Art Takes Time

Although I prefer to present myself as a moderately modest person (I'm so modest, aren't I?), I recognize that I do have a few talents up my sleeve. Fine arts are not one of these admitted gifts.

On the long drive home from Costco last week, I was searching for activities to keep both Harper entertained and our sanity. Harper loves to devour crayons (yes, she bites, chews AND ingests them), and giving markers to a 2 year old is a car sell-ability's death sentence. So, I handed Harper a pen and a cardboard box we used to package some of our bulk grocery items. She started doodling, then demanded that I draw a cow for her. Okay, I thought. I remember doodling cows in 6th grade when I decided to become a 12 year old vegetarian. I can do this. Then she wanted a snake. Easy enough. A few curved lines and a forked tongue. Done. Then she wanted a cat, and that's when her demands began challenging my 6th grade artistic abilities. When she called for a seal, I knew it was over. I did my best to draw my mind's manifestation of a monk seal. In the moment, I thought I did a pretty good job. Just as I was drawing the seal's fins (seals have fins, right?), Harper started to scream and whine that I wasn't drawing fast enough, to which I hastily (and seriously) replied: "Harper! Art takes time!", thinking I was teaching her a valuable lesson in patience and art appreciation.

Rivs gave a glance over his shoulder from behind the wheel to look at my self-professed "art" and snickered. I too decided to inspect my drawings, and upon realizing how amusingly awful they were, began to laugh.

Yeah, art takes time, and apparently vaguely decipherable animal drawings that could have been sketched by a stoned 3-toed sloth take time too.

Exibit A


Yeah, I labeled "cow" for my 2 year old. That's how bad the drawings were. Oh, and the blob on the far right corner? Yeah, the one with the inverted unicorn horn? That's right, the one that looks like a pick-axe with an eye? That's a seal.

Alaska was cool, but Hawaii is mo' better

Even though Alaska was a fun adventure, it's pretty clear that Hawaii is the place we call home, though Harper adjusted well to the changes and found alternative sources of fun to replace her favorite Hawaiian activities.

Instead of splashing in warm, tropical tide pools, Harper and Teya decided that becoming decently immersed in frigid Alaskan rain water was sufficient.






En lieu of picking wild Hibiscus flowers, Harper took to collecting dandelions and treating them as delicately as any exotic flower.


After 2 solid years of rarely wearing more than a diaper and owning only one pair of shoes, which were worn very sparingly, Harper made little fuss about dressing in sweaters and actually wearing shoes on a regular basis...



...although on more than one occasion, despite the weather ranging in the 50s and 60s, Harper stripped down and had her way with the Alaskan rivers.


With no sand to shovel into buckets, Harper and Teya found creative ways to put their toys to use.


And with no ocean warm enough to enjoy, Harper happily settled for cold, swan poop-infested stagnant ponds to dip her feet into.





All that to show that we're really, really glad to be back home. Really.

Good thing we gave Harper a Uni-Sex name

The past few days have been a real testament to Harper's inherent tomboy-ness. Since our plane ride home from Portland to Hawaii was a 6 hour day trip, I knew I'd need to stock up on lots of fun, new activities to keep Harper occupied. Dollarama was where it was at, apparently, and I spent $14 on some of the coolest toys a lil' babe could ask for. One of those toys was a little mermaid doll with long luscious locks and a tiny comb. I thought to myself: "I don't really want to condition Harper to play with dolls just because she's a girl, but combing hair is a pretty androgynous activity. You don't think Tristan from Legends of the Fall let his perfectly luminescent head 'o hair go a day without combage, do you? Or hows about Anderson Cooper, you silver fox you... We all know you have a wooden boar's hair brush in your back pocket at all times." So I bought the dolls along with 13 other small trinkets, and put them in a little backpack for the plane ride.

