky little move getting Colin and me to have a one-on-one dinner in a fancy sushi restaurant was planned.) Afterwards we went to hang out at his place, and even though I had work at 6am the next morning, we stayed up until 4:30am chatting, sharing Youtube videos, and generally getting to know each other. It was lovely and exciting and exactly the kind of thing I was hoping to avoid, so I made sure he knew my past and what I was looking for right then, and told him about what had happened with Mike just to clear the air. I'm all about honesty and transparency, and information like that has the power to hurt if you let it. He understood and was cool with it, but there was an obvious connection between us. When it came time for me to go he walked me out to my truck (I think he was carrying an extra microwave he was letting me borrow), and as we said goodbye I expected him to give me a goodnight kiss ('cuz as much as I kept saying I didn't want a relationship I am and forever will be a relationship kind'a gall) and he did like an awkward jigg and I ended up brushing my lips along the back of his ear or something as we hugged goodbye. It was adorable and awkward and probably more memorable than any peck on the cheek or lips could have been :) I zombied through my 9 hour shift an immediately called my friend to tell her about this amazing guy I couldn't get out of my head.
The next day was dinner, and I was excited to see Colin and have a good time, and hoped that Mike had gotten over his silliness, because I was hoping we could all still enjoy each other's company. He hadn't... and I think that's probably why I said "fuck it" and drank so much more than the last time. Now, I'm not saying that I took Colin back to my place because I was drunk (although I most certainly was), I'm just saying that I had let go of the inhibitions that would have kept me from getting involved with such a nice guy who was obviously interested in something more serious than a huge make-out session on the stairs outside my apartment (which. was. awesome.) The rest of that night was kind of a blur, but I remember that we broke one of my candles and sweet, sweet Colin sat through me singing and dancing to most of the Josie and the Pussycats movie before we made our way to the bedroom.
In the morning, Colin was all about making me breakfast so as I was in the shower the smoke alarm went off... We had burnt eggs and toast, and it was all so cute I had to pinch myself. But after work that day, when he had called and indicated that he wanted to take me out and do it again... I had to have a hard conversation with him re-iterating that I did not want to be tied down to one person, and that I loved hanging out with him but that I wasn't ready to make a commitment. He took it pretty hard, didn't understand, and wasn't able to just be friends knowing that I may at any time be turning on the charm with someone else. I don't think we spoke for about three days after that, which was sad, but I understood his confusion and knew that I had sent him mixed signals. When he finally did call me, he had turned a new leaf, decided that friends was better than nothing, and I invited myself over to watch scrubs and play guitar hero. I still remember the giant desk chair we were sharing to look up another Youtube video when he kissed me, and I was just done. A few hours later as I cuddled up next to him getting ready to drift off to sleep, I rolled my eyes and said "Okay... I guess I'm your girlfriend," and the next morning, we made pancakes.
That was August 1st, 2008, and on 8/1/10, I married my best friend. Just goes to show that as soon as you stop looking for love, it finds you. There is no better way to have someone open up to you than by allowing yourself to open up to the world. Things have moved relatively quickly for us (our relationship only recently became the longest one of my life, a wedding, cross country move, and a kid later lol), but it never could have been any other way. Colin is one of the kindest, most loving people I know, and his incessant optimism and passion are a daily inspiration. If he could title this blog it would be "On Poker and Pampers: The Ponderings of a Progressive Parent" because he loves wordplay in all it's forms. We are not without our problems (I mean really, who is?), but the journey thus far has been an absolute joy.
Just had an AWESOME day at the Corning Museum of Glass with my hubby, but any indication of what our experience was like would need to include a description of my man and who we are together. So to avoid this problem in the future, here's a little long-winded background... (Its my blog and I can ramble if I want to!)
Colin and I met on the day after my birthday in 2008. My mom and Grammy were visiting me in my first apartment, and I had only been living there for about two months. I never moved back home after my freshman year of college. I went straight from the dorms into a little one bedroom with a hallway kitchen and a nice little patio on the back. I still miss that place... but that's an entry for another day.
On this day in July, the three of us were just pulling in from a shopping trip at the mall to get me my very own first vacuum cleaner (still have it, that things a champ!) and the new season of Dexter when we see two bros playing Frisbee in the parking lot of my complex. My mother insists that she introduced Colin and me, because at this point, as we were getting out of the car, she made some embarrassing comments about joining their game, I grabbed the vacuum cleaner out of the trunk and gave the boys a little head shake and a smile trying to say "Whatt're ya gunna do? She's my mom". We all head inside, and I think my mom made a comment about how I should be more open to new people, then I went back outside to let my dog Zoie out to pee.
