The Big "R" That's Out There...

So, somehow I was thinking about Barack Obama and H last night, as I waited to drift off to bed...I think H started me thinking about him, but I'm not sure...this is a bit rambling, and I'm sure to piss someone off, but, oh well...

I looked in on H last night (I think this brought my political thinking to my conscious mind, but I could be wrong), and I was thinking of the pics that we got from a photographer yesterday (we had photos done at a park this weekend.) So, I look in on H as she's sleeping, and, for lack of a better term, with how she was lying, and the light, she *looked Chinese.* I don't know, I just don't look at her and think of her Chinese-ness. It's not far from my thoughts, but I don't know, I don't see it when I look at her, because I see all the things that make her H (and I know, that's a big part of her) before that. I think of the dimple she gets and the nose crunch when she giggles hysterically. I think of her perchant for taking food she's done with, holding it out at arms length over the side of the highchair, and looking me straight in the eye, before she drops it to the hungry kitties below, with a defiant look. I think of the sweet baby "buh" she says when she waves now. But I was struck by her classic Chinese beauty last night. And I realized that this is what people see when they first see her in my pasty pale, Franco-German arms.

I think I thought of this because my mom, in all her good qualities, notices race way too much many times. So, we were going thru the photos, and she would say something like "she looks sooo Chinese here, don't know if you want that or not." I guess because she doesn't have the super-open baby eeyes anymore?!?! I don't know. It's weird, cause she adores...simply lives, for this kid. I guess it's when she's not engaged, for example, a picture, it's really easy for her to forget that there are real people behind the images, that are so much more than what they present in two dimensional space. Anyways, I guess it was on my mind.

And me, being me, started drifting my mind to the looming presidential race, cause, I am by nature, a political beast. I love politics (well, in a hating it kinda way), history, geo-politics etc...and I've had some discussions with people about the First Black Serious Candidate and the First Woman Serious Candidate...

At the time, I said to friends, I didn't get why, because I have boobs, I had to support Clinton...and I didn't get why anyone had to support any certain candidate because you can play "what's the same" with their picture and yours...

Isn't that the point of Civil Rights? Of Equal Rights? That it didn't matter what color, sex, political or religious beliefs you held? The best person for the job? It seems to me, that if I supported Clinton because I was a woman and she was a woman, I'd be doing the exact opposite of what I believe in...I'd be picking her because she is like me, not because of what she stands for...the ambiguous "we" don't like when we don't get chosen because of who "we" are, so why should it be done the other way around?

And if someone (well, a lot of those people in WV and KY said it to be broadcast for the world) said "I'm going to vote for Clinton or McCain cause they are white", all hell would break loose. Really, Clinton was pandering to the blue-collar whites. She uses the "w" word in a lot of her speeches..."hard working white people."

Does that give anyone else shivers that this is acceptable?

No. We cannot live in a world where race/gender/religion whatever is ignored. It's a part of who each and everyone of us is. But it at the same time isn't us. It's a piece. Sometimes big, sometimes small. And that's what makes everyone queasy...lots of people want a black and white (har, har) answer...yes, we either pin everything on it, or we HAVE to pretend it doesn't exist. No inbetween.

Ironically, in cases where race and gender (Affirmative Action and equality stances), they aren't talking about it. This is a case where Barack Obama as a minority male should be speaking as an educated person with a different viewpoint. Clinton should also be, as a female who wants to go where she percieves other females have not been welcome. It shouldn't be their complete campaigns, but these are issues facing our country. And it's like they are not being talked about on purpose...all those talking heads out there on all those 24 hour news networks? They never once thought to ask what Obama thinks of affirmative action? (Maybe they have, I haven't seen it.) Or what Clinton thinks about the disparity of pay to females vs males for the same job? This is when it does matter...to know what these people think. But, the talking heads shun it, cause it's bad to point it out when it matters.

