A number of months ago, while I was still on maternity leave, my husband and I decided to christen our daughter. Normally people wait many months do this but I knew I’d have the time to plan only while I was home. I couldn’t guarantee what my life would be like once I was back at work.
I went to my parish church to find out what it would take and luckily they are very liberal and cool. So that reduced my anxiety substantially. Then the question became who should be the godparents and that wasn’t too difficult when it came to godmothers, it was ‘who will be the godfather?’ I knew who I wanted to be the godfather but he was in Mexico with very little chance of making it NY anytime soon. So I asked at the church if a godfather was absolutely necessary and they said that it’s just ceremonial, not necessary. Phew! Issue solved.
As we began to plan the details of the after ceremony, I had to get out invitations and find a place. The godmothers were off looking for a christening dress and they were slim pickings. I nailed down a place but needed to get a number on the people. The dress was yet to be found. Then my husband’s sister’s trip was cancelled which was earlier in the month and I asked if she could change her ticket to come for the baptism. And she jumped all over that request. And luckily she found a dress too. Everything was falling into place which made me happy.
The day of the baptism had finally arrived. It was up the godmothers to dress the baby. I ran off to get dressed and papa took pictures. Munchkin cooperated until the actual moment the dress was placed on her. I heard her belting a wail from the bathroom. I went to look in and I couldn’t help but laugh. Thankfully she wasn’t into frilly dresses at this stage of the game. The godmothers did their best to get her dolled up nonetheless. And we were off to church.
8 other babies were getting christened that day so it was quite a packed house. Munchkin took a nap on the way to the church and sadly we had to wake her up for the ceremony. She was in a daze and yawned a couple of times. Then it was our turn to go up and my husband and I went to the baptismal well with the baby. The priest said ‘what a well behaved baby’ after he poured the holy water on her head. She did seem just perfect until he said that. Then she cried and cried and howled. My husband and I couldn’t help but laugh. Of course the one kid who would cry would be ours. We tried to calm her down; friends came to offer assistance. I barely heard the rest of the mass but I didn’t care. She was asserting her personality and sounding a little bit like her grandpa – boisterous and aggravated in church.
After the ceremony, we went to have dinner. She was a tad bit perturbed because it was turning into such a long day for her. But soon after everyone had the cake, my husband brought her home to sleep in her bassinet. She fell right to sleep.
In the grand scheme of things now in the afterthought, it wasn’t too bad. But while I was doing everything, it seemed overwhelming and I was still only getting a few hours of sleep a day. Not sure how I pulled it all together especially when my mom was bugging me about all the little details that just didn’t matter. I look at those pictures now and I chuckle because I am sure I was stressed beyond belief. But looking at her crying at her dress and at the ceremony just makes me see what a personality I have on my hands. I am very thankful for that and for her.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Leftovers
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-21320560
My friend sent me this article about how unmarried women in China over the age of 27 are called ‘leftover women’. This article made me so upset on so many levels.
1) To call a woman leftover is objectifying and belittling. It’s as if they are a meal no one wanted to consume in its entirety so you get to bring it home. They are the doggie bag of humanity.
2) These women are smart, ambitious and yet it’s not enough. They have careers and are educated and they are propelling the economy forward. However they are nothing unless they are married. Let’s praise their hard work, intelligence and make sure they continue to be pillars of society. How about that instead of making them feel like they are lacking?
3) Maybe they aren’t married because there aren’t enough quality men out there. Couldn’t that be the real problem? And yet there is no article about how so many men are lazy, unambitious freeloaders or the like? How come no one pushes them to get an education and get into the workforce and contribute to society? Ugh!
4) How come there aren’t articles like this about unmarried men over 27? There’s obviously no article on why there aren’t any quality men out there because that might be harder to write. But how about an article on why men over 27 aren’t married? How come there isn’t any focus on that?
