That's Hot

It was hot today. Really hot. A hundred times hot. So hot that when one of Li'L A's cross country teammates demurred about running with his shirt off because he was too fat, he was told, "Dude, it's too hot for bad self esteem today." (HeHe, Gulp, and Sad Face all at once.)

Nevertheless Baby A's first day of nursery school followed by a potluck at her sweetly hippy-dippy institution of early learning. After I got home from work, I wore a sari and Baby A wore a scarf draped as a "half sari" over her trousers. (I wore my favorite Rosie the Riveter button as a sari brooch.)

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Press Start

Looking at the post counts for July and Aug and cringing. I re-remember now how difficult it is to get back to a routine after an emotional disruption. 

So, scrambling to get prep managed and presented. Really scrambling. The English courses (Colonial-Postcolonial Litt, Composition) started last week, the Women's Studies course starts next week. Thankfully, we (Big A and I) decided that I could take a break from the four ESL classes a week. I loved being in touch with newly arrived international students and we could use the extra money, but there's just not enough time. For me. Big A NEVER has enough time. OTOH, I admire resent admire/resent how Big A decides that he needs to do something and then goes ahead and does it. E.g. Finishing up a mountain of patient charts at home or training for the marathon. There's very little I can expect or bring myself to ask of someone who has worked a 14 hour day and run eight miles in training. 

But that still leaves three weekday mornings to do serious writing. So it is written. 

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Things Can Only Get Better

Dad's birthday. Woke up at 5 to wrap presents before final class prep. And then begged two kids and an adult with increasing desperation and superhuman amounts of groveling to sign his card from 6:45 to 7:50.

Was away all day on campus and then too late and tired to stop anywhere to get a birthday cake. (Lazy!!) Did a drive through Tim Hortons for 40 donut holes that the kids and I stacked into a pretty impressive "cake tower," parked a tealight on top, and had a festive birthday party anyway.

Happy Birthday, Daddy :). (You're the first feminist I ever met.)

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In the Middle

So Li'l A is in middle school now. And over the weekend, checking on cousin P directly in the path of Hurricane Irene, I was the one who got comforted. P told me that having this child in middle school would prepare me for when he goes away to college. Given the health insecurities of the summer, all I want to do is spend every moment with my kids lolling around, "snuddling," having picnics, but time is so tough. So tight. 


The middle schooler gets home at 6:30 weekdays (Cross-country training after school). Sidebar: And I hate that cross country trains five days a week and meets on the sixth day to race (like Christian gods) but my spacey kid turns out to be unable to play team sports that require him to visualize and this is the kind of activity where he can zone out and still get good-for-asthma exercise. I hate that for two hours a day I have no way of contacting him. He leaves his cell phone in his locker when he runs--naturally. And also, since they run all over the village, the glen, everywhere, I have no idea where he is. Feels so strange. But I am letting go. And then suddenly it's the weekend, but he's invited to some workshop on "facilitation" from 10-3 and then goes away to a friends sleepover. But I continue to let my peacock fly  baby bird go.

And I'm letting go sometimes out of necessity. School now starts at 8:45 and since my first class is at 9 and 45 minutes away, I'm trusting in him to gather his school things, let himself out, lock the door behind him, and bike to school. By himself.

That screaming is coming from inside my head.

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Oh Thank Heaven...

I don't know if you remember this big kerfluffle when Biden correlated Indian Americans and 7-11s?

Li'l A's middle school sure doesn't, or they wouldn't assign the sole brown kid in their school the locker number... wait for it... "7-11."

We've been teasing him all week :).

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I'm Special. So Special.

Because I can never remember the tunes to the silly songs I make up for kids, I have designated special songs for the kids borrowed (I'm a creative GENIUS!!) from the movies. My sister pointed out that they're both sad songs when situated narratively, but they soothe my kids, make them feel special (along with three other generations of Hindi-speaking kids).

Baby A has Chanda Hey Tu, Mera Sooraj Hey Tu, Li'l A has Nanhi Kali Sone Chali .  Last night as I told them what the words meant again, Li'l A growled with discontent:

Yeah. She (Baby A) is your sun and your moon, plus all the stars. And what am I? A flower. A little one. Nice."

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Mind. Business.

Baby baby baby
snakes
taper taper taper

tight

wave happy, happy 

goodbyes gone

clank tears,

swing slaughter

Nothing to do here

Keep moving along

Nothing to see

rest shadows, exit.

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