Jeans and shorts, among other things

I tell people that despite my pregnant state, I am most certainly still me. To that end, I have a few observations to make about the Obama family.

A month ago, the newswires spread headlines about Barack's jeans that he wore to a baseball game. The jeans were baggy and in Obama's words, "comfortable," and yet he was chastised for wearing the "mom" jeans. Barack brushed the criticism aside and chided those who disagreed with his choice of style. I would bet, though, that he had not hired anyone to pick out his outfit, and for that, I am happy he wore his "frumpy" jeans.

Today, pictures of Michelle Obama's shorts were on the internet for everyone to see. In an article on Yahoo!, the writer of the article stated that people weren't quite sure what to make of her and her husband's choices in clothes. The informality of the couple has left some unsure of whether or not this is acceptable as the first couple. Plus, they both look pretty darned good for their age, and I'm sure that makes a few people in their late forties jealous in their own right.

I remember taking classes at Disney as an intern, and in particular, I remember a class we took on changing the paradigm. Those who make real, lasting change are those who are willing to look at the current paradigms in society and change them. They are the leaders and thinkers of society. To consider this possibility, look no further than Thomas Jefferson, who paraphrased the writings of Mason, Locke, Hobbes and Rousseau. For centuries, the power belonged to the monarchy, whose power was divinely ordained. In only a relatively short time, power shifted from the he or she, to the we. We the people.

When a paradigm is changed, people often balk and feel uncomfortable, and sometimes angry about the changes that are coming.

Maybe, just maybe, jeans and shorts are symbolic of so much else that is changing in our nation. As a country, we may feel confused and not sure of what the future will bring, but one thing is certain, nothing is the same as it was. And that is how you know you have a leader, jeans and all, like it or not.

A boy!!!

So today we found out that we are having a boy!

It's weird, but I had a feeling for a long time that it was a boy, but I didn't want to say for sure, because I obviously could not have been certain.

I always try to find deeper meaning behind things, and when I had my class from hell (which was boy heavy) a few years ago, I had determined that I would have a boy because I was getting a good lesson in how boys are, which is quite different from girls.

Also, last year when I was thinking about wanting to start a family, I had a dream. In my dream, B an I had a boy with dark brown hair and big blue eyes, just like B.

I've always believed in following your gut instinct on things, and I still believe it will give you the answer.

Yay! Winnie the Pooh and Tigger too, it is! (for the nursery)

Sponges

I went to the bay today to relax and enjoy the rarely beautiful day. This summer has been filled with storms and cooler than usual weather, which has altered my summer substantially. Today I finally got to go and pass the time in my favorite way: sipping on an iced latte (decaf) while reading Vanity Fair and watching the waves lick up on the sore, closer and closer to my chair.

The bay seems to be under attack by invading sponges. As I looked up and down the shoreline I could see their goldenrod mounds washing up, bobbing back and forth as the tide carried them to and fro, without a care in the world. I was concerned about the amount of dead sponges I saw, but I thought perhaps a good number of sponges were born at the same time, and so they also die at the same time. Nothing speaks of communalism more than simultaneous mass birth and death.

With the exception of a carnivorous sponge, who eats crustaceans in nutrient poor environments, the sponge is perhaps one of the most innocuous sea creatures in the Animal Kingdom. As an invertebrate, its job is simply to cleanse the water in which it lives, which is actually a critical role in our world. For that matter, I would guess that a sponge can live a long life, as long as nothing comes along to disturb its world, most likely a human.

We take such creatures for granted and assume they will always be there, but as with most anything, there is no certainty as strong as change.

Looking at the sponge, maybe there's also something to be gained in observation. The sponge takes in everything in its surroundings and cleanses what it is able. It leads a relatively peaceful life, and hopefully in return is given the promise of a long life.

For we humans, is it possible to lead such a simple life? If we take in everything we can, never end our learning, give back to our society and lead a peaceful life, can we also have the promise of longevity? I'm not sure, but I think it's a noble ambition. Beauty is in simplicity.

