This was the bumper sticker I saw today. It is a thing of beauty and a joy forever. And it wasn't a sticker, it was one of those magnet stickers, high up on the back of the car, in the shape of a bone with stars and stripes on it.
I don't have enough battery power on the laptop to post the post-Christmas post, but there is one story I know I am going to forget, so I'm skipping straight there. On the way back from our Arizona trip, in the Phoenix airport, an officious TSA fellow who I imagine was trying to be charming told Naomi she was going to have to put her new build-a-bear Hello Kitty through the X-ray machine. She was more than happy to comply, but he had to up the ante and explain to her, a bit patronizingly, that they had to check and make sure Hello Kitty had no broken bones. She gave a little "Ha!" and then said, "She's not like me, she's a soft toy!"
I am an orthopedic surgeon for stuffed toys, and I vote!
Monday, December 29, 2008
Saturday, December 20, 2008
In Which Capitalization is Overused For No Good Reason
I come to you from the brink of the eighteenth century, by which I mean I am going to try to get this blog post written and posted before the storm of the century hits and we are without power and modern conveniences and the interwebs for the duration of our stay in the Pacific Northwest, which luckily is only another 36 hours or so. The media are throwing around words like "apocalypse" and "end times." OK, not really, but the storm that is supposedly roaring toward us is "historic." Not that I want them to be right, but earlier this same week they warned me that we would be getting inches and inches of snow, and we did. But not until about 36 hours after the 99% chance of snow they promised us. And tonight, as I sit in front of the computer next to our lovely, LED-lit Christmas tree and hear some channel surfing over my shoulder, I should be at A FANCY PARTY IN SEATTLE WITH GROWN-UPS ONLY WITH DINNER AND AN OPEN BAR FOR WHICH I BOUGHT A NEW DRESS AND A STRAPLESS BRA AND WENT TO THE EXPENSIVE BROW-WAX LADY, which we decided not to attend because we were worried that the storm of the century would hit while we were there, and our kids would be freezing through a power outage while I attempted to hike across Lake Washington in my open toed heels. Which by the way would not have flown anyway because I couldn't get my toes to a pedicure place because the entire town (minus the expensive brow waxer), including the schools, preschools, and daycares, has been shut down for three days because of the snow, or in the case of Wednesday, the pathological fear of snow. So no, I don't want the storm of the century to swoop in and knock us back a hundred years, but if I don't see some tree branches on the road tomorrow morning, I know a certain National Weather Service who owes me two or three glasses of wine, some passed hors doerve, and a salmon dinner that involves no cutting up of my food into tiny bites to pass on to a toddler. I'm just saying.
It has been a while since I posted, and as we are off to AZ on Monday, and I am unlikely to post while there, allow me to messily pour out the contents of my head. Figuratively. Ew. Anyway:
Naomi loved the snow. LOVED IT!
Muriel was flummoxed by it.
I just included this one because it's super cute. SUPER CUTE! OK, that's all. BYE!
It has been a while since I posted, and as we are off to AZ on Monday, and I am unlikely to post while there, allow me to messily pour out the contents of my head. Figuratively. Ew. Anyway:
- Open house! We had our annual Christmas open house, a tradition which I started when we moved here in an attempt to get to know our neighbors. This year was the most successful yet, though we had only one neighbor house in attendance. It was a good turnout, a diverse group, I got everything done far enough in advance that I wasn't stressed out at all (which is a Christmas miracle, in a nice small local sense), and it was actually really fun. Now that I am all grown up it never ceases to amaze me how much better a hostess I am when I'm not, shall we say, in my cups. Live a little, learn a little. Oh, and still no one from my job. Next year, if I have to invite the whole place, I will have a coworker at my shindig!