5) Why is it so important to be married anyway? This article is basically saying that these women are not fully developed human beings because they aren’t married. Last time I looked, you had to be an actual person with a mind and a heart before you could even be interesting enough to get married. I just don’t get the priorities of society and it’s very obvious that this is my problem when I read articles like this.
My friend sent me this article about how unmarried women in China over the age of 27 are called ‘leftover women’. This article made me so upset on so many levels.
1) To call a woman leftover is objectifying and belittling. It’s as if they are a meal no one wanted to consume in its entirety so you get to bring it home. They are the doggie bag of humanity.
2) These women are smart, ambitious and yet it’s not enough. They have careers and are educated and they are propelling the economy forward. However they are nothing unless they are married. Let’s praise their hard work, intelligence and make sure they continue to be pillars of society. How about that instead of making them feel like they are lacking?
3) Maybe they aren’t married because there aren’t enough quality men out there. Couldn’t that be the real problem? And yet there is no article about how so many men are lazy, unambitious freeloaders or the like? How come no one pushes them to get an education and get into the workforce and contribute to society? Ugh!
4) How come there aren’t articles like this about unmarried men over 27? There’s obviously no article on why there aren’t any quality men out there because that might be harder to write. But how about an article on why men over 27 aren’t married? How come there isn’t any focus on that?
5) Why is it so important to be married anyway? This article is basically saying that these women are not fully developed human beings because they aren’t married. Last time I looked, you had to be an actual person with a mind and a heart before you could even be interesting enough to get married. I just don’t get the priorities of society and it’s very obvious that this is my problem when I read articles like this.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Sake To Me
Last night I went out to get sushi. I ordered for both my husband and me. While waiting it for it to be prepared, I sat at the bar and ordered a glass of sake. I hadn’t had sake since way before my pregnancy and I really craved it.
I took a few sips and it tasted so much stronger than I remember it tasting pre-pregnancy. Back then it seemed like flavored water. This time around, it went right to my head. I felt a little light headed but I sipped and continued to watch tv.
On the tv were reports of the Oscar Pistorius case that’s been everywhere. Now, I don’t know if it was the sake or what, but something just didn’t make sense to me. I kept getting hung up on how he got to the bathroom without his prosthetics in the first place. I think the sake wouldn’t allow me to get any clarity on that piece of information.
Finally, the food arrived. I paid my sake bill and I zig zagged my way home. (I wasn’t that bad but it felt like it.) When I got home I told my husband how I had some sake and how it went straight to my head. Then we discussed the Pistorius case. He formally declared than something was fishy so at least I knew it wasn’t all about my sake consumption.
Just goes to show you, your body chemistry changes a lot during and after pregnancy. Things that normally wouldn’t have made a dent in my constitution pre-pregnancy were making me a little tipsy post-pregnancy. Luckily no matter what my alcohol consumption, when something is fishy, it’s just fishy.
I took a few sips and it tasted so much stronger than I remember it tasting pre-pregnancy. Back then it seemed like flavored water. This time around, it went right to my head. I felt a little light headed but I sipped and continued to watch tv.
On the tv were reports of the Oscar Pistorius case that’s been everywhere. Now, I don’t know if it was the sake or what, but something just didn’t make sense to me. I kept getting hung up on how he got to the bathroom without his prosthetics in the first place. I think the sake wouldn’t allow me to get any clarity on that piece of information.
Finally, the food arrived. I paid my sake bill and I zig zagged my way home. (I wasn’t that bad but it felt like it.) When I got home I told my husband how I had some sake and how it went straight to my head. Then we discussed the Pistorius case. He formally declared than something was fishy so at least I knew it wasn’t all about my sake consumption.
Just goes to show you, your body chemistry changes a lot during and after pregnancy. Things that normally wouldn’t have made a dent in my constitution pre-pregnancy were making me a little tipsy post-pregnancy. Luckily no matter what my alcohol consumption, when something is fishy, it’s just fishy.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Student and Teacher
In recent months I have had a lot of nostalgia for my brief time teaching. I assisted a former student with a literature paper (see Blog Entry “Prince of Denmark”) and one of my students came to New York for the first time in 6 years. He sent me an email on facebook asking if I remembered him, which I thought was very sweet.