Just like I won't pick out a picture because it makes H look Chinese, or she doesn't look "as Chinese" (what that supposedly means, that's another discussion...). I'll pick a picture that shows the most of H. It'll be in her eyes, and how she carries herself, that look of her soul using her body to show the world who she is. And that's all colored by the body she's in, and the eyes she's using to see the world, but it isn't just those eyes and that skin that is darker than mine.

And I'll pick a presidential candidate that shows me how he will run this country based on who he is, shining thru his eyes, and expressed in his actions. And someday, maybe I'll have to put an "s" on that pronoun, but I don't cry that it's not this year, cause there's so much more that matters than what's between the persons' legs, and what color it is.

How's that for random ramblings?

Thank God It Was A Diaper Under There

Sigh...

Why am I flashing forward about 15 years to when it's not a Huggies under there? (Not that my kid is ever, ever, ever getting a thong) BTW, she walked around like this for a good 15 minutes before she'd let me get my hands on that waistband...

Cheerio Haiku #1

In honor of the lowly cheerio that has been raised to the venerated status of "must have on tray at all times otherwise a hissy of biblical proportions will be thrown", a Haiku, what I personally view as one of the most lowly poetry formats.

crunchy cardboard-y

irregular mass-made "o"

please please more right now

I've lost it folks, admit it.

A (Grand)Father and a (Grand)Daughter

OK, so after my pensive mood, and a cancelled lunch date with a friend, I decided to get Peanut and I out of the house. So what do I come up with what with our crappy weather and all? I go to the office. I figure I can make my presence known to little boogers who think I don't count anymore, and H can get cooed over...

So into the car to spend 45 minutes of gas...egads. Did I really drive that much every day of my life?!?! We get to office, go to Dad/Boss' office of course. He lights up when he sees us, and starts talking to H right away, trying to get her to warm up to him. The dog du jour (they take turns coming to the office), cowers behind him, terrified of this evil thing that has come into her life, waving at her and dropping cheerios. All was fine. All is fine. It always is, with my Dad. Nothing ruffles him, nothing gets him pissed or sad or whatever. He's the picture next to the definition of "even-keeled".

We do the office tour, have some office-y discussions. He only tries to hold H at the end of the visit, when she's pissed off at this boring adult stuff, and about 3 hours overdue for a nap (her choice, not mine.). She screams of course. Then I switch off my finger about 10 minutes later for his, so I can visit the toilet before the drive home. I come out, she's still walking with him, but it's like a little Baby Death March. She's walking, but moaning, and the tears are in her eyes.

That got to me. She's ok with him, sometimes likes him, but doesn't squeal with delight with him. And it bugged me because he made little comments...not bad ones, but telling ones: It was nice of you to bring her in. Wow! She has great balance now. Oh look how much she's walking. She looks so much taller....etc etc etc...my favorite: We'll try to get together this weekend.

Dude. You live 3 minutes from me if the light is red. And 1/2 of the times you've seen your one and only grandchild is when I cart her into the office...45 minutes away. I don't know if it is him, my step-mom, a almost beyond belief desire to make sure there is no infringement on personal space, or what, but I'm starting to get really disappointed.

I don't know why, this is how it was with me. Mind you, my Dad is such a great guy, it pains me that H is not getting to know him better. He saw her once every 10 days or so for a few times, and now, it's back to normal. Life getting in the way. Scratch that...work getting in the way. I don't know if my step-mom is playing into that...I know she was still in her casts from her foot surgery when we got home, I get that, I spent $80 on a phone call from GZ to see how the surgery went, but now that she's better, why has the visitation gotten worse? And the times he's been over at my house? Other than her birthday, it's been dropping off work or something, though I give credit that he could be darting off again but doesn't.

