I'm Talking To The Man In the Mirror

My son is an extrovert. His face lights up at large crowds. He grins at aunts and uncles and babbles with our friends. Today he jumped into the arms of a waitress, giggling as she walked him around to meet busboys and waitstaff. More than anything he loves other kids but most of our friends don't have children in his age-group. There are ofcourse people with kids in his age range but I hedge as I wonder if I should make the exhausting venture towards forging friendships for the sake of our son with people we otherwise would not have much in common with. People seem surprised when I say Im an introvert. I guess Im not the literal definition of the word since I do enjoy the company of people but I I prefer a small close-knit group than a large gaggle of friends with whom I have dinner parties but lack depth. But as the mother of an extrovert its important I meet his needs. A conundrum that K and I have yet to find a solution to.

In the meantime he was enthralled with the friend he met while crawling around the house today:

There is a Pakistani saying that you shouldnt show a child their reflection in the mirror because they will presume the reflection a friend and miss them when they leave. Watching him babble to his reflection in a language I'd give anything to understand I realized 1) This is so cute 2) and he needs friends. At least for now while I try to find him some the little boy in the mirror will do.

About the new things you see on my blog

After blogging for nearly seven years I thought it was time to tweak things a bit. In addition to the movie, and book reviews on the right, I've also started a blog where I chronicle my life daily in photography. I've also added two new tabs right up top with two blog directories: mommy bloggers and desi bloggers. My blog is mostly about these two topics so I thought it might be nice to compile a comprehensive listing of both mommy bloggers, and desi bloggers because my own searches for directories on these two topics have proved unsatisfactory. I'm doing this because I think its important for community, and cool for me to find new blogs, not because I'm getting any monetary gain from it. If you are interested in submitting your blog to either directory, please feel free to contact me. Information is on the tabbed headers. Some of you might see yourselves on there, if you'd like me to change your blurb, let me know and I'll be happy to do so. They will be an evolving project with more complexity if the list gets longer and calls for it, or it may stay simple as it is. We shall see!

Three Beautiful Things Thanksgiving Thursday

1. Watching my boys dance to Bruno Mars in my family room strung with lights.
2. I couldnt have imagined how meditative taking a daily picture is. While imperfect at the art of photography, pausing to take notice of my life and the intrinsic beauty in otherwise forgettable moments on my new blog is more beautiful than I can say. 
3. A red tea pot that whistles when ready. How did I ever survive on microwaved chai? Now that I have my red teapot its hard to understand.

Happy Thanksgiving! To you and yours!

The difference a year makes

One year ago today I felt a fluttering in my womb.
My first tangible proof of life residing within.
Six months ago, I held a newborn in my arms.
Eyes shut, lips quivering. Helplessness personified.
Today?
Today, he giggles and crawls.
He hugs stuffed animals, and his smiles?
They contain the meaning of the universe.

I think of the butterfly flutters inside me just one year ago and look at the physical manifestation before me today. What a difference a year makes.

Life in Pictures**

Countless women broke glass ceilings and gender divides to give me the right to get a law degree, to work, and also, now, the choice to stay at home with my son, mop my floors, and watch him grow up.

Part of my 101 things to do in 1001 days is to do the 365 project. A picture a day to document your life and improve your photography skills along the way. I'm starting now though I "officially" begin in January. I'm already loving it. It helps me see the world through different eyes and make me appreciate the small things more than ever. I post my pics on a different site, if you want the link, just leave a comment or send an e-mail and I'll happily share it. Right now I'm debating merging the picture blog and just posting my 365 project here or keeping it in a separate place. While I debate it [if you have thoughts please share!] I thought I'd share today's picture.

**Updated to say that I decided to add a link to this pic-a-day blog, its on the right hand side, so if you're interested feel free to add it to your reader!

On lullabies that work

Me: What are you doing?
K: Singing a lullaby.
Me: That's not a lullaby! Its the Bohemian Raphosdy!!
K: I don't know any lullabies.
Me: Not even Rock-a-bye-baby?
K: That's lame. Besides, look:

"Maybe if I pretend to sleep, they'll stop singing."