I smiled and made eyes at the boys, let Zoie do her business, walked her shit to the dumpster, and then on the way back, the shorter of the two threw the Frisbee into my white Ford F-150 (later to be dubbed the Bat Truck), where I had a huge 60ish pound TV chillin' waiting to be moved to the dumpster. I can't exactly remember how I wove my magic spell and talked the boys into hauling that TV to the trash for me... but +5 at least to charisma for me! We stood outside talking for a little bit and did introductions. The taller one's name was, let's say... Michael and he lived across the lot from me with his Choral major frat buddies, and this guy here in the green Guinness shirt was his buddy Colin, who lived down the road. Oh, you go to NAU too? That's cool, what do you study? You play french horn? I was in the marching band!
After awhile, my neighbor (Jemma? Gemma? Fuckin' gorgeous little piece with tattoos and daddy issues working as a pre-law intern) comes out with her two dogs and all four of us get to chatting for a good few hours. My madre eventually felt the need to remind me that I had guests and Dexter to attend to, which, since I was a few years everyone's junior, felt like the equivalent of being told that the street lights were on and it was time to come home (which they were and it was). Mike at least had the foresight to invite my neighbor and me to dinner the following Tuesday, and I think we all left that breezy piece of grass a little bit twitterpated.
Let me back up here and describe where I was as a young woman at this time. The previous November I had broken up with my high school sweetheart of four years, and had immediately fallen into a 6-month rebound "relationship" with a guy I affectionately refer to as my mistake. By my birthday I think I had been truly single for about a month and was loving the freedom of living alone and supporting myself like a real-live grown up, even if I was a little lonely with all of my friends gone for the summer. I was fresh off my freshman year of college, and SO done with relationships. Ready to just mess around and drink too much and enjoy my formative years.
So later that week I walked into that house looking for trouble, and loving every moment of the unknown experience. I remember having a generally good time, meeting the other room mates, and being Wii remote buddies with Colin. At one point he laid his hand on my leg with a gentle pressure that held all the giddy excitement of a new relationship. The warm shivers that ran down my spine at that timid touch still resonate with me today.
HOWEVER it became pretty clear pretty quickly that nice little Colin (who btw is only an inch taller than me and thus barely meets the height requirements for this girl's ride) was as sweet as sweethearts come, and definitely not looking for a casual hook-up, so I gravitated to the taller, more out-spoken (because he liked to hear himself speak) of the Frisbee boys. We all exchanged numbers, and were invited back for dinner the next week.
After that, Colin disappeared to Denver for the International Horn Symposium, and I started hanging out a little more with Mike, conveniently located across the street. He (like most guys would be) was all excited to hear about my commitment to non-relationships and my desire to mess around and have a good time. Add to that a couple'a beers and an excellent wing-man, and you've got a everything you need for a footloose one-nighter! It was made unnecessarily awkward the next morning when Mike felt the need to be stand-offish in order to discourage sharing breakfast (as if I was interested... its hard for guys to understand that not all girls want their cuddles), but I left in good spirits feeling like a liberated woman of the modern age, and we were still on for dinner on Tuesday.
Before that though, on Sunday, Colin had arrived home from his conference (at which he professes to have been thinking about his Wii remote buddy the whole time :P) and asked me to hang out with him and a buddy at the lake that was about a 15 minute drive from my place. They said I could take my dog, so I was in. I had a blast, still feeling proud that I was accepting the world with open arms, and when it came time for dinner we all agreed that sushi sounded amazing and Steve, the buddy, was going to go home and shower, pick up his lady, and meet back up with us after. So we hung out at my place for a bit then headed over to the restaurant, only to find that Steve had decided not to come. (There is still some debate in this household as to whether that tricky little move getting Colin and me to have a one-on-one dinner in a fancy sushi restaurant was planned.) Afterwards we went to hang out at his place, and even though I had work at 6am the next morning, we stayed up until 4:30am chatting, sharing Youtube videos, and generally getting to know each other. It was lovely and exciting and exactly the kind of thing I was hoping to avoid, so I made sure he knew my past and what I was looking for right then, and told him about what had happened with Mike just to clear the air. I'm all about honesty and transparency, and information like that has the power to hurt if you let it. He understood and was cool with it, but there was an obvious connection between us. When it came time for me to go he walked me out to my truck (I think he was carrying an extra microwave he was letting me borrow), and as we said goodbye I expected him to give me a goodnight kiss ('cuz as much as I kept saying I didn't want a relationship I am and forever will be a relationship kind'a gall) and he did like an awkward jigg and I ended up brushing my lips along the back of his ear or something as we hugged goodbye. It was adorable and awkward and probably more memorable than any peck on the cheek or lips could have been :) I zombied through my 9 hour shift an immediately called my friend to tell her about this amazing guy I couldn't get out of my head.
