Post Election Blues

Last week we were on the way to swim class and we passed a large group of people chanting and waving YES on 8 signs. "What are they doing, Mama?" Stella asked from her car seat. "Well..." I thought about how to explain the California proposition to change the constitution.

Me: "You know that Papai and I are married, right?"
Stella: "Right."
Me: "Do you think that's OK?"
Stella (a little confused): "Yeah."
Me: "And you know Mark and Lina's Daddy and Poppy are married, right?"
Stella: "Yeah."
Me: "Do you think that's OK?"
Stella: "Yeah."
Me: "And do you think two girls could get married?"
Stella (thinking this is silly): "Yeah."
Me: "I think so too, but those people with the signs think that only a boy and a girl should be able to get married."
Stella: "WHAT?!" (as if I told her there was no more color blue)

Today I am elated with Obama's victory.

I need to let that statement stand alone. But (WHY does there need to be a "but"?), I am sad too. Living in the Bay Area bubble, I really thought Prop 8 wouldn't pass. I shared my little legislative lesson in hate with Mark and Lina's Poppy and he said, "We lost the battle, but we won the war."

True.

There is hope for the next generation.

Marriage Understood, or How We Ended Our Weekend at the Russian River

 

Late weekend morning, I'm still in my pajamas, we're been talking about gardening for over an hour. Stella puts a glittery fuzzy hearts feelers headband on me.

Stella: Mama, let's get married!

Me: How do we do that?

Stella: You tell me.

...um...

Me (straightening my posture, wiggling the sparkly hearts perched on my head): OK. Stella, I love you, and I want you to be my wife.

Stella (with a rare, direct-into-the-eyes look): OK, I'll be your wife. Now go change your shirt and come work in the garden with me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love: The Gift of Sleep

 

There was a time when waking at 5:30 was normal. Never acceptable, but usual. That was too often in the first year of both kids. Longer winter nights and increasing age of the kids stretched wake-up time, but not often beyond 6:45. 6:45 is awesome. Awesome in my new view of the world. The problem is that if I'm not sleeping in, my body prefers 7:30. For a very long time, I woke early six days a week. Sundays were my day to sleep. Sometimes I lingered until 9. I bitched about it so much that every so often, Augusto woke to avoid my wrath. Then my second maternity leave ended. There was no way I could be up with the baby at night, get up in the early morning, and work all day. On my three workdays, Augusto got up with the early riser, and I slept. On the other days I rose first then tried to nap.

Then I discovered the hidden benefit of weaning. I left the morning feed as the last, so after the last time, Augusto did the final weaning. After a ten day stretch, I tried to get up with Otto, but he clawed at my chest and cried for 45 minutes. I couldn't hack it.

It's been six weeks since we nursed, and our household has done a schedule switcheroo. Augusto gets up with one or both kids, and I sleep. Except on Sundays, when he gets his turn. It has become a blissful, miraculous norm. Today I only had a half day at work, so when Otto sounded off earlier than usual, at 5:40, I offered to get him. Augusto protested, then thanked me for doing what has apparently become his job.

This is LOVE.

Taking out the Garbage

Ours is a multilingual household. English. Portuguese. Bark. Babble. Silent Treatment. Thank goodness we have a translator.

Otto squawks and demands, "Bawbaw." Stella says, "Otto wants milk."

At the back door, Rex lays down with a humpf. Stella says, "Rex wants to go out."

Augusto says to the family, "Vamos pelo parque?" Stella says, Mama, let's go to the park!"

I speak in Portuguese daily, so she should know I understand it. Perhaps it's so bad she figures I need help? But no. Augusto says, "I'll pick up Stella today. I think we'll go to the park and then get some ice cream." Stella says, "Mama, after school Papai is taking me to the park. And then we're getting ice cream!"

Em... that was all in English. She's translating one parent to the other. Clearly she's tuned into our latest high tension-low conversation phase. We aren't understanding each other often enough. Last week, after Augusto laid off several employees, he was edgy. I was maxed out on giving him room. He said something that now I can't remember. He offended me. I started to bitch, "I can't believe you said that. It was so." I stopped, not wanting to bicker in front of the kids. "Rude." I looked at Stella and she was staring at me, eyebrows up. Like, yeah, I said it, that word came out of my mouth, and I just completed your sentence, ha ha. After I recovered from the shock of her repetition/understanding- it didn't matter- I felt the horror of seeing the real impressions we make. Then I had a little inner peace. She saw it too. Isn't that one of the benefits of family, ganging up on each other?

But usually it's the routine words that get lost. The following conversation has been started by either parent.

"I took out the garbage."
"What?"
"I took out the garbage."

Dinner, bath, bed routine.

"Did you take out the garbage?!"

It's misunderstanding, sleep deprivation, ignoring, and simple absentmindedness. Do we really have time for a conversation about garbage? Aren't we happier, more suited, making plans for a fall trip, selecting a date night? But those conversations don't happen either.

"We should think about using our frequent flier miles in October."
"Where do you want to go?"

Dinner, bath, bed routine.

"Did you take out the garbage?"