Posts from — May 2009

Thank you for joining the circle (not the circle of hell in the title; the circle of friendship) and taking a stand–I was afraid that I was going to be out here alone with my ass waving in the breeze…why my pants would be down, I don’t know. Feel free to get up and leave the circle for a moment if you are squeamish about vomit because I am about to tell you a story about the stomach flu including the sad tale of Mr. Whisker’s near earectomy.

As I was about to hit publish on that last post, understandably anxious and debating whether it was cathartic enough to simply write the words or whether they needed to be published and commented on in order to gain closure, I heard a garbled sound and shouts of “shit, Mel!” coming from upstairs. By the time I got up the stairs, the Wolvog was standing by the toilet with Josh, coated in his own vomit. He threw up a thimble-sized amount into the toilet and we congratulated him for getting at least some of it in the bowl. Josh warned me that there was a hefty-sized mess in his room and I went back down to get cleaner and garbage bags and paper towels. Oh, and latex gloves, dear Lord, latex gloves.

At this point in the story, the Wolvog had been holding his beloved Mr. Whiskers, a stuffed animal cat that my sister gave him a few months ago. I did not check said cat and instead tossed it into the sink in order to free his hands and collect his clothing and slippers. We hosed him down, put on new pyjamas, and tossed the bedding and clothing into the washing machine, forgetting about Mr. Whiskers. And then we tackled the room.

The thing you need to understand is that we recarpeted the house when we moved in and I’ve done a decent job at keeping the carpets stain-free for many years. One of my proudest moments ever was when the ChickieNob projectile vomited and it bypassed the carpet entirely, landing solely on the chair a few feet away. She pointed out this fact to the Wolvog in her most preachy voice while they watched us clean, “you know, I’ve thrown up two times. Or maybe four times. But I always throw up only on my bed and myself because Mommy cleans it up faster. You are a messy vomiter.”

And so he was. It was his first time having the stomach flu and he managed to hit every inch of carpet surrounding his bed. Of course, I had fed him something stain-inducing right before bed therefore the carpets were a lovely shade of barbecue sauce and (again, if you’re squeamish, you may want to close this post, though you’ll miss the earectomy) covered in undigested chicken. You remember that part where I’m a vegetarian, right? So it was about 11:30 p.m. and we were cleaning up chicken that was staining the carpets. In the meantime, the Wolvog was sitting in a rocking chair watching us and this was what he kept saying to no one in particular as we scrubbed:

“I’m sick, but I’m happy. I am really happy right now, even though I’m sick.”

Close to midnight, we closed the door and everyone said goodnight and I decided to hit publish while we waited for the laundry to be ready for the dryer. I mentioned to Josh that I felt a bit queasy after the clean-up which was odd for me because while I don’t enjoy cleaning up bodily fluids, I’m not really squeamish. I can see something disgusting and still keep eating (except for rice–rice was ruined for me by an image I saw in one of my medical anthropology textbooks one night in college and I didn’t eat rice for years). But I was fairly queasy around midnight.

Of course, the clothes and bedding were not entirely clean so we had to put them through the washing machine again and it was close to 1 a.m. when we finally crawled into bed, bolting back to the Wolvog’s room several times during the night whenever we heard a whimper with thoughts of additional clean-up dancing in our heads.

Around 5 a.m., the Wolvog fell out of bed and after we got him settled, I realized that I was going to be sick and went on to be ill for an hour. Some people may do the math and realize that I emailed them around the same time I was vomiting and I just want to state for the record that I emailed people after I couldn’t go back to sleep because I was more nauseated lying down than sitting up. I did end up going back to sleep for a few more hours and was awoken by the Wolvog coming into my room and deciding that he felt crappy enough that he deserved a video. I was down that until I learned his choice.

He wanted to watch My Little Pony.

And even worse than hearing the ponies was the fact that said video was only 14 minutes long and therefore needed tending every 14 minutes.

