My Child

I knew before she was even born that my daughter was going to be difficult. Some might say that the fact that she is challenging is a bit of self-fulfilling prophecy, but I don’t. She was stubborn and defiant and determined, and I could feel that in her long before I even knew what she looked like. Her personality was so strong it just radiated through me. And she has done nothing to dissuade me from this stance even once in the last five years.

Sometimes I wish, as much as I love her, that she was like other people’s children. You know, the children who are sweet and easy-going. The one’s that sleep through the night from month one and were never bothered by tags in their clothing or socks that weren’t put on just right. These children were perfect angels in public regardless of the circumstances, went to bed on time without struggles every night by 7 even though they took three hour naps every afternoon. They weren’t messy at the table and didn’t mark every inch of the living room with toys. Never grumpy or sassy, they were just joyful sources of pride that validated the great parenting they were receiving. Katy never slept more than a few hours at a time when she was a baby and the situation hasn’t improved much in the ensuing years. Tags, creases, long sleeves, fabric, just being dressed in general can still send her into a tizzy. At one time she did go to bed early but she has never willing napped - ever. She is the messiest eater and like a tomcat she claims space with her markings - toys. Toys are everywhere. She is grumpy in the morning (just like her dad which is ironic since she never knew him as a well man) and she is as sassy as I am, which I don’t find the humor in as often as I should. All in all, I feel like a pretty crappy parent about half the time.

This morning’s attack of grumpiness and the tantrum/tears that ensued when she was sent to her room is a direct result of Christmas hyper-stimulation and sleep-deprivation, but it doesn’t make it easier to deal with or make me feel better. When I finally went up to check on her (Rob went initially until it was time for him to go to work) she tried to play the grief card on me and blame her tantrum on being “sad about Daddy Will being dead”. I really hate when she does that because she knows what she is doing and I will not allow her to grow up to be one of those people who blames ever misfortune or just a bad day on past grief. She is too little to know that it hurts me when she does this, but she does know it generates sympathy and in the past as allowed her to have her way. It’s hard to know however when she is truly grieving or just playing the card.

I told Rob that I understood why my own mom hated Christmas vacation more than she hated summer vacation.

Six Months

Rob and I have been married for six months as of today. And I know I write about him and our relationship quite a bit. And that I am probably boring everyone with my ramblings, but I feel that people don’t take the opportunity to acknowledge and celebrate their marriages enough. We get so caught up in the minutia of life that even though we love and appreciate our partners, we don’t take the few minutes to show it or shout it to the world. So here is my shout out to my Rob.

I love you, baby! Happy Anniversary.

Illegal Immigrants: The New Underclass

Fears that America will be damaged or neutered or whatever by large numbers of immigrants who don't share "our values" as a country and have no wish to do so is not a new thing. According to the article Rise of a New Underclass by Ellis Cose, we have been down this road before and it proved untrue.

http://www.newsweek.com/id/81598

Part of our problem today however stems from the fact that there doesn't seem to be consensus on what it means to be a citizen of the United States. What makes us Americans? There are probably as many answers as there are American citizens, and while many of these definitions are likely quite similar, it make might sense to focus the immigration debate on exactly what we mean when we talk about assimilation beyond a common spoken language. We Americans have this odd sense of freedom that often seems to be something that we want for ourselves and those like us and would like to curtail in others who are "not us" so to speak. And here lies our problem. We welcome those who come and submit to the "American Dream" but anyone who wishes to retain aspects of themselves that don't fit within the narrow span allowed, or who wish to redefine the dream, are deemed undesirable.

Illegal immigration gets all the attention, but what we have is an overall immigration problem within which illegally entering our country is but a symptom - albeit a large one. And it really all starts with identity. But is it one we all share? And if not, where are the overlaps? How can we expect immigrants to assimilate if we can't answer that question with a united voice?

Merry Christmas

We have trained Katy so well about not coming to wake us up too early on non-school days that she sat in her bed until 8AM before finally coming to get us up. I feel a bit bad about that as it was Christmas morning after all and I had heard her moving about for a while. She waited patiently while we threw on robes and Rob went to get his camera (because nearly every step of our lives are documented these days) and then she sat on my lap and unwrapped her gifts. I think she was pleased with her haul. She is sitting in the living room right now playing Barbie’s with her oldest sister, Farron and watching cartoons - Looney Toons from the sound of it. I can hear Rob and Jordan talking about his Texas job offer as they do dishes in the kitchen. I am still in my pajamas and blogging. What a geek I am, but I can’t seem to not write daily anymore even if it’s just blogging.

Rob gave me two writer’s markets books last evening. I am itching to sit and thumb through them and see what is possible and what might be interesting to try. I was thinking about those books and him as I was making pancakes earlier and feeling so very lucky to be with a man who gets this writing part of me on this level.

My Lululemon yoga pants are on the bed upstairs calling to me. I am going to start classes after the New Year. But I should shower and get ready for dinner at Auntie Dianne’s (Farron and Jordan's aunt on their mom’s side). We are all going and I hope our highly strung Cat doesn’t go off on the dog, Loki, or the little kitten, Pandora, while we are gone. Cat has bitten both Rob and I since last evening. She is definitely not cool with idea of sharing her house or her people.

I talked with my mother and father earlier. My mom related the latest horror story involving my brother who lives on the West coast. He took the train down to San Francisco to spend Christmas with his girlfriend and to see his two daughters. He was supposed to catch a bus from the station but something happened to either the bus or his money. His version is that the bus didn’t arrive and he gave all his money away to homeless people in the spirit of the season. I am thinking, knowing him, that it didn’t quite happen this way, but whatever. Suffice to say, he had a tantrum which miraculously didn’t get him arrested but the couple of beers and the idiotic idea of walking to his girlfriend’s via the Golden Gate Bridge - did. Four hours is what I think he spent locked up this time. One day I am going to get a call telling me he is dead, I think, because this odd swings of mood and perception he has always had are becoming more exaggerated and dangerous as he ages.

My father was still in bed, at close to noon, when I talked with him. He had pneumonia a week or so ago and his cough is still alarming to hear. Someone else I fear will be the subject of a phone call sooner rather than later.

But it has been a good day despite these bits of family news from the states. I hope that everyone else is having as good a day as I am.

Merry Christmas once again!