Hush Little Baby? Wah. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star? Scream. Bohemian Raphsody? We go from anger to cooing, and crying to sleeping in two seconds flat.

I found it a bit off-putting at first to sing "Mama- I just killed a man- put a gun against his head- pulled the trigger now he's dead. . ." but really, if you think about it, is it any less disturbing then "Rock a bye baby on the tree top when the wind blows the cradle will rock when the bough breaks the cradle will fall and down will come baby cradle and all?" Seriously? Sounds like a lullaby written by a mother suffering through some severe postpartum depression if you ask me. Besides, the guy in Bohemian Raphsody is quite bummed about having killed someone. So its a tale of caution not encouragement. So, all things being equal, namely, it works! I'd say its not a bad lullaby at all. [And in fairness we don't sing the gun part that much after the 'Oh' incident]

It's not you, its me. No, really.

Did you get my phone call about dinner?
Yeah! I love Italian!
So you're coming?
Yeah, I told you I was!
No you didn't.
Yes I did!
Nope. You didn't.
I didn't?
No, you really didn't. I need a headcount.
Oh- um- yes, coming. Sorry.

Did you get my e-mail? About the recipe?
Yeah- I replied- just make sure to add basil.
You didn't reply.
I did.
You didn't.
I did! Checking sent mail. Oh. I didn't. Sorry.

If you have tried contacting me in the past six months: I'm sorry. 

A very strange thing has been happening post-baby. I get e-mails. I read them. I think about them as I head to bed, composing perfect responses and even nifty quotes to emphasize a point- and then- I believe I sent it off. Likewise, phone messages. I check them. I smile. I tell myself must call her back. and, I wonder how her vacation went. and need to know what she thinks of Mad Men. And then, I believe I called you back. [And lets not get into how many of you are miffed at my lack of replies to texts and cell phone calls because let me tell you that shiny jingly object fascinates my baby and he flips it under sofas and under car seats- and I often don't find it for weeks on end- and yes I am blaming it on the baby!]

Apparently childbirth has made me think my thoughts are telepathically conveyed to you all. And they're not. I feel bad. I value you. I care about you. But I forget that I did not respond to you. I believe this has something to do with sleep and the fact that I don't get any of it. I'm trying to get better about it. I put stars next to e-mails that need replies. I state in my cell phone voice message that I'm bad about answering it thus putting people on notice. I'm working on it. But please don't give up on me! Because its not you, its me. Really. [And please tell me someone can relate? I'm hoping its not just me.]

Crying-it-out: Because for you my toes

Separation Anxiety, the doctor said yesterday at his six month check up. That is why he is waking up screaming in his crib for the past few days. He's playing you, she said. He's messing with you because he knows he can. Let him cry it out. I shook my head feeling tearful, but if I'm crying I don't want to be ignored I want to be attended to, how can I let him cry himself to sleep needing me. She shook her head, a crying baby isnt rational. Its okay to let him cry. I went home feeling a weight on my heart so real it felt physical. Maybe after Thanksgiving K and I decided.

Last night, I dreamt I was touching an open flame. I woke to find him snuggled against me, his skin red hot. Fever check: 104. We bathed him. Warm compress to the head. Tylenol. Frantic call to the doctor. I rocked him to sleep and am monitoring him today.

I cant properly explain what it felt like to feel that hot skin against my fingers. The burden of motherhood is heavy but the weight is not on your aching back, the burden is on your heart, knowing that as desperately as you want to fix things its not in your control. Moments like this make me wonder how deep is the well of a mother's love? I thought I'd scraped my fingers along its murky floors, but today I realize I've been treading in the shallow end. As I rock him to sleep I know I'd sell my toes to the highest bidder if it meant he would never feel pain again.

