1. I'm sure any guys doing this don't want to be walked in on themselves and take precautions against it.
2. Whether the police entrap the homos investigate or not, it's happening all the time. Just because you didn't know about it before a senator got caught doesn't mean it only just became a thing. If the police arrest a bunch of people in that bathroom, the guys who want to have public sex will move to a different bathroom. (Um, and I don't doubt for one second that they already have, so hold onto to your sons!)
okay three things:
Why so graphic a comment?* It seems to me that the American public is having altogether too much fun imagining what happens in the men's room now, to stand around shaking fingers. I mean, why do we need to hear over and over how many time you tap your foot? What 's the fascination with imagining what acts occur and who might witness them? Why do we need to hear the tapes of the cop played repeatedly?
It's a misdemeanor. He pled guilty. He's made a jerk of himself. He should resign. End of story.
Sorry, I just don't buy that this is about protecting children. If it was, we wouldn't put it all over every form of press twenty times a day. "What's lewd behavior, mommy?"
* I'm sorry dear readers, but in spite of my fairly anything-goes policy on comments, I had to actually edit an act that was posited as a possible scenario.
Who signs up for the job of sitting in a bathroom stall learning to discern the difference between the sound of someone "[using] the restroom for its intended use" versus someone "[engaging] in lewd conduct?"
Nat is moving so fast these days I forget half the things I want to remember within hours of mentally noting them. Her language is busting out all over the place. Suddenly she's making language work for her, if you know what I mean. She is all about expressing herself spontaneously as opposed to going over rote phrases to achieve a goal. Though she's getting better at certain rote things I want her to learn like "I'm fine, thank you, how are you?"
Speech-wise, she is cleaning up mispronunciations quickly and I want to remember how she substitutes "n" for "l" and says "nook, Ma Saninn, nook!" when she sees something exciting. Or "I nike it!" enthusiastically about my shoes. Recently, I was trying to teach her to hear the difference between N and L when she asked to "sit nap!"
"Do you mean lap?" I prodded.
"Sit nap!" she agreed.
"Look, Nat," I showed her the fingerspelling and said "L-A-P, 'l-l-lap.'"
"L-A-P" she signed and spelled back, "N-n-nap!"
Then for a while whenever she wanted to sit on my lap, she'd fingerspell it and say "nap!"
She has a spatula just like mine, except with a broken tip. I gave her my old one when it broke, to put in her kitchen play drawer. When I was making us some eggs the other day, she pulled her spatuala out and said "Nat has one. Mama Shannon has one!"
I asked her what it was and she said "this!" and held it aloft.
I told her it was a spatuala.
This morning when I made the eggs, she dug into her drawer and came out waving her spatula proudly. "Nat has pat-oola, Ma Saninn has pat-oola!"
She is very much into imaginative play lately. She plays with her Little People pirate ship. She plays dress up in a tutu (that is way too big for her) given to her by a friend who sells dancewear and she plays baby dolls a lot. I am shocked by how much she plays baby dolls, because I never liked dolls at all when I was a kid.
But Nat loves to feed and burp and bounce and rock and wrap and sing to her dolls. If I'm doing it for Selina, she wants to do it for a doll. Yesterday she got the biggest, proudest smile when I tied her baby onto her chest with a piece of fabric. "Like (nike) Baby Selina and Mama Shannon!" she gushed.
She also likes to pretend to be a baby. I will rock her and talk to her like I do to Selina and call her "Baby Nat." I asked her recently if she wanted a binky (she is quite taken with Selina's binkies) and she opened her mouth. I pretended to pop in a binky and ten minutes later, she asked me, "more binky?" So we did it again.
Today she was all about pretending to be Cole Mom and go to work. She would pick up a bag and some books, put them under her arm and walk to her bedroom door. "I gotta go!" she'd declare, "see you later ('nater')! Be back soon. Gotta go to the office!"
Then she'd close the door almost all the way and peek through the crack to watch me. I'd just sit and wait. She'd open the door again almost immediately and say "you're home! I missed you!"
We're going through the motions of sitting on the potty and have moved all diaper productions to the bathroom (and switched to pull-on diapers) but so far, she just likes to sit there and read books. She is taken with Everyone Poops (and who wouldn't be? It's a favorite of mine too) and reads it aloud for anyone who'll listen.
