Tragic Sandwich

Category: Family and Friends

  • Things About Baguette Right Now

    When she’s on the verge of frustration, she goes into her Karate Run. It’s her usual Stompy Run, but with vertical karate chops to the air as she goes.

    She likes to sing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” but she only knows two lines, and not all the words to those. The result is that she sounds like she’s reciting a prehistoric incantation.

    Bananas are peeled with the hands. All other fruit is peeled with the teeth. Including oranges.

    She eats very little cake at parties, never asks for juice, and wants fruit so much that it’s hard to make it to the checkout counter.

    But she will only eat processed meat.

    She likes her pacifier to coordinate with her outfit, and will exchange the one in her mouth for a structurally identical one in a different color.

    We keep telling her that the dog door is not a girl door, and she keeps proving us wrong.

  • Tales of the Dragon Mother

    I read a lot of other blogs. And on one of them was posed the question: What surprised you about becoming a mother?

    Note: I’m sorry I’m not crediting you and linking to you, Other Blogger. I would, if I could remember which blog was yours!

    The first thing that surprised me about being a mother was how immediately I became protective of my tiny baby. I expected it to happen–but I was also so tired that it was hard for me to feel connected to anything for a while. I don’t think I had full-blown PPD, but I was probably close.

    So there I am, in the hospital, not feeling much except exhaustion and a lot of pain from trying to periodically turn over or, god forbid, sit up. And one morning I made my way to the bathroom, because brushing my teeth was clearly a necessity, regardless of how I felt.

    When I came out, an unfamiliar man was bent over the bassinette, prodding Baguette. And I was astonished at my first impulse, which was to bellow, “Who the f–k are you and what the f–k you’re doing to my child?”

    Another note: I have a deep voice. “Bellow” is pretty much what you think it would sound like. More than one person has told me that I can be scary.

    But before I could act on that impulse, some other, more rational part of my brain whispered, “Mr. Sandwich is here. He wouldn’t let this happen without good reason. So there must be a good reason.”

    That’s when I realized that I had been about to destroy my daughter’s pediatrician. I was fully prepared to incinerate and consume him, merely for touching her.

    More recently, I read George R.R. Martin’s series A Song of Ice and Fire. Fans of this series are passionate, and look to the various characters to find reflections of themselves. What I realize is that I don’t identify most strongly with Arya, or Catelyn, or Ned, or Daenarys.

    Dragon

    I identify with the dragons.

    Photo by eigirdas, via Flickr.

  • Traditions: What We Did on the Fourth of July

    I like to think my Independence Day tradition is watching 1776, but the fact is that I don’t always do that. In fact, I suspect I usually don’t. But I love that movie so much that it feels like it ought to be my tradition.

    My second favorite Fourth came when I lived in Austin. It was incredibly hot, as Austin is wont to be, and my apartment air conditioning was working poorly, as my apartment air conditioning was wont to do. On the spur of the moment, I called my brother in San Antonio and said, “What are you doing for the Fourth?” He said, “[Best friend] is coming over, and we’re going to grill.” I said, “Can I join you?” and then did so. We grilled everything but the french fries–burgers, buns, corn, you name it. After dinner we all went up to the second floor and watched fireworks on the horizon. And because my brother was house-sitting for my parents, the air conditioning was much better.

    My favorite Fourth doesn’t even feel like the Fourth, because the highlight of the day had nothing to do with American independence. Nine years ago today, Mr. Sandwich proposed in a way that was so perfectly us that I can’t imagine it happening any other way.

    In more recent years, we’ve gone to a variety of parties–last year I think we hit four in the 3-day weekend. But none of those materialized for today, so we woke up this morning with no plans. We talked about whether to take Baguette out to see fireworks–would she love them? would she get scared? After deciding that it would probably keep her up (and us out) too late, we opted for a daytime visit to Travel Town.

    When my brother and I were kids, he adored Travel Town–after all, you could climb all over the trains and even sit on top of them. On one visit he spotted a birthday party and announced that he wanted his next birthday to be at Travel Town, and it was.

    But we moved away and grew up, and I hadn’t been back. Now, with Baguette, it seemed like it might make a nice outing. We decided to head over as soon as they opened, and I began to get ready. As I was packing the diaper bag, I looked up and discovered that Baguette had passed out on the couch. Apparently she was ready for her nap–two and a half hours early. In the interest of letting sleeping babies lie, we moved her to the bed and postponed our departure.

    I’m glad that we did, because she loved it. We read about different kinds of train cars, peered into a car that had been used by USPS, examined a variety of engines and box cars and lounge cars, ran around an empty passenger car (now used for parties, but not being used for anything at the moment we were there)–and of course rode the miniature train that circles the grounds.

    She fell asleep on the way home, resulting in an unusual second nap. So while we’re still set on grilling later on, the question remains: will we, or will we not, bundle her up in PJs and shoes to watch fireworks?

    Regardless, may you all have a happy and safe Fourth of July. And if you don’t celebrate the Fourth of July, just be happy and safe.