The next day was dinner, and I was excited to see Colin and have a good time, and hoped that Mike had gotten over his silliness, because I was hoping we could all still enjoy each other's company. He hadn't... and I think that's probably why I said "fuck it" and drank so much more than the last time. Now, I'm not saying that I took Colin back to my place because I was drunk (although I most certainly was), I'm just saying that I had let go of the inhibitions that would have kept me from getting involved with such a nice guy who was obviously interested in something more serious than a huge make-out session on the stairs outside my apartment (which. was. awesome.) The rest of that night was kind of a blur, but I remember that we broke one of my candles and sweet, sweet Colin sat through me singing and dancing to most of the Josie and the Pussycats movie before we made our way to the bedroom.
In the morning, Colin was all about making me breakfast so as I was in the shower the smoke alarm went off... We had burnt eggs and toast, and it was all so cute I had to pinch myself. But after work that day, when he had called and indicated that he wanted to take me out and do it again... I had to have a hard conversation with him re-iterating that I did not want to be tied down to one person, and that I loved hanging out with him but that I wasn't ready to make a commitment. He took it pretty hard, didn't understand, and wasn't able to just be friends knowing that I may at any time be turning on the charm with someone else. I don't think we spoke for about three days after that, which was sad, but I understood his confusion and knew that I had sent him mixed signals. When he finally did call me, he had turned a new leaf, decided that friends was better than nothing, and I invited myself over to watch scrubs and play guitar hero. I still remember the giant desk chair we were sharing to look up another Youtube video when he kissed me, and I was just done. A few hours later as I cuddled up next to him getting ready to drift off to sleep, I rolled my eyes and said "Okay... I guess I'm your girlfriend," and the next morning, we made pancakes.
That was August 1st, 2008, and on 8/1/10, I married my best friend. Just goes to show that as soon as you stop looking for love, it finds you. There is no better way to have someone open up to you than by allowing yourself to open up to the world. Things have moved relatively quickly for us (our relationship only recently became the longest one of my life, a wedding, cross country move, and a kid later lol), but it never could have been any other way. Colin is one of the kindest, most loving people I know, and his incessant optimism and passion are a daily inspiration. If he could title this blog it would be "On Poker and Pampers: The Ponderings of a Progressive Parent" because he loves wordplay in all it's forms. We are not without our problems (I mean really, who is?), but the journey thus far has been an absolute joy.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
On the CT Tragedy
I had a different post in the works over the last few days, but I just couldn't bring myself to keep a light tone and brush over the tragedy that happened Friday morning in Connecticut. As a citizen, news of shooting sprees and rampages that seem to be occurring way too frequently in my lifetime has always saddened me, brought a tear to my eye, and made my heart break. Now, however, as a mother, this slaughter of helpless babies has weighed on me, body and soul, in a deep visceral reaction that leaves me sick and speechless. No one will be able to find the words to heal the suffering caused by this senseless act of violence, let alone of the twenty families whose children were taken from them. I cannot even begin to try.
I think it is a natural part of the human condition to want to know more about events like this (sparking the inevitable media blitz that follows) so that we can begin to rationalize and identify causes and solutions. We assign blame to any and every tangible thing that we can see and say "Look! There it is! This is the problem, and we can fix it!" In the last few days, my Facebook newsfeed has been host to all kinds of mudslinging and finger pointing that goes along with this natural need to rationalize. I myself cannot abide the simplistic and politicized "solutions" that tend to be compressed into snotty little pictures that use tragedies like this one to make a point. However, I am not immune to the need to rationalize, and have been ruminating over the last few days on a theory of my own that is sprung from my deep sadness. Talking about it, writing it down, and sharing it is the only way that I can think of to help in the healing process, but please keep in mind that these are my own thoughts as they make sense for me. Not a well researched and supported plan of action meant to assign blame or tell our society what it "should" be doing.