I replied saying that, of course, I remembered him (I had friended him on facebook after all which meant I liked him). He told me of his plans to come to New York and that he wanted to see if we could meet up. I was thrilled because he was my favorite student in one class. He told me the dates he would be in the city and we put out tentative plans to meet for lunch.
As the days to his visit got closer, we put together a date and time to meet up. We decided lunch was still easier to do because he wanted to be a tourist and was planning to see downtown. I told him he could do that in between meeting me for lunch.
We decided to meet in front of the NY Stock Exchange. However, I didn’t know if he looked any different because it had been 6 years and he was 18 the last time I saw him. He did in fact look different but I still recognized him. We went to lunch and he told me that he’s now working for a company after getting his Master’s in Sociology. He told me about his thesis and what he had been up to in the past 6 years. I told him that shortly after teaching him I returned to work in the bank. I explained what I do and that I had recently had a baby.
He then told me that he was always very thankful that I forced him to stay in my class. I was teaching advanced conversation and he was very quiet but I could see from his expressions that he understood everything I was saying. His homework was the best of everyone in his class – always showing me that he grasped grammar than even native speakers didn’t always understand. The only problem was that he didn’t talk very much – a problem that I completely understood because I often found myself in the same situation. One day he approached me after class and asked me if he should go to a level lower. In order to do so, he would need my permission. I spoke frankly with him and said that he demonstrated excellent understanding of English grammar in his writing. He had no problem keeping up with my normally fast pace of speaking and seemed to understand the meaning of vocabulary I was using based on the context. I said that he seemed to me one of the best students in the class. I said I wouldn’t allow him to move to a lower level. I thought it best for him to stick with the class. I insisted that he had to make an effort to talk because it was in fact advanced conversation. I told him that I would call on him at least once in class if he didn’t volunteer to speak. I think this scared him so the next day he offered to give his opinion to a topic we were discussing.
The next few weeks he made even bigger leaps and bounds in his English because he became far more comfortable speaking. Aside from his slight accent and his natural tendency to speak in a quiet manner, he gave great presentations on topics assigned. He eased up when we played quick thinking games and generally seemed more relaxed in class. When he left the class, I was sad because he was such a thoughtful and respectful student. But I was happy he stayed in touch and it was very nice to see him, especially since he made the effort to see me. It was touching. I miss those connections and knowing that you are making a difference in another person’s life. I can’t say that I feel that influence in what I do now-a-days.
I replied saying that, of course, I remembered him (I had friended him on facebook after all which meant I liked him). He told me of his plans to come to New York and that he wanted to see if we could meet up. I was thrilled because he was my favorite student in one class. He told me the dates he would be in the city and we put out tentative plans to meet for lunch.
As the days to his visit got closer, we put together a date and time to meet up. We decided lunch was still easier to do because he wanted to be a tourist and was planning to see downtown. I told him he could do that in between meeting me for lunch.
We decided to meet in front of the NY Stock Exchange. However, I didn’t know if he looked any different because it had been 6 years and he was 18 the last time I saw him. He did in fact look different but I still recognized him. We went to lunch and he told me that he’s now working for a company after getting his Master’s in Sociology. He told me about his thesis and what he had been up to in the past 6 years. I told him that shortly after teaching him I returned to work in the bank. I explained what I do and that I had recently had a baby.
