Chookooloonks

Happy Independence/Blog Day!

Happy Independence Day, people. On this day 43 years ago, two small islands unleashed themselves from the shackles of British imperialism to become their own country: The Republic of Trinidad & Tobago. In honour of this special day, I've decided to represent my homeland by regarding Marcus as the embodiment of all that is English oppressiveness, and respond to his every minor request with an indignant "You're not the boss of me!" Needless to say, midnight cannot come fast enough for him.

As providence would have it, Trinidad's Independence day happens to fall on Blog Day 2005 -- who knew? A reader named Sage informed me of this special day by saying, in accordance with the "rules" of Blog Day, that he had chosen me as one of the 5 blogs he was recommending on his site (thanks, Sage!). So, in the spirit of paying it forward, from the home office in Maraval, Port-of-Spain, here are my top 5 blogs from my blogroll that I just can't get enough of:

Julia {Here be Hippogriffs} -- Julia, from Minnesota, is on a quest to become pregnant with her second child. She is also the writer I want to grow up to be. She's articulate, wry, ascerbic, funny, hysterical and moving all in the same blog. All hail the Julia.

Superhero Journal -- Andrea is a wonderful photographer and a great soul. Each of her posts provide almost-daily inspiration.

Finslippy -- Alice is searingly funny. If Julia's the writer I want to become, Alice is the comic my inner comic envies.

Defective Yeti -- A quote from Matthew's latest post, describing his 18-month-old son:

Also, he is now so tall that, when I carry him around, he can further his Sibling Prevention Program just by kicking his feet, if you catch my drift.

I think my adoration of him is self-explanatory.

The Adventure Journalist -- Tonya posts beautiful photographs of New Mexico.

And finally, more disturbing evidence of Alex's relationship with Elmo:

I'm afraid. I'm very afraid.

A Sense of Entitlement

A few years ago, before I quit my job to move to Trinidad, I was the general counsel of one of Very Large Corporation's subsidiaries. Most people at the subsidiary (a software company) knew who I was, and were aware of my job title; conversely, at the time most at Very Large Corporation had no clue who I was.

One day, I was asked to participate as legal counsel for a project at Very Large Corporation. The project involved software and other technology, and since that was my forte, one of my colleagues at Very Large Corporation invited me to be a part of the team, having worked with me once before.

I arrived at the project kick-off meeting, and my colleague wasn't there; however, 2 men who were engrossed in conversation were. One of them saw me enter.

"Hey, honey, could you get us some coffee? Thanks."

My first reaction was indignation, my second was to explain who I was. But then, thank goodness, I decided to go with my third reaction.

"Sure," I said. "How would you like it?" And I went to get the coffee.

When I returned, I placed the coffee in front of the two men, and I sat down at the table with my own cup. Honey-get-the-coffee-boy was clearly bewildered at my presence. By then, my colleague had arrived, and begun the meeting.

"Thanks, everyone, for coming. Before we get started, however, I think it might be a good idea for us to go around the table and introduce ourselves, give everyone your title, and what your role will be for the team."

When they got to me, I fixed my eyes on Coffee Boy, and said, "Hi. I'm Karen. I'm General Counsel for Software Subsidiary, and I'll be providing legal guidance to this team."

The look on Coffee Boy's face was priceless -- I think he turned at least 3 shades of red. I smiled warmly at him and winked, which I think only increased his embarrassment. While he never apologized, for the rest of my career at Software Subsidiary (and later, at Very Large Corporation) he went out of his way to be helpful, and was always supportive of my ideas and opinions.

I tell you this story because as the mother of a little girl, I feel (rightly or wrongly) a certain duty to represent the best of what I believe it means to be a strong woman to my daughter as she grows up. And while some of you might disagree with how I handled Coffee Boy, to me, being a strong woman means sometimes knowing when to get up in someone's face about something, and when a quieter approach will work. But it also means having a certain healthy sense of entitlement: it means being confident enough in yourself to know that you have every right to be where you are at that very moment. As women, sometimes we find ourselves believing the hype: buying into the opinion that maybe we don't belong, or aren't as good as the men, or aren't talented enough to be invited to sit at the table. My goal is to make sure Alex never feels this way. And, as far as I'm concerned, she's never too young to learn this lesson.

That said, the photograph that Marcus surreptitiously took this morning while Alex and I were still sleeping leads me to think that Alex may have taken this sense-of-entitlement thing a little too much to heart:

Would someone kindly inform this kid that just because her father and I succumb to letting her sleep with us in the middle of the night does not mean she's entitled to take over the whole flarpin' bed?

