Unitarian Jihad

It's Friday. It's 75 degrees and sunny out.

Today's post is intended to make readers aware of a dangerous group called Unitarian Jihad. An excerpt from their chilling organization's recent communique:

Whatever happened to ... you know, everything? Why is the news dominated by nutballs saying that the Ten Commandments have to be tattooed inside the eyelids of every American, or that Allah has told them to kill Americans in order to rid the world of Satan, or that Yahweh has instructed them to go live wherever they feel like, or that Shiva thinks bombing mosques is a great idea?

. . .

Beware! Unless you people shut up and begin acting like grown-ups with brains enough to understand the difference between political belief and personal faith, the Unitarian Jihad will begin a series of terrorist-like actions. We will take over television studios, kidnap so-called commentators and broadcast calm, well-reasoned discussions of the issues of the day. We will not try for "balance" by hiring fruitcakes; we will try for balance by hiring non-ideologues who have carefully thought through the issues.

I highly recommend reading the entire piece. Beware indeed.

Mammoths and the Eiffel Tower

The squeaker has been super-cute lately. I don't mean for my blog to be ALL SQUEAKER, ALL THE TIME, but sometimes it's hard to resist. So I have a few little squeaker tales to tell.

Yesterday we got him a stuffed wooly mammoth. Usually, we resist buying stuffed animals when we're out. I don't want it to become a habit or expectation. But it's tough because when he finds one, he tucks in lovingly under his arm and carries it around, sometimes patting and kissing it. We'll usually let him carry it to the front of the store while warning him that we are NOT going to buy it, but we don't take it from him because we don't want to carry a wailing kid through the store. Once we get near the front, we put it down and slip out quickly. He's now gotten to the point where he willingly parts with the animal, though he looks sad about it.

Anyway, last night he looked so happy with the mammoth that we caved and bought it. He took it home and introduced it to Alexander the Horse and Lilac the Dog.

We've been amused that on our last few outings, he'll point to those towers that hold power lines and say, "Eiffel Tower!" We've never told him anything about the Eiffel Tower, but I asked his grandma about it this morning. She says he asked about a picture of the Eiffel Tower in one of his books, and that she told him what it was. So he now thinks that all towers are the Eiffel Tower. We tried to explain otherwise, but his expression was very skeptical, and he responded by pointing to the tower and saying firmly, "Eiffel Tower." I think he believes that his parents are confused.

And the last squeaker story: this morning around 2 a.m., he woke and asked to nurse. I told him I had to use the bathroom first, and he began to cry. So I hopped up quickly while his papa gave him Lilac and soothed him. He was quiet when I came back to bed a minute later, and I thought maybe he'd fallen asleep. But then I heard this little voice: "Good job waiting, mama. Good job." He took the words right out of my mouth. :)

Squeaker Wisdom

Uncle Tom to the squeaker: "What are Froot Loops made of?"

Squeaker: "Holes."

The Doors of Perception

We have signed a contract on the sale of our house. We are very pleased about this. We got our full asking price, and there are no contingencies in the contract. We still have to endure a home inspection, and there is one possible loophole -- we need to give the homeowner's association documents to the buyer, and they have five days to walk away from the contract if they don't like the HOA rules.

Speaking of HOA rules, our light brown door is proving to be something of a snag in this whole process. Our house is cedar-siding painted chocolate brown. The door was also chocolate brown. Wanting to liven up the front of the house, my husband painted the door light brown.

Here is our little city, that's a big NO NO -- without permission. You can't change any exterior colors, and that includes lighter or darker shades of the same color. You also can't have a clothesline or a woodpile in public view. No boats or RVs. No above ground pools. No doghouses. No vegetable garden, unless you follow strict rules. You must ask permission to install a swingset, put in a fence, or do landscaping.

Really, it's a bit much. I appreciate the need to keep property values up and to keep the neighborhood looking nice. But changing the shade of brown of the front door?

Now we are scrambling to get approval after the fact. If we are turned down, that will complicate things significantly. We shall see what happens.

(Jocey - did you see that this post contains another Morrison reference?)

Strange Days

I sent my resume off to this part time job in a location that is close to my new house. Well, close is relative -- it's probably at least a half hour away, but that's far better than my current job would be. And I'm hoping that this part time job is half time. That would be perfect for me right now. We'll see, I guess. I am hoping for the best. It's kind of exciting to think of the possibility of a new job -- a clean slate is very appealing.