He then told me that he was always very thankful that I forced him to stay in my class. I was teaching advanced conversation and he was very quiet but I could see from his expressions that he understood everything I was saying. His homework was the best of everyone in his class – always showing me that he grasped grammar than even native speakers didn’t always understand. The only problem was that he didn’t talk very much – a problem that I completely understood because I often found myself in the same situation. One day he approached me after class and asked me if he should go to a level lower. In order to do so, he would need my permission. I spoke frankly with him and said that he demonstrated excellent understanding of English grammar in his writing. He had no problem keeping up with my normally fast pace of speaking and seemed to understand the meaning of vocabulary I was using based on the context. I said that he seemed to me one of the best students in the class. I said I wouldn’t allow him to move to a lower level. I thought it best for him to stick with the class. I insisted that he had to make an effort to talk because it was in fact advanced conversation. I told him that I would call on him at least once in class if he didn’t volunteer to speak. I think this scared him so the next day he offered to give his opinion to a topic we were discussing.
The next few weeks he made even bigger leaps and bounds in his English because he became far more comfortable speaking. Aside from his slight accent and his natural tendency to speak in a quiet manner, he gave great presentations on topics assigned. He eased up when we played quick thinking games and generally seemed more relaxed in class. When he left the class, I was sad because he was such a thoughtful and respectful student. But I was happy he stayed in touch and it was very nice to see him, especially since he made the effort to see me. It was touching. I miss those connections and knowing that you are making a difference in another person’s life. I can’t say that I feel that influence in what I do now-a-days.
Head of Hair
My little munchkin has a full head of hair. She’s had it since birth when she came out with a plenitude of black curls smushed against her scalp. The doctor even said “I see hair! And boy, it is a lot!”
I wasn’t surprised that she was born fully coifed because I know I had a lot hair when I was born. So I figured it would be the same for her. What has made me laugh is how everyone comments on how much hair she has. I always think to myself ‘but have you seen my head?’ because to me I see the correlation. But I guess I’m not that familiar with babies who didn’t have a lot of hair. My nieces were born with a lot of hair. I always figured it was an Italian thing to be born with helmet already intact.
In the early days of pregnancy I ate an orange almost every day. I’d get up, start making coffee or go and get some and then grab an orange. As my pregnancy progressed, I couldn’t tolerate any citrus or acid. It would give me the most intense heartburn and it was bizarre to me because I have hardly ever had heartburn in my life. As I mentioned this heartburn to people, almost everyone said that it was because the baby had a lot of hair. I honestly couldn’t see the connection. My doctor said the heartburn was due to the baby sitting on top of my stomach, which totally made sense to me.
The summer months passed where I couldn’t eat any ketchup on my hamburgers or lemonade to quench my thirst. Occasionally I would still eat those things and just remind myself of the consequences and remember to not complain since I had made the choice to eat those things.
So when my little cookie welcomed the world with the wealth of hair, I began to wonder if the folk wisdom of heartburn and a full head of hair wasn’t true. I am still quite doubtful especially since one of my good friends had the worst heartburn imaginable and her son was bald when he was born. Regardless, whenever we give her a bath, my favorite part of the ritual is drying and combing her messy hair. She’s like her mom in more ways than one when it comes to hair!
I wasn’t surprised that she was born fully coifed because I know I had a lot hair when I was born. So I figured it would be the same for her. What has made me laugh is how everyone comments on how much hair she has. I always think to myself ‘but have you seen my head?’ because to me I see the correlation. But I guess I’m not that familiar with babies who didn’t have a lot of hair. My nieces were born with a lot of hair. I always figured it was an Italian thing to be born with helmet already intact.
In the early days of pregnancy I ate an orange almost every day. I’d get up, start making coffee or go and get some and then grab an orange. As my pregnancy progressed, I couldn’t tolerate any citrus or acid. It would give me the most intense heartburn and it was bizarre to me because I have hardly ever had heartburn in my life. As I mentioned this heartburn to people, almost everyone said that it was because the baby had a lot of hair. I honestly couldn’t see the connection. My doctor said the heartburn was due to the baby sitting on top of my stomach, which totally made sense to me.
The summer months passed where I couldn’t eat any ketchup on my hamburgers or lemonade to quench my thirst. Occasionally I would still eat those things and just remind myself of the consequences and remember to not complain since I had made the choice to eat those things.