So I won't be crying it out. I want sleep. I need sleep. I dream about sleep. But Im not in a place where I can let him cry-it-out. In the past I've let him cry for ten minutes when nothing I did worked and the ragged breath, the grateful smile when he saw me, his arms reaching up and then clinging to me like I was the last rescue boat on a sinking ship- I can't handle it. I'm sure he'll be fine. I'm sure like the doctor said, there will be no lasting psychological impact on him but I'm not so sure about me. His cries may stem from an irrational place, but my own tears are not always well justified. I know there will be times I'll have to let him cry like when he wants the toy, or the wire to chew on, or the car, but right now he is six-months-old, and though I know excellent parents who do this and it works- its just not going to work for me. My eyes are more defined by circles than they once were, and the tea makers are noticing a spike in sales, but I can't handle knowing that in order for him to sleep through the night, he has to accept that no matter how hard he screams, his mother won't come to him to make it better. This time feels enduring and all encompassing but its not- it will be over before I know it.

Did that really just happen?

Playing on the floor my six-month-old suddenly looked up at me with a big pout and began bawling full speed.

Me: No. Unacceptable! You are not going to cry like that for no reason mister.
Waleed: Stops crying. Stares at me thoughtfully for a minute. Then puts his finger to chin and says Oh and resumes playing with his egg carton.

Oh. He said 'Oh' and stopped crying! While I, like any mother, believe my child is a genius of epic proportions- I'm fairly certain this was a coincidence. Still- kind of like I never shook off the childhood stories of spiders that spell and pigs that talk I'm a bit skeptical. . . he didn't. No he couldn't. No. . . but, maybe? I mean its possible? Come on, can't this mama have her proud moment? [Now if only this would work at night. Sigh.]

When friendly customer service goes wrong.

I love Publix. I love that you don't have to hunt people down to get help. They come to you and ask you what they can help you with. I love that they take returns without griping, season my steaks and grind my meat, and give me one cupcake a month despite having to break up a pack of 6 to do so.  I know many of them by name, and they know me too. Its a nice feeling. That being said, you can take this a bit too far which I was reminded of today when I stood behind a lady, lets call her Brenda, at the checkout line while her things were clicked through the conveyor belt by the Indian check out guy, let's call him Bobullah [or 'Bob' for short].

Bob: Would you like to donate $1 to Make a Wish foundation?
Brenda: Not today. I donated last time. I'm here all the time. Laugh.
Bob: Yes that's true, you do come often.
Brenda: Haha, yes, I was here just yesterday to get some-
Bob: Papaya.
Brenda: Um, yes- I needed it for a fruit-
Bob: Salad? The day before you had picked up a lot of fruit. I wondered what it could be for but then I saw the papaya and now it makes sense.
Brenda: Oh, you noticed, wow I must come here a lot!
Bob: Oh yes, you came last week, I think you drove the blue car right?
Brenda: . . . .um, yes
Bob: Yes, you started at the bread though you normally begin with produce. And the day after that I guess you wanted something sweet- lots of sweet sweet things, you have a sweet tooth don't you? haha
Brenda: *crickets*
Bob: By the way, where is your little boy? I haven't seen him in a few weeks.

And on and on it went with Brenda going from a smiling cheerful customer, to one who will likely be monitoring the perimeter of her house and asking for some police surveillance. Knowing your customers is great- but as Bobullah so helpfully demonstrated, you can go too far.

Three Beautiful Things Thursday

Today is Veteran's Day. K had the day off so we headed to a beautiful state park to enjoy the sunny 72 degree weather and fall leaves. We stopped at Subway to pick up lunch in a quite rural part of Georgia, that I often have said I feel nervous walking around while brown. Subway was offering free subs to people in the military. K is in the military. He asked for the six inch sub. I waited for the raised eyebrow, the you? really? The demand for proof (which K did have). But instead, they smiled, handed him a sub free of charge and asked us to have a nice day. At the park entrance, a very southern man with a very southern lilt in his voice didn't bat an eye before giving us a discount when we told him we were military.  Do you want to see my identification? K asked. He shrugged. He believed us. I thought they'd assume we're undocumented much less claiming to be part of the military, but they did no such thing. It was me who had assumed incorrectly. I am grateful and humbled to learn an important lesson on making assumptions. [Updated to add that it saddens me there was controversy over go.ogle's Veteran's Day logo to appear 'Muslim' and the outrage it inspired in others- it makes moments like the one I experienced today of quiet mutual respect in a small southern town doubly beautiful]

An imperfect attempt to capture a perfect fall tree.

