Femaleness

I went for a run tonight. The whole time, I was thinking, "Poor big tender-flesh-es women!" Because I'm not even a big tender-fleshes woman, I'm just a medium sized one (usually less than small one), and I was hating it. It's no wonder you don't see them running, that often, unless they have surgically enhanced tender flesh-es. The bouncing and flopping and OH! Forget that. They just walk. Fast.

Then I came home and shaved my legs. They've been past stubble-y for a while now. On Sunday I was more than a little worried that someone would notice since I wore a skirt. I really have no clothes that look good on me right now, and I don't think about it so much in our little rural area, but I feel pretty stupid at church. I know no one cares, and that's not what church is about, but it's weird to feel frumpy and hairy and slippered when there are high heels and combed hair and dresses that sash in the front.

I guess I could comb my leg hair.

I have no make up kit for Amaya to rummage through so she makes do with her chalk. She colors her eyebrows and the tips of her fingers. When she puts chapstick on (from my mom), she rubs it all over her upper lip. I feel a tinge bad that she has no example to guide her primping. I always say no when she asks if she can paint her nails with Minami. I'm mean.

Amaya put a necklace on Kadin, and Scott mentioned something about her getting into my jewelry box. Jake laughed and said, "Nope, because her jewelry box is a plastic case about that big (1"x1") that has her wedding rings and a quarter." I added, "And a loose pearl." The quarter is silver, so doesn't that count?

I checked my weight at Pam's before my run. That's all I'm going to say about that.

I have caught myself staring at girls sometimes. Staring at the things that make them girls. Really, girls. Like the fact that they are wearing a shirt that isn't just a solid color simple cut t-shirt, or the height of their heels, or their cutesy curves, or the way they styled their hair. I'll stare at them and think, "Now why didn't I think of that?"

Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever get the hang of being female. I'm turning 30 next month. Maybe it's too late. I feel a sort of wistfulness about it. Like a memory made from a book once read. Like a lost summer. Something about the fragrance of apples. A breezy sitting room. A color beyond the water's glare. And gone.

Meet Mr. Moze

Eyes: Blue

Weight: Michelin Man arms

 

 

 

 

 

Hair: old man

Hobbies: Eating, snorting, sleeping, trying to find just the right sleeping position (currently: face smashed into the crook of Jake’s arm)

 

Superpower: Dimples

 

Sometimes you just need one.

We were having a rough day. So this was a good break for us.

Yeah, I know. It's filled with nasty chemically sounding ingredients like Red 7 and hydropneumonichloric acid trip (something like that), but it feels so nice in your belly. I was truthfully thinking about the way Europeans just sit and enjoy and really taste and breathe the whole time we were sharing it. Then I remembered I was drinking an Icee.

I'm trying to get myself to take a breather every day and remember that she's only 4. Even if she is willfully disobedient. And even if she has figured out that time out is such a big sham. And that it takes just long enough for me to put Moze down so I can run after her that she can get a good head start.

When my mom was here Amaya asked her, "You used to spank my mom when she was a little girl, right?" My mom glared at me. "You told her that?" Then she turned to Amaya and said, "Well, I was very young. I made mistakes."
Later she was talking about how stubborn I was. It's funny what you remember. I remember always being so surprised that I was in trouble. Like, "OH yeah. I wasn't supposed to do that." 'Cause I knew, but I had temporarily forgotten because I was sort of involved. In doing that thing I wasn't supposed to be doing.

I worry a lot that I'm going to look back on this and think, Man. Couldn't I just have been a little more patient?

I really hope that I'm not messing this up. This whole parenting thing.

In Between

Currently in between:
12am and 7am, I am trying to be so zen right now. I'll let you know if it works.

time outs. If you have a suggestion for something way more awesome than time outs, let me know.

dress sizes. My maternity clothes are too big. My regular clothes are too small. Guess it's better to be swimming than bulging.

newborn and teenager. That's where I want Amaya to stay. She has the best observations about life. And what she's observed surprises me every day.

travels. Jake and I discussed goals last night and I wanted to have travel goals. Jake cares more about a house than traveling. Isn't he silly? On my list: Brazil, American Samoa, Canada, Tahiti, Bali, Italy, Las Vegas, DC, Utah, California, and Portland. We made some slightly tentative plans about Brazil, American Samoa and Tahiti. I already have tickets to Portland.

desserts. I am loving cooking pretty and NEW things right now. I made stuffed jalapeno peppers on Saturday and I so sadly didn't have any battery left in my camera. I want to know what you think I should make next.

books. I'm reading Gastronomica, the reader, when I have time (which is fascinating, by the way). But I want a story right now. One of my goals is to read more classic literature. To come smaht, yeah? I certainly haven't read enough. But the only book that I haven't read that fits that description on my shelf is Ulysses. Blah blah doublety blah. Suggestions?

The one good thing about being in between is that it sort of takes the edge off responsibility.

Can of Chaos

This is how we look and feel today:

The new semester started today. Usually I think of the new semester as a whimsically funny thing, like the fact that every new freshman girl is trying to learn how to longboard down the street. Or suddenly there are so many girls jogging. Or guys walking to the beach with the boogie boards they bought from Foodland.