So when my little cookie welcomed the world with the wealth of hair, I began to wonder if the folk wisdom of heartburn and a full head of hair wasn’t true. I am still quite doubtful especially since one of my good friends had the worst heartburn imaginable and her son was bald when he was born. Regardless, whenever we give her a bath, my favorite part of the ritual is drying and combing her messy hair. She’s like her mom in more ways than one when it comes to hair!
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Bleach
Sadly I didn’t have the best relationship with my grandparents on either side. My maternal grandfather passed away when I was pretty young. I honestly can’t recall if I even met him. The other grandparents were weird to me and I remember as a child that I didn’t really like them. They were just there.
But what I do remember about my paternal grandmother is that she was a clean freak. Her house was spotless…it was really cleaner than spotless. I don’t want to say immaculate because that’s too cliché. The place smelled of newness and shined all over – almost like a diamond. It was that brilliant.
Not only was it the most impressively clean place ever, but my grandma smelled of bleach. There were times when she would tell my mom she was coming for a visit and I would freak out. I couldn’t stand the smell of her. She was so pungent and vomit producing in her bleach noxious aroma that I would pretend to be asleep to avoid having to hug or kiss her. When I had to say hello, her smell wore off on my skin and my clothes. I wouldn’t be able to get the scent off of me without taking a shower or bath and cleaning my clothes.
When I lived in France one of the first things I did was go to the grocery story. I decided to pick up some food staples and cleaning supplies so that I could do my share of cooking and cleaning in the apartment that I rented (I rented a big room from an older businesswoman). At the supermarket I picked up the French equivalent of an Italian word/product that I recalled my mom mentioning often when it came to cleaning. I felt proud of myself because I had now learned a new French word by way of my Italian that I could add to my dictionary.
When I got home and opened the product to clean the bathroom, the smell singed my nose hairs and made me want to retch. It was bleach. The same horrible, tear producing fumes that I associated with my grandmother were now in my super cool French bathroom! Ugh! Cough! Cough! Choke!
To this day I have issues with bleach. The other day my mom asked me for some to clean my floors and I told her she would have to ask my husband because I hate using bleach. When I was pregnant, the smell of bleach was one of the few things I could not tolerate (cigarette smoke being the other) without almost puking. Any memory of my grandmother is forever tinged in the smell of stinky sanitizing fluid.
What I pray for is that my daughter doesn’t have any similar pejorative memories of her grandparents like I did. Even if some of the things they do annoy me, I hope that they don’t forever plague her like the odor of bleach has done for me my whole life.
But what I do remember about my paternal grandmother is that she was a clean freak. Her house was spotless…it was really cleaner than spotless. I don’t want to say immaculate because that’s too cliché. The place smelled of newness and shined all over – almost like a diamond. It was that brilliant.
Not only was it the most impressively clean place ever, but my grandma smelled of bleach. There were times when she would tell my mom she was coming for a visit and I would freak out. I couldn’t stand the smell of her. She was so pungent and vomit producing in her bleach noxious aroma that I would pretend to be asleep to avoid having to hug or kiss her. When I had to say hello, her smell wore off on my skin and my clothes. I wouldn’t be able to get the scent off of me without taking a shower or bath and cleaning my clothes.
When I lived in France one of the first things I did was go to the grocery story. I decided to pick up some food staples and cleaning supplies so that I could do my share of cooking and cleaning in the apartment that I rented (I rented a big room from an older businesswoman). At the supermarket I picked up the French equivalent of an Italian word/product that I recalled my mom mentioning often when it came to cleaning. I felt proud of myself because I had now learned a new French word by way of my Italian that I could add to my dictionary.
When I got home and opened the product to clean the bathroom, the smell singed my nose hairs and made me want to retch. It was bleach. The same horrible, tear producing fumes that I associated with my grandmother were now in my super cool French bathroom! Ugh! Cough! Cough! Choke!