  • Life With Father

    Bio Girl has a post about the father-daughter weekend her dad requested for his birthday. It sounds like a great weekend–and a wonderful birthday gift.

    I did something similar, although it wasn’t for a birthday. Mr. Sandwich and I dated long-distance for our entire dating relationship–he lived in L.A., and I lived in New Jersey. When we got married, we figured that people were going to have to travel no matter where we held the ceremony.

    So we held it in San Antonio, where my dad lived. My dad was our wedding planner (much of his career was spent in project management, and he spent 30 years in the Army, so this meant that he had a budget, a schedule, a goal, and protocol–it was a natural fit). He and I have very similar taste, so it was easy for me to delegate, well, pretty much everything, particularly since I was halfway across the country.

    The bikes were my idea, but he’s the one who painted one of them red.

    But there’s always more to do, and I had to move across the country anyhow, so I gave notice at work for a date one month prior to the wedding and moved home.

    The movers emptied my New Jersey apartment, and I spent a day cleaning. The next day, I went to the airport and picked up my dad. The two of us spent several days (3 or 4, maybe?) on a father-daughter road trip, driving back to San Antonio. While our overall goal was to cover miles, we also took one “detour” each day–such as when we passed through Maryland and swung by the house that he and my mom had bought after I was born.

    Honestly, I don’t remember the route we took south of Richmond–did we take I-85 because it was more direct, or I-95 because we were less likely to encounter snow? (Although it did snow at one point in Virginia and/or North Carolina.) What I do remember is the moment when my father, a lifelong objector to any kind of “potty humor,” suddenly started singing “The Diarrhea Song.” It felt like a crazy, tacit acknowledgement of my adult status–he could now be silly and crass without having to worry about the example he might be setting. At other points we recounted family stories and debated political issues. (Clearly, we have range.)

    Once back in San Antonio, we began the final days of wedding planning in earnest–fittings, printing the programs for the church and the table cards for the reception, ordering the custom dark chocolate wedding favors (the chocolatier was another retired Army officer, so let’s all agree to lay down our stereotypes and go home), and more. My dad pointed out that it would be very easy to get overwhelmed by planning, so every day we rented a movie that had nothing to do with weddings. It was a great month, and I’m so glad that I spent it that way. Even then, I said, “I’m never going to look back and say, ‘Wow, I really wish I’d worked a few more weeks.’”

    So when Bio Girl says, “You never outgrow your parents,” I know exactly what she means. And I totally agree.

  • Having It All, or Not, or What?

    So between Sheryl Sandberg, Elizabeth Wurtzel, Anne Marie Slaughter, and more, there’s a lot of talk about whether women can “have it all.”

    The more I think about it, the more I think that phrase is meaningless. What is “all”? Is it work-life balance? Because that’s so individual–and depends on so many factors that we don’t truly control–that I’m not sure I believe in it.

    Sylvia

    But I have come across two statements that really resonate with me. The first is from Taiia Smart Young, who writes on My Brown Baby about choices, and “having what matters.”

    The second is from Emily Rosenbaum, who in “Having It All” writes:

    You want to talk about what matters to me as a feminist? Fistulas, FGM, rape, slavery, prostitution, domestic violence, healthcare, living wages, and maybe a bit of clean drinking water. Not whether some woman at Facebook thinks I should be holding down a full-time job.

    Yeah. That sounds about right.

    Photo by garryknight, via Flickr.

  • All the Single Ladies

    Sometimes it takes me a while to get around to certain topics. It’s not that I don’t have a lot to say about reproductive rights or access to health care or marriage equality–it’s that I spend so much time ranting to Mr. Sandwich that by the time I think, “Hey, I should post something about this,” I’ve missed the boat.

    But one topic that comes up on a regular basis is the influence of single mothers on society. Last year a Pew Research poll said that Americans think single motherhood is bad for society. Earlier this year, Rick Santorum said, “We are seeing the fabric of this country fall apart, and it’s falling apart because of single moms.”

    And it’s not just the last couple of years. Remember this guy?

    I’m fortunate to have a loving husband who is a committed and involved father. And I know how much effort the two of us put into being the kind of parents we want to be. Every day, I think about how hard parenthood would be without Mr. Sandwich, and I am in awe of single mothers. Years ago, as a nanny, I realized that the ideal ratio is three adults to one toddler. Three. I am serious. Doing this as one? Amazing.

    I have friends and family members who are or have been single mothers. They love their children just as much as Mr. Sandwich and I love Baguette. They want the same things for their children that we want for her–health, success on their own terms, fulfillment, happiness, love, and more. They are wonderful parents.

    And you know who else I think would take issue with Rick Santorum and that distressing percentage of Americans in the Pew Research poll?

    George Washington. Thomas Jefferson. Andrew Jackson. Andrew Johnson. Rutherford B. Hayes. James Garfield. Herbert Hoover. Barack Obama.

