Ok, ok while I'm still committed to keeping my family's name off the radar, I figured that it was stupid to not refer to Caracas by name as sometimes the city itself and peculiarities of life here is the point.
Kid #1's swim class was cancelled this afternoon. I called the swim teacher several times as it became increasingly clear he wasn't going to show. I was annoyed. I paid him for the month after the first class. Kid was excited asking every five minutes for him. The maid and I both groused that swim teacher could at least call, why don't people ever call, etc.
I got a hold of him finally. A kid, likely meaning teenager or young man, in his family was murdered. A thousand apologies for not calling sooner but would I mind rescheduling for this Friday and oh, please let my friend know that he has to cancel their class as well but will be available Friday if she wants to reschedule.
Um ok, let me make sure I understand, you are unavailable for classes this week until Friday?
Right, exactly.
Ok, thanks. See you then.
Following his lead, not knowing exactly what one says to a relative stranger who says, hey a kid was murdered in my family, can I come Friday, I stuck with the business aspect of the conversation and promised to let my friend know that he's "unavailable."
He sounded no different than the last time we spoke and were discussing whether class would be rained out.
After an hour of splashing in the pool, I came back upstairs. Upon seeing me and the little ones walk through the door, the maids immediately resumed sharing indignities of previous no-shows who inconvenienced them one way or another. A doctor that a day was taken off work to see but never showed up at the clinica, or the telephone guy that never, ever came.
I told them I got a hold of him, some kid in his family was killed, he'll be back Friday.
"ahhhhh yah, aqui uno nunca sabe."
Here, you never know.....
And then we set about cutting up fruits for the kids' snacks.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
The tyranny of breast is best....et all
A friend recently was fretting about which kind of breast pump to buy. I won't harp on details but for logistical reasons the heavy duty pump that she has, which is intended to keep professional mothers lactating, has become cumbersome. Hence, which lighter, sleeker model should she get.
I engaged in the conversation, which I've had dozens of times with other mothers in some form or another. But my real response, oh just buy a fucking can of formula.
I'm pregnant for the third time. I will breastfeed this last child but not because I'm looking forward to all those special, bonding moments that apparently only a birth mother and child can share through the unique intimacy of breastfeeding (too bad, so sad I guess for all you adoptive, non-lactating mothers out there.)
No, remembering the demands of breastfeeding actually made me think, "Great, here we go again" as I contemplated that second blue line for the third time in four years. But I do believe in its immunity-boosting effects, -if not claims that it will also create intellectually-superior children who will be free from the scourge of childhood obesity- so I will do it.
That said, I also don't think its the magical elixir that mothers of my generation, or at least my demographic, have elevated it to be. There are entirely too many healthy, intelligent adults out there who still manage to love their mothers despite being bottle fed powder and water that prove otherwise. With this last child I will not go to any great lengths to ensure that it "never" tastes a drop of formula, nor commiserate with or regale other mothers with the superhuman efforts it took to do so.
Of course, as is de rigeur among the privileged set, I not only insisted on breastfeeding but was also slightly pleased that to do so seemed like a cool, political choice. You know, like owning a Prius or buying produce at farmer's markets instead of Albertson's.
I approached pregnancy with the same intellectual zeal as a thesis. I read the same books as everyone else and was wise to all the ways that a misogynist society, insensitive medical establishment and greedy food corporations were conspiring against using the boob for food.
I demanded that the maternity-ward nurses bring my children to me whenever a nipple was needed, making it clear that absolutely no formula should dribble across their newborn lips. I pulled out the boob no matter where we were, slightly upset that noone ever challenged me on it, denying me the lactivist soapbox I was so ready to assume.
And then somewhere along the way, perhaps after listening to and applauding the hundredth mother boasting to what extreme lengths she went to keeping her child chemical free, starting during her organic, Tylenol-free pregnancy, through to the 24-hour excruciating drug-free birth to its all organic nursery that I started to feel like the Rush Limbaugh of mothers.
It felt like a chain saw cutting through your vagina and now you have massive internal bruising?? You know they have drugs to help you with that.
The kid went straight from the boob to a cup?? Cool, I'm sure daddy is really grateful for that.
That's an organic crib set? No, I can't even pretend to think anything other than damn girl you probably overpaid for that.
I engaged in the conversation, which I've had dozens of times with other mothers in some form or another. But my real response, oh just buy a fucking can of formula.