It was like lying in a vomit-scented haze somewhere near the 7th circle of hell*.

Later in the day, I was feeling somewhat better so Josh decided to go down to work, but when the door closed, the ChickieNob pointed out that a large wasp had gotten inside and was on the window. I usually catch wasps and bees in cups and take them outside (I know, it makes no sense–I’m fine with bees that could hurt me but I am terrified of crickets that can’t?) but I decided to suck this one into the Dyson because it was just that sort of a day.

It got sucked into the vacuum and I turned off the motor and the wasp began flying around in the clear canister. It was a little grey with dust, but still moving along which was amazing. I mean, it lived through the entrance into the vacuum and the root cyclone technology. I turned on the vacuum again, explaining to the ChickieNob that I’d like the wasp to quiet down and go to sleep. I let it run for another 30 seconds or so and turned off the machine. And the wasp picked himself up and went back to flying. I turned on the machine again and has an extended conversation–probably two minutes in length–while I sweetly smiled and hoped my child wouldn’t ask me what I was doing to the wasp.

And the wasp began flying yet again the moment I turned off the vacuum. He was dust-covered and a little dizzy, but still kicking. I took him outside and set him free, though knowing my luck, after all of that, he probably died in the pile of dust outside the front door.

Later in the day, we returned to the bathroom for our bath and found poor Mr. Whiskers still languishing in the sink. I forgot to dump him in the washing machine with the rest of the bedding and his ears were coated with caked-on vomit. I tried to explain that it was too late for Mr. Whiskers, that there was little chance to remove the stench from his orange-like “fur” now that it had seeped into the cat. The only solution would be an earectomy.

“Plenty of cats,” I reasoned, “are missing ears. If you go and see Cats, I believe they even sing about one of the cats missing his ears. Or part of an ear. Which is sort of the same thing.”

“Mr. Whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiskers,” the Wolvog moaned.

“Let’s just table this for the day and take our bath.”

My plan was to revisit the issue of Mr. Whiskers in the morning and his impending earectomy. See what my mother could do about reshaping his head. And then we ended the day as it began, with the sugary sweet voices of the ponies singing about rainbows and flowers, lying on my side, figuratively in the 7th circle of hell.

*Why the 7th circle? Because vomiting feels like such a violent act of the body. And because doesn’t everyone aim to open up a discussion on Dante’s nine circles of hell?

Updated at the bottom

We have this saying in our family, “don’t poke the bear” and it ties into an old Saturday Night Live sketch but at its core is this idea of what you do for shalom bayit–a peaceful house. You hold your tongue, you find a way to put closure on a fight, you take that first step forward. And I think we do the same thing in writing for the sake of shalom kehilat–a peaceful blogosphere. We avoid posting about certain topics that we know are hot buttons or we don’t acknowledge the hateful comment or we give people the benefit of the doubt that they meant their words kindly when we can’t really deduce tone.

But I feel a compulsive need to poke the bear tonight.

Because even after doing all the things that usually bring me my sense of shalom kehilat, I am still thrown off by the wave of anger that is moving through the blogosphere like California fires. Do we have small flare ups from time to time–of course, one of the core reasons why people blog is that we are emotional and passionate. If humans were non-emotional, non-passionate beings we wouldn’t feel the need to connect with others. Blogging is by its very nature an emotionally-connective activity and on top of that, most of us in the ALI blogosphere are writing about family building (or later, family raising or not raising as the case may be), an emotionally-charged topic. We are going to have arguments and hurt feelings from time to time.

But flare-ups aside, I keep closing Google Reader because every post I open seems to be either addressing an anonymous commenter or flame-throwing at a fellow blogger. And while I’m perfectly fine reading anger–I think I’ve highlighted enough angry blog posts in the Roundup to make clear that I don’t shy away from anger–I don’t really do drama.

