solen from someone else but true

The second time I was more likely to listen to other parents with different styles and not condemn those whose decisions were different from mine. We all want what’s best for our kids.

It's amazing

the way that the body responds to an invasion.
I love my body the way it is sometimes
othertimes (Target dressingroom) not.

Sometimes I hate being white...

... because I feel like I spent all my time before this current life as someone not white. All of high school my 'click' was the mexican kids, my friends in college where all Asian and Indian (my three choosen roommates- white, fillapino, and black), and now I'm surrounded by my pasty skinned waspy suburban housewifes. I feel like I'm a traitor, or perhaps an imposter. Yet I fit in like a puzzle piece around here in this 50's era neighborhood, and it scares me. I can't defend myself because there's no need to feel guilty about the privilages available and taken by all these privilaged people (myself included), but yet I do. When my brown skinned central american babysitter comes over, I feel like I want to slip back into my brown skinned self- how I used to act around those high school chicanas, but yet I know I can't because the way I live and present myself know- I'm a weta... And then when my old roommate and still one of my closest friends stop by, I know people are mentally pausing for a moment (not necessarily intentionally), because there's a black chick in the neighborhood. How hard it is to be white when I've been told underneath the skin, I'm not. Like when the roomies moved in together and Jakhara and I bonded over the kool aid pitcher (called so because that's what it's used for and smells like- still to this day!), and my ghetto booty shakin music, and so many relatable experiences we both have had. And those times where my friends chided me about being so Asian that I preferred rice to accompany (or to stand in place of) my meals instead of the salad my Asian dinner pal would eat (cultural role reversal). But now, growing up in this white, middle class, suburban-esque neighborhood I feel my cultural roots slipping away where I feel that I can no longer interact with the intimacy I once had with others of 'color'. And yet I still feel someone alienated from those in this neighborhood because honestly there is still touch of racisim or lack of understanding among some. And what will my children grow up to understand when all they are surrounded with are Norman Rockwell pictures- plenty and comfort, while everyone else in the world must suffer largely because of a minority status. Sucks.

Baby crying... must stop now...

What makes a mom, what a mom makes you?

So there could be a million arguments about what makes a mother. Giving birth? Having patience (endless)? Nurturing? Love? Kindness? So the theories abound. But think of it the other way, what does a mother make you? For me, becoming a mother made me quite a few things I didn't expect. I am a cook. A pretty darn good and inventive cook (after tonite's throw together a bunch of fridge-ables thank you) where as, in college I would have envisioned myself much more a baker then a cook. Being a mother has also turned me into a runner. Before I didn't need to run, I swam, stayed active, never incubated and then expelled a child within me. But now, I have no other physical outlet that accommodates my three kids then running along side my biking daughter while pushing my boys envisioning what my recovering body will look like even if the running produces results. And I have bad knees, but being a mom has made me do it. Being a mom has also turned me from a sex fiend into a docile, because it's about that time sex mom. (Priorities people- like sleep and TV). I know others who because of their new name tag (Mom), have been forced into a different shape. Like the friend who would have a spotless living quarter if she weren't burdened by children/husband who don't care about that toy over there, crumbs from the half eaten cracker mess, but she's a mom now and has learned to accept what will and won't bother her to save her sanity. So yes, there are many things that makes a mom, qualities, attributes, personalities, but there are a good many things that also mold you into a whole new shape that's got MOM stamped all across it?

And so what does daddy make you? (A mom three times over!)

A funny little thing about bigger boobs...

Ok, the funny thing about body changing act of having kids is the bigger boobs. Bigger boobs that actually are big enough and hang down enough to rest against the skin underneath. Now I've had boobs for a while (since puberty), but this is the first time I've experienced this feeling. Funny. Boobs resting on skin (fat pad). Now I know I've got bigger tits. Haha! :D

Boy Crazy!

Ok, so this a term that we teased our girl friends with in junior high and maybe even high school. Well, that is me right now. I'm boy crazy. Just returned from the big corporate bookstore, where you now can request online to have your book waiting for you at checkout (kind of like the library-but you have to pay to take it home), with the book I need to read in a week for book club, and three additional selections. Three additional selections for me and not for me. For me in the sense that they are feeding my frenzy to wildly consume all things boy, and not for me in the fact that they are children's board books on trucks. Yep, trucks and tractors and trains. We laugh that my son name is half fitting, CARter, but really should have been CAR-Truck. And I feed him trucks. Maybe it's from my own amazement and wonder of large vehicles, or maybe it's because I have a fully engaged participant in such gendered activities.

