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I can't wait for the Kite Flying Festival at Zilker Park this weekend. To practice, we bought basic diamond-shaped kites at the Dollar Store and tried them out last weekend. It seemed blissful...we were right next to the Town Lake and the weather was a perfect 70 something. There was just a hint of wind that was enough for these $1 kites. A novice like moi was even able to get one off the ground. Dylan flew it for awhile until he let go and it got stuck in a tree.
Sort of suggestive, but they're from On Chesil Beach (page 123) by Ian McEwan WHICH I READ IN ITS ENTIRETY WHILE WAITING AT THE DR'S OFFICE!!!!!
"Cool air traveled pleasantly over her bare legs. She listened to the distant waves, the call of herring gulls, and to the sound of Edward undressing. Here came the past anyway, the indistinct past. It was the smell of the sea that summoned it. She was twelve years old, lying still like this, waiting, shivering in the narrow bunk with polished mahogany sides."
Danator tagged me for yet another meme.
I like being tagged.
I also like writing about books.
So here are the rules for this little one.
1. Grab the nearest book of 123 pages or more.
2. Open it to page 123.
3. Find the first 5 sentences and write them down.
4. Then invite 5 friends to do the same.
I seriously did not fudge this. This was the closest book to me just now:
"Class Six
The Red Wines of California
Red vs. White * Major Red Grapes of California
Red-Grape Boom * Meritage * Styles * Trends"
There were only four lines on that page of Windows on the World: Complete Wine Course.
If I wanted to be more cool and pretend that this one were actually closer to me, when it was actually half-way down the shelf, I would have done these five lines from Cereus Blooms at Night by Shani Mootoo. If you have not read this book, please do so.
"the grounds and Mr. Hector's gardens. Lost in conversation we
wandered outside the property and ended up on a trace in the cane
field. From then on Otoh became a regular visitor. Sometimes he
came twice in a week, always during my off-hours. We would meet
away from curious eyes on the periphery of the grounds. Propriety
(Now I have to just write a little more because the next sentence is great...)
Propriety restrains me from detailing just how alluring cane can be when a falsetto trill long trapped in your heart is bursting forth."
Let me tag some folks who probably have interesting books close at hand and whom I have not tagged a zillion times before: bri, Robin,shrike who seems to enjoy memes even more than I, Mrs. Bluemont cuz she writes good. That's it. I'm tagging four people because my officially-closest-to -me book only had four lines on page 123. So sue me. But if you are so inspired, please join in! I know Kris has got some good reads laying around.
PS I have some actual good blogs stewing in my head. They just require some image work that takes more time than I have on my hands at the moment. I'll get them up soon, I swear.
We just visited New York City for a long weekend. Being there made my new life in Austin seem so relaxed in comparison. Everything was so crowded, and it was stressful traveling with two preschool-aged children. My boys just aren't used to walking around so much, so we took cabs frequently. It's something I rarely indulged in while living there, but it definitely made life easier. There was so much I wanted to see and do, but I couldn't drag the kids everywhere—they just wanted to camp out at Toys-R-Us.
The weather was also colder than in Austin, where my kids have gotten used to not needing jackets. I think I tweaked my back after wearing the heavy parka, backpack and toting toddler around town, so now I walk like an eighty-year-old woman.
Today Mr G mentioned to me that he never wanted to go to New York again. (He had previously told me that he wanted to go back there again one day.) Maybe that confirms that Austin is now our home.
I'm up in Massachusetts with the kids and that means movie time. Even before we left the city I was already on the internet trying to figure out if there was anything out there that I wanted to see (or had heard of in the first place). I'm not up on movies like I used to be.
I expected there to be a couple of things, but the best surprise of all was when I looked for listings at the Amherst Cinemaand found that they had saved the Pleasant Street from an untimely shut-down! I vowed to be supportive and see at least one movie there during this stay.
Well, I saw that movie last night - There Will Be Blood - but the real star of the show was the cinema itself. It hadn't changed since I first started going there in the early 80s. The screen is still tiny and a little dingy, the seats are basic and worn, and THERE ARE NO CUP HOLDERS in the arm rests. This is what the burly man who sat in front of me noticed straight away. As he juggled his large bag of popcorn (real butter still) and jumbo cup, he was incredulous, and wondered aloud several times, "Where do I put my cup?!"
Where indeed. And what did we do in those dark, pre-cupholder days? He finally settled on placing it on the floor. Then proceeded to knock it over as he settled into his seat. As the sticky puddle spread under the row in front, I had to laugh. And move. After all, the seats aren't staggered the way they would be nowadays and I was unable to see the screen.
