Friday, September 11, 2009

A Legacy of Fear: Remembering 9/11

So every year since 2001, all of America stops for a moment on September 11 to honor and remember this tragic anniversary. For those of us that were around at the time, we all have stories about what we were doing that day and how our lives and our perception of safety was changed forever. For most of us who witnessed this day through the lens of the media, we go about our daily lives throughout the year. But it's when September 11 rolls around again, I still feel profound sadness and loss for everything we lost that day. This is my story of what I was doing that day. It might seem trivial and, I imagine, unoriginal as many college students at the time experienced something similar on the bus that day. Nonetheless, it changed me and what was most affected to this day was my perception of safety in my country.

I was starting my Junior year at Rutgers and had just gotten out this dreadful Calculus class that was supposedly my "for fun" class. I crossed a busy College Road and got myself on the bus to a building several blocks away for my next class. The time was just after 10am.

I remember the bus being unusually quiet, just because this was typically "rush hour" for students and even though the bus was full, something was amiss. There were two girls sitting next to me and I eavesdropped in on their conversation. One girl was telling the other that the Twin Towers were bombed.  The girl wasn't sure because she had heard it from someone else. But I was so intent on getting to my class that I just thought they were talking about the 1993 bombing, maybe it was a class project or something. As I approached the building for my next class, I noticed that there were no students hanging out in the entrance to that building as was usual, especially before the start of class. There were signs posted on the door and the hallways were emptied. The signs read: In light of today's tragic events, classes have been cancelled. What? What were they talking about?

I reached for my cell phone to dial my mother to see what she knew- my phone was cut off. But I just knew I had paid the bill! What was going on? So I proceed to call Verizon operator and she told me that service was interrupted for some time. I asked her why and she said, "The towers were bombed". I said to her, what do you mean?  She's all, Didn't you watch the news? I could have reached into the phone, grabbed her and shook her feverishly, but I thought I'd at least get her to tell me what was going! Then she was all, the Twin Towers were bombed this morning and we've lost service in most of the New York metro area- go home, it's all over the news. Ok, something was very wrong here- the Verizon operator lady just told me to GO HOME.

So I got on the next bus, shaking all the way back to my apartment where my roommate was already glued to the only channel we had left. We didn't leave that tv screen for two days (well, except for a bathroom break here and there). For two days, the world stopped and was tuned into FOX for the most horrendous and heartbreaking news coverage in my generation's lifetime. Classes were cancelled, the roads were emptied, no one came or left the campus. We could see the Fort Dix military helicopters flying over the campus every few hours, patroling the skies.

In 2003, while working in a hotel located near Newark Airport, an Arab man walked into my restaurant. He looked around and started asking me questions about the security in the hotel: why so many guards, what are they looking for? what about security at the airport? is it this tight too? Certainly, interesting inquiries from an out-of-towner in any case. BUT this was post 9/11 and as much as we try, stereotypes always manage to creep into your mind, especially when our safety is threatened. I remember this terrifying, creepy feeling overcoming me in the restaurant as this man fired off his odd questions at me. The next thing I knew, I was on the phone with the Chief of Security and he marched into the restaurant with a fellow guard and planted himself at this man's table. The three men sat for a LONG time. I will never know what they talked about and I'm sure this Arab felt completely profiled. For that, I would like to send my apologies to this man. But, unless you lived underground on 9/11, you had to know what this country had just been through and you don't go around asking employees of an airport hotel about the security protocol (AND especially if you are Middle Eastern)!!! 

Eight years: yes, life has continued. Do I feel any safer today? No. Even though I didn't lose any family or friends that day at the hands of terrorists, I lost my innocence and faith in humanity. That people could think of and execute such a heinous act in the name of a god, was almost historic. These things weren't supposed to happen in my generation- my lifetime. But they did. I look at my son now: a bubbling, innocent child who has no idea of what it's like to watch something like this unfold on your TV live. They only way he'll know about this now is through a textbook someday in a History class. I only hope we will have learned the lessons so that our children will never have to experience such human tragedy as we did.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Marriage of Convenience (or other government benefits)

This week is my wedding anniversary to the Hubbs of 3 (or 2) years, depending on who you are, is what you know. Let me explain and the mystery will be revealed.

In 2006, I was faced with yet again another layoff from Corporate America. This would be my second in a year and a half, and the third for our relationship. Trying times they were. Fast forward a few years, two severe pay cuts, serious debt, and a bankrutpcy- here we were again, back at square 1.5. I remember that sinking, and yet exciting, feeling of not knowing what to do with myself after this job was over in a few short weeks. Even though my boss at the time had promised a few of us a job, I wasn't convinced and I knew I needed a backup plan (I was right- got the pink slip two weeks later). Of course, with losing my job, I was losing benefits too and I was getting old enough to know that I really, probably shouldn't be without insurance.

Cue Bright Idea bulb: one comfortable Saturday morning, laying in bed trying not sweat over the impending uncertainty in the weeks ahead, I turned to the Hubbs and said the words that most single men really dread: I need health insurance- LET'S GET MARRIED! Still not sure which is scarier, asking your partner for insurance or the marriage thing, two very big commitments. I should probably mention that we were already engaged at this point, not actively looking to set a date so this wasn't a terrible idea.