I'm just sayin'.

Progress Report 082805

WHAT'S CHARMING ME:

Alex says her first (and only) sentence.

Scene: Alex and I are on the veranda/gallery/loggi'al fresco, watching Marcus swim in the pool below.

Me (pointing): Look, Allie, there's Daddy!

Alex: Daddy? (She recognizes him, and starts to scream.) DAAAADDY!!!!

(Marcus hears her, looks up, and waves, spraying water everywhere.)

Alex: Splash?

Me: Yes, Allie, Daddy just splashed.

(Marcus returns to doing laps, using the time-honoured front-crawl stroke. Allie watches.)

Alex (looking at me knowingly): Daddy kick ih ah pool.

Me (taken aback): Yes, Alex, Daddy's kicking in the pool.

And there you have it, folks. Don't forget to tip your waitstaff. She'll be here all week.

WHAT'S DISARMING ME:

Alex in her first Parisian-inspired dress (given to her by Marcus' sister, Kate):

Does this dress not look like it needs to be accessorized with a standard poodle named "Fifi"? She wore this last evening for her play-date with Christian. I can't be positive, but I think he may have swooned. Project Matchmaker is coming along nicely.

WHAT'S ALARMING ME:

Alex has her first celebrity crush.

I mean, don't get me wrong: Elmo seems like a nice-enough guy. I've just never been able to trust men who habitually refer to themselves in the third person.

Almost Good As New

Alex is at about 98%:

There's still a bit of bruising under her bottom lip and on her chin, but at least her lip is practically its normal size. Also, for the most part, her tooth seems to have realigned. We're still on Grey Watch, but so far, so good.

Thanks again for all of your well-wishes (and thanks also for you sweet words about our wedding picture! ). Looks like your good vibes worked!

On the Mend, and our Second Third Anniversary

Thanks so much for all your good wishes -- you guys are great. This morning, when Alex woke up, she asked for her usual bottle of milk. I brought it to her, she tried to open her mouth.

"Ow," she said.

"I know, baby. I know it hurts."

"Mouth," she said, touching her lips in bewilderment.

"Yes, Allie, I know your mouth hurts."

She paused for a moment. Then all of sudden, she remembered.

"Fall," she said.

"Yes, Allie, you had a nasty fall and hurt your mouth."

So then she whimpered a bit, and snuggled a bit closer.

As the day has worn on, however, she does seem to be a lot better. Her usual high spirits have returned. Her mouth is now only about twice its normal size, and rapidly improving. And, colour me optimistic, but it does seem to me that her tooth is less crooked than last night. In short, she still looks like she was in a bar fight, but now she looks like she might have won. So whatever it is you guys are doing, keep doing it -- it's working.

Nevertheless, you'll understand if I don't post any pictures of Alex for a few days. I mean, I wouldn't want pictures of me with a messed-up mouth all over the Internet, would you? So, out of courtesy to Alex, I'm going to give the Nikon a rest for a bit. Hopefully she'll keep healing as rapidly as she appears to be doing, and all will be back to normal here on Chookooloonks in no time.

In the meantime, today is our Second Third Anniversary. Three years (and about 12 pounds) ago today, Marcus and I were dressed in our wedding best in a fabulous London hotel, saying vows we'd written to each other, in front of our families and a few close friends (even though, by this point, we were actually already legally married). A day later, we were off to Mauritius for a wonderful 10-day honeymoon.

Behold the incriminating evidence, in a photo taken by a friend of ours that day:

Happy Second Third Anniversary, Marcus. Whodathunkit, eh?

Childhood Injury #1

Tonight, as Alex was walking with Marcus to get the post, she faceplanted on the tarmac.

Marcus rushed back in the house, and there was blood everywhere. Her lip is about five times its normal size (not quite Melanie Griffith-bad, but close), and one of her teeth is crooked (but not loose). She's not a happy camper.

I've called the pediatrician (and a friend of mine who's a nurse, and Marcus' dentist in Houston, who he loves, will be getting a call tomorrow). The pediatrician says there's not much we can do -- that she'll be fine, that she'll probably end up losing this tooth when she's supposed to lose it, and not sooner, and that her permanent teeth will be fine -- but the affected tooth will likely turn grey.

Crikey.

Now, Girlie is sleeping, and she looks like she's been in a bar fight. I know it could be worse. But I hate that her little smile is affected -- both emotionally, from the horrible events of today, and from a soon-to-be-greying tooth.

