| Thursday, May 10, 2007 |
| To Hell in a Handbasket |
Anyone ever take the time to look at where your baby's clothes are made? Me neither until this week.
It all started with this pet-food nonsense. We weren't affected, so I didn't pay much attention until I heard the word "melamine". Ah, melamine. The stuff my plastic, multi-colored college dishes were made of. You can find dishes and cups made of melamine just about anywhere.
Now you can find it in your pet's canned food, too! Or, if you prefer your melamine with fins and scales, you can eat some farmed fish who were fed "wheat" and "rice" gluten containing melamine. You see, some dumbass in China (or a lot of dumbasses judging by how this melamine problem seems to be snaking into different areas of the food chain) tried to fake out various clients by adding melamine to their "wheat" and "rice" gluten to make the protein level seem higher. Everyone wants more protein, right? Carbs=fat, protein=lean (or so the media has pounded into our brains), so more protein is good, right? Yeah. Unless it's really PLASTIC!
Oh my goodness...
Then, my mother called me in a panic about wooden toys containing lead paint originating from guess where? You got it - the People's Republic of China!
This brings me back to my original question: anyone ever look at the labels on their kids' clothing? Today, as an experiment, I separated the Hippos dirty laundry by country of origin. The results:
1 outfit from Thailand
1 t-shirt from Guatemala
A whole shitload of clothes Hecho in China
They were new. They smelled VERY chemically. I pointed this out to Papa M. He said he'd just wash the shit out of them. That will probably get rid of the smell, but will the toxic dye they used still seep into the Hippo's mouth when he chews on the strap of his bib overalls or on the string from his hoodie? I'm skeptical.
If the great Chinese empire wants to stay on the fast track to hell in a handbasket, the least they can do is keep all their crappy shit with them.
More on why modern China sucks another time. |
posted by Mama K @ 10:28 PM  |
|
|
|
| Tuesday, May 1, 2007 |
| Groovy Blog Game |
I don't generally do memes, but I saw this on someone else's blog and had to see what happened. You google your first name and the word 'needs' together in quotation marks then you list the first ten results. Here goes:
Mama K needs a new comment. Well duh!!
This was the only result for Mama K. I'll try my real first name next:
...needs her brother backstage.
...needs patience right now.
...needs a quivering antenna.
...needs a new job.
...needs our prayers.
...needs your help to win Miss Student 2006!
...needs strong finish to make Ryder Cup team.
...needs to come clean on equality issues.
...needs to gain some weight. (Ed. note: Yeah, right!)
...needs to model and leave that singing stuff alone.
Ahhh... That was fun. |
| posted by Mama K @ 10:53 PM |
|
|
|
|
| Putting the 'fun' in dysfunctional |
My family.
My parents divorced way back when I was 5. Throughout my growing up, my father was the stable one - he never said a bad word about Mom, came to all our games, school plays, etc., took us on family vacations, always had good advice whenever we faced up to life's challenges. My mother was another story. In separate incidents she called my dad a 'f**khorse' and called my stepmother a 'f**king menopausal bitch'. Good times. My mom loved us, of course, but she often acted childish. More than once I was sent out to canvas the neighborhood looking for my brother yet, when he told her to f**k off and I told him not to speak to her like that, Mom screamed at me that I wasn't the adult and it wasn't my business to discipline my brother.
Right.
So I was talking to my brother today (he's approaching his 30s and I'm just into them) and we were comparing notes about how different factors in our lives have taken us out of the parental hotseat. For me, the birth of my son made the most difference. You'd think it would be something like graduating from college or getting my first grown-up job or even getting married, wouldn't you? Nope. It took the birth of my first child to get my mother off my case.
My brother's case has been improved by having a fiancee everyone adores. They are sure she will take excellent care of him so "they" can stop worrying so much. This, however, didn't keep my mom from freaking out when she had a dream about a minor surgery my brother had getting infected. Did she worry about my major abdominal surgery (c-sec)? Thank God, no. She thinks it was no big deal. she even remarked to me on our last visit, "So, did P tell you how much "fun" it is to push a baby out?" Bitch. As if she knows anything about having a c-sec and feeling broken and lied to. Worst of all, she's not even interested.
Ironically, my father is even more paranoid since I've had my son. Turns out he actively subscribes to the "pregnant women are ticking time bombs" school of thought along with almost every medical doctor on the planet. I wish he'd just focus on selling insurance. So, since my son was born, my father is convinced that I've abandoned him (um, sorry, never realized I was responsible for your emotional health) and he actually pitched a fit when my son was a week old. Great timing, Pops.
Why-oh-why can't they let us live our lives? I see parents of my friends who are blissfully hands-off. Even my inlaws are much better at this. My parents' hyper-attention to my life makes me feel like I'm twelve again. And I have a baby and a husband! Ugh.
Maybe one good thing will come out of this: when the Hippo is of age, I'll try my best to remember what it was to be constantly under a microscope. Perhaps I should create an engraved stick with which to beat myself over the head. |
| posted by Mama K @ 6:45 AM |
|
|
|
|
| More for me than you |
I need to make a list of what grows when in our little climate zone so that I can more effectively plant this year and next:
Jan - snowdrops, pansies
Feb - snowdrops, cyclomen, heather
Mar - daffodils, lobelia
April - tulips, creeping phlox, lobelia, green chive-looking plant with pink flowers in the front rock bed, red/yellow wildflowerish plant in the back yard, California poppies, ground cover that looks vaguely like irises only with small purple snow-droppy flowers, rhodos |
| posted by Mama K @ 6:28 AM |
|
|
|
| Wednesday, April 25, 2007 |
| Religious Ramblings |
Having a baby is amazing. Duh. I love how the Hippo wakes up in the morning - all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed - he smiles and laughs and kisses. Yum!