I'm going off topic for a second here. I think it's despicable that in such a modern country as we live in, we have managed to tie something so basic as insurance coverage to Marriage. And typical in governmentese, in most states it's illegal for gays to get married, hence robbing them of insurance coverage! There are so many material benefits to Marriage that governments have managed to keep this dying institution alive and well (even if meaningless and sometimes fraud) by denying citizens basic rights, like insurance and tax benefits. Ever think why is it that married folks get a nice tax break if they file jointly? Because Flo and her office buddies in the IRS JUST NEED to take 2 hour lunch breaks instead of flipping through a second return! I don't know about you, but I'd rather my tax dollars go towards the time it takes to process another tax return than a two-hour lunch! When will we find a way to separate marriage from conveniences and basic rights?

And we're back. So Hubbs looks at me, bewildered, and says Sure, why not? Every girl's dream, he said YES! Oh wait, wasn't it supposed to be the other way around? Ah, who cares! Two weeks later, I took a half day off and there we were: me in tube spring dress, all yellow and green flower print, and a teeny bouquet Banana (that would be my friend) made for me. It was just me, Hubbs, two friends and the lady judge- perfect. No fuss.

So almost exactly one year later, the princess in me finally caved and a small (lavish) wedding was had. For most of our friends and families, this is the only wedding they know about... until now. It does feel good to be naughty...

Thursday, August 20, 2009

No More Surprises

I came across this essay by Kevin Guilfoile in Heather Armstrong's book Things I Learned About My Dad, in which Kevin lists the ten things he's learned about fatherhood. My favorite on his list? #2: Don't Ask the Doctor for the Sex of Your Baby.

It sounds a bit antiquated, and frankly, I was even SHOCKED to see it in print by someone else- a father, to boot! He goes on to say that there's really nothing left to say on birth announcements once the sex is known and the mystery is gone.

It brings back memories when I was preggers with Josh and we decided to keep the sex of the baby a mystery. OH MY GOD! You'd think I was working some covert CIA mission to exploit koala bears. I didn't realize keeping the surprise was so WEIRD, I mean, how could you NOT KNOW WHAT YOU'RE HAVING?? What was I thinking? I can't tell you how many smirks I got when people asked what I was having and I'd politely answer "I don't know, it's a surprise!" And then I'd get Really? But how do you know what to buy? Huh? I think they make onesies in white (I don't think either boy or girl would object to that) and I like neutrals anyway so it's not like I was just dying to fill a room with pink or blue stuff.

Our world today is littered with predictability; any surprises that come up are not usually good ones (except for maybe the occasional "stripper in a cake" routine at a 30th birthday party)... how boring. Is that as good as it gets? Some T & A popping out of a cake? That's it? I was determined to make a GOOD surprise for myself.

I saw this line somewhere and it's totally true: It's the miracle of life for a reason, not: on this day a girl (or boy) will come into my life. There's something sacred about the birth of a child and who are we to ruin Mother Nature's surprise to us. It's like finding out your husband planned this huge surprise to take you to see Britney Spears on your anniversary and he even got a babysitter! OK, yes, having a baby IS better than seeing Britney shake her thing, but getting a babysitter is just the cherry on the cake! Go Mike! The point is, that when I told Mike that I knew what his surprise was, I might as well have crushed his dreams with my bare, muscular hands (eww, what a visual). I don't know too many people who like having their surprises found out before it's time, why would you do it to Mother Nature?

I liked not knowing that on ___ day in October I was going to have a ___. There was mystical and thrilling feeling about it accompanying the Braxton-Hicks. Plus, it gave my husband an important task during delivery:

40 weeks of discomfort and swelling... $12,486

30 hours of slow, intense labor... $5 for narcotics and a glass of wine

Having your husband tell you the sex of your baby with tears in his eyes... Priceless.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Sand in My Toes

I found the secret to calming my energizer bunny (that would be Josh to all the pervs out there). Josh is a baby jacked up on battery juice in the afternoons, especially when he hasn't napped. You could almost see the excitement steaming out of his ears and jolting his limbs in every direction! I just didn't think it was possible for all that energy to fit in an 18-pound body.
But, lo and behold! Alas, I have found the secret to sanity! The golden nugget, the sacred treasure... you get my drift. On a recent trip to the beach, I spent the whole hour-long drive just dreading the inevitable scene that would follow:

1. Arrive at beach, but wait....

2. Drive car around beach 16 times to find parking spot; it turns out 27,487 other people had the same great idea for a nice beach day. who knew?

3. Stalk another mom with 4 kids, 2 strollers and a shit load of bags to her car, ask her if she's leaving and wait

4. Wait... wait... remember she had 4 kids, 2 strollers and God knows how many bags? oh, I think I even saw a dog and a bike in that mess too...

5. FINALLY! Mom-with-Shit-load-of-bags leaves parking spot. PHEW! Nope! Bastard in Mustang comes barrelling down the street hoping to steal this coveted spot.