When I was little, my parents divorced when I was wee. Very wee. Not infant wee, but I just have one faint memory of us all moving to seperate houses that summer day. My Dad talked to me most days - I would call him at the office because they usually worked till after dinner. I get that in the days of the start up company. But it was always me calling him. Sometimes multiple times to get him. I think one of the reasons he bought a brick cell phone was so he could multi-task and call me back on his way home. I saw him 90% of the weekends for a day. But somehow, for all the physical effort, it was somehow always me, the 8 year old, the 12 year old, the 30 year old looking to make the emotional and mental effort to connect. And it's funny, because I am his daughter all the way - the interests, the outlooks, everything. Though I promise to not let life slide away like he has in some ways.

Perhaps it's the flow of daily life. Maybe I'm reading too much into this. Maybe I still crave my Daddy's open love (which you don't see, you just have to know it's there) more than I admit to myself. I had angry spurts growing up of course with him. Haven't had it for years. I'd gotten into the daily flow of how it is. Maybe the last 11 years at my office have given me a sense of closeness that I had craved my whole life. I'm sure they have in some great way. Was is real or not...does discussions about politics and tv and life in the lunchroom suffice or not?! Who's to say...

I don't know what I wanted. What I expected?! He is what he is. I just wish it was different for H. I know he loves her, I can see it. I just want it to be different for her. I want her to squeal when she sees him. I want her to have the awesome Grandfather that I had in his father. My Grandfather was twice the reserved cautious sincere man my father was, but you saw him put that aside for his one and only granddaughter. He wasn't snuggly, but he would wiggle his ears and lift me over his head. He was infintely patient. He would show me how he made jewlery and fixed the sink and trimmed the cactus. It pains me...soon I figure, my Dad will also make the move to AZ, they have a gorgeous piece of land out in Sedona - my step-mom is just about screaming for it. I feel the time that H has with him is limited. I don't want her home at 6 months here to have reservations about being with him instead of me. I want her to know him, to spend those intimate moments with him, when they bow their heads together over an ant hill and he explains everything he knows (which is always more than you would think Granddads should know) and comes home all infused with excitement. I see caution in him, he's giving her space. But he's not here enough for her to decide to make those emotional and mental reaches out to him that I've always had to do. Will he go away, to the life my step-mom wants before they get to the point that she can and wants to do the leg work for it? Why can't he make that step, the reach that my grandfather made, overcoming all the level-headed reasonableness and daily work ethic to take that time?

Am I asking to much? And why do I kill my brain and my heart over this? You can't change what any of us are...I can't make him do what is not in his nature.

I mourn for H, because if he was 1/2 the Grandfather his Dad was to me, she would be rich beyond her dreams.

Lilacs And Absolutes

Ahhhh...I'm waxing philosophical again. Sorry, but it's gonna be directed at you. Yesterday was a "mama's day off" which translates to me doing about 6 hours of yard work. I've got my mid-west farmer's tan now...I'm "in" around here now for the next few months.

Philosophical Waxing #1:
What will H remember about me (subconsciously)? About her childhood? I know the big things, the things with her friends, first days of school etc...what about all that little stuff? All the stuff you can't even plan on wanting or shoulding remembering...Yesterday I was walking thru my yard, dragging a giant bag of dirt behind me. I all of a sudden couldn't stop myself from stopping, standing up and closing my eyes...I had passed one of my lilacs. See, in my home in another suburb until I was in 4th grade, we had lived in a split level - one of those where the upper floor juts out a bit over the lower floor. That was where my bedroom was, on the lower floor. My mother had a hedge of lilacs put in under that overhang. My mother also is one of those firm believers that even if it's 90 degrees out, the "breeze" will lower the house temp to a comfortable 75 or so (A Miracle! It's a Miracle that defies science!!! A Higher Being made that screening cool the air. Call the Vatican, the screens in each of my mother's past and present homes much be blessed! But I digress...) So, many, many a night I would lay there waaaaay too hot, smelling the lilacs.