What is different about what we, as Americans, are doing to support this environment of violence? Why is it that in my lifetime it feels like we can't get through a year without a shooting spree? I'm sure it is just because of the condition of my life right now, but the first place that I look to is how we are raising our children. I, like many Americans, value my privacy, but indulging in that desire seems to have come at the expense of community. When parents bring home their children, they are left alone with their nuclear family and are solely responsible for the care and upbringing of that child. Those of us who are lucky have strong familial support systems, and a loving friend or parent to call for backup, but that is not the case for everyone. Even those that do have people who love them in their lives often feel a sense of isolation and loneliness in the postpartum period, which is simply considered "normal" in our country. When that child grows, we as parents remain the head and center of their world, and take on the burden of education, entertainment, nutrition, hygiene, general well being, etc. on our own, with limited and varied resources to call on for back-up. But that saying that it takes a village to raise a child didn't come from nowhere, and I feel like this "every-family-in-it-for-themselves" paradigm is a generally new one in the history of the human race. Even more new is the distance we have put between ourselves and our neighbors. The block party is nearly dead. And the dinner party seems to be an outdated tradition outside of the holidays.
What, then, happens when you have a family who is broken? Who does not reach out for help when they need it, or has no one reliable to call on? What if there exists between parent and child an unhealthy relationship fostering psychosis with no one to raise any red flags? A child may feel the desire to reach out, but don't talk to strangers little one. What if a mother who is over-worked and over-stressed doesn't have anything left to give to her family at the end of the day, but to admit it would be to admit failure? I'm not saying that it is the responsibility of others to raise your children, or that feelings of isolation always lead to mass shootings (because if they did I think that we would be seeing many more of them), but these things don't just happen, and you have to wonder why no one was in a position to say anything was going wrong. We foster an environment where "everybody's fine" and we do not want to look any deeper than that, because we do not want to overstep the boundaries that have been put up by our desire for privacy. Familial issues and emotional problems are sorted out behind closed doors, and relayed only to our most intimate of friends, if anybody at all.
I think that if we get in the habit of including others in our lives, of talking about and discussing problems, hopes, and dreams, and of bringing in and making efforts to accept the "lone wolf", we put ourselves in a much better position to prevent senseless acts of violence. If every mother had a giant living room in which to gather and chat with other parents while their kids ran around and got to know one another, the next generation would know the value of community and friendship and, most importantly, human life. Let us foster those positive and basic morals in children, rather than living in fear of full-grown evil.
Ignore the finger of blame. Remember the victims. And reach out to those around you so that we teach our little ones that it is okay to ask for and to offer a helping hand.
I think it is a natural part of the human condition to want to know more about events like this (sparking the inevitable media blitz that follows) so that we can begin to rationalize and identify causes and solutions. We assign blame to any and every tangible thing that we can see and say "Look! There it is! This is the problem, and we can fix it!" In the last few days, my Facebook newsfeed has been host to all kinds of mudslinging and finger pointing that goes along with this natural need to rationalize. I myself cannot abide the simplistic and politicized "solutions" that tend to be compressed into snotty little pictures that use tragedies like this one to make a point. However, I am not immune to the need to rationalize, and have been ruminating over the last few days on a theory of my own that is sprung from my deep sadness. Talking about it, writing it down, and sharing it is the only way that I can think of to help in the healing process, but please keep in mind that these are my own thoughts as they make sense for me. Not a well researched and supported plan of action meant to assign blame or tell our society what it "should" be doing.
What is different about what we, as Americans, are doing to support this environment of violence? Why is it that in my lifetime it feels like we can't get through a year without a shooting spree? I'm sure it is just because of the condition of my life right now, but the first place that I look to is how we are raising our children. I, like many Americans, value my privacy, but indulging in that desire seems to have come at the expense of community. When parents bring home their children, they are left alone with their nuclear family and are solely responsible for the care and upbringing of that child. Those of us who are lucky have strong familial support systems, and a loving friend or parent to call for backup, but that is not the case for everyone. Even those that do have people who love them in their lives often feel a sense of isolation and loneliness in the postpartum period, which is simply considered "normal" in our country. When that child grows, we as parents remain the head and center of their world, and take on the burden of education, entertainment, nutrition, hygiene, general well being, etc. on our own, with limited and varied resources to call on for back-up. But that saying that it takes a village to raise a child didn't come from nowhere, and I feel like this "every-family-in-it-for-themselves" paradigm is a generally new one in the history of the human race. Even more new is the distance we have put between ourselves and our neighbors. The block party is nearly dead. And the dinner party seems to be an outdated tradition outside of the holidays.