Because Sam has been receiving services though the board of ed (SEIT and OT) we now seem to be caught in this huge special services machine. The problem is, it is easier to focus on/worry about what will happen next year then to stop and be happy about how far he has come in the realm of social interaction since last year. This is because kindergarten looms, and there were some things I didn't know about this in relation to Sam and the IEP.
1) If the board of ed recommends an inclusion class, it is highly unlikely there will be a spot for him in our zoned school, 321. (There are usually 0-2 spots for Kindergarten).
2) If he does not get one of those lottery-determined spots (if there are indeed any) he will be assigned to another school.
3) He will be bussed to that school. Unless we hire a babysitter for drop-offs and pick-ups, which is definitely out of our budget.
People have told us to apply for the lottery at the Children's School, which is all inclusion classes. But I hesitate to do that as first of all, we don't know yet that is what is best for him and also the logistics - dropping Sam and Hank off at different schools at the same time - are impossible. Plus, no one seems to consider - what if he moved out of the need for an inclusion classroom, developmentally? Which his SEIT and most everyone else seems to think would happen in the next year or so (and may be possible even now). Then he would have to actually change schools to go to a general ed class.
What I am beginning to suspect, is that once a child is in this special ed machine, it is nearly impossible for him to get out of it. The paperwork has been done, the system is in place and that child has been labeled. I asked an official at 321 about the likelihood of moving out of special ed and she immediately assumed I meant moving to another country or state, rather than progressing. Telling.
If anyone is facing a similar dilemma, I have two recommendations to make.
1) Get the evaluation done privately and services provided privately if you can afford it.
2) If you can't afford to do it privately, make sure that child gets into the nursery program at your zoned school as those children automatically get the kindergarten spots.
I wish I had known.
While doing some image research (on gettyimages.com) for a baby book that I'm illustrating, I found some that I had to share. Seeing all these babies is not unlike being a kid in a candy shop...it almost made me want to have another one because I adore the baby stage. I love when they're newborns: so tiny, so completely innocent and with simple needs. I know when my kids get older, I'm going to especially miss the intimacy of infancy. How I can just shower them with affection, have them sit in my lap or snuggle in bed with me, and it's perfectly OK.
Below (top to bottom):
Look at that perfect body!
Model material? (Look at the way her hand is perfectly placed.)
Love those lips! Happy Valentine's day.
Not unlike many of my neighbors and peers, I've been paying between a quarter and a dollar extra per half-gallon to feed my child organic cow's milk since he began drinking it.
My reasons for this are a little foggy (not unlike my reasons for many of my parenting choices.) I don't like the idea of extra hormones being pumped into my baby's body. I do like the idea of the cows being treated well. Part of me thinks it tastes better. I know organic farming is better for the environment than non-organic, though many argue against the farming of cows at all, but that's another blog. Now that I'm pregnant, I laugh in the general direction of anyone who suggests that I shouldn't drink cow's milk. I dream about the stuff. Ummm... oh, and I buy it because for some reason it makes me feel good.
I was pretty happy going along buying the least expensive carton I could find... scouring the stores, really, for organic milk bargains. I was pretty pleased with the invention of "ultra-pasturization," so I could buy several half-gallons at a time and it wouldn't go bad.
Then I spoke to one of my friends who is just slightly on the more aware side of her grocery consumption. I told her about the bargains to be had at Costco -- three organic half-gallons for eight bucks! Unheard of! In my neighborhood, one half-gallon can go for $4.60. She replied, "I haven't read up on the Costco milk, so I haven't bought it." Normally I would think, "Ok, so she has to read about food before she buys it? That's a little too cautious for the likes of lazy old me." But this conversation came on the heels of another conversation I had with my co-workers who think I'm silly for shelling out any extra dough for organic milk. Their kids turned out just fine on regular milk. How do I even know if it is really organic... organic... organic? That last phrase repeated in my mind the way Marsha Brady's cry "Oh my nose!" repeated in that one Brady Bunch episode lodged deep in the psyche of anyone my age who was allowed to watch tv as a child.
How do I even know if it is really organic... organic... organic?
When my friend said that it came back with that same shrill Marsha Brady cry.
So I googled "organic milk Costco."
Oh boy. Football to the nose right before the big date time.