- Sick kids! Mostly it was Muriel, and she was pretty sick. I have this issue with waiting too long to take my kids to the doctor, and by the time we get there I often hear words like pnemonia, and what to look for right before I drive the kid straight to Children's Hospital. Which does not make me feel like a good mother. She was not herself for a full week, and even after that, very sleepy. She stayed home for a week, and when we finally brought her back to school, her new post-illness persona convinced them that she was not well enough to be at school, so she stayed home on Tuesday. And on to...
- Snow! Wednesday was the day in which a phantom snowfall that never came shut down the school district, meaning I got to work from home while attempting daycare. Thursday, real snow, ditto working from home. Friday, same snow, cold weather, ditto working from home. Summary: Cabin. Fever. I was trying to figure out today why I was so punchy (I will not embarrass myself with any examples), and I realized I have not really been out of the house for days and days. But soon I will leave my house to go to...
- Arizona! We'll be there for a week, and if it is snowing there, so help me... Just kidding. I hope to have another open house, to get together with some people I don't see often, and I am so excited. Not to mention seeing family, which will be a lot of fun. But mostly, getting out of my house... aaaaahhhh.
- Holiday Excess! There is a lot of talk of simplifying Christmas, which I understand in the context of people who buy ridiculous amounts of unneccessary stuff, or get completely stressed out about calendars and events and decorating and affording things. But a friend and I were talking about how the point of Christmas (aka, the big winter feast day) is to live it up a little, and however you define that, it's worth it to go to a little trouble to make it happen. That is the point. Back in the day it meant you saved up your lard and your sugar for special corn cakes or whatever. Now it means you strain yourself a bit to get everything together, to get your cards out on time (or not, in my case), to make cookies with your kid, to buy presents, if that's your thing. I don't know where I'm going with this- I don't think people should feel guilty as if they are not trying hard enough at Christmas, especially with the economy, I get it, etc., but I also don't think people should feel guilty for extending themselves. That's just this year, though, I could swing back in the direction of Grinchy next time, who knows.
- Mystical Exercise! I had a weird but good experience at yoga last time, doing the something or other second triangle pose- it was hard work, so maybe that was it, but on the last go I had this burst of heat, like I was catching on fire, but you know, in a good way. I guess you had to be there.
- Favorite Things! This is a Christmas song for some reason, and I sometimes think of favorite things more relevant to me when I hear it all the more often this time of year. So, some of my favorite things are: When I am looking at a sign or a license plate holder and read a word and hear it right then spoken by the person on the car radio (yeah, it's dumb, but these are MY favorite things, and we have no bright copper kettles); When I hear Naomi calling Muriel, "Honey," when she doesn't know anyone is listening; Crunchy toast; Pea tips (a vegetable you can get at Chinese restaurants); Eating chips and cheese dip with a margarita at least bi-weekly with my homie; Hearing from old friends; Hearing from any friends, really; Taking a hot shower; Going to bed in clean sheets just after said shower; Getting a lot of work done; Whiskey with ginger ale; Sleeping through the night; Hearing Muriel say any of her endless supply of new words. These aren't in any order, and of course there are others. But yeah, my life is full of raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.
Naomi loved the snow. LOVED IT!
Muriel was flummoxed by it.
I just included this one because it's super cute. SUPER CUTE! OK, that's all. BYE!
Monday, December 08, 2008
Citizen Khooler
Some of you are already familiar with this piece of news, but for the rest of you, the once green-card carrying co-head of the Khooler household is no longer a citizen of far-off Malaysia, and is instead now a regular old passport-carrying citizen of the USA. It didn't happen in time for the last election, unfortunately, but I have helped him find solace in the fact that there is always some loopy home-brewed initiative on the ballot each November (democracy runs rather amok in these parts) to practice on. Hooray!
The ceremony was last Wednesday. The girls sported festive, matching red jumpers (more another time on the sudden and inexplicable onset of a desire to dress my girls in matching outfits), an effort to mark this as a special occasion, to get good behavior out of them, and to make them extra cute so as to garner indulgence from strangers in the event that part two of my plan didn't work out. We planned to get there early in case we had to wait in a long line for the security screening, as sometimes happens according to my insider sources. The event was scheduled to begin at 2. We arrived at about 1:30, breezed through the security screening, though Muriel's baby doll had to ride through the x-ray machine, and were promptly separated.