What, then, happens when you have a family who is broken? Who does not reach out for help when they need it, or has no one reliable to call on? What if there exists between parent and child an unhealthy relationship fostering psychosis with no one to raise any red flags? A child may feel the desire to reach out, but don't talk to strangers little one. What if a mother who is over-worked and over-stressed doesn't have anything left to give to her family at the end of the day, but to admit it would be to admit failure? I'm not saying that it is the responsibility of others to raise your children, or that feelings of isolation always lead to mass shootings (because if they did I think that we would be seeing many more of them), but these things don't just happen, and you have to wonder why no one was in a position to say anything was going wrong. We foster an environment where "everybody's fine" and we do not want to look any deeper than that, because we do not want to overstep the boundaries that have been put up by our desire for privacy. Familial issues and emotional problems are sorted out behind closed doors, and relayed only to our most intimate of friends, if anybody at all.
I think that if we get in the habit of including others in our lives, of talking about and discussing problems, hopes, and dreams, and of bringing in and making efforts to accept the "lone wolf", we put ourselves in a much better position to prevent senseless acts of violence. If every mother had a giant living room in which to gather and chat with other parents while their kids ran around and got to know one another, the next generation would know the value of community and friendship and, most importantly, human life. Let us foster those positive and basic morals in children, rather than living in fear of full-grown evil.
Ignore the finger of blame. Remember the victims. And reach out to those around you so that we teach our little ones that it is okay to ask for and to offer a helping hand.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
On Wraps
There is no better Poker food than the wrap.
Take your favorite salad and WRAP THAT BITCH UP! It's non-drippy finger food that is low on calories and high on protein (gotta have that meat though). Sure, burgers are great, but an hour or so later you gotta drop a deuce and it's 45 minutes 'till the next break. And of course you don't want to wait until dinner break to order a real meal when all the other donks are gunna clog the kitchen up with their orders and leave themselves 5 minutes to scarf down their meal. Never play poker hungry, and order early.
Talk about a power play when your sittin' on rockets and nonchalantly raise it up while you take a big honkin' bite of your chicken cesar salad wrap resting neatly in your left hand. Like "this pot is just an afterthought... I'm diggin' on this wrap". Gah... Love it.
Not that I saw rockets at all tonight... Although I bet you can guess what I had for dinner. No... I was running pretty mild all night. Got medium-ish hands, earned a couple pots, and I don't think I ever had to show until I decided to get a little more aggressive and went all in with 2100 and A9 off-suit in mid position, with the big stacks already folded behind me. I got called from the tight little lady on my left, so I knew that I was underdog pre-flop, and she ended up having JJ. My Ace was live, but I didn't catch it, and I ended up being left with one 100 chip with the blinds at 300/600. I had a few positions to bide my time, and I went in under-the-gun with 10s and got four callers. Flop came 10-10-7... And that was pretty fuckin' awesome... but next hand I was big blind and compulsory all in with 4s. K-shit took me out, but it was fun anyways. I think I finished 20 somethinth out of like, 37? Can't be too upset with free poker and a GREAT fuckin' wrap!
Take your favorite salad and WRAP THAT BITCH UP! It's non-drippy finger food that is low on calories and high on protein (gotta have that meat though). Sure, burgers are great, but an hour or so later you gotta drop a deuce and it's 45 minutes 'till the next break. And of course you don't want to wait until dinner break to order a real meal when all the other donks are gunna clog the kitchen up with their orders and leave themselves 5 minutes to scarf down their meal. Never play poker hungry, and order early.
Talk about a power play when your sittin' on rockets and nonchalantly raise it up while you take a big honkin' bite of your chicken cesar salad wrap resting neatly in your left hand. Like "this pot is just an afterthought... I'm diggin' on this wrap". Gah... Love it.
Not that I saw rockets at all tonight... Although I bet you can guess what I had for dinner. No... I was running pretty mild all night. Got medium-ish hands, earned a couple pots, and I don't think I ever had to show until I decided to get a little more aggressive and went all in with 2100 and A9 off-suit in mid position, with the big stacks already folded behind me. I got called from the tight little lady on my left, so I knew that I was underdog pre-flop, and she ended up having JJ. My Ace was live, but I didn't catch it, and I ended up being left with one 100 chip with the blinds at 300/600. I had a few positions to bide my time, and I went in under-the-gun with 10s and got four callers. Flop came 10-10-7... And that was pretty fuckin' awesome... but next hand I was big blind and compulsory all in with 4s. K-shit took me out, but it was fun anyways. I think I finished 20 somethinth out of like, 37? Can't be too upset with free poker and a GREAT fuckin' wrap!
