I am sorting my kids' laundry and can't understand how three little people can create such a stink! Dear Lord in Heaven! I will have to purchase Tom Ridge's post 9/11 emergency kit so that I can wear the toxin gas mask next time I do laundry.
I am applying Shout to Lucas' stained PE shirt. These stains are really hard to rub off! I don't mind it, though. You see, Lucas was born at 26 weeks gestation. He developed hydrocephalus and cerebral palsy and spent the first 3 years of his life in and out of hospitals. In the scheme of things, stained tees are not a big deal. My bebe is able to walk and his current GPA at school is 3.74. He may not be athletic, smelly PE shirt notwhithstanding, but you know, neither am I. When my husband decided it was time to have some bonding time with his first born son, he bought a football. He took Lucas outside and told him he would teach him the magical world of the pigskin. Egon threw the ball at him and bonked his head. Lucas stared at his dad and with a straight face said: "I do not like this game"! Egon forgot to explain that he was supposed to catch the ball. I still tease both of them about this!
Ok, I have separated the whites from the colors. Odd, I thought the kids' underwear was white, but it is in the colors' pile. Things that make you go hmmm...
Javier's smelly socks, phew!!! It stands to reason that my funniest kid is the smelliest one. This little dude can look at you with a straight face and tell you something really funny. You must be intelligent to know he is teasing you, his humor is ironic and wry. He can make you laugh without trying, too. He still pronounces his r's like Elmer Fudd even though he's 8. He'll say "caw" instead of car, "powk" instead of pork, and so forth (or should I say "so fowth"?). One time at a Vietnamese restaurant, I was given chopsticks and a small spoon to eat my vermicelli noodles. I am not very handy with these, so I told Egon I would have to request a big fork. When the waitress came to our table, Javier politely told her that "mommy needs a big fowk." I could almost imagine the waitress thinking to herself: "sorry bud, can't help your mom there"!
Let's see, I must press hot, heavy load, extra smelly-germ-killing cycle. I never imagined I would have to put my computer skills to work for laundry chores. And since when do we need a touchscreen for the washer & dryers? Well, I shouldn't complain, back home laundry was done by hand and hung out to dry in the backyard.
It can't be, Ernesto is wearing size 7 pants already. He's only 5! He was just born yesterday (I have the post labor tummy to prove it). My baby, he's in kindergarten already and he no longer fits in the nook of my arms. He's already brought his complaints from school to me. The 4th graders were teasing his friends, so he had to chase them away with a stick (yeah, I already received the dreaded call from the principal's office). And oh, yes! Ernesto is extremely upset because the lunch lady at the school cafeteria never gets his lunch order right. Just today, he ordered vegetarian lasagna and spinach salad with ranch dressing on the side, but when they filled his tray, all he got were dry chicken nuggets and an apple. I swear I have tried to explain that no, the school cafeteria is not a restaurant. He cannot chose from a menu, he must eat what they give him. Although knowing my stick-yielding 5 year-old, it would not surprise me if the lunch lady starts cooking special food just for him or deal with the consequences!
Laundry used to be a dreaded chore. Now that I have 3 boys, I have come to realize it is a special time. Every sock, shirt, shorts, and sweater has a story behind it. I can stand in the laundry room and go back in time to those mental pictures moments I cherish so much. Who needs a camera when you have 6 loads of laundry to do (and a digital washer/dryer unit, too)? Too soon they will become 2 loads of laundry, my husband's and mine. I will sure miss the additional 4.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
The Welfare Queen
I work in the Social Services field and have done so for the past sixteen years. When discussing work in general with friends, I am invariably asked about the infamous "Welfare Queen." You know her: she applies for assistance once she starts producing babies (the more kids, the more help you get), drives to her appointment on a brand new BMW, calls from her iPhone, and watches soaps all day long on her plasma TV. Oh, and of course, each child has a different ethnicity because the sugar daddies come from all walks of life.
I find it quite interesting that people assume they know who my clients are. When they go into their diatribes about these scheming divas, I can only wonder: "who are you talking about?"
Sure, I must concede that fraud against government social services does exist. However, in all these years working in this field, I can honestly say I have had one (that's right, 1) client committing out-right, premeditated fraud. One! This is less than 1% of the entire population I have worked with. I have had clients hiding assets or daddies here and there, but in a welfare system that penalizes dual parent households, I do not blame them. It is either hide what you have, or not put food on the table at the end of the month. The kind of fraud that deserves criminal prosecution, trust me, my dear I-pay-my-taxes fellow, is not pervasive. I repeat: is not pervasive.
Why do I write about this much talked about subject, you may wonder? Well, I got my hands on a government application for assistance today (I will spare the "offending" party by not naming names)and curiously went over it. The first few pages had the normal questions such as demographics, income, residence verification, children's information, etc, etc. (it's a long, tedious application). What really caught my eye though, was the section about paternity. I could not believe what I was reading! Am I reading Cosmo magazine or a government application?
- In what city did you have sex with the baby's father for the first time? I thought that what happened in Vegas, stayed in Vegas, darn!
- Was the baby's father impotent or sterile when you became pregnant? I dunno, could have been immaculate conception!
- Did you ever check into a motel with the baby's father? Nah, we just went at it in a public restroom.
- Did you have sex with other men besides the baby's father during the time you conceived? Hmmm... does one score points if the answer is yes?
- When did you have your last menstrual period? I wonder if spotting counts?
I have a couple more questions for our government to add to their forms:
- Did you enjoy having sexual intercourse with the baby's father?
- If the baby's father was impotent, did you enjoy having sexual intercourse with other homies?
- Did you enjoy a cigarette after you did the deed?
Most clients that come to us for assistance do so because they truly need it. They are not trying to "jip" the system as many people think. Many come during crosspoints in their lives: difficult transitions that make government assistance necessary to survive. They are already mortified by the whole situation (I usually keep Kleenex in my office for the clients that have just lost their jobs, are waging custody battles, have just turned their home keys due to foreclosure) and the government dares ask about checking into a motel (and implies they may have done so with more than one guy)! A few rotten apples (emphasis on the word few) and many hard working Americans have to undergo scrutiny of the most intimate aspects of their lives with impersonal government workers?