I have anonymous commenting on my blog for two reasons–(1) because we are speaking sometimes about family building decisions and I understand why someone would not want a thought tied to their name for dozens of years to come. There are enough situations where a person needs to speak anonymously either to protect the feelings of their future children or partner or friend. And (2) there are limited options with Blogger and if I want to open up the possibility for anyone in the community to comment–those with blogs or the blogless–I need to allow anonymous comments.

And, of course, not all of the hateful commenting is entirely anonymous. Sometimes people stand behind their words, and that is better if they’re listening as well as speaking. Of course, standing there with my name attached to the comment and still spewing hate isn’t helpful and only serves to hurt feelings. And, not all of the anger is internal to the community. One blogger had a post up about an anonymous comment she received screaming about the selfishness of those engaging in family building (well, only those who need help with family building. Those who can do it themselves are selfless). And certainly, I don’t believe that this post will reach those people or stop those types of comments from happening. I have seen those since the day I entered the blogosphere and I’m sure they’ll keep rolling through long after I’m gone. The point is to not muck your way into them, but to learn how to let them roll off your back. It is, though, quite a different story when the anger comes from someone else within the community, who shares mutual readers and who has held your trust in the past. I do not expect those to roll off anyone’s back and they certainly don’t roll off mine.

For me, anger is about having communication flowing between two people and drama conveys a lack of hearing on one or both sides of the exchange. I think fighting can be healthy and deepen understanding if there is a point to the fight–if both parties are moving towards a new understanding. Simply shouting at another person? That is drama. Leaving an anonymous comment is always drama because all control is removed to address the person directly and continue the conversation. And truly, if the person really wanted resolution, they would address the person privately.

And just to state it here: I don’t do drama, but it is not a statement of how much I care. I can care a great deal about the other person, want the best for them and wish there were words I could say that could calm them down. But when I can clearly see that those words don’t exist, I take that step back. And I hope in stating that here that people will remember that my lack of involvement never reflects a lack of care. I’ll say it again: I simply don’t do drama or engage in conversations where the person is continuously not hearing me.

To me–and I know this is solely my opinion–a comment box is either there for conversation (and it can agree or disagree with the person) or to open up healthy debate. It isn’t really a forum in which to have a fight or to call someone hateful terms. All of that can be done off-blog in an email in order to allow both people to save face. When you open up something publicly, you remove that courtesy to allow the other person to save face and you send a very clear message on how much you care about them. This, of course, assumes the blogger has left a way to contact them clearly on their blog. Those who choose not to give people a way to contact them privately will need to accept that people will have to address them publicly.

I do not want to get all kumbaya on your ass, wrapping my arm around your shoulder in a death grip and forcing you to sway to the acoustic guitar solo. And certainly, I don’t think this post will change the minds of people who desire to create drama. I am perhaps only searching for like-minded individuals in poking the bear. I want to know who else is sitting in this circle with me, who is sick of the anger and feeling like they’re in a tug of war with shalom kehilat. Who has clicked off a blog feeling slightly ill that another person has felt that their only option is to leave the blogosphere in order to stop being mocked or harassed.

This post is a plea for everyone to chill the fuck out. To click away if they’re reading something (including this) that doesn’t agree with them. I recently explained to someone who complained about my blog that everyone is welcome here, but not everyone will want to sit here. Meaning, this place is like a restaurant and everyone can walk inside and be fed if they wish to have nourishment. But sometimes, you’re just not going to be in the mood for this kind of food and I completely understand if you bypass this place. Not everyone wants the brown rice with tofu and bean sprouts.

And by nourishment, I hope you feel supported by me. I hope you know that you can come here and someone will listen as long as you’re speaking to the waitstaff respectfully. You can bitch about the chewiness of the brown rice, but that’s quite different from taking a dump in the middle of my restaurant floor. I mean, it is understandable that people will have different experiences with the food at any establishment and will want to (and should) inform the staff whether they like something or not because the restaurant will only be able to do better with feedback. But it’s pretty off-topic and doesn’t ever help the restaurant if you just drop trouser near the hostess stand and evacuate your bowels (hungry still?). Do you see the difference?