To this day I have issues with bleach. The other day my mom asked me for some to clean my floors and I told her she would have to ask my husband because I hate using bleach. When I was pregnant, the smell of bleach was one of the few things I could not tolerate (cigarette smoke being the other) without almost puking. Any memory of my grandmother is forever tinged in the smell of stinky sanitizing fluid.
What I pray for is that my daughter doesn’t have any similar pejorative memories of her grandparents like I did. Even if some of the things they do annoy me, I hope that they don’t forever plague her like the odor of bleach has done for me my whole life.
Friday, February 1, 2013
Welcome Aboard
I admit I watched ‘The Love Boat’ when I was younger. It was entirely cheesy and ridiculous but I wasn’t concerned with the weekly plots. What I enjoyed was the welcoming of the weekly passengers and the vistas of the cruise liner in the ocean or the shots of the locales where they docked.
The way the whole crew came out to the entrance and greeted everyone was my favorite part of the show. It made everyone feel accepted and happy to have chosen that cruise vacation. As I’ve grown older, despite how I feel about getting attention, I think it’s always important for people to welcome you when join a new team or start a new job. It makes you feel like a part of the gang and fosters teamwork and camaraderie.
In my new team, the ‘steward’ did reach out to me. But it was clear that he wanted to just get the beverages served. He didn’t so much care if I was comfortable in my cabin. The ‘captain’ didn’t make an appearance until day three even though I called to confirm my reservation and asked what I should pack for the trip. I haven’t yet figured out who the ‘cruise director’ is but my guess is that the’ steward’ holds that position as well.
What’s odd is that a few hours into my sail, the ‘captain’ did a public announcement for another passenger who joined the cruise. I have yet to get this public announcement. So it’s made it difficult for me to move from level to level and event without that introduction. I can’t really completely ‘relax’ on this cruise without that because I need to constantly present myself.
Now, I don’t have a problem introducing myself but I thought it would have been nice to have the ‘captain’ do that for me. Some parts of me even think that’s the ‘captain’s’ job but it’s debatable.
So lately I’ve been feeling like I can’t quite settle into this cruise because no one here is looking to meet or have fun. That’s fine. But now I don’t really want to hear any ‘lovey dovey’ stuff on this love boat either. I want everyone to keep their small talk to themselves. Perhaps they can even watch “The Love Boat” and learn a couple of pointers on how people should be treated when they go on the cruise also known as work.
The way the whole crew came out to the entrance and greeted everyone was my favorite part of the show. It made everyone feel accepted and happy to have chosen that cruise vacation. As I’ve grown older, despite how I feel about getting attention, I think it’s always important for people to welcome you when join a new team or start a new job. It makes you feel like a part of the gang and fosters teamwork and camaraderie.
In my new team, the ‘steward’ did reach out to me. But it was clear that he wanted to just get the beverages served. He didn’t so much care if I was comfortable in my cabin. The ‘captain’ didn’t make an appearance until day three even though I called to confirm my reservation and asked what I should pack for the trip. I haven’t yet figured out who the ‘cruise director’ is but my guess is that the’ steward’ holds that position as well.
What’s odd is that a few hours into my sail, the ‘captain’ did a public announcement for another passenger who joined the cruise. I have yet to get this public announcement. So it’s made it difficult for me to move from level to level and event without that introduction. I can’t really completely ‘relax’ on this cruise without that because I need to constantly present myself.
Now, I don’t have a problem introducing myself but I thought it would have been nice to have the ‘captain’ do that for me. Some parts of me even think that’s the ‘captain’s’ job but it’s debatable.
So lately I’ve been feeling like I can’t quite settle into this cruise because no one here is looking to meet or have fun. That’s fine. But now I don’t really want to hear any ‘lovey dovey’ stuff on this love boat either. I want everyone to keep their small talk to themselves. Perhaps they can even watch “The Love Boat” and learn a couple of pointers on how people should be treated when they go on the cruise also known as work.
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