I'm pregnant for the third time. I will breastfeed this last child but not because I'm looking forward to all those special, bonding moments that apparently only a birth mother and child can share through the unique intimacy of breastfeeding (too bad, so sad I guess for all you adoptive, non-lactating mothers out there.)
No, remembering the demands of breastfeeding actually made me think, "Great, here we go again" as I contemplated that second blue line for the third time in four years. But I do believe in its immunity-boosting effects, -if not claims that it will also create intellectually-superior children who will be free from the scourge of childhood obesity- so I will do it.
That said, I also don't think its the magical elixir that mothers of my generation, or at least my demographic, have elevated it to be. There are entirely too many healthy, intelligent adults out there who still manage to love their mothers despite being bottle fed powder and water that prove otherwise. With this last child I will not go to any great lengths to ensure that it "never" tastes a drop of formula, nor commiserate with or regale other mothers with the superhuman efforts it took to do so.
Of course, as is de rigeur among the privileged set, I not only insisted on breastfeeding but was also slightly pleased that to do so seemed like a cool, political choice. You know, like owning a Prius or buying produce at farmer's markets instead of Albertson's.
I approached pregnancy with the same intellectual zeal as a thesis. I read the same books as everyone else and was wise to all the ways that a misogynist society, insensitive medical establishment and greedy food corporations were conspiring against using the boob for food.
I demanded that the maternity-ward nurses bring my children to me whenever a nipple was needed, making it clear that absolutely no formula should dribble across their newborn lips. I pulled out the boob no matter where we were, slightly upset that noone ever challenged me on it, denying me the lactivist soapbox I was so ready to assume.
And then somewhere along the way, perhaps after listening to and applauding the hundredth mother boasting to what extreme lengths she went to keeping her child chemical free, starting during her organic, Tylenol-free pregnancy, through to the 24-hour excruciating drug-free birth to its all organic nursery that I started to feel like the Rush Limbaugh of mothers.
It felt like a chain saw cutting through your vagina and now you have massive internal bruising?? You know they have drugs to help you with that.
The kid went straight from the boob to a cup?? Cool, I'm sure daddy is really grateful for that.
That's an organic crib set? No, I can't even pretend to think anything other than damn girl you probably overpaid for that.
This obsession, near fetishization of "parenting styles," analyzing everything that goes into a child's mouth, everything that its developing mind watches, planning its nearly every social interaction for maximum social benefit, where is this coming from?
Does it cut across demographics? Does it really produce better adults? Are children benefiting or does it just make the otherwise totally mundane business of shepherding babies to adulthood more interesting for those doing it?
Monday, July 14, 2008
Rejection, rejection, and more rejections.
Well not even rejected. Ignored, is more accurate, and far worse.
So I do my research, I get myself on the press list, I attend mostly boring, hours long presentations, write what I think is a crystal-clear pitch for a story and then I wait and wait.
And unfortunately nothing comes back.
I check e-mails at 7 pm or 10pm, ostensibly to see if whatever friend has replied to whatever issue I've manufactured to keep my inbox lighting up, but really hoping that Editor X of middling-reputation newspaper Y has accepted my blind pitch.
But so far they haven't and I just feel like a huge loser whose professional life is ticking steadily backwards.
Editors did at one time respond, when I was a nearly completely untested aspiring reporter in the Middle East many moons, children and husband ago. I had very few clips to my name, no resume prepared but somehow convinced people that I could get the job done. This despite the fact that I didn't have even high school or college newspaper experience, didn't know what a fucking byline was, much less have one. But blind newspaper queries, internships intended for earnest, J-school graduates, I nailed them.
Nearly a decade later, I'm in a rut with noone to blame but myself. And believe me I have tried to blame others, the brunt of that blame tending to fall on my mostly blameless husband.
To be clear, its not as if I'm doing nothing. I write the occasional story for my former employer, all of which have been very well received. I've scored some very important interviews for a small, niche energy news service. It serves to keep my byline fresh, my clips varied and hopefully employable whenever I get back to the real world, but it is continuation of the same.
I'll be applying for jobs that I was eligible for five years ago. No real breakthrough into anything new. No example of my working shining through on its own, blazing a new path to opportunity.
I have plenty of time on my hands, having outsourced nearly all household duties to others. No longer constrained by a 9-5 job (ahhhh constraining but yet so comfortable), unable to blame the kids for siphoning all my time, I can theoretically pursue whatever I want.
But with the confines of a job stripped away, I'm forced to confront that I'm constrained by nothing but personal drive and talent.