On a side note because the baby is crying and needs tending, Motherhood can kill you. I forgot to eat breakfast and I'm likely to forget lunch before I run off to pick up Morgan after I do the dishes. And I'm exhausted! Ahhh... mama

Today

Humm... not much of an inspired post today. It's funny, this whole blog thing. Quite interesting actually. There are certain thoughts and ideas I think of that I would only write here in this blog. Other thoughts and ideas go in my journal (not much of a thing, 5 years, probably 30 pages written!), and still others go to the graveyard of thoughts in my head. And the whole blogging community. I mean, there are those folks who caterogize each post by subject. And then others who have witty names for their selves and those around them (blog girl, blog baby, blog boy #1, blog boy #2, etc). And then those who write in a specific style. Like no punctuation, capitalization, or something distinct like that. And here I am, just typing away to myself. I haven't shared this blog with anyone, but there are times in which I do want to share it with specific friends, just not the whole thing. A good fear keeps this thing personal (aside from it being on the big wild web), and I don't know when or to whom I'll share it some day. It's nice though to have such an outlet for those thoughts that belong on the blog. One day I also would like to fine tune some of the stories with a topic and submit them to my friends online zine (mamazine), but the fear of rejection and inadequacty keeps me from doing so. There's also that thing, that once you write a thought down, it's done and you just walk away feeling complete, and revisiting that thought at another time to edit it, changes it from it's original meaning. So yeah, there's really no topic to this post, but I was just sitting down and decided, I'll write (usually it's run to sit down because there's a thought I want to write about). And so the story goes....
... there's a baby crying... and I must respond.

Happy Mothers Day! (weekend)

Walking by the boys department...

So today, while careening through the aisles of Target, frantically searching my mind for what else I must have to get at Target to prevent yet another trip to the (suck every penny out of my wallet) store, I passed the boys department. As I passed the boys section of the store (clothing that is), I realized how little time I have ever spent in that department, and how much I will in the future. I looked at that department and the thought struck me- one day I will spend much time in this section; I have boys. The whole coming into my mama of two boys role (such a double whammy I tell ya, barely get used to the concept of having one, and then another pops out!), is becoming such a sweet thought for me. I revel in the thought that I have two boys. Perhaps the reason why there are such a thing as mama's boys, and such a reverence for boys by our society, is the fact, that by mothering a boy, it is a womans one chance to cross over into the male gendered world for a short period of time and truely cultivate that gendered culture into our little opposite sexed being. So what I'm saying, is that the bond between mother and daughter is quite special because it can be so close. A daughter can quite literally be a clone; she can wear what you did as a child, she is encouraged to play the games you played as a child. But a boy, well, you only get a short window of time in which you can be Alice popping through the looking glass and enter the wonderland of the opposite sex. And because you are this looming person in the development of the little boy's life, who must know and teach (almost) everything, you can pretend that there are no gender divisions, that yes, mommy being a girl can know quite as much as daddy can. That, until the gender canyon is acknowleged by that little child, there is no such schism. Mommy is cool because she will tell you the difference between a front loader and an excavator. The secret is, no one taught mommy these things growing up because she was a girl, or perhaps she forgot because no one asked her about such things. And perhaps that's why the gender divide continues- because mothers hold on to that precious looming figure in their little boys lives, where they are indeed bigger then life itself.

Ahh... to have a little boy, times two. I get giddy looking at that department of which one day I will become oh so familiar with.

I wonder what my husband thinks of having two boys?

Taking the plunge

No need to worry. My boys are going to be raised as boys. You see, I'm a feminist, sociology schooled, educated, progressive (I think) woman. Yet, I plan on diving in to this whole world of "boy" that is opening up to me. I have two boys, after three and a half years of girl world (and mind you, my girl ain't that girly), and I see the appeal in all (most) of the boy gendered things in life. First, let me state that I do not believe that boyishness is necessarily an inborn trait: That boys are born boys and they will be boys because they are boys. No, I believe that boys are boys because we attribute certain personality and temperament characteristics that are valued (right brained type of stuff) to the male species because of the traditional patriarchal society we live in values males and their ascribed traits. So, boys being boys (or children who have a propensity to climbing, hitting, exploring, etc), I'm ready to hop in. But I don't worry because I, for one, am a very right brained woman. I love math. Love love love it. And I'm aggressive and controlling. And very honest for admitting such things! But no, I myself am in possession of some typical male traits, while still being a woman, and so my boys can see that male characteristics can transcend gender lines. Also, my husband, he's not an over masculine male, and he’s a feminist, so from that side of the parental unit, the boys will see that you do not have to embody every male characteristic to still fulfill a typically male role (husband, father, provider). And so there is a buffer from me filling their lives with boyishness. My boys will get to be typical American boys (trucks, sports, trouble), but they will grow up seeing that not everyone falls into traditional gender stereotypes.