I do not mind "my taxes" being used to put food on a child's plate. Their parents' lives do not having any bearing on whether these kids can eat or have access to adequate health care. I do mind my taxes being used to print material that is meant to insult and discourage people just when they need help the most. We live in the country of The Plenty. We should be able to feed those in need and not make them feel less than human for asking for help. Don't forget, we might just walk in their shoes someday! We might just become Welfare Queens.
I find it quite interesting that people assume they know who my clients are. When they go into their diatribes about these scheming divas, I can only wonder: "who are you talking about?"
Sure, I must concede that fraud against government social services does exist. However, in all these years working in this field, I can honestly say I have had one (that's right, 1) client committing out-right, premeditated fraud. One! This is less than 1% of the entire population I have worked with. I have had clients hiding assets or daddies here and there, but in a welfare system that penalizes dual parent households, I do not blame them. It is either hide what you have, or not put food on the table at the end of the month. The kind of fraud that deserves criminal prosecution, trust me, my dear I-pay-my-taxes fellow, is not pervasive. I repeat: is not pervasive.
Why do I write about this much talked about subject, you may wonder? Well, I got my hands on a government application for assistance today (I will spare the "offending" party by not naming names)and curiously went over it. The first few pages had the normal questions such as demographics, income, residence verification, children's information, etc, etc. (it's a long, tedious application). What really caught my eye though, was the section about paternity. I could not believe what I was reading! Am I reading Cosmo magazine or a government application?
- In what city did you have sex with the baby's father for the first time? I thought that what happened in Vegas, stayed in Vegas, darn!
- Was the baby's father impotent or sterile when you became pregnant? I dunno, could have been immaculate conception!
- Did you ever check into a motel with the baby's father? Nah, we just went at it in a public restroom.
- Did you have sex with other men besides the baby's father during the time you conceived? Hmmm... does one score points if the answer is yes?
- When did you have your last menstrual period? I wonder if spotting counts?
I have a couple more questions for our government to add to their forms:
- Did you enjoy having sexual intercourse with the baby's father?
- If the baby's father was impotent, did you enjoy having sexual intercourse with other homies?
- Did you enjoy a cigarette after you did the deed?
Most clients that come to us for assistance do so because they truly need it. They are not trying to "jip" the system as many people think. Many come during crosspoints in their lives: difficult transitions that make government assistance necessary to survive. They are already mortified by the whole situation (I usually keep Kleenex in my office for the clients that have just lost their jobs, are waging custody battles, have just turned their home keys due to foreclosure) and the government dares ask about checking into a motel (and implies they may have done so with more than one guy)! A few rotten apples (emphasis on the word few) and many hard working Americans have to undergo scrutiny of the most intimate aspects of their lives with impersonal government workers?
I do not mind "my taxes" being used to put food on a child's plate. Their parents' lives do not having any bearing on whether these kids can eat or have access to adequate health care. I do mind my taxes being used to print material that is meant to insult and discourage people just when they need help the most. We live in the country of The Plenty. We should be able to feed those in need and not make them feel less than human for asking for help. Don't forget, we might just walk in their shoes someday! We might just become Welfare Queens.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Mr. Cheney: If you read this...
Mr. Cheney, I know you have your hands full at this time, what with listening to other people's phone conversation and reading blogs posted by 10 year old juvenile terrorists in the making. However, if you happen to google this blog, I really would love to share some thoughts with you.
I know that you are used to manipulating those near you. Afer all, working with Dubya has made you omnipotent in DC. You have mastered the art of ventriloquism to a T. Not only are your innermost thoughts expressed through Bush's mouth, your ideas and plans come to life with the wave of his wand. You don't even need bother coming out of your secure, undisclosed location. What you say, goes.
What I need to share with you is the following: please do not believe that we, the people, are as easily manipulated as your lil' Texan cowboy has been. We have figured out that you want to think for us, decide for us, talk for us. Please spare us! After all, we are not "average" Yale students, accepted thanks to the graces of a powerful last name that opens Ivy League school doors to Texan coke alley users.
Forgive me , I digress, I know you are a busy man, what with moving from one undisclosed location to the other, all the while trying to convince the religious right that you love your daughter, not her deeds. What I really want you to know Mr. Cheney, is that you need to open your eyes as we the people have.We know you are capable of ignoring intelligence data, outing intelligence operatives to CYA, invading a country to destroy a terrorist group that has no connection to said country, condoning torture of fellow human beings, bringing a dictator to court, when we really want to see Osama brought out of his foxhole (in case you have forgotten who Osama is, he was the actual 9/11 mastermind). However, you did not shoot our eyes off like you did your friend's. We know, we the people know. And we the people will vote. And we the people will judge. And we the people will bring you to face judgement for crimes committed against humanity.
We are in the last throes of your arrogance. Justice will be served.
Copyright 2007.
I know that you are used to manipulating those near you. Afer all, working with Dubya has made you omnipotent in DC. You have mastered the art of ventriloquism to a T. Not only are your innermost thoughts expressed through Bush's mouth, your ideas and plans come to life with the wave of his wand. You don't even need bother coming out of your secure, undisclosed location. What you say, goes.
What I need to share with you is the following: please do not believe that we, the people, are as easily manipulated as your lil' Texan cowboy has been. We have figured out that you want to think for us, decide for us, talk for us. Please spare us! After all, we are not "average" Yale students, accepted thanks to the graces of a powerful last name that opens Ivy League school doors to Texan coke alley users.
Forgive me , I digress, I know you are a busy man, what with moving from one undisclosed location to the other, all the while trying to convince the religious right that you love your daughter, not her deeds. What I really want you to know Mr. Cheney, is that you need to open your eyes as we the people have.We know you are capable of ignoring intelligence data, outing intelligence operatives to CYA, invading a country to destroy a terrorist group that has no connection to said country, condoning torture of fellow human beings, bringing a dictator to court, when we really want to see Osama brought out of his foxhole (in case you have forgotten who Osama is, he was the actual 9/11 mastermind). However, you did not shoot our eyes off like you did your friend's. We know, we the people know. And we the people will vote. And we the people will judge. And we the people will bring you to face judgement for crimes committed against humanity.