I have made no progress on finding a French-speaking babysitter. I may have to step up my efforts a notch and call the foreign languages department. She is already interested, because I've been reading her some French board books and she has learned the French words for various emotions from one of the books. She is particularly fond of "triste" and likes to make a pouty, bottom-lip-protruding face as she says it.
She's also stepped up seeking negative attention. She is constantly testing to see if all of my rules still apply when I'm holding Selina. They do, it just takes a bit longer to enforce them. And it's always a fine line for me to decide whether putting the baby down to take Nat to time out is actually rewarding or disciplining her. I try to call them as I see them, but sometimes I clearly get it wrong and time-out is a win in the Nat column. So both she and I are cultivating our ability to ignore or pretend we didn't hear or see each other in certain circumstances...
Yesterday we were looking at photos my father sent on cd's on the computer. I told Nat she could only look and not touch the computer screen. I told her this over and over as she touched the computer screen over and over. Finally I said "Nat, if you touch that computer again, it's a time out."
Don't you know she reached her tiniest pinky finger straight out and touched the teeniest tip of it to the very edge of the keyboard, while staring me down defiantly?
So: time out.
But, OMG, what kind of teenager is this kid going to be? We are so doomed!
Donita tagged me to do an "eight things about me you don't already know" meme. The trouble is, I've been blogging altogether too long because I think you know everything about me (that I'm willing to tell!).
As I lay awake last night wondering what I'd put on the list, I decided to recklessly alter the meme by telling you one amusing childhood anecdote I have told few people (because I'd forgotten it until recently):
I learned what the word "gay" meant when I was in the third grade. Some other kid told me (I forget who it was, but if I had to guess, I'd say it was my pal who was #7 in a Catholic family and always brought us info from her older sibs) that it meant "when two girls or two boys are in love like a boy and a girl."
I immediately tested the power of my new vocabulary by scribbling a note to the effect that "Lindsey and Julie* are Gay" and passing it through the class. Of course, eventually it found its way to Lindsey or Julie and then to the teacher, who simply worked her way backwards towards the origin of the note and uncovered me.
She took me aside and stage-whispered, "do you know what this word means???"
"No," I lied.
"Well it's not a nice thing to say about people. Don't ever say it about anyone again!" she hissed. Notably, she did not define the word for me.
Homophobia saved my skin because that was the end of it. The teacher was too embarrassed to call my parents or punish me or anything else. I do vaguely think I remember seeing Lindsey or Julie in tears and feeling guilty that I had done such a mean thing. Neither girl was particularly my enemy or anything. I just randomly picked them.
But Lindsey or Julie, if you're out there, well, I guess the joke's on me, eh?
*Not their real names. In fact, I don't even remember which two girls I picked. But there were no Lindseys or Julies in my third grade class.
P.S. Having altered the original meme beyond recogintion, I'll pass this one on to anyone who wants to play: Can you recall first learning the meaning of a word that has since come to have major significance in your life?
"I just wondered, would you all share your connections, if any, with the military in general and people serving in particular? Either on your own blogs, or in the comments?"
I'm jumping in, because I do think that the non-military public are not suffering along with the military and its families in this war. My father and I were talking about it in Hawaii and he suggested, and I agree, that we should have a draft for public service, military if you choose, or something else, but two years of public service post high school or college would help create a real sense of community as a national value. It's the sort of thing "we" (as a nation) are always claiming to have, but we so totally don't at all.
Without further ado, my military connections:
1. My father was drafted during Vietnam. He is really, really not the military type and I am so glad he never had a tour in Vietnam, because I'm pretty sure I'd have grown up fatherless. It just isn't him. But he did spend a long time in the Army, as a trade-off to going to Vietnam right away. This is why, as I have told you already, that I was born in Hawaii, on Oahu, at Tripler hospital and spent most of the first two years of my life at Schofield Barracks.
2. The first woman I fell hard (and unrequited) for was someone important in the DC area in the military. I'm not going to give you details (or even the branch), but being her friend gave me some really fascinating opportunities.
