Politeness is manifested in different ways depending on where we grow up. My brother and I grew up in the south and were taught to say, "Yes, Ma'am/Sir", "No, Ma'am/Sir". We were taught to respect our elders, especially while communicating with them. When we wanted to leave the dinner table we would ask, "May I be excused?". The following was a common exchange in our house:
Mom-"Sweety, I'm fixin' dinner. Are y'all going to play?"
Nick (my brother) and I-"Yeah."
Mom-"Yeah, what?"
Us-"Yep."
Mom-"Yep, what???"
Us-"Yes, Ma'am."
Mom-"Thank you."
I discussed the matter with Gina. I said I wanted our little girl to say, "Yes Ma'am/Sir," like my brother and I did when we were young. Gina said, "She'll be the only girl in California to say, Yes Ma'am/Sir. You know that right?"
I was determined to do it. I wanted to teach her the same thing my parents taught my brother and I. I couldn't believe it, but she agreed to it.
Now, I'm not so sure. I want her to respect her elders but I don't want her to be left our or sound odd because of it. I have no idea, and now I'm confused. I have some time to think it over before she starts speaking.
Yesterday, I had another thought: what if she said, "Yes, Mom/Dad, No Mom/Dad." It sounds better than, "Yeah," and a little more Californian. She could also say, "Yes Mama/Papa." "Yes, Papa?" What is she, British or from 1823? There will be no, "Yes, Papa..." There will also not be a, "Yes, Papi," even though Gina is part Mexican. "Papi" will be reserved for those who look cool when they say it. This gringo will be called, Dad.
The Russians were the smartest when it came to an expression of affirmation: "Da". Their kids just say, "da".
Mom-"Sweety, I'm fixin' dinner. Are y'all going to play?"
Kid-"Da."
Monday, February 21, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
Babymoon
A couple of months ago, Gina mentioned going on a Babymoon.
-"A Babymoon" I repeated, unknowingly. "What is a Babymoon?"
-"Its kind of the last chance a couple gets to getaway for a couple of days before the baby comes. We could go to Yosemite for the weekend, around mid-February."
-"Sounds awesome."
On a beautiful Bay Area Saturday (two days before Valentine's Day), we loaded our car with a weekend's worth of stuff, our two dogs Jack and Lucy, and drove east to Groveland, CA. Groveland is only 30 minutes from the entrance to Yosemite National Park. It is a quaint and quiet town now, but during California's gold rush, it was home to saloons, brothels, quarters for miners, etc.
Of quarters, Gina and I stayed at the pet-friendly bed and breakfast, Hotel Charlotte, in Groveland. It is on the main rode through town. The main rode is called Main St. The past 160 years have not changed much of the town's look. Its ol' timey, as the say where I'm from. Considering our circumstance: Gina being 33 weeks in the family way, two dogs who bark at everything, and me not being able to figure out the key to the door, "This is the wrong key, I know it (it was the right key). Why won't it work? Stupid key! I'll make it fit!", our time spent at the b and b was chill and romantic. We ordered spaghetti and meatballs, and a large Greek salad. We ate it in bed, and completely relaxed. I can't forget to mention the Hotel's dog, named Goose, who walked around and growled at everyone. Goose was part chow, part pug, and part Abe Vagoda.
Groveland is easy on the spirit. It is a bucolic Sierra Nevada mountain town. The residents were sweet and did not operate as if they were in a rush. While we were at the grocery store I even saw several men with big long mountain man beards. A couple of the old men looked at me, and gave me "the nod" (the nod is a physical expression of salutation. It is expressed from one man to another and should be done as if one were in a Western movie. It is achieved by dipping one's head, while maintaining eye contact). Upon checkout we shared our wedding story with the cashier. She, then shared her's with us, "and it was in Las Vegas, 47 years ago."
My friend Paul, told me Yosemite was like the Grand Canyon, just more green and a smaller. He was right. There are frothy waterfalls, agressive cliff faces, green colors everywhere, and from the valley floor you can see it all. There was even snow on the ground. We went to the general store and saw quite a few tourists, and tourists of an international flavor. I almost ran into several Germans. They aren't too observant of our personal space limits. A couple of the tourists had severe body odor, and smelled like several onions. As it happened, I had forgotten to put on deodorant, so all was well.
As for the Babymoon, it was perfect. Gina and I had a well deserved time experiencing the surroundings and each other.