We're being driven crazy by the constant cleaning at home. Having your house on the market while a two-year-old is living in it is a major challenge. Every night, we vacuum and dust and scrub bathrooms. That's not so easy after a full day of work, making dinner, cleaning up dinner, and entertaining the squeaker for an evening. I really hope we get an offer soon. The buzz from the real estate agents who've seen our house is good, but this market is a little hard to predict.

The squeaker was dreaming this morning when we left for work. He was snuggled in our bed, as always. My husband says he heard the squeaker murmuring something about cows.

Part of parenthood seems to involve injecting a serious dose of surrealness into everyday life. It means that you find plastic french fries in your coat pocket and you keep a dinosaur board book in your purse. You use words like boo boo and potty in conversation -- even with other adults. You find froot loops in your computer's disc drive. And you have odd conversations with your spouse about cow dreams.

This is the strangest life I've ever known.

Lonely Squeaker

The squeaker desperately needs a sibling, a puppy, or both. Yesterday, we had two appointments for potential buyers to see our house. We left early in the day and spent much of the day away from home so that the agents could show our house. The last appointment was from 1:30 to 2:30, so we returned home around 4 pm. At about 4:30, an agent showed up at the door with a family (dad, very pregnant mom, little boy) and explained that they were running very late, and could they see the house now? We scrambled to get our shoes on and get out of their way, but the squeaker would not leave the little boy alone. The boy had a ball, and the squeaker kept trying to take it (eliciting irritated squawks from the boy), saying, "Outside! Little boy play outside with me!"

He was very upset when we said no, and then wouldn't let him pry the ball from the boy's hands. We played outside with the squeaker, but he was clearly not satisfied, since it was the little boy's company he sought. Eventually, the family left, and we stayed in the yard for a few more minutes, trying to encourage the squeaker to throw the ball. Suddenly the squeaker began climbing up the front steps to in the house, saying, "Get Lilac! Chase ball!" Now, Lilac is the name that Harold, of the book Harold and the Purple Crayon, gives his stuffed toy dog. For some reason, the squeaker decided to adopt the name for his own stuffed dog (though his is decidedly brown, NOT lilac). We don't know why it occurred to him to give his own stuffed dog a name; we haven't named any of his stuffed animals. But I told the squeaker to stay outside, and I went in and got Lilac for him.

Once the squeaker had Lilac, he threw the ball and then placed Lilac on the sidewalk. With one hand on her back, he scooted her along the sidewalk towards the ball to make her "fetch" it. How sad is that?!? The kid is playing fetch with a STUFFED DOG!! Between his pleas for the little boy to play with him and his sad little game of fetch with his stuffed animal, I'm feeling very guilty about his lack of a sibling or a pet. Sigh.

Happy Shiny People

A new study shows that happy shiny people are more likely to become ill than grouchy complainers, if the happy shiny people aren't feeling so happy inside.

Being forced to repress your true feelings apparently makes you prone to depression and symptoms of stress. Perhaps it would be better to treat store clerks, waiters, and others in the service industry as actual people, instead of Mere Facilitators of Customer Happiness. One of my favorite comments that I've heard from Europeans is that Americans are just so damn friendly all the time, and that the American service industry is full of chirpy superficial insincerity. Who knew that such false chirpiness could actually threaten one's health? Liberate service industry employees: let them be grouchy!

A Modest Proposal

Several readers have asked how my proposal to management went for part time work and/or a work at home arrangement. Now that I've recovered from the surprising realization that I actually have READERS (!!), I'm happy to share. I proposed working a part time, 4-day-a-week schedule, with one of those days as a work-at-home day. That way, I'd be driving in only 3 times a week. I noted that I would have a childcare provider in my home, and that I would be sure to attend all necessary meetings and conferences.

I submitted my proposal to my direct supervisor, who will then take it to the management team. Unfortunately, I have to say that she wasn't terribly receptive. She said that management has had some concerns about previous arrangements of this nature, because a heavier workload tends to fall on those who are actually in the office, rather than at home. She also noted how essential interpersonal relationships are to our jobs. Some attorneys review documents or prepare written materials, but our jobs involve providing advice to clients. So I do think she has a point.

However, I kept thinking to myself that I am asking for ONE day a week at home. That seems pretty modest. And I also was struck by how far behind my office is in having the means for these kinds of arrangements. E-mail accessibility would be a major problem, because access to our network is not available through web mail. We are required to use dial-up, which would compromise my availability by phone. But these are the kinds of issues my office should be resolving. Other workplaces have found effective solutions, which means my office can, too -- if they actually valued their employees, and recognized the need for alternative arrangements for employees who can contribute to the work my office does, but who have lives outside of work, too.