And I mean that–I think most readers will back me up and say that while I’m not always timely in returning emails, I always return emails and even have a daily space for people to use to extend the reach of
their own blog. And I like to think this is a safe place where you will not be mocked or made to feel like an idiot. But if you are not loving Jewdhists or vegetarians or those who would go to San Francisco with flowers in their hair, you may not love this place. And that is okay too. It’s a big blogosphere; no one needs to read this space daily in order to use it when you need it or not use it at all and if this isn’t your cup of tea, there is a blogroll of almost 1800 blogs where you can connect with a similar story. No one needs to feel alone or think that they don’t have a place to stand in the ALI blogosphere; we are a diverse community.

In the end, though, we’re all responsible for this collective figurative restaurant called the ALI blogosphere. Someone called me a leader this week and it’s actually a term I really don’t like and find mildly offensive and perhaps this reveals how kibbutznik I am at my core. In our home, Josh and I have the role of guider. It’s understood that we’re making some of the decisions because we have more information, but whenever possible, we allow the twins to be our equals. They get to choose meals or pick family activities and can (and do) call family meetings. We’re the only ones allowed to drive the car by state law, but that doesn’t mean we get to determine everywhere the car goes. Doing so would state an imbalance of power and I respect them too much to ever place myself above them or below them.

And therefore, I reject the notion that I’m a leader. I am one voice in a chorus of many and to borrow the motto of my college’s student union: “it’s your unique expression that adds to the whole.” The whole song changes whenever someone steps out of the blogosphere, and while that thought is not meant to trap you here forever (like a horror film! She started a blog not knowing that SHE COULD NEVER STOP!), what I mean is that every person who leaves is missed. I don’t think any of us can fathom how our words or our selves have positively affected other people. We simply aren’t privy to that information and can’t follow the arc of our words.

So, yes, I am important, and so are you, and so are you, and you over there as well. And therefore, we are all leader and hopefully, if you are willing, we can lead ourselves out of this month-long mess. I am asking three things: (1) click away when someone is saying something hurtful; do not engage unless you know the person is receptive to hearing ideas and is therefore inviting conversation (two of my favourite bloggers both respond to comments–especially the argumentative ones–off blog in order to treat it respectfully as a private conversation rather than create drama in the comment section). (2) do not engage if someone leaves a hateful comment on your blog. Delete it if it that is your policy or leave it up and ignore it. But do not allow yourself to be sucked into someone else’s irrational thoughts. There is a big difference between a comment that begins, “I have to disagree…” and one that begins, “you are a selfish bitch.” One invites a response and the other causes the person to throw up their hands in order to deflect the volley of hateful words.

Oh, and (3) I wrote this post despite the to-do list that is creating a cacophony of background noise right now because I thought it was important to say. Because it addresses the numerous emails I’ve received this week saying, “did you read X’s blog?” or my own horror at opening up yet another blog and seeing it begin, “in response to the anonymous comment on my last post…” And because I want to know if I am alone in this–in noticing the hate flooding the blogosphere right now–or if I am sitting in the grass with a circle of friends. Because frankly, I feel like I’ve lost a bit of my safe space, my trusting space, reading some of the posts and comments from the past four weeks. And rather than sit here alone wondering when the fire will burn out, I am asking who else will stamp down the flames.

I am sure this post will bring out the anonymous comments. And you should re-read everything above before you use that anonymous function. If you’re using it because you feel uncomfortable leaving a message of support and want to do so anonymously, that is perfectly understandable. If you’re using it to spew hate, you should know that I may delete it. And if you’re going to leave a comment saying, “but people invite commentary when they post their thoughts for the world to see and blah blah blah,” well, you missed the point of this post and you should go back and carefully read how I distinguish between the hate that is upsetting me and my feelings on respectful disagreement. And if you want to say, “but Mel, I think the blogosphere has been more loving as of late,” you can respectfully disagree with the way I’ve been seeing the blogosphere and I hope you tell me which blogs you’re reading so I can head over there. Because, as I realized this week, I have a lot of time for love; but I don’t have time for anger.