We are in the last throes of your arrogance. Justice will be served.
Copyright 2007.
Mr. Bush in Latin America
I've been following President Bush's trip to Latin America this past week. It has been quite interesting to see the host Presidents vying for Bush's attention like a long lost lover. Even Lula from Brazil has rolled the red carpet and had nothing but kind words for him. I am not naive, I know money talks. But don't these Latin American Presidents see what the rest of the world sees?
Here is a President who has treated the entire world with contempt. In his view, national or international laws do not apply to him or his government. He has sent our troops to the Middle East like it was his own backyard. You don't agree with him? You must be an unholy terrorist plotting against us!
In his contempt for the world and his intent to have oil producing countries under his thumb, he has forgotten about Latin America. Ever since 9/11, Latin America has been an afterthought in his agenda. Why court them now? Has he finally realized that while his focus was in the Middle East (read, oil countries), Latin Americans have finally come to the realization that US sponsored governments have brought nothing but misery to their countries? While meddling with Arab countries, Mr. Bush forgot to provide Latin America with their daily bread and circus. Thus, Latin Americans opened their eyes and started voting for left inclining Presidents such as Lula, Chavez and Ortega.
Bush has been received by loud protests in every single Latin American country he has visited, presidential red carpets notwithstanding. The people are tired of being the North's backwater. They now have the option of change. Even if the changes attained are not in the countries' best interests, changes are being implemented without the US government's interference.
Latin American Presidents may be caught up in the game of politics, but the people have received Bush with eyes wide open. There is no such thing as a free meal when it comes to US-Latin American politics. As a matter of fact, there is no longer such a thing as US-World politics. Because wherever Bush goes or meddles with, people are no longer opening their arms in hopes of salvation. They are running the other way to obtain salvation. Latin America is no exception. They know there is no compassion in Bush's conservativism. Not anymore.
Copyright 2007.
Here is a President who has treated the entire world with contempt. In his view, national or international laws do not apply to him or his government. He has sent our troops to the Middle East like it was his own backyard. You don't agree with him? You must be an unholy terrorist plotting against us!
In his contempt for the world and his intent to have oil producing countries under his thumb, he has forgotten about Latin America. Ever since 9/11, Latin America has been an afterthought in his agenda. Why court them now? Has he finally realized that while his focus was in the Middle East (read, oil countries), Latin Americans have finally come to the realization that US sponsored governments have brought nothing but misery to their countries? While meddling with Arab countries, Mr. Bush forgot to provide Latin America with their daily bread and circus. Thus, Latin Americans opened their eyes and started voting for left inclining Presidents such as Lula, Chavez and Ortega.
Bush has been received by loud protests in every single Latin American country he has visited, presidential red carpets notwithstanding. The people are tired of being the North's backwater. They now have the option of change. Even if the changes attained are not in the countries' best interests, changes are being implemented without the US government's interference.
Latin American Presidents may be caught up in the game of politics, but the people have received Bush with eyes wide open. There is no such thing as a free meal when it comes to US-Latin American politics. As a matter of fact, there is no longer such a thing as US-World politics. Because wherever Bush goes or meddles with, people are no longer opening their arms in hopes of salvation. They are running the other way to obtain salvation. Latin America is no exception. They know there is no compassion in Bush's conservativism. Not anymore.
Copyright 2007.
Why baby brothers make excellent financial investors (and why you should have cash handy when they're around)
Growing up, Dad would always tell us the story of how Mom's youngest brother almost made him go broke. When Mom and Dad were dating, it was customary for a family member to chaperone their dates. This chore usually was assigned to Mom's baby brother, Jorge. If the couple decided to watch a movie, Jorge would tag along on their date. This meant Dad had to pony up for, not two, but three movie tickets plus any snacks and drinks they had. This was not easy for someone living on a student pastor's stipend! Dad loved Mom too much and did not complain. After all, you're supposed to fight for the ultimate prize, right?
Jorge's mind starting thinking, though:
-Why should I have to go everywhere with these two losers when I could go by myself or my friends? Obviously, money is no objection!-
And so it became that Dad would pay Jorge to pretend to accompany them on their dates. The price for not having the pleasure of little junior's company increased double fold and Dad's wallet decreased three fold! But he couldn't complain or any thoughts of kissing Mom would evaporate like his dollar bills had. Every time I heard this story I would feel sorry for my parents. Can't decent people make out and not declare bankruptcy anymore?
Skip twenty years into the future, and there I was in our living room's sofa. Egon and I were on a date, watching TV. Such a romantic moment, his right hand on my left hand, my right hand on... wait a minute, this is not Egon's hand! Oh of course, my baby brother is sitting right smack in the middle. He is obviously enjoying himself. I can't complain to my parents, after all, what excuse could I make so that Egon and I are left alone and nobody to watch, right?
This has been going on every weekend Egon and I are on a date. I try to persuade little Junior to leave, but my pleas fall on deaf ears.
-Hey, I live here, too, and I want to watch TV as well. You can't make me leave! -
I can't believe this little insect has the upper hand!
-Who does he think he is? Quick, think! I am dying to make out with my boyfriend and he can't wait to get to 3rd, er, I mean, 1st base!-
Of course, the future financial consultant to Fortune 500 companies has everything planned in advance. After all, this is the guy who beat my other brother and I at Monopoly when he was only 3! Blackmail! And we're not just talking your garden-variety-give-me-money-to-buy-a-soda-blackmail. Oh no, we're talking $30.00 a date or: "Mom will hear about your boyfriend's paws on your boobs! Of course he's pawing you, but who do you think Mom will believe"?
And so it was that Egon had to request that his HR Department at work direct deposit half his salary to my little brother every month for making-out fees. I personally believe it was worth every penny, although Egon's electricity at home was cut a couple times. Hey, we're talking priorities here!
Fast forward another 20 years. My baby son comes running to the house very excited.
-Mom, mom!!!! Look, Lily gave me $1.00!-
-Why would our next door neighbor's daughter give you money for? Are you sure you didn't steal it from her?-
-No Mom, she gave it to me so that I would leave my older brother Lucas and her alone. Now I must stay inside and watch TV.-
-Lucas! Come back inside right this minute!-
Copyright 2007.
