Really, I’m fine, just writing posts in my head and forgetting you’re not there in my head with me. Also I need to download some photos.
In the meantime, here are some snippets of my life:
Conversation with Iraqi Friend:
Her: My friend tell me if you go into the doctor here in America early when pregnant, like the first or two month, the doctor can change and you can choose, boy or girl.
Me: Um, no.
Her: Only very early. First, two months. You choose. Boy or girl.
Me: No, that’s not possible. The baby is already a boy or a girl at that point.
Me: Quite sure.
(I wonder if she is taking about gendercide, and discuss that, but no, she is convinced that American doctors can change the sex of the fetus–only in the first trimester though!)
Her: In Iraq, you can go to the dr and he can tell you which month will give you a boy or a girl.
Me: Um, no.
Her: One month, girl, next month, boy.
Me: No. What about the man’s part? It determines boy or girl.
Her: Yes. That is right. Don’t forget the man!
Thespians in the House:
Last Wednesday, I got a phone call while I was driving around with Elliot while he applied for summer jobs. (Nothing so far, thanks for asking). It was a very nice girl from the kids’ high school, informing me that the Thespian Society would be coming to kidnap Abel that Friday. “We’ll come at 5, so please leave the door unlocked or if someone is up, you can let us in,” she told me. Um. I can hardly imagine how well I would have slept had I left my door unlocked, wondering if the noises I heard all night were the Thespians creeping in or someone with less pleasant intentions. So, with a sigh, I set my alarm clock for 4:50 a.m.
Also let me clarify that I’m the one who used the loaded term “kidnapping.” The very nice girl on the phone didn’t. I imagine they’ve had some nervous parents in the past. These are interesting times we live in.
I didn’t sleep well that night, because I never do when I have to get up unusually early. I was not happy when the alarm went off, but I got up anyway and went downstairs to wait for the Thespians. I waited. And waited. And waited. Several times, I considered simply leaving the door unlocked and going back to bed, but I knew I wouldn’t sleep, so I sat and read a book.
Finally, at 5:50, they arrived–10 minutes before the kids would start getting up anyway. They were very nice, very wide awake and well made-up (the girls, anyway). I heard them go into Abel’s room. “Wake up, Abel! You’re a thespian!” they announced. “Wha…???” was his intelligent response, followed shortly by “Awesome!”
They allowed him 3 minutes to get dressed, and it only took him 40 seconds. He’s a boy. They took him off to a celebratory breakfast and a day of extremely mild “hazing” (again, that word is avoided at all costs), such as wearing a cape and a goofy hat, and having to say “They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard” every time someone other than a teacher said his name. It was a great success in his mind. In mine, not so much.
Some friends stopped by this evening and I made them Turkish coffee at about 8 or so, so we’re still up at midnight. Many of the Arabs that we know here in Portland go to bed at about 3 a.m. and get up at noon. It can be hard scheduling anything before 1 or 2 in the afternoon. The other night when we were visiting some friends, we were about to leave at 10:30 p.m. when some other people stopped by. The party was just starting! Meanwhile, our kids were giving us the stink eye, the “Mo-om! I still have homework and it’s late!” look across the room, so we said our goodbyes and came home.