On Santa
Nothing gets my Christmas motor goin' like wrapping presents :D It used to be I would hole myself up in some secluded corner of the house and wrap everyone's presents all at once in a huge wrap-a-thon that ended up leaving my work space looking like an elf had vomited holiday cheer all over it. And when I say everyone's presents, I don't just mean all of the presents I had bought for people, but also that my family had bought for each other. One time my madre even had me wrap my own presents after she had discovered the joys of online shopping and they all arrived in nondescript brown boxes.
Today, as I wrapped the few presents that were ready right in front of Little Liam, I got to thinking about Santa Claus and how Christmas is going to be from here on out. Silly as it seems, I felt crazy guilty when I bought Liam's present with him present (haha, everyone loves a good homonym), even though he is obviously too young to remember. He's too young not only to remember where I bought his present, but also to remember this First Christmas that we are all going to share together as a family. But, if a tree falls in the forest and nobody is around to hear it, did it make a sound? If we fudge a little on this Christmas, will it matter in the long run?
I say yes. The Joy of Christmas only exists if we fabricate it within our own hearts. Its not the fact that there is a tree in our house, or the assigned colors of red and green, or even the holiday culinary treats that make this season special, but rather the joy and tinglys that we associate with all of these things. We as individuals, as families, and as societies choose to make Christmas magical, and I think that all of us (if you're lucky) could think of one major person who has, throughout the years, been the champion of holiday joy in our homes since day one. That person who makes sure that the holiday roast is on the table, the presents are under the tree, and Santa got a nibble of his cookies.
Now that I have a kid, that torch has been passed to me, and I am just SUPER excited to be the man behind the curtain of Christmas lights and tinsel. That's not to say that my husband isn't into holiday cheer, he so is. His youthful excitement is one of the many reasons that I married him. But planning and plotting and general organization of events like holidays aren't really his strong suit. Besides, I'm The Mom and it's my prerogative. He gets to put up the Christmas lights in the freezing cold of November :) In any case, I think I've got a handle on making sure we check off our traditions each year (tamales anyone?).
The problem, then, is Santa. I have always been so excited to sneak a few presents under the tree that no one knew I bought and wrap them in different paper that the family doesn't know about. To tell you the truth, I believe in Santa Claus. Every time an uncle or grandparent is inspired to buy a kid the Red Ryder his (or her) parents have forbidden, that's Santa. When you pick an angel off of the Salvation Army angel tree and anonymously drop those presents into the box, that's Santa. Those stories that we have all heard since we were tiny children drive and inspire the feeling of goodwill towards men and selfless giving that really is the spirit of the holiday. The IDEA of Santa is completely integral to what makes Christmas Christmas. Even if you think he's just a jumped-up way to sell Coke ads. BUT, is there a centuries-old man with a workshop of elves and a reindeer farm chillin' at the North Pole? Maybe. Does he make it to every house that celebrates Christmas (and has money) in the short while that everyone is asleep on Christmas eve? Probably not. When you come down to it, the physical being of Santa Claus is a lie, an elaborate myth that has been put together in order to promote the spirit and cheer of the holidays.
So what do you do with a child who you want to teach the value of Honesty? That there is little to no difference between a lie and a "white lie". That the truth is absolute, and you cannot make something that happened go away by lying about it. Do you tell them from the beginning that there is no Santa and take away the magic? Do you try to explain to a one or two year old the complicated ethos behind Santa Claus and hope that he gets it? Or do you jump on the Sleigh with everyone else and trick your child into believing that a man dressed in red is going to break into your house through the chimney once a year, but it's okay.... we've left him cookies. I want my kids to believe in magic, and believe that they can create it in the world. And I certainly don't want them to be the serious little nay-sayers that Natalie Wood was in the beginning of "A Miracle on 34th Street". But what happens when that inevitable moment comes and they find out that all of the presents under their tree were bought by people they knew, not made by elves in the Great White North? I can see it going down two ways... Either some jack-ass little kid who has jack-ass older siblings is going to lord the information over them on the playground, and tease them for not being smart or mature enough to know that there isn't a Santa... or Mom and Dad are going to have to sit down and do "the talk" with him and watch the light go out in those big beautiful blue eyes as they stop hearing the sound of Jingle Bells.