So I do my research, I get myself on the press list, I attend mostly boring, hours long presentations, write what I think is a crystal-clear pitch for a story and then I wait and wait.
And unfortunately nothing comes back.
I check e-mails at 7 pm or 10pm, ostensibly to see if whatever friend has replied to whatever issue I've manufactured to keep my inbox lighting up, but really hoping that Editor X of middling-reputation newspaper Y has accepted my blind pitch.
But so far they haven't and I just feel like a huge loser whose professional life is ticking steadily backwards.
Editors did at one time respond, when I was a nearly completely untested aspiring reporter in the Middle East many moons, children and husband ago. I had very few clips to my name, no resume prepared but somehow convinced people that I could get the job done. This despite the fact that I didn't have even high school or college newspaper experience, didn't know what a fucking byline was, much less have one. But blind newspaper queries, internships intended for earnest, J-school graduates, I nailed them.
Nearly a decade later, I'm in a rut with noone to blame but myself. And believe me I have tried to blame others, the brunt of that blame tending to fall on my mostly blameless husband.
To be clear, its not as if I'm doing nothing. I write the occasional story for my former employer, all of which have been very well received. I've scored some very important interviews for a small, niche energy news service. It serves to keep my byline fresh, my clips varied and hopefully employable whenever I get back to the real world, but it is continuation of the same.
I'll be applying for jobs that I was eligible for five years ago. No real breakthrough into anything new. No example of my working shining through on its own, blazing a new path to opportunity.
I have plenty of time on my hands, having outsourced nearly all household duties to others. No longer constrained by a 9-5 job (ahhhh constraining but yet so comfortable), unable to blame the kids for siphoning all my time, I can theoretically pursue whatever I want.
But with the confines of a job stripped away, I'm forced to confront that I'm constrained by nothing but personal drive and talent.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Me and my maids....and why I hate cooking
I live in South America. We're temporarily rich and so I have maids.
It's good, bad and ugly.
How lovely that I don't have to mop floors, scrub dishes, do laundry nor cook. Especially that last one. I hate cooking. I would rather be responsible for mopping twice a week than cooking every day, three times a day.
Yes, of course, like most members of my class I like going to Whole Foods, discovering what produce has been brought in from farms within a 100-mile radius, buying meat and eggs from free range, antibiotic-free, organic-fed animals and then with a glass of wine in hand and NPR switched on, cooking up something delicious. But for me the demands of feeding children several times a day and trying to do so with something other than just hot dogs and Kraft mac'n'cheese is akin to repetitive factory work....pure drudgery.
As a working mom, it was the chore I hated the most. Having to plan dinner. As a mom not working outside the home, I tried to get into the swing of meal prep, bringing out my cookbooks and making it as interesting as possible but it was to no avail... I only like cooking sometimes and my meat, no matter how faithfully I follow my grandmothers' recipes, is always too dry.
And so, a few months ago, in the throes of morning sickness and gagging every few minutes as I readied my children for school, I hired a second maid to do the work for me.
A second maid???? Well yes, my first maid is simply incapable of getting to work on her own before 10 and only gets to work at 9:30 because our company-assigned driver picks her up everyday at the train station. Do I need 2 maids? No, of course not, but I feel bad firing the lazier one. So here I am with 2 maids.
The maids make a good deal more than the minimum wage and earn more than professionals here working in low-rung, white collar jobs for international companies. But, like over half the population here, they're employed in the informal economy. So basically it's just up to luck whether they're employed by someone who tries to follow national standards for vacation pay, sick leave etc.
I'm constantly wondering, what's fair and what's exploitative? Unlike those blissful college days when I immersed myself in Third World studies and heady discussions of economic justice and equality, comfortably distanced from anything remotely real, I'm now the one signing checks for an army of brown people who are expressly employed to do work I don't want to do. I'm the 30-year old "Senora" to women far older and experienced than myself.
The work they do not only includes the household chores I mentioned above, but also caring for my children in the afternoons, while I send out oft-ignored requests for interviews, queries for freelance work, blog etc.
One of the maids, the less-bustling one, is constantly asking for "loans" the equivalent of her monthly check, or for about $500. From experience, I only know that these loans are loans because I make it clear I will deduct from her check an amount that she is comfortable paying each check until its paid off. Otherwise, they wouldn't be loans, they would be fairly regular gifts of cash that I'm just not prepared to make. Is that wrong? I often wonder is it fair?