So now, I'm going to go watch her, helplessly. Just thought you'd want to know, so that when you see photographs, you don't wonder what we did to her. Just please: no tooth-horror-stories. I really don't think I could take it.

Blogging, baby

A little over a week ago, I was contacted via e-mail by the lovely, talented and vivacious Stefania, a contributing writer for Blogging Baby, an e-zine about pregnancy, baby care and parenting. After flattering me unduly, she asked if I would consent to be featured in one of her articles, introducing lesser-known bloggers to the Blogosphere-At-Large. After much consideration (about 0.0043 seconds' worth), I agreed.

Today, the article came out. You can read it here. And check out some of the other articles -- it's a great little site.

Thanks, Stefania!

A Diva Is Born

As you may remember, I've posted about Alex's worrisome narcissistic complex before. I fear, however, it's getting out of control:

Not only is it now damned near impossible to get her away from the mirror (especially if there's a hat lying nearby), but now she's actually practicing her temper tantrums in front of the mirror:

She walks over to the mirror, throws herself tragically to the floor (all the while emitting a high pitched scream that wakes up every dog in the neighbourhood) and flails her arms and legs about with abandon.

Then she stops, looks at her reflection, smiles (often with a soft giggle), and then throws her wailing self back down again for an encore.

Please tell me that this is nothing to worry about. Or at the very least, that she'll remember to thank me when she wins the Oscar.

Sparkle Eyes

FanTAStic. You're a profane lot, aren't you? Thanks for all your cursing suggestions -- some of them are great. I loved the Bill Murray "mother pus-bucket" a la Ghostbusters suggestion -- I actually say that quite a bit, but have recently been pulling it from my repertoire, since it's probably not a great thing for a toddler to mimic. I'm a big fan of the "Crikey" suggestion: I mean, seriously, how cute would Alex be saying "crikey"? Adorable, I say. And your comments reminded me that Marcus (who has an equally dirty mouth to mine) is fond of calling rude drivers "Donkey!" when they try to run him off the road. It's really powerful, actually -- try saying "oh, you DONKEY!" with as much venom in your voice as possible. See? Fabulous release, isn't it? So I'm actively working on including those two in my profanity lexicon. If they don't feel natural, I can always return to the list you've created for more ideas. So thanks again.

I now interrupt Chookooloonks for the following:

In other completely unrelated news, especially for Houston readers:

We'll be in town from September 25th through September 30th. While we'll be busy doing shopping, going for check-ups, catching up with friends, etc., I'm happy to offer portrait sessions, for anyone who's interested. Because of the limited time we'll be in town, rather than prints, you'll receive a CD of images that will be ready for print, or for use online. You can see more examples of what I do here. If any of you are interested in having me do portraits for you and/or your family, please feel free to e-mail me for pricing and more information.

Come on, it'll be fun. We can even practice our new improved cursing together.

I now return you to your regularly scheduled Chookooloonks.

Oh, FIDDLESTICKS.

You might have noticed that I rarely use curse words in Chookooloonks (even though with the preponderance of tiger beetles and snakes in our neighbourhood, God knows I should). The reason isn't because I'm easily offended or some sort of prude; it's because I think that using profanity in written language is, well, lazy -- I like to think that I'm intelligent enough to think of another way to express such emotion when I write.

But oh! In the spoken word! Sometimes there's just nothing like a bit of profanity, is there? Sometimes, to truly encapsulate the intensity of a reaction, the fullness of an emotion, it's just necessary to exclaim in a sort of ... fecal way, or describe someone as having a female canine as a parent, or ...

... well, you get my drift.

Of course, this all changes when you have a child. You need to find other ways to express yourself, and for the most part, I have. This is becoming particularly critical now that Alex makes like a parrot and mimics EVERY. BLOOMING. THING. I. SAY. I'm actually rather proud of the way I've cleaned up my language (before Alex, Marines would admonish me, I cursed so much), but the truth is, every once in a while -- like, say, when I drop the iron on my foot, or someone cuts me off on the road, or I break a nail -- I've been known to utter some rather unsavory expressions. I try not to. Just sometimes, I can't help it.

Luckily, Alex has yet to say any of these words, but I'm sure the time is nigh. I have to be extra-vigilant. I do. I mean, really, is there anything more unattractive that hearing a toddler tell you that you have an unnaturally intimate physical relationship with your mother? I think not. Unfortunately, however, I can't think of any expression that I like that gives the sort of visceral release that some of these distasteful words give.

Can you help? What's your favourite non-dirty exclamation that truly captures surprise, disgust or volcanic anger? Please, I implore you, share. If not for my sake, do it for Alex's.