Jorge's mind starting thinking, though:
-Why should I have to go everywhere with these two losers when I could go by myself or my friends? Obviously, money is no objection!-
And so it became that Dad would pay Jorge to pretend to accompany them on their dates. The price for not having the pleasure of little junior's company increased double fold and Dad's wallet decreased three fold! But he couldn't complain or any thoughts of kissing Mom would evaporate like his dollar bills had. Every time I heard this story I would feel sorry for my parents. Can't decent people make out and not declare bankruptcy anymore?
Skip twenty years into the future, and there I was in our living room's sofa. Egon and I were on a date, watching TV. Such a romantic moment, his right hand on my left hand, my right hand on... wait a minute, this is not Egon's hand! Oh of course, my baby brother is sitting right smack in the middle. He is obviously enjoying himself. I can't complain to my parents, after all, what excuse could I make so that Egon and I are left alone and nobody to watch, right?
This has been going on every weekend Egon and I are on a date. I try to persuade little Junior to leave, but my pleas fall on deaf ears.
-Hey, I live here, too, and I want to watch TV as well. You can't make me leave! -
I can't believe this little insect has the upper hand!
-Who does he think he is? Quick, think! I am dying to make out with my boyfriend and he can't wait to get to 3rd, er, I mean, 1st base!-
Of course, the future financial consultant to Fortune 500 companies has everything planned in advance. After all, this is the guy who beat my other brother and I at Monopoly when he was only 3! Blackmail! And we're not just talking your garden-variety-give-me-money-to-buy-a-soda-blackmail. Oh no, we're talking $30.00 a date or: "Mom will hear about your boyfriend's paws on your boobs! Of course he's pawing you, but who do you think Mom will believe"?
And so it was that Egon had to request that his HR Department at work direct deposit half his salary to my little brother every month for making-out fees. I personally believe it was worth every penny, although Egon's electricity at home was cut a couple times. Hey, we're talking priorities here!
Fast forward another 20 years. My baby son comes running to the house very excited.
-Mom, mom!!!! Look, Lily gave me $1.00!-
-Why would our next door neighbor's daughter give you money for? Are you sure you didn't steal it from her?-
-No Mom, she gave it to me so that I would leave my older brother Lucas and her alone. Now I must stay inside and watch TV.-
-Lucas! Come back inside right this minute!-
Copyright 2007.
Housewife Feminism
I was recently confronted by a militant feminist friend of mine, whom I'll call Kelly. We were talking about how feminism has evolved over the decades, not only in the US, but worldwide. As always, Kelly tried to convince me to join NOW. She has been an active member for some years now and is very proud of her accomplishments (as well should she be). I think she believes the reasons why I can't join are basically a litany of excuses because, according to her, I am not a true feminist.
Besides not attending NOW sessions, joining demonstrations, or writing to my local congressperson, I wear make-up, I shave my legs and armpits, pluck my eyebrows, and enjoy wearing the occassional sexy black dress with perky high heeled shoes. Oh, and I drive a mini-van around town, am not co-habiting with my legally wedded husband, and the biggest no-no of all, actually share important decisions with him.
I do not believe I am better or inferior to men. I believe I am equal to men (well, most of them).
I believe in God, the Holy Spirit, and Jesus Christ. This belief makes me a member of a group that has had a history of oppressing women over the centuries and will probably continue to do so over time. I am not overly concerned whether I should call my deity God or Godess. I have been personally touched by sermons delivered by male and female pastors. I believe that I will achieve salvation through my faith, regardless of details.
I do not apologize for any of the above. I am actually proud of who I am, of the person I have forged myself to be. I do not bombard my three sons with sermons about women's rights and emancipation. I do not nag my husband about why he should help around the house (besides, he lives in this house, so he is not helping anybody when he does his share of chores).
I teach my sons by example. And that is the best lesson I have to offer them. I chose a good man to be my husband. You will not hear him utter an unkind word towards me. He loves me and shows his love in many many ways (just right now he came by to say that dinner will be ready in 5). My sons see me reading books, watching the news (and being very opinionated about politics, since I am always arguing with the TV), and going to work just like Daddy does.
I am a suburban housewife feminist. And oftentimes, that is how society changes, from within the small nucleus of the family. My children's future significant others will appreciate that. They will have husbands who respect them and treat them accordingly. My sons will be men that grow up used to the fact that women go to school and work along men and there's no need to make a huge fuss over that.
The fact that I can decide not to join militant feminist groups, the fact that I chose my career, chose my husband, chose to have 3 children, that makes me a part of a new breed of feminists. The kind that does not allow other men or women to decide for me. The housewife feminist!
Copyright 2007.
Besides not attending NOW sessions, joining demonstrations, or writing to my local congressperson, I wear make-up, I shave my legs and armpits, pluck my eyebrows, and enjoy wearing the occassional sexy black dress with perky high heeled shoes. Oh, and I drive a mini-van around town, am not co-habiting with my legally wedded husband, and the biggest no-no of all, actually share important decisions with him.
I do not believe I am better or inferior to men. I believe I am equal to men (well, most of them).
I believe in God, the Holy Spirit, and Jesus Christ. This belief makes me a member of a group that has had a history of oppressing women over the centuries and will probably continue to do so over time. I am not overly concerned whether I should call my deity God or Godess. I have been personally touched by sermons delivered by male and female pastors. I believe that I will achieve salvation through my faith, regardless of details.
I do not apologize for any of the above. I am actually proud of who I am, of the person I have forged myself to be. I do not bombard my three sons with sermons about women's rights and emancipation. I do not nag my husband about why he should help around the house (besides, he lives in this house, so he is not helping anybody when he does his share of chores).
I teach my sons by example. And that is the best lesson I have to offer them. I chose a good man to be my husband. You will not hear him utter an unkind word towards me. He loves me and shows his love in many many ways (just right now he came by to say that dinner will be ready in 5). My sons see me reading books, watching the news (and being very opinionated about politics, since I am always arguing with the TV), and going to work just like Daddy does.
I am a suburban housewife feminist. And oftentimes, that is how society changes, from within the small nucleus of the family. My children's future significant others will appreciate that. They will have husbands who respect them and treat them accordingly. My sons will be men that grow up used to the fact that women go to school and work along men and there's no need to make a huge fuss over that.