My husband and I are Orthodox Jews. At times, I wane in my dedication to religious law, though (almost) never in my faith in God. I sort of expected that when the Hippo arrived, I would experience this religious rebirth - a reaffirmation of my faith and my desire to perfect my observance so as to pass it on to my offspring.
Yeah. Right.
That SO didn't happen.
What did happen? I had a hard time seeing my child as Jewish. We had the whole circumcision (boy, was that about the hardest thing I've ever done) and our rabbi was one of the first people to see him. My husband joyously blessed him on his first Shabbat and then welcomed the guests who came to the Shalom Zachar (a "welcome baby" reception on the baby's first Friday night). Yet, when I looked at the Hippo, all I saw was my little boy.
I dreamed of taking him to the lake and the woods, of reading my favorite childhood books to him, of teaching him to swim. Was religious education in there anywhere? Nope. Nada. I even felt at first like I shouldn't push my religion on him (I don't push it on any other human beings, after all). Logically, I know this would be a HUGE mistake. I've always thought that it is better to bring a child up in religion and then let him reject it later on if he needs to - not that I would want him to, but he's got free will like everyone else.
So, what of it? I'm still there - not really realizing that soon I'll have to start teaching him to say brachot (blessings). I already say the "Shema" (night time prayers, basically) with him at night (when I remember) and would sing "Hamalach hagoel" (more night time prayers) with him if I could ever remember to ask my friend how it fits with the Brahm's lullaby tune. I have even washed negel wasser (ceremonial washing of the hands upon awaking in the morning) with him a few times - though I have a hard enough time remembering to do it myself. My heart wasn't in these activities at first, but I'm starting to feel their importance. I don't know whoever said, "Fake it till you make it", but in this case, it appears to be true.
What's going well for me religiously? I talk to God way more than I used to. Not whole conversations. I mean, I don't really hear anything in response (though the answers come in other ways, to be sure). I ask and thank. I ask God every day to protect my little boy and to keep him safe with me and Papa M. I ask God for wisdom about whether or not to vaccinate him at this tender age (another whole can of worms). I thank God for sending us such a wonderful little boy. I thank God for returning us home safely from a trip.
Basically, I talk to God a WHOLE lot more than I used to. Do I stand in the corner with my prayerbook saying the proscribed prayers? No way, Jose. But I feel connected. I feel God's BIG-ness (as much as a human can). I guess that's enough for now.Labels: education, judaism |
| posted by Mama K @ 12:33 PM |
|
|
|
| Thursday, April 19, 2007 |
| To cry or not to cry? |
Papa M and I really try to respect the Hippo as a human being. Really. I tell him "cold" before wiping his nether regions with a baby wipe. If he's sleeping and I need to move him (off my lap because my foot's falling asleep, for example), I whisper to him what's going to happen. When he cries or vocalizes, I try to get a gut feeling about what he's telling me. We cosleep and don't plan on "sleep training" - the hot topic at our M&M (Mom and Me) group right now. If he cries we try to respond right away.
Yet, today we were out most of the morning - first for a long walk and then running errands. On the way to the last errand, the Hippo let me know that he was hungry by loudly crying from his carseat. This errand took us to a lovely lake and park so I figured I'd feed him when I got there. I told him the plan and he cried. I could've pulled over and fed him by the side of the road, but I was having visions of the sun on our faces as we breasfed next to the water gently lapping the shore so I drove on. As we drew closer, I felt more and more guilty. I mean, we don't let him cry this much any other time, so why was I bent on getting where I want to be? I don't have an answer. Am I placing my convenience before his comfort or am I making a legitimate choice to do something I will enjoy?
I think I should've stopped to nurse him. Parenting is a steep learning curve. Hopefully this poor kid (and his mom) will survive. |
| posted by Mama K @ 5:48 PM |
|
|
|
| Wednesday, April 18, 2007 |
| Way to Go, SCOTUS! |
Today the Supreme Court upheld the ban on so-called partial birth abortions. Kudos. I'm totally serious.
Just in case anyone missed the point, let's review the facts. A partial birth abortion is rare and takes place in the "mid to late second trimester". Mid-pregnancy (and thus mid-second trimester) is 20 weeks. The second trimester traditionally ends around 28 weeks. In this day and age, a baby is potentially viable outside the womb beginning at 21 weeks. A 28 week gestational age baby is almost certainly viable given the right care. A partial birth abortion therefore amounts to full-blown murder.
The primary reason the law was contested is that it contains no provision for the "health of the mother". Now, wouldn't one assume that if, God forbid, a baby needed to leave the womb in the mid-to-late second trimester, a place could be prepped in the NICU of the best hospital available and everything could be done to save the lives of both mother and baby? Any mother who would desire otherwise is guilty of infanticide. I've been wracking my brain all day to come up with a scenario in which partial birth abortion would even be plausible and I just can't find one. |
| posted by Mama K @ 8:37 PM |
|
|
|
|
|
