Oddly, a year and a half or so after I abandoned this blog completely, it appears to be more popular than ever. Mostly with anti-choice trolls, to be sure, but I suppose I should be pleased someone’s paying attention? Okay, not enough attention to realize they’re commenting on posts that are two years old, but still. With two three year olds constantly trying to outperform each other for my delight (or, occasionally, horror), any attention paid to little old me is kind of exciting.
So, hi! I don’t promise to post often, and I can’t guarantee I’ll be exciting, but here I am again.
Life update: Robin and Wren are three years old. They are full of hilarity and angst, often simultaneously. I am still working full time. I’m taking classes with a super-secret career goal in mind, and I’m channeling my passion for reproductive justice into a pretty nifty volunteer gig. I’ll share what I can, when I can. The more comments I get, the more likely I am to post.
Not that you should feel pressured or anything.
Today is the babies’ first birthday, and I have so much to say about this last year. But the internet is down at work (I KNOW!) and I will be late(r) if I write this post from home before going in. Stupid work, interfering with my sentimental reminiscence.
What I didn’t do in 2008: write enough, travel outside the country, make a lot of money.
What I did:
(Yes, I’ve taken more recent photos. No, I haven’t uploaded them yet.)
A resolution: I will birth more stories in the coming year than I did babies in the last.
What do you want for 2009? Share your new year’s resolutions in the comments!
Just in case there’s anyone left out there who hasn’t yet seen FuckYouPenguin:
I get it, Whale, you’re busy. I’ve only been on this FUCKING BOAT for three and a half hours waiting for you, and the only thing I’ve seen so far is my lunch from earlier. It’s not like you spend your entire goddamn life in the ocean, so I see why you would only come up for basically a split second. Personally, if someone was going to all this trouble specifically to see me, I would take time out of my BUSY ASS SCHEDULE to at least stop by the boat and make some small talk, maybe have some salmon. But I understand, Whale, places to go, 500 pounds of food to eat. I’ll be fine. The real question here, Whale, is will you be fine? Can you really live with yourself? Maybe you need to make a change.
We’re taking two eight-and-a-half month old babies on a plane – actually, two planes – back to my parents’ house in New England. If we make it without being murdered by other passengers, we’ll be there for ten days.
There is a discussion over at Annika’s blog about following your mommy instincts when it comes to the all-important question of Strangers: Good or Bad? And in that vein, I thought I would relate to you a small story.
I am on an e-mail list for LA moms. It’s mostly exactly what you think it would be: nannies, casting calls, casting calls for nannies, and queries about what the fuck that helicopter was doing circling my house for three hours last night. Just often enough to keep me from unsubscribing, though, an interesting tidbit comes through. The other day there was a frantic e-mail from a woman who had been in Trader Joe’s, minding her own business, when she heard a little boy say to his female caretaker, “I miss my family.” “I am your family,” the caretaker replied. The two finished their shopping, and when it came time to sign for the credit card, she let the little boy sign the name.
The woman who wrote in to the list was appalled. Clearly, the boy had been kidnapped by this monstrous beast! Kidnapped, taken to Trader Joe’s, and forced to sign for groceries he not only had not chosen himself, but which included no sugary cereal at all! Now only she could save him. She rounded up store employees and shared what she had heard with them. She tried to get them to follow the woman out to the parking lot and get her license number. She asked the list whether she should call the police. Eventually she did call the police, and they refused to do anything. Would. You. Believe. It.
What surprised me even more than one person overreacting was the number of people who wrote back in support of her, saying Follow your instincts! Go with your gut! Call the police! I believe that instinct is important, and generally guides us well. But where do you draw the line between Going With Your Gut and Going Totally Nuts? Because, to me, this thuds right into the latter category.
The air tastes like ash. My throat hurts each morning. A haze of yellowish-brown hangs over the hills; I watch from my office window as it glowers at the city. From my window, I can see a great tower of smoke curling into the sky. According to the internet, that tower is 22.5 miles away.
Robin says “oom!” at the fires, at the smoke. Robin says “oom!” at everything. “Oom!” A kitty! “Oom!” A bottle! “Oom!” My daddy! What a marvelous word, that can contain so much.
This morning our co-counsel sent me yet another e-mail blaming me for something that is completely not my fault. That is, in fact, the fault of a third party unassociated with either of our offices. I sent him back a long e-mail recapping the events that have led us to this point and ending with “I just don’t see why you need to keep placing the blame on me, thus forcing me to write long e-mails defending myself.” In retrospect, I should have just written back, “Oom!” and let it go.