The girls and I went into the auditorium, while Jim went off to be processed. The room filled up slowly, and as it did, got warmer and warmer and hotter and hotter. More would-be citizens came in, more congratulatory watchers came in, more time passed. The kids were pretty good, then less good, more tired, hungrier, hotter, grouchier. The event refused to start.
I claim full responsibility for the terrible deterioration of our experience. I should have had treats and drinks and stickers and extra toys stuffed in the diaper bag. But I had been in a training all morning, that I just jumped out early of at the last possible moment to get in the car and go. I hadn't eaten lunch, myself, so I was a bit at the end of my rope as well. Even after the ceremony FINALLY started, almost an hour after it was supposed to, the situation was pretty wretched. And by wretched, I mean a three year old writhing on the ground wailing and begging can she please take off these tights they are so hot?! Wretched.
But then it wasn't. It was great. There were 114 people there to take the oath of citizenship, from 44 countries. Ancient elders, who needed help walking up to get their certificate, mothers with children sitting behind us in the gallery. The husband of the woman next to us, an Australian who waited ten years after his mother died to do something he knew would have broken her heart. During the part where everyone raised their hand for the oath, Muriel put hers up too. And when they called our Mr. Khooler up to the stage, Naomi shouted, "It's Daddy! Hi Daddy! Hi Daddy!" and everyone laughed, even the director.
There was a message from the President, some pledging of allegiance. And then, like a bad joke, the music video started. Oh yes they did. Proud to Be an American. gggggg. Rather than proud, I felt annoyed at myself that I have to have the eye-rolling reaction to this song in such a meaningful moment. But hey, they are doing it to me, playing this song! Why?!
Then I realized something- the thing that aggravates me so much about that song, and all the other artifacts that espouse a similar message of "pride" in nationality (read: bumper stickers) is that feeling proud of something implies to me some agency, some effort. In other words, it seems OK to me to say, I'm proud of this A+ in Physics (not me, you know, but someone), or I'm proud of this garden I planted, or this code I wrote, and so forth. But really, despite the seemingly enormous crowd of people becoming citizens in our city, in our corner of the country on a given Wednesday afternoon, the way most people become Americans, after a period of reflection and paperwork and tests known as GESTATION, is by coming out of their moms. Yes, even Barack Obama, crackpot lawsuit filers, became a citizen this way. Natural born!
So the idea that being born, not that it's not traumatic or whatever, constitutes an accomplishment of sorts that one might then sing ballads about or stick bumper stickers in honor of, that is what gets my goat a little when someone sings that particular song (though I know, that is not exactly what people mean when they hear it and love it and perform it on American Idol). You didn't do anything! Lucky to be an American, that should be the name of the song. But then- you have a room full of people, 114 people from 44 countries, for whom being an American actually is an accomplishment. It's decision, maybe a hard one, a journey, a process, a scrutiny, a measuring up. They are giving something up, leaving something behind. But the important part is that they are choosing.
In this context, the song was less goat-getting for me. All the more so when I noticed Muriel, about ten yards away from me, doing her distinctively awesome zombie penguin dance to the music while another ceremony witness videotaped her with his cell phone. We finally reunited with our new citizen, and the girls fell asleep in their car seats en route to the cheesy 50s diner where we all ate celebratory American food (and slurped an American milkshake, which made me even prouder to be an American). By the time we got home and put the girls to bed at the ridiculous hour of 6 pm, Jim was feeling well and truly citizen-ish. I'm proud of him, and really truly proud of our country for welcoming him. Thanks, USA!