It’s as predictable as Hawaiian weather.

But today Jake goes back to work. Suddenly it’s a dirge of misery. I’ve been completely spoiled with this two parents at home business. There’s always someone to help. Someone can hold the baby. Someone can wash the dishes. Someone can drag Amaya into time out. Someone can take Amaya hiking. Someone can do Amaya’s reading lesson. Someone can remember to switch the laundry to the dryer.

Are you getting that this someone is always Jake?

Last night I asked Jake if he was excited to teach again. Not really, he replied. I was surprised and thought he would want to get away sometimes.

“But then,” he said, “I have to come home and do more work because I was gone all day and you’re stressed and tired.”

I guess it’s not exactly fair of me. So I’ve got the baby in the bjorn and am trying to think of how I can help out around the house. And when he comes home today I will try not to just launch into my routine of whining.

I will try. I will try.

Inception

I had a dream:

I was nursing some fetus alien mung bean sprout things (they had multiple heads trailing out of each other) as they would become real babies if I did it right.

T-bag from Prison Break was there and he would properly dispose of the ones that I accidentally broke (hey, they were tiny, and had very fragile mung bean sprout heads). We were all very solemn about it.

I also knew that if “the people” that were looking for me came into the room that I would have to run away out the back door and down the stairs. I guess in my dream I was physically fit again.

Within a dream:

The baby slept for 3 and a half hours straight, and I thought that was the most glorious thing in the world. Long enough to actually have a dream and feel somewhat rested. He cooed and gurgled at 2:30 am and I was cooing back.

Within a dream:

Because he slept so long, he felt that he was totally allowed to wake up every 2 hours after that. And he would have to be forgiven for needing to be held every moment of the day, even while taking his mini cat naps.

It’s a wonder that I have such low expectations for sleep that a 3 hour stretch will make me positively giddy.

Future Plans

Amaya told me that she was thinking about marrying Taj when he gets older and she gets older and gets tall like us.

I let her know that Taj was off limits because he was her cousin. I suggested Enzo as a suitable suitor. She giggled like a school girl and said, “But Enzo is my cousin, too!”

I said he wasn’t, even though we pretended sometimes like he was.

She said, “Ok, so I can marry Enzo when I get a little bit older, and I’ll have a baby, and maybe I can borrow your pump, and things like that.”

Pam said, “You probably won’t be needing it by then.”

True, true.

I Love Sleepers

Don’t let him fool you, he’s vicious.

We have a good day time schedule. He’s finally getting the hang of eating every 3 hours, and every 2 hours in the evenings to “tank up.”

HA.

Last night:

11 pm feeding. Sleep.

12 am feeding. Stay awake until 2am (including a half hour burping session). I fell asleep sometime after 2:40 am.

4 am feeding. Stay awake until 5 am.

6 am feeding. Awake. 7:15 am feeding (after FINALLY burping and deciding that there was some room in there.) Then Jake took him.

Now it’s 10:52 am and he hasn’t eaten since 7:15 am. WHAT?!

Jake woke me up at 9am so my longest stretch was 7:30-9 am. Argh Argh Argh. I should have stayed in bed. I should wake him up to keep him on schedule but I’m kind of pissed and he’s only earning forgiveness by staying asleep a little longer.

I’ve become obsessed with burping because 2 nights ago he was sleeping so well and eating pretty spaced out that I thought I was getting away with murder. He wouldn’t burp after 5-10 minutes of trying after every feeding (I tried everything, even the shaking the pop bottle method) that I gave up and just swaddled him up and let us both sleep. He didn’t burp once the whole night. In the morning he was being so cute and cooing at me. I leaned in and cooed back and suddenly a fountain, nay, a geyser, of spit up came and hit me in the face and the chest and dripped all the way down into my pants. It was so surprising that I actually put my hands over his face as if trying to plug a leak in a dam. You can guess how well that worked.

Never again. Burp we must.

Aren’t you so sick of hearing how tired I am? Me too.

Good

You know you’ve had a good dinner when your dish drainer looks like this:

(ok, so sometimes it looks like this when your name is Mariko and you’ve blatantly avoided your turn for 3 days and even pretended that it had nothing to do with you)

When we have dinner for some people we invited and a bunch more people who just walk in through the back door, I feel good.

I feel good when I just yell “come in” to whoever is knocking at the door and I’m not even checking to see who it is before they walk in. I feel good when they’re coming in the door without knocking because they can hear that we’re all here.

I feel good when some people eat dinner (and everyone eats cookies) and some people hold the babies while others eat and everyone switches seats at least once because they stood up to get the toddler or a drink of water and it’s like we’re playing musical chairs to conversation instead of a boom box.

It’s so much better when friends are more like family than appointments.

Nerdy

I think this is good evidence that I won’t have to worry about Amaya being an annoying Queen Bee in high school. (yes, I’m still worried about rebellious sass, but probably only because I have it coming.)

I am quite content to raise geeks after being a high school English teacher.

And I am quite content to see that the apple does not fall far from the tree.

(yes, those are her bite marks at the top of her helmet.)