I can't remember the moment I realized that there was no Santa Claus, although I'm pretty sure that it was my older brother who told me. But you know what? I do remember arguing with a little boy in my class that Santa really did exist, and that I believed in him, even though I knew better. That idea, that myth, had become so ingrained in my understanding of what Christmas was all about, that I think I knew even then that if we who know don't choose to believe anyways, he really will disappear. With that in mind, I think I'll use the myth to my advantage, and tell it to my children when they are too young to understand something so profound, and need a physical being to embody it. When they come to me with questions I will tell them what I believe, and why, and that you don't need to be duped by 9 reindeer carrying enough toys for millions in order to partake in the Magic of Christmas.
Today, as I wrapped the few presents that were ready right in front of Little Liam, I got to thinking about Santa Claus and how Christmas is going to be from here on out. Silly as it seems, I felt crazy guilty when I bought Liam's present with him present (haha, everyone loves a good homonym), even though he is obviously too young to remember. He's too young not only to remember where I bought his present, but also to remember this First Christmas that we are all going to share together as a family. But, if a tree falls in the forest and nobody is around to hear it, did it make a sound? If we fudge a little on this Christmas, will it matter in the long run?
I say yes. The Joy of Christmas only exists if we fabricate it within our own hearts. Its not the fact that there is a tree in our house, or the assigned colors of red and green, or even the holiday culinary treats that make this season special, but rather the joy and tinglys that we associate with all of these things. We as individuals, as families, and as societies choose to make Christmas magical, and I think that all of us (if you're lucky) could think of one major person who has, throughout the years, been the champion of holiday joy in our homes since day one. That person who makes sure that the holiday roast is on the table, the presents are under the tree, and Santa got a nibble of his cookies.
Now that I have a kid, that torch has been passed to me, and I am just SUPER excited to be the man behind the curtain of Christmas lights and tinsel. That's not to say that my husband isn't into holiday cheer, he so is. His youthful excitement is one of the many reasons that I married him. But planning and plotting and general organization of events like holidays aren't really his strong suit. Besides, I'm The Mom and it's my prerogative. He gets to put up the Christmas lights in the freezing cold of November :) In any case, I think I've got a handle on making sure we check off our traditions each year (tamales anyone?).
The problem, then, is Santa. I have always been so excited to sneak a few presents under the tree that no one knew I bought and wrap them in different paper that the family doesn't know about. To tell you the truth, I believe in Santa Claus. Every time an uncle or grandparent is inspired to buy a kid the Red Ryder his (or her) parents have forbidden, that's Santa. When you pick an angel off of the Salvation Army angel tree and anonymously drop those presents into the box, that's Santa. Those stories that we have all heard since we were tiny children drive and inspire the feeling of goodwill towards men and selfless giving that really is the spirit of the holiday. The IDEA of Santa is completely integral to what makes Christmas Christmas. Even if you think he's just a jumped-up way to sell Coke ads. BUT, is there a centuries-old man with a workshop of elves and a reindeer farm chillin' at the North Pole? Maybe. Does he make it to every house that celebrates Christmas (and has money) in the short while that everyone is asleep on Christmas eve? Probably not. When you come down to it, the physical being of Santa Claus is a lie, an elaborate myth that has been put together in order to promote the spirit and cheer of the holidays.
So what do you do with a child who you want to teach the value of Honesty? That there is little to no difference between a lie and a "white lie". That the truth is absolute, and you cannot make something that happened go away by lying about it. Do you tell them from the beginning that there is no Santa and take away the magic? Do you try to explain to a one or two year old the complicated ethos behind Santa Claus and hope that he gets it? Or do you jump on the Sleigh with everyone else and trick your child into believing that a man dressed in red is going to break into your house through the chimney once a year, but it's okay.... we've left him cookies. I want my kids to believe in magic, and believe that they can create it in the world. And I certainly don't want them to be the serious little nay-sayers that Natalie Wood was in the beginning of "A Miracle on 34th Street". But what happens when that inevitable moment comes and they find out that all of the presents under their tree were bought by people they knew, not made by elves in the Great White North? I can see it going down two ways... Either some jack-ass little kid who has jack-ass older siblings is going to lord the information over them on the playground, and tease them for not being smart or mature enough to know that there isn't a Santa... or Mom and Dad are going to have to sit down and do "the talk" with him and watch the light go out in those big beautiful blue eyes as they stop hearing the sound of Jingle Bells.