I understand from my colleagues who have worked here for many years that my employer's previous efforts to help employees effectively balance work and family have become more and more ineffective and devalued. So perhaps I should not be disappointed or surprised by my supervisor's response. Plus, it is still possible that management will approve my request after all. But I was left feeling deflated and unappreciated, since my request is consistent with official office policy and other employees have been approved for that exact arrangement. I'm thinking it might be time to move on.

Chaos Among the Froot Loops

Life has been chaos lately. Not disastrous, everything-is-going-wrong chaos, but rather super busy chaos. It is such a pain to sell your house. People want to come in to see it, even though we still live there and all our stuff is there!!! They want to poke around in closets and cabinets, examine the appliances, and check out the bathrooms. Yikes!

Yesterday morning the squeaker and I were sitting in our PJs, peacefully eating our Froot Loops together, when the agent called and said someone wanted to see the house, and could they show up at the door in 20 minutes? We managed to get dressed and clean up, but it was highly stressful. Plus, we had to waste some of our precious Froot Loops!

While our house was being examined by the invader, we went to the playground nearby and threw sticks in the pond so that the fish would come to the surface. We slid down the slide, and looked in the tunnel for spiders. We avoided the sandbox, which is full of cat poo. And we shivered in the cold March air because we'd left the house without our coats. That the previous day's temperature was 83 degrees had left us confused. But that appears to have been a one-day treat.

I hope the house sells quickly. I don't know how long we can keep the dinosaurs and blocks and books cleaned up and put away. And I just hate wasting Froot Loops.

Getting Warmer

I just finished writing up my proposal to management for allowing me to work at home at least one day per week. I think it's pretty convincing. By the end of writing it, I was pretty convinced, anyway!! But who knows how flexible they are willing to be. I am meeting today with management to make my pitch. A little part of me hopes they'll turn me down so that I'll HAVE to stay home. But a much bigger part of me wants them to accept it so that I can keep my job.

It's been pretty warm for the last few days. The squeaker loves it. He played outside while I was getting dinner ready, and when I scrubbed his hands and put him in his high chair, he just sat there and moaned "Outside! Outside!" Today is supposed to be beautiful (but windy), so hopefully he'll be able to spend most of the day outside.

He's all into this book we bought at the Good Will called Alexander. It's about a little boy who tells his dad how naughty his imaginary red-and-green-striped horse (Alexander) was that day. Of course, it was actually the little boy who was naughty. I'm not sure why the squeaker loves this book so much. But he has named his own stuffed horse Alexander, though with its pink fuzzy, sparkly mane and pink hooves, it's probably more of an Alexandra. The squeaker doesn't know about gender roles yet, which is a good thing.

His newest thing is that if I get mad or frustrated, he quickly squeaks, "I love you, mama!" It works every time. It diffuses the tension of the moment, and suddenly my frustration or anger seems to have been directed at something trite or absurd. Very smooth for a two-year old.

Open Up

We took the squeaker to the Hard Times Cafe to get out of the house while some stinky paint dried. He had a great time. He enjoyed rearranging the sugar packets, pouring salt on the table, and standing on the benches so he could more easily terrorize the innocent items on the table. He also got to watch TV there, eat french fries, and drink soda. It's a mom's nightmare and a two-year old's dream.

In any case, in a gesture of generosity, he decided to share one of his greasy french fries with his papa, but found his papa's lips sealed in resistance. Without missing a beat, the squeaker made the french fry "fly" through the air -- complete with sound effects -- to get his papa to open his mouth for the french fry. I guess he figured that since we do that to him to get him to "open up," there must be something to it! He seemed disappointed when even that didn't work. Poor squeaker.

Moms At War

Today's Washington Post included an interesting article on "moms at war" -- the tension between stay-at-home moms and working moms. Written by Leslie Morgan Steiner, it's part of an anthology on the subject that Ms. Steiner edited. Parts of the article really resonated with me, such as this passage:

I went back to my job the Tuesday after Memorial Day, Max's 3-month birthday. I was amazed to be paying another woman to do what I craved most in the world, to stay home with my little bird. While I drove out of the driveway, dressed in a black coatdress and full makeup for the first time in weeks, my heart lay beating on the changing table.