The fact that I can decide not to join militant feminist groups, the fact that I chose my career, chose my husband, chose to have 3 children, that makes me a part of a new breed of feminists. The kind that does not allow other men or women to decide for me. The housewife feminist!
Copyright 2007.
When a loved one goes to war
Spare me the platitudes. I've heard them all. I don't care to hear them, not now.
- Oh sure, they're going there so that they (whoever they may be) don't come to fight in our land. -
- They died there so that we can have liberty here. They're doing it for love of the homeland. They're freedom fighters. -
And so on, and so forth.
As wives, mothers, friends, teachers, neighbors, lovers, none of these words will bring back the ones we loved. Not even if you ramble on and on with words I agree with, such as: "they were sent to die for Bush and his oil friends, they fought an unjust war."
It still hurts. It sears the heart at its core. Nothing you say will bring our loved ones back. Nothing.
Copyright 2007.
- Oh sure, they're going there so that they (whoever they may be) don't come to fight in our land. -
- They died there so that we can have liberty here. They're doing it for love of the homeland. They're freedom fighters. -
And so on, and so forth.
As wives, mothers, friends, teachers, neighbors, lovers, none of these words will bring back the ones we loved. Not even if you ramble on and on with words I agree with, such as: "they were sent to die for Bush and his oil friends, they fought an unjust war."
It still hurts. It sears the heart at its core. Nothing you say will bring our loved ones back. Nothing.
Copyright 2007.
The King
Yes, I was the King. I was powerful, omnipresent, omniscient, I was king.
Subjects would bow to me and kneel at my feet. Wise elders would talk about me, tell others about my epic history. Parents would bring their children to me for protection. And children, children would run to me and holding hands, form a huge circle around me. Yes, I was respected and feared, loved and cared for.
Yet, alas, my kingdom was destroyed. I did not realize this at first. One by one, my subjects were destroyed. One day, I looked around and saw... nothing. My subjects were gone. No more elders to consult with, no more parents to advise, no more children to play with. All gone. Only I was left. This did not last long, though. I too, was brought down by sword, destroyed, felled down.
All that is left of me is the pencil you are using right now to write these words.
Copyright 2007.
Subjects would bow to me and kneel at my feet. Wise elders would talk about me, tell others about my epic history. Parents would bring their children to me for protection. And children, children would run to me and holding hands, form a huge circle around me. Yes, I was respected and feared, loved and cared for.
Yet, alas, my kingdom was destroyed. I did not realize this at first. One by one, my subjects were destroyed. One day, I looked around and saw... nothing. My subjects were gone. No more elders to consult with, no more parents to advise, no more children to play with. All gone. Only I was left. This did not last long, though. I too, was brought down by sword, destroyed, felled down.
All that is left of me is the pencil you are using right now to write these words.
Copyright 2007.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Freedom of Speech
Turn on the TV, read the newspapers and mags, tune on talk radio, I can assure you, we are guaranteed at least one mention about freedom of speech. And so it should be. The mere fact I am allowed to post this blog without fear of being jailed, tortured, or mysteriously disappeared, well, that is a big deal. Where I come from originally, you are lucky to survive after writing the word "hunger."
The founding fathers came from a land where freedom of speech was not a guarantee. It must have been a thrill to experiment with this newfound freedom. To be able to express out loud what is on your mind and be alive the next day, what a concept!
Thus a nation was born, where liberals could spar with conservatives and your lives were not at stake. Our nation took baby steps to guarantee this freedom of speech. The precept itself was written into our Constitution. Of course, we had our blunders throughout the way (the Salem witch hunts and McCarthy's blacklists come to mind). But all in all, we have had it pretty good compared to most nations around the world. I can google titles ranging from feminist-pro-choice-lesbians trying to save the rainforests to aryan men for a pro-God nation, and not expect a mid-night visit from a men in black.
And so it has become, it has become ok to say nigger this, spic that, cracker that, and so forth. Call your women ho's? Hey, bring up the Founding Fathers card and get away with it scot free!!! Freedom of speech has become our get out of jail free card. And just for good measure, throw in the "our soldiers are out there in Iraq fighting so that we can say what is in our minds" card, and we get cheers from all sides. What a bonus!!!
I can get on top of my soapbox and manage to insult everyone plus their mother, and bless my heart, our Founding Fathers and our soldiers in Iraq lift my box higher so all can hear my invectives being spewed out loud. We have become an Equal Opportunity Nation of Offenders.
I must acknowledge, I have gotten caught up in the freedom of speech bandwagon. I have heard myself say, "well, I would never call anybody mean names, but y'know, it's freedom of speech, they can call others whatever is on their minds." For years, I have had this, it's-ok-for-them-to-say-that-even-if-it's-offensive-mentality, because: didn't our Founding Fathers escape imperialist Europe for this? Then Carlos Mencia came along. I watched and laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Ha ha ha, ha ha ha... boy is he funny! And he started receiving the expected hate mail. People offended by his prejoratives. But oh no, he would tell us, we live in the US of A, we have unlimited and unfettered freedom of speech! It is a free for all!
I kept watching Carlos Mencia's show and kept on laughing, ha ha, ain't he funny, ha... I could not laugh anymore. He managed to insult my friends, my family, the notions I hold dear, the notions I do not hold so dear but others do, and yes, the people whose views I disrespect or think condescendingly of. Through it all, he kept reminding us about freedom of speech and our soldiers in Iraq. Suddenly, he was not funny anymore. Did our Founding Fathers really sit down and say amongst themselves, "let's make sure we include freedom of speech in the Constitution so that years from now, Americans can call their women ho's"? Do I really believe that every morning, when our soldiers wake up after 1 or 2 hours of sleep, the first thought that comes to their minds is "hell, these ambushes and my life on the line, it's all worth it so Carlos Mencia can make fun of __________ (<--- fill in the blank with the ethnic, gender, sexual orientation, religion, or other minority group of your choice).
Is this what freedom of speech has come to?