Seeing gold instead of mustard

Since I was eight or nine, I have always had issues with my body. When I took a dance class in the third grade, I looked at myself in the mirror, and aside from the pink leotard and tights I wore--which made me look like a little pig--I could see only one thing: my pot belly poking through the pink nylon. I looked at all of the other girls standing in line against the barre and I felt completely out of place. I was taller (and older) than the other dancers and, in my mind, noticeably plumper. I knew that I was the oldest one, but I couldn't shake my feeling of being a giant amongst dwarves.

I eventually dropped out of the class, not because of my issues, but because I hated tap class. I had to take tap and ballet together, and I strongly preferred the grace and fluidity of ballet to the cacophony of tap. I begged and pleaded to be let out of the class, and my mother finally gave in. I'm not sure if she gave in because of my hatred of tap, or the fact that she would no longer have to drive me to another lesson. That year I was also in Brownies and piano, so I was in the car a lot that fall. I'm sure no longer having to hear my tap shoes clack against the slate floor of our foyer was also a welcome change.

Puberty hit me with a vengeance. I had hips before most of my classmates, and by the time I was in the sixth grade, I was one of the tallest and largest students in the class, even though my weight barely crept into the 100s. I was called fat by the boys and many of the girls distanced themselves from me. Oh, to be the duckling.

In the seventh grade, an ice storm hit the area and I had to walk over an icy sidewalk to get into my school. I fell on the concrete and was consequently late to class. When my teacher asked where I had been, I told her I fell, and one of the boys, who was also the class clown (and eventually became a high school dropout) remarked, "Yeah, couldn't you feel the ground shake? " My cheeks burned with shame and instead of thinking, "asshole," tears stung my lids. I never let him see me cry. The boy who said this was the object of my affection. He was funny and talented, and for him to say that was the worst thing that happened that year. To this day, any time someone teases another girl for being bigger, I pull out a picture of myself at her age to assure her that she will have the last laugh.

In the years since, I have always been self conscious and conscientious of my body. Although my pot belly disappeared into a tiny waist (24 inches in high school and 26 inches as of 5 months ago), my disproportionately larger legs always made me feel as though I was much larger than I ever really was. My upper body, until recently, was a size 4, and my lower body was a size 8. Despite this, I always felt like a big person. Perhaps I was a bit hard on myself.

Today I went through my pre-pregnancy clothes to put away until I can (and will) wear them again after pregnancy. I could write many of them off and simply acknowledge that my body will never be the same, but I am still determined to try my damnedest to be fit and in shape after pregnancy. I may have to donate some clothes that were already tight on my before, but I am still optimistic that I can do it. Once I do fit back into those clothes (I can still wear an 8, but the waist and hips are tight), I will appreciate my body more for what it is.

I will find out the sex of the baby on Tuesday. If it's a girl, when she hits an awkward stage, I will try to do for her what I do for my girls in school, and I will be there when the kids are mean, because they will be, and I will be a growling momma bear--this much I already know because I am with my own students. If I have a boy, I will try to make sure that he is not one of the boys who crushes a girl's heart and self esteem. Thank goodness my husband doesn't make harsh remarks, because he will be the biggest role model for our boy, if it is a boy.

Maybe it takes a profound change to realize how stupid and foolish you were in the past. And in this case, change is good.

Am I the only one, or is it obvious as it seems?

I don't know if you've been following the whole Gates scandal that has erupted onto the political scene in the past few weeks, but I have, up to a certain point. Once the Beer Summit was held at the White House, in which the arresting officer, Obama, Biden and Gates sat with a carefully prepared beer for each to discuss the scandal and move past it, most of the controversy seems to have subsided; except for this one little story about a cop in the Boston PD who referred to Gates as "a banana-eating jungle monkey."