When my weekly grocery bill equals her 2-week pay, is it unjust of me to expect her to pay us back. Is it patronizing to expect anything else? With such a skewed balance of power is there really any way to be "fair"?
It's good, bad and ugly.
How lovely that I don't have to mop floors, scrub dishes, do laundry nor cook. Especially that last one. I hate cooking. I would rather be responsible for mopping twice a week than cooking every day, three times a day.
Yes, of course, like most members of my class I like going to Whole Foods, discovering what produce has been brought in from farms within a 100-mile radius, buying meat and eggs from free range, antibiotic-free, organic-fed animals and then with a glass of wine in hand and NPR switched on, cooking up something delicious. But for me the demands of feeding children several times a day and trying to do so with something other than just hot dogs and Kraft mac'n'cheese is akin to repetitive factory work....pure drudgery.
As a working mom, it was the chore I hated the most. Having to plan dinner. As a mom not working outside the home, I tried to get into the swing of meal prep, bringing out my cookbooks and making it as interesting as possible but it was to no avail... I only like cooking sometimes and my meat, no matter how faithfully I follow my grandmothers' recipes, is always too dry.
And so, a few months ago, in the throes of morning sickness and gagging every few minutes as I readied my children for school, I hired a second maid to do the work for me.
A second maid???? Well yes, my first maid is simply incapable of getting to work on her own before 10 and only gets to work at 9:30 because our company-assigned driver picks her up everyday at the train station. Do I need 2 maids? No, of course not, but I feel bad firing the lazier one. So here I am with 2 maids.
The maids make a good deal more than the minimum wage and earn more than professionals here working in low-rung, white collar jobs for international companies. But, like over half the population here, they're employed in the informal economy. So basically it's just up to luck whether they're employed by someone who tries to follow national standards for vacation pay, sick leave etc.
I'm constantly wondering, what's fair and what's exploitative? Unlike those blissful college days when I immersed myself in Third World studies and heady discussions of economic justice and equality, comfortably distanced from anything remotely real, I'm now the one signing checks for an army of brown people who are expressly employed to do work I don't want to do. I'm the 30-year old "Senora" to women far older and experienced than myself.
The work they do not only includes the household chores I mentioned above, but also caring for my children in the afternoons, while I send out oft-ignored requests for interviews, queries for freelance work, blog etc.
One of the maids, the less-bustling one, is constantly asking for "loans" the equivalent of her monthly check, or for about $500. From experience, I only know that these loans are loans because I make it clear I will deduct from her check an amount that she is comfortable paying each check until its paid off. Otherwise, they wouldn't be loans, they would be fairly regular gifts of cash that I'm just not prepared to make. Is that wrong? I often wonder is it fair?
When my weekly grocery bill equals her 2-week pay, is it unjust of me to expect her to pay us back. Is it patronizing to expect anything else? With such a skewed balance of power is there really any way to be "fair"?
Response to Brenda LoneStarrr
Brenda Lonestar brought up a valid point and made me realize that a bit of a clarification is required. She asked Re: Playgroup Treachery "I wonder how this is different in South American Republic than it would be back in Mother Country?"
My response, it's probably not nor was it intended to be. I don't think that thus far any of my comments/ personal observations posted on this blog have been location specific. It just happens that by virtue of accepting an expatriate assignment from my husband's company, I'm being thrust into these new roles/situations and have time on my hand to write ad nauseam about it.
However, Brenda's comment also got me thinking that indeed there are some very site specific issues that have arisen in our parenting life, mostly in terms of security and hiring household help, that I will try to explore in upcoming posts.
Thanks for the comments Brenda!
My response, it's probably not nor was it intended to be. I don't think that thus far any of my comments/ personal observations posted on this blog have been location specific. It just happens that by virtue of accepting an expatriate assignment from my husband's company, I'm being thrust into these new roles/situations and have time on my hand to write ad nauseam about it.
However, Brenda's comment also got me thinking that indeed there are some very site specific issues that have arisen in our parenting life, mostly in terms of security and hiring household help, that I will try to explore in upcoming posts.
Thanks for the comments Brenda!
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Playgroup treachery
My instinct is to never leave my room. I don't even need an Internet connection. I would be content in a cave with a stack of tea bags, magazines and newspapers. But try as I might, (and I do try), I can only make The New Yorker so interactive for a toddler. So, I've taken the huge personal step of reaching out to other women for afternoons of coffee and kids. Generally, I never reach out, ever.
I'm now a shameless crasher of other people's play grounds and, unintentionally, play groups. Leading me to ask, am I cheating on mine??