6. Get in HONK fight with Bastard in Mustang... I WIN!

7. Now the fun really begins...

8. Josh has now realized the car has stopped: OMMMMGGG!!!

9. Hurry! Throw out the bags, fold out the stroller and quickly devise a plan to carry the beach chairs and umbrella all while driving the stroller one handed...

10. Meanwhile, entertaining a 10-month old who desperately needs a bottle and, no, he won't hold it either!

See the impending doom I was feeling in that car ride? Oh wait, this all actually happened! Silly me, I really thought I could escape it. Well, Mr. Cranky-pants-refuses-to-hold-bottle, neatly tucked into the stroller, is now throwing WORLD-CLASS FIT. I managed to walk the 4 blocks to the beach entrance, swerving a few cars along the way with the stroller, and even convinced a nasty-looking police officer to carry my beach chair for me across the street. I knew having a baby would have it's advantages! Somehow, people feel like they need to help the frazzled mom dragging the stroller, 3 bags, beach chair and umbrella. THANK YOU!

Well, I finally made it to the sand and something wonderful happened: Mr. Cranky-diapers was overcome by the sweet smell of Banana Boat air (or something. oh, who the hell cares, he was QUIET! and that's all that matters!) The power of the ocean sounds, seagull diving right for my head, the overflowing trashcans, pre-teens in thongs, boom-boxes blaring... could I possibly bottle this up and open up a can at home for future meltdowns? Josh was so calm the rest of the day- I really can't figure out what did it. He napped in the salty breeze, played with mama's nose (he's into pointing at things these days), and occasionally got his toes or fingers in the sand. The latter activity which prompted a squeal, yes, a SQUEAL from his cute little squishy face, followed by a big hug on mama's leg... close enough.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

I Heart My Blankie

I spent the afternoon watching Josh fluff his cowboy blanket 57 times. Yes, I counted. Only because I wanted to see how long it would take for him to get bored or topple over, whichever occured first. So he toppled over and continued to fluff his blanket another 19 times, all the while babbling to the bears on the mobile above him. I think the conversation went something like this:

Josh: "Goo bababab dada dee. Huh? Oda? Atai shes. huh? hmmmmmm. adbadbada. yeah"
Bears: (cue the crickets...)

Josh: "Agha! Agha! Gad Gad gag. adai adai. baboo da. tetena" (waves blanket furiously at Bears)

Bears: (still hear the crickets?)

Josh: (grabs Lamy- the talking horse he loves- and bites Lamy's face!) Agma! Agma!

Since Lamy is now in the picture, the blanket has been tucked under his arm just in case Lamy doesn't taste good anymore. And as he rolls over for his nap, he pulls the blanket up to his mouth and chewing on the tag, falls asleep. He's so cute.

Rice Cereal Fashion

Flaky, cereal-y you are
Ground up dry
Waiting for you
Mushy in my milk bowl
The hand drumming louder
Hurry, mushy must be right
Yumminess surrounds you
Splat!
Speckled on the shirt
Touch mushy, smear
You are all I want to wear

Friday, August 14, 2009

Urban Horse Rides

I came home the other day to find two horses on my neighbor's front lawn. I should mention that I don't live on a farm or even remotely close to a rural area. Why there were horses on my street was yet to be determined.

It turns out the town was trying to give the kiddies a taste of the good life: horseback riding on the soccer field. Sadly for some of these kids, that's the only time they will get to even see a live horse. Well, this horse fiasco got me thinking about my own kid and the priveleges he will have.
We just recently got back from a trip out to Ithaca (you know, from "Ithaca is Gorges" t-shirts?). It also happens to be the home of Cornell U- where naturally my son will attend school in approximately 17 years (no pressure, Josh, really). Interesting enough, what I thought was a very simple family vacation, hiking in the woods, evidently, is a big freakin' deal! Some people who saw my photographs on Facebook commented "oh, Ithaca..." (insert snooty facial expression here).

AS IF!

Now, my husband and I certainly live within our means. We have a decent small home in what I like to call urban suburbia- you know, where part of the town is sketchy and the other part doesn't even look like it belongs. Yeah, that's where we live. We don't make alot of money, but it's enought to keep the mortgagers happy and food in the fridge. We work as hard as we can to provide for our son and give him a great life.

Naturally, if you live or even vacation in a certain area, you're automatically lumped in a group that could either be positive or negative lumping, depending on the audience. What I am grappling with is WHY DON'T SOME PEOPLE WANT MORE FOR THEIR KIDS?

I've heard things like, "Oh, Johnny doesn't come from a wealthy family so he didn't do this or that and got himself into trouble." oh yeah? But what about these success stories that you hear in the news every so often about people who came from nothing, went on to college and are DOING SOMETHING WITH THEMSELVES! That didn't require trust funds and partying with senators.

To my urban suburban neighbors, GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE POORHOUSE and everything else will follow. YES! YOU CAN!! Getting Junior on a horse to give him a taste of the good life is not going to cut it.