Barret, the officer who used the phrase in an e-mail in response to the Boston Globe's portrayal of the scandal, insists that he is not a racist (and I'm sure he has a best friend who is black, as most bigots insist) and used the phrase to illustrate Gates's actions, but not to attack Gates as a person. Um, okay.

Since sending the offensive e-mail, Officer Barret was suspended with pay for his words. Since his suspension, he has filed a lawsuit, citing his right to the freedom of speech under the coveted first amendment.

This raises a few questions for me, morally and legally. Should Barret have actually been suspended for his words? I believe that yes, all people do have the right to express their thoughts, no matter how offensive they are, and no matter how much I may disagree. Of course, I may be a minority in that belief. But, should he have been suspended for other reasons? Technically, since he was an employee of the city and is bound by the city's regulations as an employee, the city has the right to suspend his job, as they are the proprietors of the computer and his e-mail account. Had he actually sent the e-mail through a private account at his house, he may not be in the position he is under now. Had there been any repercussions for sending out the e-mail from his home, he may have a case, and would be protected under the first amendment. This would be an interesting case if it went all the way to the Supreme Court. I would like to see how it turns out. I personally don't see how the case would have any standing. He would have to prove that he has been harmed as a result of his suspension. He has been given pay, and the city acted within their rights, if the regulations clearly state that such actions are grounds for suspension or termination.

But here's what I find to be incredibly ironic. At the end of the article about Barret on CNN.com, Barret states he is

"'not a racist but I am prejudice [sic] toward people who are stupid and pretend to stand up and preach for something they say is freedom but it is merely attention because you do not get enough of it in your little fear-dwelling circle of on-the-bandwagon followers.""

Let me see if I have this right. He isn't a racist, but he is prejudiced against people who beg for attention under the guise of freedom. I wonder if that will be his lawyer's defense should his case go to court.

Big thanks

Yesterday I saw a news article that stated that for this fiscal year ending in September, the federal government's tax revenues were at their lowest levels since 1932. Let's see, that's one year before the worst year of the Great Depression, right when Roosevelt was taking office.

You know, I just want to give a big shout out to the W. Truly, he has made our country so great. I mean, really, for years and years he continued to pledge to cut our taxes, and despite the cuts, my salary remained stagnant as healthcare insurance costs rose, and now we get to have a much leaner postal system, thanks to their bankruptcy, and the potential loss of more jobs due to the tax cuts over the past 8 years. Republicans argued that it would put more money into everyone's pockets, and spur the economy. Well, now our economy is barely creeping along, and with unemployment nearing 10%, those wonderful tax cuts are now bankrupting our country.

Now there is discussion of tax increases, but the White House is afraid to do it because of Obama's promise of no new taxes to the middle class. We know what happened when Bush Sr. promised that in 1992.

Thanks Mr. Bush. It sure was a good eight years.

Missing the point

So the issue du jour is healthcare reform. I watched Obama's press conference, and although I am willing to see what happens, I think the administration, and many others, are missing the point of the whole problem with healthcare.

The problem with healthcare is not healthcare itself. It is with insurance. The problem is not that there are too many people who don't have insurance. The problem is with insurance companies being profit driven entities whose sole concern is the stockholder and nothing more. Take away insurance as an issue, and you will have a solution. What?

Okay, look at it like this. Consider your average doctor who works in his/her own small practice. What's the biggest complaint you'll hear of from those doctors? Malpractice insurance. With increasing costs being passed from the insurance companies (which aren't a true reflection of of what it really costs to pay for healthcare) to doctors, they pay higher costs each year and pass the cost on to the patients.

In addition to those costs, they also have to pay for: staff, supplies, equipment, and unless they are buying the building in which their practice is located, rent for the space. Oh, and if he/she employs a staff (I've never seen a doctor without a nurse, have you?), there's a good chance he/she is paying for them to have medical insurance as well. But the doctor is also paying for the leasing company to also have insurance, and he is also indirectly paying the makers of the medical supplies and equipment to have insurance as well. The result of this, as for everyone else, is increase of cost, with little to gain in the bottom line. The largest beneficiary of this structure is who? The insurance company, its executives, and of course, the stockholders.