The ceremony was last Wednesday. The girls sported festive, matching red jumpers (more another time on the sudden and inexplicable onset of a desire to dress my girls in matching outfits), an effort to mark this as a special occasion, to get good behavior out of them, and to make them extra cute so as to garner indulgence from strangers in the event that part two of my plan didn't work out. We planned to get there early in case we had to wait in a long line for the security screening, as sometimes happens according to my insider sources. The event was scheduled to begin at 2. We arrived at about 1:30, breezed through the security screening, though Muriel's baby doll had to ride through the x-ray machine, and were promptly separated.
The girls and I went into the auditorium, while Jim went off to be processed. The room filled up slowly, and as it did, got warmer and warmer and hotter and hotter. More would-be citizens came in, more congratulatory watchers came in, more time passed. The kids were pretty good, then less good, more tired, hungrier, hotter, grouchier. The event refused to start.
I claim full responsibility for the terrible deterioration of our experience. I should have had treats and drinks and stickers and extra toys stuffed in the diaper bag. But I had been in a training all morning, that I just jumped out early of at the last possible moment to get in the car and go. I hadn't eaten lunch, myself, so I was a bit at the end of my rope as well. Even after the ceremony FINALLY started, almost an hour after it was supposed to, the situation was pretty wretched. And by wretched, I mean a three year old writhing on the ground wailing and begging can she please take off these tights they are so hot?! Wretched.
But then it wasn't. It was great. There were 114 people there to take the oath of citizenship, from 44 countries. Ancient elders, who needed help walking up to get their certificate, mothers with children sitting behind us in the gallery. The husband of the woman next to us, an Australian who waited ten years after his mother died to do something he knew would have broken her heart. During the part where everyone raised their hand for the oath, Muriel put hers up too. And when they called our Mr. Khooler up to the stage, Naomi shouted, "It's Daddy! Hi Daddy! Hi Daddy!" and everyone laughed, even the director.
There was a message from the President, some pledging of allegiance. And then, like a bad joke, the music video started. Oh yes they did. Proud to Be an American. gggggg. Rather than proud, I felt annoyed at myself that I have to have the eye-rolling reaction to this song in such a meaningful moment. But hey, they are doing it to me, playing this song! Why?!
Then I realized something- the thing that aggravates me so much about that song, and all the other artifacts that espouse a similar message of "pride" in nationality (read: bumper stickers) is that feeling proud of something implies to me some agency, some effort. In other words, it seems OK to me to say, I'm proud of this A+ in Physics (not me, you know, but someone), or I'm proud of this garden I planted, or this code I wrote, and so forth. But really, despite the seemingly enormous crowd of people becoming citizens in our city, in our corner of the country on a given Wednesday afternoon, the way most people become Americans, after a period of reflection and paperwork and tests known as GESTATION, is by coming out of their moms. Yes, even Barack Obama, crackpot lawsuit filers, became a citizen this way. Natural born!
So the idea that being born, not that it's not traumatic or whatever, constitutes an accomplishment of sorts that one might then sing ballads about or stick bumper stickers in honor of, that is what gets my goat a little when someone sings that particular song (though I know, that is not exactly what people mean when they hear it and love it and perform it on American Idol). You didn't do anything! Lucky to be an American, that should be the name of the song. But then- you have a room full of people, 114 people from 44 countries, for whom being an American actually is an accomplishment. It's decision, maybe a hard one, a journey, a process, a scrutiny, a measuring up. They are giving something up, leaving something behind. But the important part is that they are choosing.
In this context, the song was less goat-getting for me. All the more so when I noticed Muriel, about ten yards away from me, doing her distinctively awesome zombie penguin dance to the music while another ceremony witness videotaped her with his cell phone. We finally reunited with our new citizen, and the girls fell asleep in their car seats en route to the cheesy 50s diner where we all ate celebratory American food (and slurped an American milkshake, which made me even prouder to be an American). By the time we got home and put the girls to bed at the ridiculous hour of 6 pm, Jim was feeling well and truly citizen-ish. I'm proud of him, and really truly proud of our country for welcoming him. Thanks, USA!
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