And yes, it’s all false bravado to name this post “poking the bear.” I have never been more anxious or unsure about hitting publish.

Updated:

People have emailed and asked if this was in regards to the post titled “Crash” last week and while it certainly refers to that too, my understanding was that that incident was put to rest. I said what I needed last week and closed the door on that one. What I am referring to is the anger popping up in the blogosphere as a whole. I think the rash of anger started external to the community with a site writing about an infertility blog and it has certainly continued until today with a blog I read (and I am purposefully not linking) explaining why treating infertility isn’t selfish and another explaining they had to take down an anonymous comment on a post about giving support. There has just been anger everywhere. And the point of this post, even though I refer to it as poking the bear, is not to stir up more anger and I apologize if that is what happens. But my message is solely please stop and deep breathe (and perhaps click away) if something has you upset rather than respond with more angry words.

I don’t want to discuss the anger or explain the anger–I simply want to know who else is turned off by the anger, finds reading blogs currently a difficult endeavour, and wishes we could get back to using this community as a place of support. I want to know who else is going deep breathe through their anger and help restore calm.

Last night, Josh came home and I was wearing my japa mala beads. “Hard day?” he asked.

For those who don’t meditate, mala beads are used to help you focus on your mantra. This string is a Rudraksha mala with 108 beads and a red string that lets my finger know when I’ve said my mantra 108 times. Sort of like a rosary.

Last year, I switched the mantra I had since high school. I still love my old mantra and use it sometimes for certain situations. But one day, I woke up and decided I needed a new mantra and the mantra I should use instantly popped into my head and it felt as right as when I changed my blogging name to Lollipop Goldstein. Which is not to say that other mantras were not contenders (after all, I came this close to calling myself Popsicle Jones), but they were dismissed very quickly.

Yesterday evening, I was teaching the ChickieNob how to use the japa mala beads and gave her my old mantra to use. After we were done, I threw them around my neck for safe keeping rather than putting them back in their pouch, which is how I greeted Josh at the door. But yes, they did make me feel better to have them around my neck. It was a hard day.

My life has taken on a lot of general work-related chaos and deadlines. A to-do list that cannot be prioritized. And I finally understood why everything was getting under my skin and setting me on edge when Josh labeled all of it background noise. He was using the term to mean, “just ignore it and take it all in stride” but the fact is that I am not very good with background noise. I like a quiet space to work and think. When I can’t focus in one area of my life, it spills into being distracted everywhere else. It is all small things, quiet buzzing, but I am hearing this figurative background noise and my mind is literally everywhere at once.

Whereas Josh needs the background noise. If I am not home, he plays the television while reading his Twitter feed and doing a crossword puzzle. He plays music while he works and needs sound while he drives.

Perhaps I was subconsciously wearing the beads to try to keep all the figurative background noise at a lower hum until I can deal with it and take it off my plate. Return to the quiet house. I feel like I need my life to be quiet in order to have those definitive moments come–the ones that brought me my new mantra or blogging name. But what a chicken-and-egg since I can’t get the quiet until I clear my plate of the noise. And I can’t clear my plate of the noise until I can find some quiet.

Do you work best with background noise or in silence? And is it different for different situations? Do you need music to focus or do you work best in a quiet space?

Grabbing my daily quota of mindless drivel (which is sort of like taking a vitamin, but I believe reading these things is much much healthier), I clicked on a story about Kate from Jon and Kate Plus 8 that remained with me long after I clicked over to read how Michelle Trachtenberg felt about Sarah Michelle Gellar’s pregnancy announcement.