And, it's not like the lilacs bring back that specific memory. I don't transport back to that peach bedroom. It took me years to figure out the draw of the lilacs. But they create a huge visceral reaction in me. I have to stop when I smell them...I have to take a pause in my day. To me, that's actually a huge gift - a pause in the crazy of life that we all seem to forget to take. Just a few seconds, but it's there.

My MIL is the opposite. Her Dad and Mom died 6 months apart when she was relatively young (20ish). She hates roses. Hates the smell. Almost gags. But you think about it, especially her Dad was a shocking death on top of a young death. She was pregnant with my husband at the time. When her mother died, she not only inherited her parents house, but also a minor brother that she, as a newly young mother and wife, had to also care for. No wonder she can't tolerate the smell...I can't imagine the amount of roses that she was surrounded by at those funerals and were sent to her home. The father was a doctor, well known in the area, I imagine those funeral homes overflowing all in white and red roses for some reason.

Another one for me...beer. Once upon a time, my Dad let me drink his beer, I was thinking it was ginger ale. I to this day, and 3germresnd years of age can't drink beer. I hate beer. I hate the smell of beer. That and gin and cognac, cannot drink them. Bleck. It's not like a giant mental scar, but years later, when I've tried beer, which I force myself to do every 5 years or so - I think it's wrong. I think it's supposed to taste linke ginger ale.

Other things...I feel the need to sing to Barry Manilow when I hear him, even though thankfully, it's only if some odd tv signal barrages my brain or something, cause I really do hate his music. But my mother loves Barry Manilow. She walked around the house, singing to it. Actually, this has affected me unbeknowest to me. I am the world's biggest car singer. I can't turn the radio on without treating it as a sing-along karaoke machine. I only am thankful that I don't feel this need when Neil Diamond pummels my brain. I may have gotten the compulsive need to sing from my mother, but I got much better taste in music from my Dad. Which, off topic, how the hell do I erase the words to Mandy from my very-important-to-me brain mass? I forget where my sunglasses are all the time...maybe if I freed up some of my mis-used hard drive space up in my cranium, I wouldn't forget important crap.

So. Getting back to my original question...what will it be about me that infect my child's brain on a subconscious level? Will she move to the big city to run from anything green, or will she end up with a farm and growing her own everything due to the future planned years of us gardening together? Will she feel the need to argue politics even if she agrees, just like me? Will she pause when she passes a bakery smells all the sweets baking? Will she compulsively make sure the labels of the cans face front at least enough so you can see what's in the kitchen cabinet as soon as you open the door?

I guess maybe it's hubris of mine to think that she'll develop most of her traits because of us parents that she got stuck with. Of course, with H, you can take this discussion to the next level...what will she pick up from us that she may not have been impressed upon if she had different parents than us. I know you can ask that about any kid, and I hate to question everything and how it will be affected by her adoption (Lord knows, I question stuff enough without even throwing the "A" word on top of it all.) But it's a possible question with adopted kids a bit more than the purely philosophical disscussion if the kid gets to grow up with the parents that created her/him. Is my kid destined to be affected by a smell? Does her biology lean her towards that, and if it's here, she smells the lilacs in my yard and gets the same reaction, or the cakes and tarts that I make will bring her back to another place? If she was back in China, she'd gain the same affection for another olfactory trigger? Or is it the experiences that make those triggers? What is she destined to latch on to, and what do we make her latch on to?

Sigh...I'm back to the ol' biology vs environment discussion again. How do I always get back there? I think it's because every day I'm amazed at this little computing and learning machine I have wandering around here, with Farmer Ted in her hand at all times.

Well, I've prattled on the whole time I've eaten my frozen lunch (really though, I do bake. Seriously.), I'll have to tackle the "absolutes" of the post title later...

Oh, BTW, we hate naps in this house now, and we've got our first molar pushing thru. It broke thru Saturday, and I have the holes in my index finger to prove it from trying to stick my finger in past all those well established teeth in the front.