3. My first (requited) girlfriend outranked the unrequited girl in the same branch. I lived at a military base in the DC area for about a year, as a "baby sitter" not asking and not telling. Again, I can't give you details, but I met lots of wonderful young people who went into the service as a way to try and get their educations on the GI Bill. That's how I learned how difficult that really is. The kids I knew would be in classes and would find themselves suddenly sent into the field without warning and end up with Withdraw-Fails on their records, dragging down their GPAs. They also worked full-time or more than full-time while trying to go to school.
4. In my online classes, at least 75% of the classes will be either active-duty or spouses of active-duty personnel. I just gave a paper extension (unheard of--I'm usually hard-core about not giving them) to a single mother of two who found out she had two weeks to get ready to go for another tour in Afganistan. She had to relocate her kids to a different state in the meantime.
5. Several students from my face-to-face classes over the years have been ROTC. Last year, one of the most talented students I've ever had graduated with a triple major in History, Women's Studies and English. She is in Iraq right now. I've been meaning to remind you about her anyway. She is leading truck convoys on supply missions. That is a really dangerous job, as I'm sure you know. Please keep Jen in your prayers.
To me, the military feels like a foreign country in which I'm comfortable traveling and whose language I passably speak, but in which I always feel like an alien. I think most of the people I've met in the military are very good people with their hearts in the right place. Many of them have eventually felt duped, used or betrayed by the military. I think a lot of the values the military professes fall away when the people they've used are not useful anymore. But I also think the military does lots of things the way the whole country should. Medical care isn't super fabulous but it isguaranteed and subsidized. Strict quotas give the military a semblence of racial diversity though as with class, those on the bottom of the race hierarchies tend to be enlisted rather than officers. Still, I think in some ways the military gets these things better than mainstream society.
I would not want my children to go into the military because I don't trust it as an institution to be interested in their best interests. And I know of too many sexual harassment/abuse situations to count, either from direct or indirect sources. I loathe the way they refer to women as "females" like they were horses or something. It really rubs me the wrong way. And yet, there are those women in uniform in my past. I didn't say I was logical!
I am very nearly a pacifist. I can't really say that 100% because I don't know for what I might commit serious violence. Now that I'm a mother, it's easier to imagine. But I am more than skeptical of the current war and have been well before it became cool. But as I'm sure most of you completely understand, I support the troops fully. Right now, I think the best way we can all support them is to get them home as soon as possible.
No, I didn't think so either when the nurse weighed her and told me she was 7 lbs and 2 oz yesterday. That's 8 oz less than 6 weeks ago.
But they weighed her on the Digital Scale. So they were convinced it had to be right.
They are all about this digital scale at my doctor's office. Everytime they weighed Nat they would fret about whether it was accurate because they didn't have a digital scale. Then they got one and ever after I was suspicious they weren't quite getting her weight right, but they seemed so sure of what they were doing, and so excited about their nifty technology I didn't want to say anything to dampen their spirits.
But yesterday I rebelled. Even as the nurse practitioner who saw us mused with me that Selina didn't look that small to her either, but maybe I shouldn't be giving her that ounce of water every couple of days when she's been particularly sweaty, or maybe I should step up the flow on her nipples or maybe I should wake and feed her instead of letting her sleep those six hours through at night (ha, I don't think so!), I was thinking "or maybe the stupid scale is wrong."
I finally suggested that maybe the scale was wrong at the last appointment, because she has certainly gained weight. She's grown out of two sizes of clothes and grown two more chins since they last saw her.
After the nurse suggested I bring her in to weigh again next week, I suggested we just weigh her again right then. So we did. She weighed TEN pounds and two ounces the second time around. The nurse said "was she in a diaper before?" No, I told her, the first time around she was naked. "Oh!" said the nurse, removing what she seemed to believe would be a three-pound diaper. The scale didn't move. Still 10.2.
From now on, I'm just going to insist they dust off the old abandoned, Not-Digital scale when we go in there. I don't trust the new one and never did. I don't trust digital thermometers either. Am I alone here?
Selina got all those crazy shots--something like 7 different things in one form or another--and today she was fussy, overwarm and off her feed, poor baby. But in all other respects, the nurse agreed that she is absolutely thriving.