-"A Babymoon" I repeated, unknowingly. "What is a Babymoon?"
-"Its kind of the last chance a couple gets to getaway for a couple of days before the baby comes. We could go to Yosemite for the weekend, around mid-February."
-"Sounds awesome."
On a beautiful Bay Area Saturday (two days before Valentine's Day), we loaded our car with a weekend's worth of stuff, our two dogs Jack and Lucy, and drove east to Groveland, CA. Groveland is only 30 minutes from the entrance to Yosemite National Park. It is a quaint and quiet town now, but during California's gold rush, it was home to saloons, brothels, quarters for miners, etc.
Of quarters, Gina and I stayed at the pet-friendly bed and breakfast, Hotel Charlotte, in Groveland. It is on the main rode through town. The main rode is called Main St. The past 160 years have not changed much of the town's look. Its ol' timey, as the say where I'm from. Considering our circumstance: Gina being 33 weeks in the family way, two dogs who bark at everything, and me not being able to figure out the key to the door, "This is the wrong key, I know it (it was the right key). Why won't it work? Stupid key! I'll make it fit!", our time spent at the b and b was chill and romantic. We ordered spaghetti and meatballs, and a large Greek salad. We ate it in bed, and completely relaxed. I can't forget to mention the Hotel's dog, named Goose, who walked around and growled at everyone. Goose was part chow, part pug, and part Abe Vagoda.
Groveland is easy on the spirit. It is a bucolic Sierra Nevada mountain town. The residents were sweet and did not operate as if they were in a rush. While we were at the grocery store I even saw several men with big long mountain man beards. A couple of the old men looked at me, and gave me "the nod" (the nod is a physical expression of salutation. It is expressed from one man to another and should be done as if one were in a Western movie. It is achieved by dipping one's head, while maintaining eye contact). Upon checkout we shared our wedding story with the cashier. She, then shared her's with us, "and it was in Las Vegas, 47 years ago."
My friend Paul, told me Yosemite was like the Grand Canyon, just more green and a smaller. He was right. There are frothy waterfalls, agressive cliff faces, green colors everywhere, and from the valley floor you can see it all. There was even snow on the ground. We went to the general store and saw quite a few tourists, and tourists of an international flavor. I almost ran into several Germans. They aren't too observant of our personal space limits. A couple of the tourists had severe body odor, and smelled like several onions. As it happened, I had forgotten to put on deodorant, so all was well.
As for the Babymoon, it was perfect. Gina and I had a well deserved time experiencing the surroundings and each other.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Hungry Like The Squatting Wolf
Today, when I got home, I noticed my hot lady friend (wife) squatting on her pink yoga mat, with a big grin on her face. Our two small dogs, Jack and Lucy, jumped all over her. She was squatting for four minutes at a time to help strengthen muscles associated with delivery. As I put my stuff down, she said,
"You want to do this with me"
"Ok"
It was so hard. It made me Almond Sad. Everything hurt. My ankles were sore, my lower back hurt, and I had to remember to breathe. At one point I tried to make a joke of it and said, "We look like baseball catchers".
-"I know, I don't know how they do it".
-"Yeah, for like 9 innings. Also, this hurts so much".
She moved a little bit, stood up and stretched, at which point I gesticulated, "I win! You got up!"
-"This isn't a competition. I'm having the baby, so you don't win." She is a trooper.
While I was stationed in Korea, I observed a lot of people squatting flat on their feet like it was nothing. I even saw men, who were 175 years old, simultaneously smoking and squatting. I gave it a shot, and it hurt even more. As my best friend Ben puts it, it was the "opposite of awesome". I looked like an idiot. I almost fell over, and I was in pain. The last 10 seconds were the hardest. Gina didn't complain at all. After my supportive comment about her cheating, she got up and went about her business (without complaining). I am weak, or as we say in Arkansas, "weak sauce".
Gina has also developed a keen sense of smell. She's developed the smelling sense of a lichen, a mythical creature associated with werewolves. About a month ago, I heard a "sniff, sniff, sniff". It was raw, and not human. I heard the sound while I was in the kitchen. It sounded loud but so far away. I looked up from the spice grinder, and with widened eyes cautiously walked to the bathroom towards the hungry sound. Gina had both medicine cabinet doors (his and hers) opened. She was sniffing up and down each cabinet making the aggressive "sniff, sniff, sniff" lichen sound. She was nasally attentive to each shelf in each cabinet. In my head I said, "This is awesome. Most people don't make audible sniffs while smelling something. She has become a wolf lady". She asked, "do you smell that?"