I can remember my first day back at work after the squeaker's birth quite vividly. My hands felt so empty all day long. At first, I felt lost. But after a few days, I felt empowered -- hours at a time, with two hands and no one crying at me! I could read my e-mail in peace. I could write coherent sentences! I could make phone calls! And then I felt guilty for enjoying having a bit of my pre-baby self -- my "professional" self -- back, when my baby was left without his mama.

The motherhood/career dilemma has to be among the most difficult issues facing women of my generation, and there's certainly an irony to that -- after all, previous generations of women trailblazed difficult terrain so that their daughters and granddaughters could have choices, and yet those very choices are the core of a working mother's aching heart. As a working mom, I sometimes feel that the truly important parts of my life end up squeezed into its margins, when they should be the main focus. I don't feel driven by career ambition -- I don't find much personal fulfillment in work, and I'm not a person who needs to be busy all the time to be happy -- but somehow working fits with my sense of self-identity. As a little girl, I wanted to be something: a doctor, a teacher, an archeologist. I also wanted to be a mother, but that never struck me as incompatible with other goals. It really never occurred to me that there might be a period of time where I would just want to be a mother. And even now, while motherhood seems to be my most important and valuable role, I cannot imagine giving myself wholly to it for the long term. And yet I can't figure out how to strike the balance that I want -- motherhood now, something else later, in a few years when the squeaker doesn't need me quite so much. I feel that any choice I make involves some loss.

In any case, I don't really think moms are at war with each other. Our criticisms of our fellow moms reflect our own fears and insecurities. Both working moms and stay at home moms are not always honest with ourselves. Working moms give up precious time with a child who most wants -- and needs -- his or her mom. We do it because we believe it's worth it not just for ourselves, but for our little ones. We believe our children benefit from the extra income, and from seeing their mom in another role. But our choice means that sometimes our little ones look for a mom who is not there. That the shoulder that comforts our child is not ours, but a day care provider paid to care for our child. That our children's own routines are forced to conform to the requirements of our work days, and of our day care providers. And we must recognize that we have the luxury of working because other people are willing to care for our children.

Stay at home moms sacrifice something, too. They give up financial independence and a kind of self-focus that can be important to personal growth. And they rely on the financial support of a community to which they do not contribute every time they ride a public bus or check out a library book. They benefit from the work that others do when they breathe clean air or drink clean water, when they drive on paved roads or use safe consumer products. Certainly stay at home moms make their own significant contribution to society (by raising its youngest members), but their ability to do so -- while enjoying the benefits of living in that society -- means that they are in part financially supported by moms who work outside the home.

No woman is an island. And all mothers face choices that involve balancing cost and benefit. We must keep our interdependence -- and our shared knowledge that motherhood represents a unique intersection of emotions and identities -- in mind before we criticize one another.

Teeny Tiny

It's official -- the squeaker is the tiniest boy ever. For most of the first two years of his life, he hovered around the 5th percentile on the growth charts. At yesterday's visit to the pediatrician for his two-year checkup, we learned that he has officially fallen off the growth charts altogether.

No one at the doctor's office seemed concerned, and we aren't either. He's just teeny tiny. Everything about him is progressing just as it should.

Last time we visited the pediatrician, the squeaker cried the whole time, standing by the door to the exam room and pleading, "Open door, please!" This time he sniffled a bit at the beginning, but then he actually cooperated while the nurse weighed, measured, and examined him. It probably helped that we bribed him with the promise of french fries, his very favorite thing to eat. Then we went to IKEA, which is pretty much the next best thing to an indoor playground when you're two years old.

Mad at You Sometimes!!

I confess that sometimes I get angry at the squeaker. When I do, he knows it. Later, I'll explain that everyone gets mad sometimes, and that's OK.

But the other day I saw him tossing his stuffed horse onto the floor, saying "Mad at you sometimes!!" Then he picked it up and patted it, saying,"Sorry, horsey, it's OK."

Ugh. I think I need to get mad more calmly, if that's possible.

Luckily, the squeaker is usually pretty well behaved. Lately, he's very into dinosaurs, as I've noted in previous posts. He seems particularly intrigued by dinosaur bones, which we've explained to him, but I can't imagine he really can grasp at all.

He'll line his plastic dinosaurs up, and then put the T-Rex behind them, saying, "T-Rex coming!! Chase other dinos!!"

The other day, a co-worker asked if he was saying any words yet. I forget sometimes that the squeaker has been a pretty early talker, and that many two-year olds, especially boys, don't talk much yet. But between "mad at you sometimes!!" and "T-Rex coming!", I wonder if my boy talks a bit too much!!