I am turning the comment moderation back on. I was going to leave it off, because it's nicer to have the comments just appear than to have to wait for me to approve them, but then I remembered that I have been meaning to turn the "CAPTCHA" feature off in my comments, and the moderation will still give me a bit of a spam-screen.
The reason I'm turning off CAPTCHA (the crazy letters you have to type into the box to prove you aren't a computer) is because ages ago, Lisa mentioned that those little things were virtually impossible to deal with if you are disabled and using various gadgets to read and comment on websites. (I am too lazy to find the exact post or the exact explanation, but it was in there somewhere.)
Anyway, in spite of the fact that sometimes those things have little wheelchair icons that supposedly make them disability-friendly, Lisa says they usually just aren't so I'm going to see how it goes to moderate the comments for a while and watch for spam in person.
Far be it from me to keep the lovely and brilliant Lisa or any other disabled lurker from conversating on my blog!
In a comment below, Stacey accuses us of traveling well with our children. I think I better disabuse her of this notion along with any of the rest of you who might be thinking that we breeze across the world with two in diapers with ease.
No, no, no.
We made it there and we made it back, but getting there was decidely not half the fun and getting back was a minor circle of hell.
Here's roughly how we did it:
I packed a huge insulated bag with enough formula ready-to-feed in bottles for 24 hours and enough 4 oz pre-measured powdered formula packets for about 72 hours. I also packed dry cereal and freeze-dried fruit in zip-top bags in varied flavors so that Nat could have one for three meals a day for about 72 hours, plus snacks for Cole and me.
I packed five diapers in each size in my new ginormous purse along with wipies and disposable changing pads and disposable bibs (plus everybody's passports, my wallet, our boarding passes, etc.). In addition, I packed about 10 diapers in each size in a separate carry-on bag, more wipies and an emergency change of clothes for Selina and me (spit-up protection). (I planned such that we'd be traveling an extra day and all our checked luggage would be lost.)
I packed a bag of airplane distractions for Nat, including Baker, the bedtime dog.
In addition to this stuff, we had a camera bag.
See here for an update on how the new stroller worked out for us.
We woke up early on Monday morning and David drove us all to the airport three hours away in Chicago. We checked the checkable bags and made our way onto our plane where we promptly waited on the runway for three hours before taking off for our four-hour flight.
That blew our plans for a walk down to the beach in LA. We slept at a Holiday Inn where I cleaned out all the used bottles, made more ready-to-feed ones and re-packed the cold bag (luckily our hotel room had a fridge with freezer for my ice packs). We got up early for our flight the next day to Honolulu. That went as planned, but it was close to six hours. Once in Honolulu we had a four-hour layover in the airport for our thirty minute Island hop to Kauai.
Then we had a fabulous time for six days.
The night before we left, I re-packed everything exactly as I had to leave home, but with a little less reserve snacks/food/diapers. We were supposed to check in to leave Kauai at 5:30 am on our leaving date. With the airport an hour away from the rental house, that just simply wasn't going to happen. So we left the house around 8 instead and got a stand-by flight at 11, and another stand-by from Honolulu to LA at 10 pm.
The 10 pm flight was a great choice for traveling with kids because they slept the whole time (plus we enjoyed hanging out in Honolulu for the afternoon). I, however, can't sleep on planes, so without a hotel overnight, I was really wiped out by the end of the second day after that four-hour flight back to Chicago and another three-hour drive back home. Also, with no hotel room, I had to clean out 6 baby bottles and remix formula in a filthy airport bathroom with water spigots that only work while you are pushing them in. That was the pits.
The actual traveling was wretched and horrid and terrible.
We never would have done that kind of trip with both Nat and a newborn if the trip hadn't been planned well in advance and we hadn't sort of (wrongly) assumed there'd be no new baby before September (if ever). So I don't recomend it. But we're glad we went and will definitely return to Hawaii but hopefully at least one of our kids will be out of diapers by then and the other will be eating more flexible foods.
The feeding is the worst part for me. If my boobs worked, it would have made the whole ordeal about 50% less difficult.
So maybe not well, but we did make it there and back. We only lost two items on route: the extra diaper bag and the bjorn carrier. But that's okay. We sort of needed a new one of each anyway.