-"No, not at all. I don't smell anything." And I truly didn't. I think she smelled a substance coming from outside, through the walls, and into the medicine cabinets. Or, maybe she was noticing an outside and unseen energy, through her nose. Whatever it was, I did not have the gift to accept the smell.
Later that night, in bed, Gina gazed at me with mother pack wolf eyes, did the triple sniff, and asked, "Was that you?"
-"No, not at all, please." In my head, "WHAAAT? She knew!"
It was me, though. Sorry babe.
"You want to do this with me"
"Ok"
It was so hard. It made me Almond Sad. Everything hurt. My ankles were sore, my lower back hurt, and I had to remember to breathe. At one point I tried to make a joke of it and said, "We look like baseball catchers".
-"I know, I don't know how they do it".
-"Yeah, for like 9 innings. Also, this hurts so much".
She moved a little bit, stood up and stretched, at which point I gesticulated, "I win! You got up!"
-"This isn't a competition. I'm having the baby, so you don't win." She is a trooper.
While I was stationed in Korea, I observed a lot of people squatting flat on their feet like it was nothing. I even saw men, who were 175 years old, simultaneously smoking and squatting. I gave it a shot, and it hurt even more. As my best friend Ben puts it, it was the "opposite of awesome". I looked like an idiot. I almost fell over, and I was in pain. The last 10 seconds were the hardest. Gina didn't complain at all. After my supportive comment about her cheating, she got up and went about her business (without complaining). I am weak, or as we say in Arkansas, "weak sauce".
Gina has also developed a keen sense of smell. She's developed the smelling sense of a lichen, a mythical creature associated with werewolves. About a month ago, I heard a "sniff, sniff, sniff". It was raw, and not human. I heard the sound while I was in the kitchen. It sounded loud but so far away. I looked up from the spice grinder, and with widened eyes cautiously walked to the bathroom towards the hungry sound. Gina had both medicine cabinet doors (his and hers) opened. She was sniffing up and down each cabinet making the aggressive "sniff, sniff, sniff" lichen sound. She was nasally attentive to each shelf in each cabinet. In my head I said, "This is awesome. Most people don't make audible sniffs while smelling something. She has become a wolf lady". She asked, "do you smell that?"
-"No, not at all. I don't smell anything." And I truly didn't. I think she smelled a substance coming from outside, through the walls, and into the medicine cabinets. Or, maybe she was noticing an outside and unseen energy, through her nose. Whatever it was, I did not have the gift to accept the smell.
Later that night, in bed, Gina gazed at me with mother pack wolf eyes, did the triple sniff, and asked, "Was that you?"
-"No, not at all, please." In my head, "WHAAAT? She knew!"
It was me, though. Sorry babe.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
The Cloffice, The Clursery, and The Moffice
Everyone has a junk drawer. Some folks have a junk closet. We had one. A couple of years ago, Gina stated she needed an office space. We took everything out of the closet and converted it into a cloffice (pr: kl-office), or closet office. Contracting two words into one is my thing. The new word cannot be used in Scrabble, but I'm good at it and it makes me a better person.
-"Babe, where's the insurance stuff"
-"Its in the cloffice"
and so on...
We live in a one bedroom house. Its pretty awesome, but we aren't able to make a baby nursery for Josie. Gina and I wanted a space to put her things. There was only one option: the cloffice. We moved everything out of the cloffice and converted it into a clursery, a closet nursery. Not big enough for a baby to reside, but plenty big to put her things. Just picture Gulliver standing in a regular nursery (that's the scale for your mind). The clursery was painted pink and has a chest of drawers, a book shelf, hanging clothes rods, stuffed animals, etc. Its a very basic and standard clursery.
Ok, so we have a clursery, but what about the cloffice? It is kind of a big deal. Gina had all of our financial paperwork, computer equipment, and alot of her work items in there. The cloffice's replacement was an armoire. We purchased the spartanic piece at Wal-Mart.
I have an issue saying words with a French accent. Its my issue, I know. Not because I have anything against the French, but because it sounds funny. In college, while I worked at a bakery, one woman would frequently ask for a coffee and a croissant. She pronounced it like one would in French:
"I'd like a coffee and a kwa-ssAAhhhhn". I found it profoundly annoying. Anything bought at Wal-Mart, and at the price we paid, should not come with a French name.