And that fall? The fall is spectacular- shocks of yellow, red, and orange. Its God's yearly art exhibit and though this former Floridian has now witnessed many such autumn leaves, the awe and wonder does not cease. We hiked up to the waterfall and as we stood feeling the gentle mist coat our faces a little ladybug flew on to Waleed's shirt. I'm not sure if ladybugs are lucky as the legends say, but it made me smile to see one flutter and land gently on his shirt. I've been to this park more times than I can count- but this was my first time with Waleed. Watching him take everything in, his lips parted in wonder made me see everything with new eyes. In truth, my life itself is experienced with new eyes ever since he entered it.

Watching the foliage and waterfall

On our way home we drove past a green field, rich and vibrant, with a backdrop of a hundred trees bursting with orange, yellow, and red foliage. Thats a great picture, K said. I found his choice of words interesting. I love my camera- but its a balancing act not to make it all about the pictures. As wonderful as it is to see the world through a camera lens and save the moment for years to come, its important not to forget to live that moment too. Sometimes I think I take so many pictures of Waleed because I know that babyhood is fleeting so I'm stocking up like the grasshopper readying for the winter, gathering a huge stack of photos to look at once he's older and grown and these are all I have. Still, I'm grateful for the camera, and grateful that it can give me moments, such as his precious chubby baby feet that I can look back at and treasure forever.

Hanging with daddy in the Ergo

Happy Six Month Birthday

Dear Waleed,

On Sunday, you turned six months old. When you were just hours old, it was hard to imagine this day. I saw six-month-old babies and they looked like wise professors on their way to teach English literature. Where did the time go? I have a feeling I'll be asking that question a lot in the coming years- since you arrived time has accelerated.

You began sitting this month. Not independently, though you're trying your hardest every single day, even in your sleep. You also scootch. You  propel yourself forward with your hands and feet and you can get from one end of the room to the other. What gets you moving? Gift-bags, my sandals, or the wire to my laptop. You really love that wire. Whenever I catch you seconds from taking a bite of it I can't help but notice how happy you are holding it in your hands, examining it like you've just discovered the end of a rainbow. I feel bad when I see your crestfallen face when I take it from you but- its a wire- you'll thank me later, promise. I resisted the flashy noisy toys but finally opened one with the hopes of distracting you, and while you will smile and tap it politely, you really can't be bothered. Lately you've grown quite fond of an empty water bottle filled with marbles. You toss it and chase it all around the room with your eyes lit up, your mouth wide open in the biggest grin I've ever seen. Sometimes, I think you think you are a puppy.

You love to smile. And laugh. And blow raspberries. And hold conversations. You move your hands, and make expressions as you babble as though you're a pundit discussing world politics. You also love to kiss me. It began with a slobber, but now you grab my face or my ears with both hands and give me a big smack on the cheek. Somehow it seems, you know exactly when I need it most.

You began eating solids this month. I love watching your reactions as you try each new treat. Peas? Meh. Squash? Are you kidding me. Carrots. Interesting. Sweet Potatoes? Better. Apples? Smile. Banana? OMG. BEST. THING. EVER. You can go through an entire banana if I let you, little monkey.

Speaking of monkey, you were one for Halloween. We wore the heck out of that monkey outfit. The week before you rocked it at Boo at the Zoo and the next week on the actual day of Halloween. I get that you won't remember this moment and would have smiled at me even if I put you in a frock and clipped a pin to your hair- I hold no illusions- the enjoyment I got out of seeing you in the monkey outfit was all for me, and for the record you were one cute little monkey.

A friend once said to me, my son filled holes inside me I didn't know I had. I had a tumultuous pregnancy and spent most of the time worrying about you. I was afraid I had forgotten what it was like to not spend each moment filled with worry. But its not true. You've brought me joy, and peace, and you've filled holes inside me I thought were too deep to ever close. Thank you for being you. I love you more than you can ever imagine and I thank God every day you are mine.