In other countries, people have been killed for telling the world they are hungry, illiterate, have no health care, or their children die before reaching the ripe old age of 5. The brave ones that have spoken out are "disappeared" and years later, their bodies found in common graves. Our Founding Fathers came to this country because they wanted to express their political and religious beliefs without their powdered wigs being found thrown on a bottomless pit the next day. When they sat around the table discussing our future Constitution, they imagined future Americans from all walks of life being able to come together , having intelligent discourse, everyone expressing their views, all of them being able to approve or disapprove of our government's actions (or lack thereof), and then, everybody going home for a good night's sleep.
And our soldiers in Iraq, give me a break! Those courageous albeit underpaid men and women in uniform, they fight day in and day out so that tyrannical forces do not take away our ability to speak against government, so our phones are not wiretapped, so we can google the word "terrorist" and not be taken to a foreign underground prison, so that we can gather round like-minded people and not be black-listed on airport passenger lists, so that our library reading material is not saved in a mystery data bank. We need to wake up! Freedom of speech has become the government's blindfold. While we bicker over what is or is not insulting to others, the government is taking away the real freedom of speech. Journalists being paid to promote government programs, Cheney becoming a 4th branch of the government so that he does not have to release his obscure papers, the executive not being scrutizined by the other branches of the government, and the list goes on and on. Isn't that what we should be screaming our lungs out about?
Let's stop offending one another: it's un-American. Let's tell this government we have caught on. Let's bring about real Freedom of Speech.
Copyright 2007.
The founding fathers came from a land where freedom of speech was not a guarantee. It must have been a thrill to experiment with this newfound freedom. To be able to express out loud what is on your mind and be alive the next day, what a concept!
Thus a nation was born, where liberals could spar with conservatives and your lives were not at stake. Our nation took baby steps to guarantee this freedom of speech. The precept itself was written into our Constitution. Of course, we had our blunders throughout the way (the Salem witch hunts and McCarthy's blacklists come to mind). But all in all, we have had it pretty good compared to most nations around the world. I can google titles ranging from feminist-pro-choice-lesbians trying to save the rainforests to aryan men for a pro-God nation, and not expect a mid-night visit from a men in black.
And so it has become, it has become ok to say nigger this, spic that, cracker that, and so forth. Call your women ho's? Hey, bring up the Founding Fathers card and get away with it scot free!!! Freedom of speech has become our get out of jail free card. And just for good measure, throw in the "our soldiers are out there in Iraq fighting so that we can say what is in our minds" card, and we get cheers from all sides. What a bonus!!!
I can get on top of my soapbox and manage to insult everyone plus their mother, and bless my heart, our Founding Fathers and our soldiers in Iraq lift my box higher so all can hear my invectives being spewed out loud. We have become an Equal Opportunity Nation of Offenders.
I must acknowledge, I have gotten caught up in the freedom of speech bandwagon. I have heard myself say, "well, I would never call anybody mean names, but y'know, it's freedom of speech, they can call others whatever is on their minds." For years, I have had this, it's-ok-for-them-to-say-that-even-if-it's-offensive-mentality, because: didn't our Founding Fathers escape imperialist Europe for this? Then Carlos Mencia came along. I watched and laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Ha ha ha, ha ha ha... boy is he funny! And he started receiving the expected hate mail. People offended by his prejoratives. But oh no, he would tell us, we live in the US of A, we have unlimited and unfettered freedom of speech! It is a free for all!
I kept watching Carlos Mencia's show and kept on laughing, ha ha, ain't he funny, ha... I could not laugh anymore. He managed to insult my friends, my family, the notions I hold dear, the notions I do not hold so dear but others do, and yes, the people whose views I disrespect or think condescendingly of. Through it all, he kept reminding us about freedom of speech and our soldiers in Iraq. Suddenly, he was not funny anymore. Did our Founding Fathers really sit down and say amongst themselves, "let's make sure we include freedom of speech in the Constitution so that years from now, Americans can call their women ho's"? Do I really believe that every morning, when our soldiers wake up after 1 or 2 hours of sleep, the first thought that comes to their minds is "hell, these ambushes and my life on the line, it's all worth it so Carlos Mencia can make fun of __________ (<--- fill in the blank with the ethnic, gender, sexual orientation, religion, or other minority group of your choice).
Is this what freedom of speech has come to?
In other countries, people have been killed for telling the world they are hungry, illiterate, have no health care, or their children die before reaching the ripe old age of 5. The brave ones that have spoken out are "disappeared" and years later, their bodies found in common graves. Our Founding Fathers came to this country because they wanted to express their political and religious beliefs without their powdered wigs being found thrown on a bottomless pit the next day. When they sat around the table discussing our future Constitution, they imagined future Americans from all walks of life being able to come together , having intelligent discourse, everyone expressing their views, all of them being able to approve or disapprove of our government's actions (or lack thereof), and then, everybody going home for a good night's sleep.
And our soldiers in Iraq, give me a break! Those courageous albeit underpaid men and women in uniform, they fight day in and day out so that tyrannical forces do not take away our ability to speak against government, so our phones are not wiretapped, so we can google the word "terrorist" and not be taken to a foreign underground prison, so that we can gather round like-minded people and not be black-listed on airport passenger lists, so that our library reading material is not saved in a mystery data bank. We need to wake up! Freedom of speech has become the government's blindfold. While we bicker over what is or is not insulting to others, the government is taking away the real freedom of speech. Journalists being paid to promote government programs, Cheney becoming a 4th branch of the government so that he does not have to release his obscure papers, the executive not being scrutizined by the other branches of the government, and the list goes on and on. Isn't that what we should be screaming our lungs out about?
Let's stop offending one another: it's un-American. Let's tell this government we have caught on. Let's bring about real Freedom of Speech.
Copyright 2007.
La Piñata
I must describe a piñata to my Armenian friend. She is preparing her son's first birthday party, and the party coordinator asked if she wants to have a piñata at the party.
-A piñata, what is that?
-It's the Mexican toy you break to release the candy and toys, of course!
Good thing Gohar has me on speed dial and frantically called to ask if she would be committing a huge faux pas if there was no piñata at her son's party! She asked, demanded, to know what this piñata thing is, and if she must go on the Mexican Ebay to bid for one.