The topic of our splintering play group is a sore one for some people. The play group originally consisted of a very large and unwieldy group of people scattered throughout this crumbling South American metropolis. Largely assembled by word of mouth, it has served as a great source of local intelligence and support for bewildered newcomers.*
However, it seems to be splintering into offshoots. Some have decided its not worth braving the horrendous traffic to cross the great north/south infrastructural divide that bisects us. While others, it seems, have decided to charge a fee and hire activity organizers to lead their children in songs and games. All to which I say, cool, whatever.
But alas, its not cool. Apparently, some are feeling personally snubbed, their efforts not appreciated, and left wondering "Is it me?" Are people splintering into sub-groups because they don't like the others? Do they just think they're cooler? Their children deserving better than our unstructured, messy play group?
Overhearing talk of the renegade groups, I hissed and meowed, trying to inject both humor and perspective, pointing out that people can make whatever they want for their children and call it whatever they want. (Always the queen bee of diversity!)
I mocked, I laughed and now I'm feeling guilt. My simple e-mail to another woman I've worked up the courage to court as a potential friend was met with, "Kid#1 has play group tomorrow, it's usually 3 of us and sometimes visitors attend." (I would be accorded visitor/observer status at this early stage). He then has language/martial arts the next afternoon and then they're off to Mother Country.
Ok, so our burgeoning friendship is to revolve mostly around our children's schedules, involves yet another playgroup and oh shit, I'm hosting playgroup on Thursday.
Do I tell the others of my Wednesday afternoon-attendance (for a small fee) that includes a paid cheerleader for the children?? Is it weird if I don't? Can't we just all sit around and have coffee and let the kids fight it out over toys????
Footnote-
*For those of you who would scoff at foreigners abroad huddling together like scared children instead of becoming one with the local population, I say what the fuck ever.
I'm fluent enough in Spanish to interview any Spanish-speaking official on any topic. But when I'm trying to figure out whether my wheezing kid needs steroids for his lungs or making my case for a vaginal delivery after a c-section, I want to be as precise as I possibly can. There are plenty of U.S. educated professionals here with whom I can do that, and thanks to the foreign mothers who've been here before, I've found them.
I'm now a shameless crasher of other people's play grounds and, unintentionally, play groups. Leading me to ask, am I cheating on mine??
The topic of our splintering play group is a sore one for some people. The play group originally consisted of a very large and unwieldy group of people scattered throughout this crumbling South American metropolis. Largely assembled by word of mouth, it has served as a great source of local intelligence and support for bewildered newcomers.*
However, it seems to be splintering into offshoots. Some have decided its not worth braving the horrendous traffic to cross the great north/south infrastructural divide that bisects us. While others, it seems, have decided to charge a fee and hire activity organizers to lead their children in songs and games. All to which I say, cool, whatever.
But alas, its not cool. Apparently, some are feeling personally snubbed, their efforts not appreciated, and left wondering "Is it me?" Are people splintering into sub-groups because they don't like the others? Do they just think they're cooler? Their children deserving better than our unstructured, messy play group?
Overhearing talk of the renegade groups, I hissed and meowed, trying to inject both humor and perspective, pointing out that people can make whatever they want for their children and call it whatever they want. (Always the queen bee of diversity!)
I mocked, I laughed and now I'm feeling guilt. My simple e-mail to another woman I've worked up the courage to court as a potential friend was met with, "Kid#1 has play group tomorrow, it's usually 3 of us and sometimes visitors attend." (I would be accorded visitor/observer status at this early stage). He then has language/martial arts the next afternoon and then they're off to Mother Country.
Ok, so our burgeoning friendship is to revolve mostly around our children's schedules, involves yet another playgroup and oh shit, I'm hosting playgroup on Thursday.
Do I tell the others of my Wednesday afternoon-attendance (for a small fee) that includes a paid cheerleader for the children?? Is it weird if I don't? Can't we just all sit around and have coffee and let the kids fight it out over toys????
Footnote-
*For those of you who would scoff at foreigners abroad huddling together like scared children instead of becoming one with the local population, I say what the fuck ever.
I'm fluent enough in Spanish to interview any Spanish-speaking official on any topic. But when I'm trying to figure out whether my wheezing kid needs steroids for his lungs or making my case for a vaginal delivery after a c-section, I want to be as precise as I possibly can. There are plenty of U.S. educated professionals here with whom I can do that, and thanks to the foreign mothers who've been here before, I've found them.
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