On the one hand, one (such as my father) could argue that an insurance company is not a charity, but that they do help people. Right. If we dig back into history a few hundred years, we will see that insurance first began in the New World through the slave trade. Nervous slave traders were losing many of their "properties," and to insure that they did not lose any more money than what they pay through a premium, they took out insurance through most famously Llloyd's of London against their stock, in the event that any slaves were lost. Hardly a benevolent start, eh? It was rooted in an amoral practice and under the guise of helping those in need, has continued to prosper in the past 400 years.

So let's just say we take insurance away. The publicly traded insurance companies are forced into selling off their assets back to the government through a government buyout, which effectively eliminates insurance companies all together. The stockholders trade their stock for T-Bills, and you have one cost offsetting another (in theory, although I'm no expert on this, but it could work).

So in our minds, you ask, so who pays for healthcare? You do, but at a significantly lower price. After all, the most expensive and detrimental variable for this country has been all but destroyed.

So what then? Well, what if you could walk into a doctor and tell them of your symptoms, and they tell you that a strep test costs $10 (even then, it costs even less than that), and the visit to see the doctor or nurse practicioner costs $10. Would you pay $20? If you say no, then it also means that you wouldn't pay a $20 copay, which I'm betting you most gladly would. It's just a changing of the mindset. But this is literally how it is done in other countries.

I've heard the argument that the country is too big for there to be a national healthcare system. But, if applied at the office level, it doesn't matter how big the country is. In this case, the government doesn't have to run the system. If competition in the market is allowed to play out, doctors would be forced to keep their rates lower and government wouldn't have to intervene. They could, perhaps, still provide assistance in the same way that food stamps work for those whose incomes fall below a certain level, but by and large, they wouldn't have to regulate it or pay for the new system.

So as I sat and watched, I grew increasingly frustrated and began to think about this in a little more depth. Until the way we operate is fundamentally changed, removing profit from insurance, or eliminating health insurance companies completely, there will be no real fix, and our country will sink further and further down.

Get the point?

Passion

Back in 2001, I was laid off at my first job, which, in retrospect, was a blessing. At the time, however, my world crumbled. Granted, I didn't enjoy what I did, but I enjoyed the steady paycheck, and the idea that I was at the precipice of financial greatness. In one swift meeting on a Monday afternoon, all of that was taken away from me. And so it was that job hunting became a full time job.

One afternoon, I sat in B's bedroom looking and applying for jobs online. I had Oprah on, and coincidentally, it was about finding your passion in your work. To live a happy life, O asserted, you must follow your passion.

Eventually, within a year, I began the path that led to my passion, and I was lucky. The job I found was not anything I wanted to do as a career, but it was a job that was flexible enough for me to be able to go to grad school and pursue teaching as my career and passion. (I was also able to work on long papers that appeared to be copy, which came in very handy, especially at the end of my program when my final project was due.) I have loved it ever since. There are ups and downs, but they are all tolerable because I love what I do.

My husband, however, does not have passion for what he does. In fact, he's unhappy and wants to quit. We have gone through the troubleshooting sessions where we examine what his boss does, how he reacts, etc, but really, his boss just isn't a good manager, and it makes B very unhappy, which makes me unhappy. What to do?

I want to tell him that he needs to find his passion. But does he really? Have we all been sold this idea that the key to true happiness is a passionate job? Does your passion really have to be your work? And if it is, then sometimes, isn't it even more difficult to find balance in your life when everything in life is about work? I love what I do, but I have been known to work until after 10 on lesson planning and looking for just the right materials for my kids, and no, that is not exactly healthy. But, it's my passion.

I've recently started to think that having passion can be in areas other than in work. It's lucky to love what you do, but is love for what you do totally necessary? Do all successful engineers love their work? Did Neil Armstrong really love what he did, or did he just happen to have this opportunity given to him, and he took it? Does it really matter?