I'm from Arkansas, the home of Sam The Man Walton, and Wal-Mart. I picture Sam and I standing in the dining room.
-I say, "Mr. Sam, what do you think of our new ahhhm-whaaahhh".
-He replies, with a scrunched up face and Arkansan accent, "Son, I don't know what you just said, but I like that moffice you have".
-"What's a moffice, Mr. Sam?"
-"Its an office which is mobile."
-"Of course it is."
We have a clursery and a moffice. They're both awesome.
-"Babe, where's the insurance stuff"
-"Its in the cloffice"
and so on...
We live in a one bedroom house. Its pretty awesome, but we aren't able to make a baby nursery for Josie. Gina and I wanted a space to put her things. There was only one option: the cloffice. We moved everything out of the cloffice and converted it into a clursery, a closet nursery. Not big enough for a baby to reside, but plenty big to put her things. Just picture Gulliver standing in a regular nursery (that's the scale for your mind). The clursery was painted pink and has a chest of drawers, a book shelf, hanging clothes rods, stuffed animals, etc. Its a very basic and standard clursery.
Ok, so we have a clursery, but what about the cloffice? It is kind of a big deal. Gina had all of our financial paperwork, computer equipment, and alot of her work items in there. The cloffice's replacement was an armoire. We purchased the spartanic piece at Wal-Mart.
I have an issue saying words with a French accent. Its my issue, I know. Not because I have anything against the French, but because it sounds funny. In college, while I worked at a bakery, one woman would frequently ask for a coffee and a croissant. She pronounced it like one would in French:
"I'd like a coffee and a kwa-ssAAhhhhn". I found it profoundly annoying. Anything bought at Wal-Mart, and at the price we paid, should not come with a French name.
I'm from Arkansas, the home of Sam The Man Walton, and Wal-Mart. I picture Sam and I standing in the dining room.
-I say, "Mr. Sam, what do you think of our new ahhhm-whaaahhh".
-He replies, with a scrunched up face and Arkansan accent, "Son, I don't know what you just said, but I like that moffice you have".
-"What's a moffice, Mr. Sam?"
-"Its an office which is mobile."
-"Of course it is."
We have a clursery and a moffice. They're both awesome.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Hip Shot
Today, Gina met with the baby doctor for a 28 week check-up. Because our blood types are a little bit different, as my blood type is positive and her's is negative, she had to get a Rhogam shot. It prevents her body from producing anti-bodies which may not be good for baby. The doctor stated as long as she received the shot, Gina and baby would be ok. Its all good...except for the shot part.
Our wonderful and caring technician, Cat, attempted to put Gina at ease. Cat said the shot was going to go into her hip. Gina immediately stated, "I don't like it when they put it in the butt." She followed it with, "I didn't mean it like that. I don't like shots in the butt or shots at all." Cat gave Gina an ice pack to numb the area, and then left the room. I took the ice pack and held it on her hip (for your visual: Gina was lying on her left side, her right hip up, and my hand on the ice pack butt).
We then had a conversation about Burger King. This conversation was prompted from last night's dinner. We had two chicken sandwiches and a Whopper. Gina had one of the chicken sandwiches (she likes the warm lettuce, mayo, and pepper. Warm lettuce, mayo, and pepper is a Southern delicacy. I must be rubbing off on her) and I had the other, plus a Whopper. I'm eating for three.
Gina said, "Babe, I think I'm over the burgers. We've had Burger King about four times, so far, since I've been pregnant. I don't think I want it anymore."
-"Oh right, yeah, we can stop eating them I guess. It’s probably not that good for us."
-"Yeah, I think I'm over them."
-"Ok, no problem. We didn't eat them that much anyway, before the pregnancy."
-"Right."
There was a short moment of silence as I waved goodbye (through mind tears) to the one chance I'll ever have to eat Burger King, and get away with it. Adios, amigo mio, mi corazon. Goodbye Whopper with hot sauce, or jalapenos, or Siracha sauce. As I mentally memorialized The Whopper, Gina said, through far away eyes, "I do see a Happy Meal in my future though."
-"Ok, that's totally cool. They're about $2.48."
Cat returned, and gave Gina the shot. She was a trooper, and showed no pain (minus a little screech). Awesome.
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