Love,

Your Mama

Friday Round Up- Linkety Link

Week one of NaBloPoMo and NaNoWriMo and it feels like they're both staring at me with crossed arms saying: its her! or me! The fact is writing about my world is easier than creating a new world from scratch, and something has got to give. So between writing, finding snippets of time to read, cooking, cleaning, caring for my baby, hanging out with the guy I live with, the something that's giving is the daily-blogging. Not blogging, full stop- just daily.

In the meantime here are some links I found interesting this week. Hope you find them interesting. Got a link of your own? Do share!

The drink: Moroccan Mint Tea is the best mint tea- ever. My lovely friend sent me this video on how she makes hers so particularly delicious. Will be making it tonight!

The fooding: Thanks to Mel I discovered these awesome easy-to-make-no-bake granola bars.

The baby fooding: If you want to put some yumminess in your solid-eating baby- this site has great advice on making your own baby food.

The teething: Incase you missed it, Hylands teething tablets were recalled.

The faith: Lauren Booth defends her faith and her choice to convert to Islam in this searing article.

The Writing: I found this flow chart on ensuring your female characters avoid stereotypes to be very insightful.

The TV: I am in the middle of season 2 of The Wire and its the best drama ever. Its a slow start but it rewards you in spades for sticking with it. Alan's recaps helped me make sense of each episode and I enjoyed the comments as well. He blogs at a new place, but his old one is pretty awesome for The Wire in particular.

And with that I'm off to feed my baby some homemade organic apple sauce and to write. write. write.

Being a good writer is 3% talent, 97% not being distracted by the Internet.-Anon

Three beautiful things Thursday: Free-ish Baby Stuff Edition

I know some of you are new mamas or mamas to be so I thought I'd share my take on baby stuff from time-to-time in the hopes that its of use to you. If it is, lemme know and I'll try to make it a regular thing. Today I'm sharing three beautiful 'baby' things that have made my life and my wallet, fuller.

Gift Bags. There's nothing more beautiful than lying next to my son while he saves me from the very evil gift bag which he must first intimidate with shrieks and gurgles followed by total destruction with his hands, feet, and mouth. Its a full-body experience and he will not rest until he has thoroughly defeated it.  Should a gift-bag uprising ever occur- its good to know Waleed's got me covered. Seriously though, we have a ball that sings and flashes and rolls, squeaky toys, and rattles- but nothing is quite as alluring as the gift-bag [and my shoes, a topic for another day]

Soft Blanket. It used to be that we put him on the ground for tummy-time and while he was happy to oblige in the mornings, as the day wore on, he simply couldn't stand being on the floor. Hence baby carriers. Lots and lots of baby carriers. Until the blanket. Its actually an unzipped sleeping bag that we happened to lay on the floor one day while the throw we usually spread on the floor was in the wash- and voila, magic. Now, thanks to a softer, thicker place to practice acrobatics, his favorite place to be is rolling, crawling, trying to sit, on the blanket. Unless he needs to eat or is tired, he can spend nearly all day playing with his toys gift-bags on the blanket without a care in the world. Too bad for him I heart holding him, and he's sweet enough to oblige me when I do.

A balloon. Yes, one single, helium balloon. I've already discussed it here- but there are few things that bring such a wide-eyed curious grin on his face than a dollar store balloon [or free at customer service if you shop at Publix!]. I love how he reminds me, in his joy at a gift-bag, a soft blanket, or a balloon that true happiness lies in the little things- that life is meant to be lived in the moment- and that the best things in life are free . . . ish.

A poem to remember you by

Just a few months ago I opened a 

gift 

and I saw 

these clothes:

Blue striped top and 

brown monkey footed pants. 

I put them on you and 

we laughed,

and laughed, 

and laughed. 

They were so big. 

The pant elastic hugging your underarms, 

the shirt 

large and droopy 

on your tiny frame. 