I can't remember the moment I realized that there was no Santa Claus, although I'm pretty sure that it was my older brother who told me. But you know what? I do remember arguing with a little boy in my class that Santa really did exist, and that I believed in him, even though I knew better. That idea, that myth, had become so ingrained in my understanding of what Christmas was all about, that I think I knew even then that if we who know don't choose to believe anyways, he really will disappear. With that in mind, I think I'll use the myth to my advantage, and tell it to my children when they are too young to understand something so profound, and need a physical being to embody it. When they come to me with questions I will tell them what I believe, and why, and that you don't need to be duped by 9 reindeer carrying enough toys for millions in order to partake in the Magic of Christmas.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Introductions
Blame the fact that I'm starting a blog on the fact that I don't have a dishwasher. As I stand in front of a basin full of hot sudsy water, my mind usually has nothing better to do than to pick apart various encounters, interactions, and introspections that I've had recently, which leads to mostly developed arguments and opinions that sit in my brain and fester until some unlucky soul runs into me on the street and gives me the opportunity to turn the conversation. Either that or a loop of the chorus to Cher's "If I Could Turn Back Time"...
So in the spirit of creating a forum for my own meandering thought-trains (and after a night of next to no sleep because of them), I've decided to take the first step and introduce myself to this "Sphere of Blogs" I hear so much about.
First the basics: my name is Toni and I'm a 23 year old woman from California living in New York because my stupid husband from Idaho (whom I love very much) dragged me here. With a BA in Art History and zero opportunity for career advancement in the two short years we plan on being in Ithaca, I had nothing better to do than to have a kid :) Little Liam was born on mother's day of this year, and as much as we joke that he was a product of boredom, an accident of irregular birth control on the 5 day trek over here, and the end of our youth, he is in reality the perfectly timed and welcome beginning to our large family, which we have always wanted to start early so we can kick those suckers out in time to enjoy our retirement!
It is this last joke/question of youth vs. parenthood that prompts the title of this blog. Although I do play poker from 1-3 times a week, I don't imagine I will be doing many play-by-play accounts of the grind at local free poker leagues. Instead, here poker is a representation of the kinds of activities and interactions most people in America associate with being a young twenty-something, which one must give up once he or she has a child. My husband and I, on the other hand, have always firmly asserted that rather than stealing your youth, kids keep you young, and having a child does not mean that you have to give up the person you were before. At nearly 7 months into this, we have found this hypothesis to have evolved into a theory, which we will continue to put to the test through more adventures in young parenting. And while I hope this doesn't turn into a run-of-the-mill-mommy-blog, I cannot extricate myself from being a parent, and I'm sure that many of my posts will involve my progressive-ish opinions on having and raising kids in America.
So strap in Sportsfans, because I hold the First Amendment to the Constitution of the United States dear to my heart, and plan on unleashing this mess on the unsuspecting internets.
So in the spirit of creating a forum for my own meandering thought-trains (and after a night of next to no sleep because of them), I've decided to take the first step and introduce myself to this "Sphere of Blogs" I hear so much about.
First the basics: my name is Toni and I'm a 23 year old woman from California living in New York because my stupid husband from Idaho (whom I love very much) dragged me here. With a BA in Art History and zero opportunity for career advancement in the two short years we plan on being in Ithaca, I had nothing better to do than to have a kid :) Little Liam was born on mother's day of this year, and as much as we joke that he was a product of boredom, an accident of irregular birth control on the 5 day trek over here, and the end of our youth, he is in reality the perfectly timed and welcome beginning to our large family, which we have always wanted to start early so we can kick those suckers out in time to enjoy our retirement!
It is this last joke/question of youth vs. parenthood that prompts the title of this blog. Although I do play poker from 1-3 times a week, I don't imagine I will be doing many play-by-play accounts of the grind at local free poker leagues. Instead, here poker is a representation of the kinds of activities and interactions most people in America associate with being a young twenty-something, which one must give up once he or she has a child. My husband and I, on the other hand, have always firmly asserted that rather than stealing your youth, kids keep you young, and having a child does not mean that you have to give up the person you were before. At nearly 7 months into this, we have found this hypothesis to have evolved into a theory, which we will continue to put to the test through more adventures in young parenting. And while I hope this doesn't turn into a run-of-the-mill-mommy-blog, I cannot extricate myself from being a parent, and I'm sure that many of my posts will involve my progressive-ish opinions on having and raising kids in America.
So strap in Sportsfans, because I hold the First Amendment to the Constitution of the United States dear to my heart, and plan on unleashing this mess on the unsuspecting internets.
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