I sighed. Once more, I am the Mexican cultural broker trying to explain and help my friend make sense of what this Mexican cultural icon is (true, I am not Mexican, but those are just small details to my friends, we all look alike don't we?).
So ok, a piñata. Without delving into the history of the piñata, of which I know nothing about, I explain what a piñata is. It's this multicolored festooned toy that can be made into many different forms: the omnipresent star, a dog, cat, and for the discerning 5 year old, Winnie the Pooh. You fill the toy with candy and toys (if you're still in the old country, oranges and bananas will have to do) and then smack it with a stick. You hit it over and over until it breaks and all these goodies come out for the kids to enjoy.
Yes, I told my friend the sanitized version of the piñata. The truth of the matter is, you do not want to acknowledge the fact that your ancestors' idea of fun was to blindfold and spin the kids around until they were too dizzy to walk straight. The kid then brandishes the big ole broomstick nilly willy and if the other kids are lucky, will not be hit over and over, until there is a bloodshed in your backyard.
When the biggest, toughest, meanest kid finally breaks the piñata, the candy falls to the ground followed by a downpour of kids. The smallest kids are crushed to the ground and once the older ones get their fill of candy, there are at least 5 little kids crying their eyes out because they got scrap! I've seen the look of terror in my non-latino friends when they witness the destruction of poor Spongebob. He had no chance! All that candy was more enticing than a creepy looking version of the sponge sea creature.
I sometimes wonder who in their right mind would come up with the idea of creating a game where investing in liability insurance will eventually be an option. I usually ask myself this question while in line at the local farmer's market while I wait for the vendor to bring me the biggest, meanest, fattest Yugi-oh piñata. The doubts in my head last for a minute or so. After all, I grew up going to at least 10 piñatas every year. I grew up fine. I'm sure the twitch in my eye has nothing to do with being whacked more than once on the head by some poor kid who thought the piñata was exactly where the other kids were anxiously waiting their turn in line.
Yes dear Gohar, I am quite sure that Dear Ms. Manners will probably get a letter from an offended mother complaining of a children's party that lacked a piñata. What is this world coming to where a decent kid goes to a party and his little latino spirit is crushed when there is no piñata cat mocking him from up above? Tell the party coordinator that, yes, the piñata is a must-have item at your son's party. And please, do send us an invitation! I would not miss the opportunity to see all those kids, er, piñata getting whacked in the head!
Copyright 2007.
-A piñata, what is that?
-It's the Mexican toy you break to release the candy and toys, of course!
Good thing Gohar has me on speed dial and frantically called to ask if she would be committing a huge faux pas if there was no piñata at her son's party! She asked, demanded, to know what this piñata thing is, and if she must go on the Mexican Ebay to bid for one.
I sighed. Once more, I am the Mexican cultural broker trying to explain and help my friend make sense of what this Mexican cultural icon is (true, I am not Mexican, but those are just small details to my friends, we all look alike don't we?).
So ok, a piñata. Without delving into the history of the piñata, of which I know nothing about, I explain what a piñata is. It's this multicolored festooned toy that can be made into many different forms: the omnipresent star, a dog, cat, and for the discerning 5 year old, Winnie the Pooh. You fill the toy with candy and toys (if you're still in the old country, oranges and bananas will have to do) and then smack it with a stick. You hit it over and over until it breaks and all these goodies come out for the kids to enjoy.
Yes, I told my friend the sanitized version of the piñata. The truth of the matter is, you do not want to acknowledge the fact that your ancestors' idea of fun was to blindfold and spin the kids around until they were too dizzy to walk straight. The kid then brandishes the big ole broomstick nilly willy and if the other kids are lucky, will not be hit over and over, until there is a bloodshed in your backyard.
When the biggest, toughest, meanest kid finally breaks the piñata, the candy falls to the ground followed by a downpour of kids. The smallest kids are crushed to the ground and once the older ones get their fill of candy, there are at least 5 little kids crying their eyes out because they got scrap! I've seen the look of terror in my non-latino friends when they witness the destruction of poor Spongebob. He had no chance! All that candy was more enticing than a creepy looking version of the sponge sea creature.
I sometimes wonder who in their right mind would come up with the idea of creating a game where investing in liability insurance will eventually be an option. I usually ask myself this question while in line at the local farmer's market while I wait for the vendor to bring me the biggest, meanest, fattest Yugi-oh piñata. The doubts in my head last for a minute or so. After all, I grew up going to at least 10 piñatas every year. I grew up fine. I'm sure the twitch in my eye has nothing to do with being whacked more than once on the head by some poor kid who thought the piñata was exactly where the other kids were anxiously waiting their turn in line.
Yes dear Gohar, I am quite sure that Dear Ms. Manners will probably get a letter from an offended mother complaining of a children's party that lacked a piñata. What is this world coming to where a decent kid goes to a party and his little latino spirit is crushed when there is no piñata cat mocking him from up above? Tell the party coordinator that, yes, the piñata is a must-have item at your son's party. And please, do send us an invitation! I would not miss the opportunity to see all those kids, er, piñata getting whacked in the head!
Copyright 2007.
Thoughts on turning 35
Odd.
I am supposed to be feeling frantic, nervous, unhappy, in denial, hysterical: in short, all the adjectives used to describe women of a "certain age." Yet I have this sense of peace, calm, serenity, and accomplishment.
I am turning 35 years old and feel that the things that matter, I have accomplished. I studied Freud, Shakespeare, da Vinci, Newton, and Baldor. I married the person I love, I have 3 loving and fun boys, I have forged the relationship I yearned for with my parents and brothers, I have gained a new sister (and who knows, a new brother, too I hope), I've read Allende and McCourt, I've seen Luis Miguel in concert (twice), lived in many places I call home, felt heartbreak, happiness, disappointment, love, and rage. In short, I have experience life.
Funny how our priorities change along with the newfound extra pounds,white hairs and crow's lines. Once, I dreamt about a knight in shining armor who would recite poetry, make love to me every single night, send flowers just because it is Monday, and tell me over and over that I am like the wind. My knight and I would be professionals with plenty of money to hire a full time nanny, housekeeper, and cook. We would need an intercom to find the kids around the house. We would have a family car plus his and her fun cars. In our spare time, we would save the world jetting around to rid the world of war and hunger. We would be Brad and Angelina, Maddox, Zahara, and Shiloh. Yet God is good. God made us the Seides. We have a mortgage to pay, cars that need repairs, dishes that need to be washed, a younger child that gets hand me down clothes from, not one, but two brothers. God gave me, not the life I dreamt of, but the life I need.