In the article she said, “When I see magazines in stores it’s really difficult. It amazes me there is an industry that follows you around and writes stories about you. It destroys peoples’ lives. I need you to know, don’t believe what you read unless you hear it from that person.”

I’m not sure if she is speaking about traditional media or gossip magazines–I guess I sort of took the quote as referring to any articles (and…er…blog posts) about her. And the flippant answer is that when you put yourself in the public’s eye, you should expect people to write about you. But this really deserves a two-fold examination.

(1) How have we crossed over from discussing the work to discussing the person? Writing about James Frey’s book–either as a review or as an article–is understandable. Even discussing his behaviour and the fallout from the Oprah blah blah blah is understandable. But what about writing about what he’s wearing? Or his marriage? Or where he went on vacation–why do we cross the line from interest about the work to interest about the person? I mean, yes, it’s harder with Kate because her “work” is a reality show therefore her life is the work. But still, at what point does reading about the scandals go from discussing the work to Divorce Watch 2009?

(2) At what point do you place yourself in the public’s eye? I mean, is anyone who steps onto the television or movie screen “in the public’s eye?” Do you need to be earning a certain dollar amount? I mean, are all the Orcs in the Lord of the Rings trilogy fair game for the gossip magazines/blogs? When you take a step back, every single person who leaves their home or interacts with others places themselves in the public’s eye. Therefore, are we all fair game to have our lives documented and commented on by others? And does everyone want to read about the breakfast cereal mixture I’ve created because it’s fascinating and People magazine-worthy, in my opinion.

Show and Tell is wasted on elementary schoolers. Join several dozen bloggers weekly to show off an item, tell a story, and get the attention of the class. In other words, this is Show and Tell 2.0. Everyone is welcome to join, even if you have never posted before and just found out about Show and Tell for the first time today. So yank out a photo of the worst bridesmaid’s dress you ever wore and tell us the story; show off the homemade soup you cooked last night; or tell us all about the scarf you made for your first knitting project. Details on how to participate are located at the bottom of this post.

Let’s begin.

Homework: This is the one-year anniversary of the first Show & Tell post. In honour of that milestone, Liv came up with a brilliant idea in which to celebrate the year. Click on that last link (or use the tag list on the left sidebar) and you will be able to peruse all 52 Show & Tell posts. Your homework for this week is to choose one of your favourite past Show & Tells and come to class with it next week. In a comment, you’ll share the permalink to your favourite show and tell post that was entered on the Show & Tell list (in other words, the permalink from the person’s blog, not the permalink for the roundup of all the show & tell posts on this blog).

This week, I am bringing a Smith Island cake.

It’s an 8-layer cake made up of paper-thin yellow cake and slathered in between with a cooked-fudge icing. I learned how to make it last year when we were on Smith Island. I have been in love with this island since I first heard about it from a Washington Post article on the dearth of teachers in island communities. I think about the place daily.

An article I read about the cake a while back spoke about the terroir of the cake–whether it is really a Smith Island cake if it’s not made on Smith Island. Does the space somehow affect the overall product, much in the same way New York tap water is said to enhance the pizza dough and bagels in the city?

Terrior loosely means “sense of place” and it is how something edible can take on the characteristics of the space and if recreated anywhere else simply is missing that unique, indescribable quality that made it remarkable in the first place. It is what makes each glass of wine made from the same type of grape taste differently. And yet, what can you do when you are a three hour drive and a 45 minute boat ride away from the place that has your heart?

Have you ever fallen in love with a place simply by reading about it, before ever seeing it. And if you ever got to see the place, were you still in love after you left?

What are you showing today?

Click here or scroll down to the bottom of this post if this is your first time joining along (hint: link to the permalink for the post, not the main url for your blog and use your blog’s name, not your name). The list is open from now until late Tuesday night and a new one is posted every week.