When I was in London, I observed many things. I am an introvert, but I notice many details about people and the way they behave. In particular, of all things, I noticed the janitors on the streets in London.

On Saturday in Trafalgar Square, there was a huge gay pride festival that lasted all day. B and I went to get food a few blocks away from the mayhem. When we left the hotel, the place had been trashed. Wrappers and empty bottles littered the streets and the stench of urine permeated my pregnant senses. I was glad to walk away. But when we returned, something interesting had happened. The whole square was clean. All of the trash was bagged up and swept away, and in the midst of the cleaning were the janitors doing their job on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and they were doing a fantastic job of it. I looked closely at the man nearest to me to see his facial expression. Was he pissed about the trash everywhere? Was he unhappy that his day was taken away from him? No. He appeared to be absolutely fine. He had a job to do, and was doing it, and doing it well. Had this happened in New York, I know he would have been cursing under his breath with a grimace that would make anyone shiver. But what's wrong with this guy? How could he be okay with cleaning up other people's trash and urine? It's surely not his passion, is it? Probably not. But, does it really matter?

Somehow in the past decade or more, we Americans have been sold on the idea that we have to follow our passion when it comes to work. And many of us have bought it and allowed its absence to make us miserable.

Tonight B and I had another long talk about his job. I had no real answers for him, and I confided that I had looked for jobs for him today. I also added a twist to the whole discussion. I looked at him and said, "You know, your job doesn't have to be your passion. You can be passionate about other things in your life, like traveling, food, family..." he said, "I know." I went on to add that he had a new passion coming in January (our child). His eyes lit up and he said, "I know. I just don't want to be unhappy at my job." Well, I can' t fix that, but maybe if we change perspective on this, the job won't matter as much, and maintaining the other passions will.

Because really, life isn't about work. Life is about life, and work simply pays for it. If you happen to love what you do, then great. If not, that's okay too.

The first step of many

Being a teacher in a good area of the city has its advantages, and of course, its drawbacks. The advantages are that you get the inside scoop on many aspects of the area, including good restaurants, and of course good schools. Here, as with any place, what you see is not necessarily what you get, so having inside knowledge of a place, or having good word of mouth, is a good thing. Interestingly, that can have its drawbacks too.

Once my baby turns two, I know where he/she will go to pre-school. There is a school not too far from my work that has an excellent reputation, is NAEYC, and everyone loves it. So for that part of her/his life, I know what I will do, as long as we don't move away.

It's the 3 months to two years that are causing a slight problem for me. Where to send my (okay, our) baby where I will feel as though the staff a) cares, b) is competent, and c) is doing things that are in my child's best interest. I know that that's how a good teacher should be, but I also know that's not always the case.

Not working is not an option. Although B makes a good living, I want to keep working and feeling my own sense of accomplishment. There is empowerment that comes from making your own money, and not having to depend on someone else to say, buy a coffee, if I like. So, I am looking at daycare.

A teacher/friend of mind sends her child to a church across the street. I use the word church lightly, because, in my mind, it is not a church. It's a business. They have staff accountants who make as much as my husband. I just don't picture humble little churches with the ability to pay what they do. In addition, they also have a arena for their church services, large screen TVs for viewing in the wings, in case you can't see anything inside, and oh, a profit-making coffee bar. It makes my 375 year old church look like a shack. This is why I say it's not a church.

There's another problem: despite my grievances about the church itself, the school is actually supposed to be very good. I never wanted to even look at this place because of my opposition to their principles, but upon researching other local daycares, I decided to suck up my principles and pride and make an appointment with them. The girl with whom I spoke sounded very kind and genuine, unlike another lady from another place, who sounded like quite the salesperson.

I never envisioned myself using this "church" for caring for my child, but I do know a few people who have said it's good, so I may just have to bite the bullet and do it. The best part: it's right across the street from where I work, less than a mile away, so if I need to, I can get over there as quickly as possible. Short of actually being able to be at home, I don't think that's too shabby.