At 35 I am me, my husband, and my children. And I feel blessed. Thank you Lord!
PS Ok, I did get that tattoo I dreamt of for so long! Who ever said 35 year olds are not daredevils?
Copyright 2007.
I am supposed to be feeling frantic, nervous, unhappy, in denial, hysterical: in short, all the adjectives used to describe women of a "certain age." Yet I have this sense of peace, calm, serenity, and accomplishment.
I am turning 35 years old and feel that the things that matter, I have accomplished. I studied Freud, Shakespeare, da Vinci, Newton, and Baldor. I married the person I love, I have 3 loving and fun boys, I have forged the relationship I yearned for with my parents and brothers, I have gained a new sister (and who knows, a new brother, too I hope), I've read Allende and McCourt, I've seen Luis Miguel in concert (twice), lived in many places I call home, felt heartbreak, happiness, disappointment, love, and rage. In short, I have experience life.
Funny how our priorities change along with the newfound extra pounds,white hairs and crow's lines. Once, I dreamt about a knight in shining armor who would recite poetry, make love to me every single night, send flowers just because it is Monday, and tell me over and over that I am like the wind. My knight and I would be professionals with plenty of money to hire a full time nanny, housekeeper, and cook. We would need an intercom to find the kids around the house. We would have a family car plus his and her fun cars. In our spare time, we would save the world jetting around to rid the world of war and hunger. We would be Brad and Angelina, Maddox, Zahara, and Shiloh. Yet God is good. God made us the Seides. We have a mortgage to pay, cars that need repairs, dishes that need to be washed, a younger child that gets hand me down clothes from, not one, but two brothers. God gave me, not the life I dreamt of, but the life I need.
At 35 I am me, my husband, and my children. And I feel blessed. Thank you Lord!
PS Ok, I did get that tattoo I dreamt of for so long! Who ever said 35 year olds are not daredevils?
Copyright 2007.
Being a mother: Never a dull moment!
I just convinced my personal chiropractor (AKA, my husband) to please rub some Bengay on my back. I hope this will relieve the constant back pain and mild hunchback I have developed after years of bending down to pick up miscellaneous stuff off the floor (miscellaneous refers to living and non-living entities, and range from safe to bio hazardous material). You see, I have been a mother for the past 11 years. I have 3 sons (I'm not counting my husband, mind you, but he can technically be considered the 4th child), ranging from ages 5-11.
My brother and sister-in-law have told me time and again that I am their best birth-control system. They no longer need to worry about missed pills, broken condoms, or wrong count. All they do is have us over for dinner and remind themselves why getting a fish or bird is the right decision to make. Needless to say, they have us for dinner every obligated sex day of the year: birthdays, wedding anniversary, Valentine's Day, and President's Day (don't ask why).
The last time we had a family outing at a famous family restaurant chain, we had a family picture taken and were told never, ever to come back again! Here's the story: We waited about 45 minutes to be seated and by then, the boys were hungry and wild. While we were waiting to be served, they started screaming and breaking the cheap crayons that were supposed to keep them busy for sometime (can't these restaurants invest in crayons that actually color?). By now, the people sitting next to us were staring at us, and yes, we got the message: did you forget your kids' Ritalin doses today? Our waiter took pity on us and brought the boys some mints... cinnamon mints to be specific. My 5 year old started choking on this awful tasting mint and I had to perform the Heimlich maneuver on him. He started gagging and threw up on the table! The restaurant patrons were about to riot by now! But wait, there's more (of course there is)! My precious baby was so mad at the stupid mint that he grabbed it and threw it behind his back. Needless to say, it landed on some guy's bowl of soup. When we paid our bill, the hostess kindly told us that we were banned from their establishment and that our family picture would be faxed to their entire chain, so please, do not try any funny business like moving to a different state just to eat at our restaurant! This is just a normal event in our daily routine.
I know I should bill my sister-in-law's medical insurance company for birth control services rendered, however, the truth of the matter is: I would not change a minute of my life with my 3, er, 4 boys. And you know what? My brother and sister-in-law could not agree more!! They have decided to have 3 of their own as well!!!
Copyright 2007.
My brother and sister-in-law have told me time and again that I am their best birth-control system. They no longer need to worry about missed pills, broken condoms, or wrong count. All they do is have us over for dinner and remind themselves why getting a fish or bird is the right decision to make. Needless to say, they have us for dinner every obligated sex day of the year: birthdays, wedding anniversary, Valentine's Day, and President's Day (don't ask why).
The last time we had a family outing at a famous family restaurant chain, we had a family picture taken and were told never, ever to come back again! Here's the story: We waited about 45 minutes to be seated and by then, the boys were hungry and wild. While we were waiting to be served, they started screaming and breaking the cheap crayons that were supposed to keep them busy for sometime (can't these restaurants invest in crayons that actually color?). By now, the people sitting next to us were staring at us, and yes, we got the message: did you forget your kids' Ritalin doses today? Our waiter took pity on us and brought the boys some mints... cinnamon mints to be specific. My 5 year old started choking on this awful tasting mint and I had to perform the Heimlich maneuver on him. He started gagging and threw up on the table! The restaurant patrons were about to riot by now! But wait, there's more (of course there is)! My precious baby was so mad at the stupid mint that he grabbed it and threw it behind his back. Needless to say, it landed on some guy's bowl of soup. When we paid our bill, the hostess kindly told us that we were banned from their establishment and that our family picture would be faxed to their entire chain, so please, do not try any funny business like moving to a different state just to eat at our restaurant! This is just a normal event in our daily routine.
I know I should bill my sister-in-law's medical insurance company for birth control services rendered, however, the truth of the matter is: I would not change a minute of my life with my 3, er, 4 boys. And you know what? My brother and sister-in-law could not agree more!! They have decided to have 3 of their own as well!!!
Copyright 2007.
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