    That’s right. Of our 43 presidents*, 8 were raised without a father for key years of their childhood or adolescence.

    Single mothers are destroying America? I don’t think so. Bad parenting might be, but that comes in all kinds of numbers. Single mothers raise presidents. And they’ve been doing it from the very beginning.

    *I’m only counting Grover Cleveland once, which is why this number isn’t 44.

  • Talking Points

    Mr. Sandwich: We’ll try to strike a happy medium between oppressive control and Lord of the Flies chaos.

    Me: I miss Brontosaurus.
    Mr. Sandwich: What do you mean?
    Me: They got rid of them. Now they’re Apatosaurus.
    Mr. Sandwich: What? Why?
    Me: Some kind of nomenclature thing.
    Mr. Sandwich: F*%k these “Pluto’s not a planet” people.

    Mr. Sandwich: The flooring in Gwyneth Paltrow’s home is made of stones from a Peruvian schoolhouse. In other news, the Peruvian children are now going to school in a tent.

    Mr. Sandwich: “Toddler injured by piranhas?” Who lets a baby play near a piranha tank? Well, we are officially not the worst parents ever.

  • Date Night?

    Do you go on regular Date Nights? We don’t.

    The last movie Mr. Sandwich and I saw in the theater was True Grit.

    Hey, it could be worse. It could have been the John Wayne version. Now that would have been a long time since Date Night.

    And that was our last movie, not our last evening out. We did go out to dinner for our anniversary in March, and had a wonderful time. That dinner, by the way, was something we’d been talking about doing since Mr. Sandwich’s birthday. In 2010.

    Do I think that parents need to connect with each other in ways that aren’t focused on their children? Yes, absolutely. Do I think that we need to have Date Night to do that? No, not in the slightest.

    When Mr. Sandwich and I started dating, he traveled to meet my parents. (This was our third date. It didn’t indicate anything about our relationship, it’s just how things went.) They showed him around town, and at one point, he said, “I feel bad leaving your parents in the car.” I said, “Oh, don’t worry about them. For them, retirement is one big date.”

    Mr. Sandwich took that to heart. We have what we call “Home Depot dates.” What do we do? We go to Home Depot. To us, spending time together is a date, no matter who else is there, or where we are.

    Our entire relationship was long-distance. What that meant was that when we actually managed to be together, what we wanted to do was be together. One of us would fly across the country. We’d spend the day meeting friends and touring the local area. In the evening, we’d go back to the apartment and eat pizza or Chinese food while watching TV shows we both liked, and talking about them.

    Exciting? Maybe not to some, but it suited us, and it still does.

    We like to go to the movies. We don’t get there as often as we’d like–we missed Bridesmaids and Captain America and The Hunger Games, and it’s looking like we’re going to miss The Avengers, which is really disappointing.

    But at some point, no doubt, Amazon Prime streaming will come to our rescue, and we’ll catch up on what we’ve missed. It won’t be the same as the big screen, but we’ll see them together and talk about them.

    Sounds like the perfect Date Night to me.

  • My Balance, Revisited

    Nearly a year ago, I was inspired by a post by Oil and Garlic to write about my balance. So, where do we stand now?

    1. What’s your work schedule?

    I still drop Baguette off at 7 so I can be at work at (or around) 8, and I still work until 5 and am home a little after 6. All of this is likely to change on Friday, however, because the Rampture is coming–and that means all bets are off. I have no idea what my commute will be like for the next year, except that I know it won’t be good.

    2. How do you handle childcare?

    We still love Baguette’s day care. Mr. Sandwich’s parents come over to help around the house, but are less likely to babysit on weekend evenings; they have their own busy schedules, and it’s a lot harder to keep up with a toddler than it was to monitor an infant. However, one of her favorite teachers left the day care (not for reasons that concern us), and we’ve had her over for a get-reacquainted evening so that she can sit for us on occasion.

    3. What do you find best about your current set-up?

    It works, but just barely. Because of our jobs and commutes, we just don’t have enough time with her on workday evenings. We get home, go for a walk, eat dinner, give her a bath (while the other person fixes lunches for the next day), play a little, and go to bed. There just isn’t a lot of leeway in that schedule. But at least we have a routine.

    4. What advice would you give to other moms about the juggle?

    It doesn’t last forever–at least, not in this form. For a long time, I barely cooked at all. Now, I can manage to make a big batch of food in the slow cooker on Sundays, and that means lunches for several days that week. But being able to do that, which previously I could not, tells me that some day I will be able to cook meals with more than one dish.

    5. Do you think the juggle is harder for women than for men?

    Yes. There are no Daddy Wars, not even in the media.

  • 5 Things I Found While I Was Looking Around: Father’s Day Edition

    Five Ounces

    Father’s Day on Wikipedia

    Stories that make no sense in the era of DNA testing, on IMDB.

    Even the Google Doodle is getting in on the Father’s Day action on The Guardian.

    Photo by pirate johnny, via Flickr.

    Happy Father’s Day, everyone!