Parenthood (as far as I've heard) brings us many opportunities to do many things we never thought we would in a million years, for better or worse. So I just consider this my first step of many where I will have to bite the bullet and suck it up.

Reflections

On Friday, July 10th, B and I arrived safely at home after a 10 day trip overseas. Destinations: London and Paris. Although I have many thoughts on our trip, I will try to keep this first blog brief.

So, what's it like overseas?

Well, it depends on where you are, but wherever you go, it's important to remember that you are on their turf, and the local people are in no way bound to our preferred way of doing things. I think this is where many Americans confuse rudeness with cultural differences.

Case in point: lines.

Now, in Great Britain, the British are very fussy about lining or "queueing" up properly. As B and I stood outside of one of the buildings at the Tower of London to see the crown jewels, a "beefeater" came along and told us to straighten up our messy queue. We all did so accordingly, and everything went along as usual. Would it be this way in France?

France:

Look closely at this picture.

Notice the road leading out to the intersection. What's missing? Well, there are four lanes on each side for the right and left lane, but can you see any lines on the road? You should say "no," because there aren't, at least not until you're supposed to turn. And this epitomizes how the French are.

As soon as B and I were in France, despite the immediacy of our sightseeing, we felt what we did not feel in Great Britain: relaxed. And c'est la vie pour les Francaises.

It didn't come without any adjustment on our part, of course. While viewing all of the works of art and past kings' architectural triumphs, we had to get used to the idea that there really was no order to viewing things in a museum. There really are no lines, unless you are waiting to go into the museum. In all other cases, there is no first or second place. Everyone is in it together, for better or worse. And if others are moving more slowly, so be it. Just go around, and no one thinks the lesser of you for doing it. Here, that's considered impatient.

Here in the states, when looking at art, visitors take special precaution not to interfere with others' views, which can also make getting through a whole museum either a very fast paced visit, or a visit where a feeling of un-fulfillment comes from not getting to see everything as you'd like, with careful consideration and reflection. Thankfully, because of this adjustment, I was able to get up close and personal with some of the world's greatest works of art, including the Mona Lisa.

Speaking of the Mona Lisa. Before I came to the Louvre, I was told about his disappointing the painting it was; how small and simple it really was. So I was fully prepared to see a painting that was literally one foot by one foot. How surprised I was when I actually saw it. Unlike many others, I was captivated by her. She held my gaze and I fully understood the mystery behind her cryptic smile. I would have stood there longer were it not for the others who also were trying to get up close to her, so after a few minutes of examining the famous portrait, I moved on, in a daze. For others, disappointing, but for me, captivating.

Eating in France

Although I was excited to go and see (or as the French say, "watch,") the Eiffel Tower, Versailles, etc, I was mostly excited about the food. B and I knew it would be good, and we were not disappointed.

There was one thing that surprised me, and also dispelled a stereotype that I had often heard, that the French eat more slowly and take their time with their food. Well, after having sat by many local Parisians, I have to say that that is categorically false. They may take more time for the overall dining experience, to sit and relax, BUT, when it comes to actually eating the meal, they are no slower than your typical American, and we ate at a local neighborhood cafe, surrounded by area residents.

In one instance, two men sat down to have burgers (eaten with a knife and fork) and Cokes (no kidding). They WOLFED their food down. I was astounded by the speed and brevity of their meal. In no less than twenty minutes had they had wine, Coke, burgers and paid for their meals. Perhaps they were meeting up with friends, but they most certainly were not about to take their time and enjoy the overall dining experience. Stereotype, shattered. I will say, though, that the older Parisians did eat slower, so perhaps it's a generational change that's come about. I can't imagine that the stereotype appeared out of nowhere.

All in all, I loved France. Life is different over there, but I also think we could learn a few things from how they live. And really, no America does not do it the best. We just do it differently, and there's nothing wrong with either side of the coin.