It turns out that pretty much all of those cheap brands are pretty much big fat liars. They have an organic stamp from the FDA, but they violate the codes without blinking an eye. They have 4000 cow farms! Their idea of "pasture time" is less than a walk in the prison yard. Yes, they feed the cows organic grain. But they get the calves from non-organic farms that do really gross things to their feed. Yes, they don't have the hormone problems of non-organic cows. But they are gross. F'ing heifers. (Sorry.)
One of my other friends said that she mostly cares about the fact that she's not feeding her son the hormones. The other stuff doesn't bother her. That's ok. It bothers me. It bothers me that they are taking foggy-headed parents like myself's best intentions and using them for profit without honestly delivering the goods they promise.
I don't know. Read what the Cornucopia Institute, who did the study, has to say and tell me what you think.
I think I'm willing to pay the extra quarter for happy cows and honest farmers.
My 5-year old son, Mr G, HATES to lose. If I suggest a race to see who can get their shoes on first, he'll declare it's not a race if he's not ready. When we played Candyland, somehow the card to place him exactly where he wanted to be on the board magically appeared on his next turn. And while playing Go Fish, it seemed very suspicious that he was only selecting cards next to him in a row that all matched! Apparently, learning to lose is harder than figuring out how to cheat!
I had a moment to myself.
I needed to pick up some food for Superbowl guests, but I was also starving. I was in my old neighborhood. Progressive, yuppified, occasionally down-to-earth, it used to be populated by many many gay girls until we social workers, teachers and karate instructors got priced out and replaced by hedge fund managers... I still miss it, though. Walking down to a major intersection, I heard an unfamiliar sound. It was kind of like a barking yelp. A man was standing on the corner holding a poster mounted on cardboard. It was graphically pleasing-- a mix between Salvador Dali and those Che Guevera t-shirts, it was Jesus on the cross, a shot at an angle slightly from above, black on red. I couldn't understand anything the barking preacher was saying. He just seemed really mad. And he seemed like if he yelled his message loudly and angrily enough he could somehow fill people with the love of Jesus.
Just across the street from barking Che/Dali, were two college-aged young men in suits and ties. The thing about my old 'hood is, even the hedge fund managers who decide to live there somehow are rarely seen in suits. So, you know, I just look upon suited folks a little suspiciously there. Especially if they are 
holding bibles and trying to talk to strangers. These guys sounded frustrated. Not angry, like Barky McBarkington, just a little exasperated at the lack of response they were getting. "Jesus will set you free?" one said/asked pleadingly as I walked by. Free from what? I have a beautiful son, a lovely lesbian partner and another baby on the way. I'm pretty darn happy. If Jesus could somehow set me free to have a legal wedding, I'd be happy to talk. Otherwise, I'm good, thanks.
I stepped into a new Middle-Eastern place for some falafel. After me, four well-dressed (dare I say suited?) people walked in. One of them had several Jehovah's Witness pamphlets. They seemed so happy. I watched them as I ate my reconstituted chickpeas. I always watch the Witnesses with fascination. On one hand because some of the sweetest people I've known have been Witnesses. On the other hand because I'm gay, I'm pretty sure they're not allowed to talk to me. Well, I know that if I had been a Witness, then gay, they wouldn't be allowed to to talk to me. One woman in the group, walked
up to the counter and started chatting with the (brand new) restaurant owners in Arabic and handed them JW pamphlets in Arabic. She even chatted with the eleven-year-old son who was sitting behind the counter. I couldn't lift my jaw off of my paper plate. A pre-meditated recruiting visit to the brand-new muslim (possibly, what do I know, I don't know the owners personally) place of business! What? What? WHAT?
This is where I start to feel very much like an outsider to these religions. To me, this behavior just seems rude. I was taught to try my best to respect other people's belief systems. Yet, to respect their belief-system, do I also need to respect these seemingly misguided marketing ploys for God? Does God actually need these people to market for her? What is God's point with and for these people? Especially the suit guys in the street and the barking guy. They seemed far more unsettled than the people they were trying to recruit/save who were walking to their yoga classes or the the supermarket to buy chicken wings and chips. If I were marketing for God, I'd be hitting the bars at 4 pm. That's where I think I might find the saddest people. The people who I would recruit actually might benefit from a mission and a suit. The fact that they are focusing on the hedge fund managers and the lawyers and the wall street bankers kind of gives me the feeling that they are looking for something more than spreading the salvation. I hope I'm not being offensive. Again, I try to respect other people's beliefs. But come on.
As I walked back up the corner, past the barking guy, I did hear and understand one thing he said, "You are all walking around like zombies." Ok. I am? If your religion promises salvation in the hereafter, than perhaps that is exactly what I am. I feel like I've already been saved.
