We all know I despise the current U.S. administration. For a long while, every day brought a new news report that would make my blood boil in outrage. Then, somehow, I settled into a slow simmer. It looked like maybe things weren't as bad as I'd been thinking. I became optimistic. That was until this morning.
The latest is a report on so-called "Free Speech Zones." Law enforcement officials pen up any dissenters (like, oh, me, for example) trying to protest at public presidential appearances. Out of sight, out of hearing range, and the media isn't allowed in. The report pointedly asks; isn't the whole country supposed to be a Free Speech Zone? And this isn't an ultra-Leftist publication, either; this is the American Conservative!
So my friends and I were lamenting the state of freedom in our nation this morning. And one friend spits out the million-dollar question: "Yeah, but what can I do?" That got me to thinking, always a dangerous thing. What can I do?
So what did I do? I went out and became a card-carrying-member of the ACLU. And you should, too! I then sent off letters to my three elected representatives in Congress and posted this blog. Before the end of the week, I plan to write to Bush and his cohorts directly. And I will finally, finally, start trying to reach an opinion on the Democratic field of presidential candidates. Regime change in this country isn't going to happen through apathy, that's for sure.
My kitchen is: Sort of in limbo. More on that tomorrow.
Sasha's powers of language, and, in turn, of persuasion, are growing by leaps and bounds. An example: She demanded and more or less ate dinner about ten minutes before we did this evening. As a result, she was stuck in her booster seat with nothing to do for quite some time while we finished our own meals. Thus ensued a fascinating conversation.
Sasha: Mommy? Mommy, out.
Mommy: No, honey, I'm not done eating yet. You have to wait until mommy or daddy is done.
After repeating minor variations on this theme for about five, maybe six times, Sasha developed a new tactic.
Sasha: Daddy, mommy, daddy.
Clearly this means "Daddy, it is obvious to all of us that mommy is being unreasonable. Why don't you have a talk with her and show her the error of her ways?"
Daddy: No, honey. We're still eating dinner. We'll let you out of your seat when we are done eating.
Sasha: Daddy, out! Out!
Again, obviously, this means, "Fine, pops, if you won't talk to mommy, will you at least let me out yourself?" This got her only the same response from daddy she had already received. Thus she tries a new angle:
Sasha: Mommy, baba.
Mommy: No, it's not time for a bottle. It's almost bath time, and then you'll go to bed.
Sasha: Mommy? Out. Out!
This entire conversation had a certain amount of recursion in it; moreover, once it was done, we ran through the whole thing again two more times, like some sort of fugue. One must give Sasha a great deal of credit for leveraging her mastery of a few words into such a compelling and crafty argument.
Soon, her vocabulary will outnumber the Oreos in a package, and then... then we will see some true masterpieces of persuasive thought. I can hardly wait.
My kitchen is: Clean and spicy. I made three dozen cranberry muffins this morning and got my nails done. Looks like I'm feeling better, again!
When we were visiting my family in Michigan, I learned something very important about my daughter: she loves Beefaroni.
And I don't mean "love" like I love a nice hot bath, or a good novel. I'm talking toddler love. Panicky, desperate, beg-for-it-for-breakfast-and-eat-the-whole-can love.
Today, Sasha has had some sort of stomach ailment, and threw up six times in three hours. And now that her tummy appears to have settled, she wants... Beefaroni. Blech. The mind of a toddler is a mysterious thing.
My kitchen is: Sticky. Beefaroni isn't exactly a tidy meal for someone new to the whole utensil idea.
I've been remiss in blogging lately. Lots of reasons why:
Blogging isn't the only thing I've been neglecting. I've also been getting zero exercise, eating awful food, forgetting to take my vitamins, and in general taking terrible care of myself.
Of course, the one thing I learned early on in Binkyland was that sometimes, you should ignore all of the other things in your life that seem so important and just take care of yourself. It's OK if the baby cries, sometimes you've just got to get to the bathroom and then make yourself a sandwich.
Well, last night, I started following my own advice. My dinner last night featured a large salad. I went to bed very early last night (10:30! Early!) Today, I ran, and showered, and even shaved my legs!
But I'm still trying to keep my computer use to minimal levels, lately. Stabbing pains will do that to a girl. So if I seem a little quiet, well... it's not you, it's me. Really.