Ampt!

So ampt to write I can't even write. Will fill you in on the details shortly.

To not want children...

I feel so guilty saying that. I love how babies cling to you for comfort even if your not the "baby type". I love how easy it is to make any child, in any circumstance, laugh. I love watching toddlers sleep and then I love it when they crawl into your lap when their nap is over and fall back to sleep.


But this weekend was draining and emotional and stressful. Friday was nice, we went to dinner and brought Eden home, gave her a bath that was that. Saturday the parents were already showing signs of fatigue. We made it through an IMAX movie, and the live animal section and then both had to sit out the discovery zone. We hit the museum store and it was a wrap. The father was practically asleep standing up and the mother
was beginning to show her extreme lack of patience with anything and everything. Interestingly everyone was still in relatively good spirits. Eden colored and the mother and I cooked dinner while the father slept (how sweet and 1950's) and there was general enjoyment all around while the mother showed me how to fry crabcakes. Dinner was large and fabulous.

Sunday was a disaster and I won't go into it but to say that, because I slept on the couch two nights in a row because the little girl moves in her sleep like she's fighting to stay afloat in some deep abyss, I was tired and short tempered. And it was hot and everything was fine (even after deciding that trying to get the mother to go to my church was useless) until the cashier at Target rang me up wrong and my account went into overdraft and I went back to talk to the manager and the mother offered not to say anything while I talked, but did anyways. So I snapped at her, like most other walking, breathing mammals do for no particularly good reason when the weather is such. She proceeded to lay into me not so much because I had snapped at her but because I had done it in public and went particularly onyx in the face when I reminded her that not only were we both adults but that we had been for some time. Mind you, this is the mother who is both entirely convinced of her own self-righteousness and cares most importantly, about other people's image of her. So, while I skulked away after having snapped at the mother, she cried bloody hell and disrespect loud enough for everyone around her to hear in hopes that her tirade would reinstall her into the good graces of the strangers who sincerely couldn't have cared less.

She was dropped home. Off we went,the father and I, with a much quieter Eden to the bookstores. The day got considerably more bright and enjoyable. At least for me. Whenever this sort of thing happens the father gets an upset stomach and, as a result, I feel even more peevish but in a sad way. We took Eden to the park and watched her play, pulling herself with extreme on the jungle gyms, except for when she fell and came over holding her cheek, face crinkled up in pre-cry mode. This is the moment when I love children. My maternal nature goes into overdrive and there is a sincere deliciousness and satisfaction in the sensation of wanting to cuddle and say something nonsensical and cooing but fighting the urge and convincing said child why it's not necessary to cry and what a big girl you are for getting across the jungle gym all by yourself. The mother was laughing on the phone when we came back. I apologized and got in return a sound that, if not quite "that's fine, I understand", was at least "nothing new". We ate porkchops as if nothing had happened. Eden was bathed and put to bed. The mother ate one of my fried bananas and all was tired, cranky, don't cross me and normal.

At 4am I snapped awake and instantly called the faraway who always sounds most sweet at 4am. He asked if he could get me some breakfast but I declined and asked instead if we could cuddle, after which I promptly fell asleep on the phone.

This afternoon, the father called to say that the mother was fireballing around the house furious and wrathful.
Long story short, I'm stressed still about where I'll live next week, where money will be coming from next month. irritated by the mother for nothing new and nothing good. and here comes Eden, asking, poking, jumping, burping, sneezing, pulling, hypothesizing and only occasionally sleeping. The combination was a disaster on my nerves and my patience. To the point where, by yesterday, even though I love children and I especially love my niece, the child was asking every couple of hours, "Auntie Robin, why don't you want to sit with me" and "Auntie Robin, why don't you want to have fun with me" which made me just feel miserable on top of it all.

wishing for the 1 year old who just smiled and pooped.

I'm loosing my mind. This child is driving me crazy! The down side to a brilliant five-year-old is that she talks. Nonstop. About important stuff!

Visiting the career counselor

I spoke to the graduate career counselor yesterday about my employment prospects. I told him about the position closest to my heart and my dilemma with negotiating a salary. Of course, like any logical individual, his next question was, what are they offering me. I told him.
Long story short, it's not even negotiable. Survival in that part of the country is not expected making what I would make.
*ha-rumph!*
On the flip side, my family is coming up for the weekend and their bringing my five year old niece with them. I know, I'm an only child. But being as though they practically raised her mother, she is now my neice and she is coming to Boston. Joy! When I tell you, this girl is going to do a damn site better than Condelezza one day, it's no exageration. Already, she reads at the level of children three years older then her. She speaks her mind, but coherently and logically, causing most adults to look in the other direction for the source of such grown up philosophy. And she's a happy, well-adjusted child who hates eggs and loves Dora. So we're going to the Science museum this weekend, and Baker's Best, which, if you're from the Boston area you already know about because its so stinking fabulous and if you're not, then you've missed out on one of life's great and simple joys. I don't like Boston. I've been scarred by Boston's attitude, racism and overall, rude way of life, but for the eggs benedict at this place, I would come back and stand in line in the rain.
...back to Eden (my niece)...and we're going to paint and shop and eat some more and nap (oooowwweeee!) and...
so, despite the arrival for the very first time of the notion that I may not live in that part of the country right now, it promises to be a busy and very enjoyable weekend.

fighting the perpetuation of the colonial enterprise, and you?

It seems that since this form of communication has become a giant beast of a thing, I ought to develop my little corner of tail or snout and get to emoting as well. Truthfully I hate being left behind; call it only child syndrome. I used to call myself a writer, and then life began in earnest and I had to put that aside to become a better student, a better daughter, a better friend and a better useful thing. Then writing became assignments and deadlines and when graduate school introduced itself to me, in the form of theses, conference papers and long nights of mind-numbing, unapologetic affairs with the lower levels of obscure libraries. Now that I've finished my schooling (temporarily) I can get about the business of finding my humble happy niche, as idealistic as it may sound. In the downtime, should it arise, I can revisit the life lessons, bad poetry and world happenings parts of my mind and reflect on what I find, here. I thought the title fitting only because my small drop to the olympic sized swimming pool of the blogsphere is never the less that, a bit of something, tiny yet significant, shifting and ultimately, fading. I have no false expectations of living into eternity, but I do like the idea of my words being here until God knows when. (or until Blogger.com goes belly up). Is that even how it works?
I am an African American woman, 25, recently having concluded graduate school with a Masters in Cultural Anthropology. Now struggling with what to do with this degree in one of the last great vestiges of institutionalized colonialism. How ironic! I decided on a degree in Anthro, not because masochism is a dish best served by professors who study me (!), but because I wanted a cultural degree that allowed me the flexibility to legitimately research indigenous self representation, child development, social structure and human rights all within one discipline. And I did that. And now I search for work that is more hands-on, more "teach this baby with her pretty little curls". More "How can I help without imposing my imperialistic, paternalistic, downright rude American upbringing on you?". More "would you like to travel half-way across the world?". Why yes, thank you.