Today I took this same outfit out of the laundry 

for the last time,

and folded it 

one final time, 

because now 

its too small.

While a part of me gets choked up

at the fact that you're growing

leaving your babyhood behind

day-by-day

I can't forget the mothers

with
empty cribs
and hearts
who would give
their life
for a drawer of clothes worn
just once

So today I feel thankful

for swollen feet

growing much too big

and footed monkey pants

that no longer fit.

Thoughts on the flashy boa-wearing cop

There are a lot of cops on the road these days. At least in my neck of the woods. Today I saw at least five along a mere ten mile stretch. They park tucked away behind buildings or next to trees, waiting and watching, like predators in the wild who camouflage so not to be seen. This makes them all the more frightening to prey- like me. But today? Today, as I turned to make a U-turn into a shopping plaza, I saw a cop car right where I needed to go. He sat by himself in a dark blue car. Blue and white lights flashing at full speed parked smack dab in the middle of the parking lot like a peacock wearing a sparkly boa. He wasn't investigating anything. Wasn't pulling anyone over. He wasn't on the phone. He was just sitting there with the lights flashing like a funky disco. Cars driving down the road at normal speeds screeched as they saw the lights and proceeded to drive past him at a humbled pace. Punk, I thought feeling a familiar frustration I feel when I see cops proudly wield their authority around like a caveman with a batting club. Does he get a kick out of sitting there with his flashing lights flexing his power and authority? Watching people slow their cars to snail's pace out of fear? But then it crossed my mind. What if he hates having to give tickets? And instead of hiding like an owl hunting mice to catch the unaware he decided to flash his lights to warn everyone of his presence. I suddenly pictured a timid guy, wiry build, sweating profusely and biting his nails, hoping that drivers would slow down so he could avoid ticketing, a task he disliked deeply. Perhaps he hoped his mere presence with flashing lights to boot would cause everyone to slow down and drive safely and thereby he could accomplish his purpose without giving tickets. Perhaps what I saw as arrogance was in fact, kindness.

Or maybe he parked to eat a burger and his elbow accidentally hit a button.

I guess the point is I don't know. But I thought I did. And I judged accordingly. Unless I actually tapped on his window and asked him, I just can't be sure. [and you will find me tapping on a police officer's car with such questions basically never] It surprised me how quick I was to presume what I saw as an undeniable truth when there were in fact other possibilities. Maybe a lesson to me, to think twice before I presume to know what lies in the hearts of others.

NaNoWriMo-PoMo: Your input appreciated

Three Novembers ago I finished the first draft of my novel thanks to NaNoWriMo. Sure, the first draft was just the beginning, but you can't reach the end if you never start. The energy of thousands of writers convening in November to write, write, write is contagious and I hope it will infect me completely with a first draft of my next book completed by November's end.

One of my 101 things to do in 1001 days was to participate in NaBloPoMo, where you post on your blog daily during the month of November. I've always wanted to do it but now that November is upon me I hesitate. . . post every day? Will I have something interesting (as I deem it) to share daily? I respect both my time and yours who are awesome enough to visit my end of the blogiverse to post things just for the sake of posting. . . so I've decided I will participate in NaBloPoMo and see if I do have things I'd like to share daily for a month. I'm not sure if I'll update on weekends, but my goal is to see if I can post every weekday for the month of November. But, I'm not going to force it. If the best thing I can think to share is the color of my toenails or the details of my morning breakfast (typically eggs, sunny-side-up) - I promise, I'll refrain.

I have one request of you if you'd be so kind to oblige. I've been blogging for over six years. Some of you are long time readers, some of you are new, and while my stats indicate a fairly steady number of readers over the years, most of you have gotten quiet over the years. . .  which is cool, I'm honored you read whether you chime in or not, but today, I had one request- is there any particular thing you enjoy reading on my blog? Is there any topic that you think I should write more about, less about, continue writing about? Any suggestions for writing ideas (or just saying hi!) would be much appreciated and your comments will certainly give me the motivation to reach this goal. :-)