When I handed Harper the doll and comb about 2 hours into our journey, Harper's face lit up with excitement. In turn I waited with baited breath for her to pick up the little brush and start delicately combing Ariel's hair. Intrigued, Harper carefully inspected the mermaid's cranium. "Ooh, she's conjuring up a cool 'do for Ariel!" I thought proudly. And what a naive thought that was, because Harper took the doll and instantly began methodically pulling out small tufts of the doll's hair until she was completely bald. Then, with a look of satisfaction, she proceeded to play with it as if to say "there, now she's beautiful. Exactly how she should be: bald like my dad and mom." The comb was never even an option.

The second indicator (of many) that Harper is quite rough n tough was the short-term adoption of her new "pet". Yesterday morning, while attempting to unpack the many boxes we had left in our apartment over the summer while we frolliced in Alaska, Montreal and Oregon, i noticed Harper grab something, put it to her neck and say "my buh, my buh" (translation: "my bug") Upon inspection I found that Harper caught and had instantly began to cherish a sizable cockroach that took up the majority of her hand. I tried to get her to drop it, but she clutched it as if it were an unopened pack of Dora the Explorer fruit snacks. So, call me a bad mother, but I let her keep it. If you had seen her rock it in her arms saying 'shhh shhh baby" as she did, you would have let her keep it too. Harper LOVED that cockroach for the hour she had it, before she played it to death, literally. (The love story ends with cockroach guts on Harper's hand as she exclaimes "duhty buh" (dirty bug). Don't worry, I promptly washed her hands with hot water, anti bacterial soap and some hand sanitizer for extra germ fighting insurance.)

She found another one today (it's not my house that necessarily dirty, it's just Hawaii, but I decided it better not to let her make a habit out of befriending creepy insects, so I made Rivers flush it down the toilet. By the look on Harper's face, you would have thought that we had just dismembered her favorite doll or something equally as evil. She cried for a solid 15 minutes and only calmed down once we gave her a treat and took her outside, apologizing for murdering her baby the entire time.

So sorry 'bout it... Our little girl likes her dolls bald and loves to play with cockroaches. I think that's worse than loving ponies, but a little better than liking Hannah Montana. So I say we're shooting for about average.

Enjoying America's other annexed state.

What I had originally anticipated as a summer of frigid boredom and isolation in Alaska has turned into some of the most enjoyable few months of my life. If you haven't yet made the trek to the Final Frontier (and it really lives up to its name), then you should. Alaska is breathtakingly beautiful, filled with friendly people, lots of dogs and lots of salmon. Pretty much all of the stereotypes you think of when you imagine this place are accurate. Bears really do live in people's backyards, being charged by a moose is truly an immanent threat, you could literally catch a spawning salmon with your bare hands in any given neighborhood creek and the produce sucks.

Probably the best part of being here is that it is really kid-friendly. Tawny and I had visions of walking our kids (who are not siblings) around the concrete sidewalks that surround our apartment complex while freezing in the arctic weather. What we've found is a place peppered with public parks and well-manicured walking paths connecting them all, bordered by a clean (and okay, admittedly frigid) river. We're outside enjoying nature just as much (if not more) than we do in Hawaii.

Oh yeah, the mosquitoes really are gargantuan and vicious...






Whether it's Hawaii or Alaska, we can't seem to keep Harper out of the water.

Man, I (don't) Feel Like a Woman

Over the past year, I've come to the stark realization that if I were in a committed relationship with another woman, I would definitely be considered the man. This is probably not a surprising disclosure to many, seeing as my hair is generally shorter than most men's and I tend to dress in oversized T-shirts and haven't worn heels since platform sneakers were all the rage in 8th grade. Still, the true obviousness of my (heterosexual) butchness has really come to my attention since being in Alaska.

In Hawaii I spent most of my time with Lindsay. I think we look equally gay, so it was probably hard to really tell who wore the "pants" in our pseudo-relationship, if you know what I mean. In fact, we'd sometimes playfully argue over who people generally assumed was the guy of our relationship. Here in Alaska, my femininity is contrasted against the embodiment of 'woman': Tawny Catudal.

Each day, Tawny, Teya, Eden, Harper and I take small adventures around anchorage in search of fun things to do. So far, I've been referred to as "sir" once, followed by a sincere compliment of what a beautiful family I have, obviously implying that i was the father of Harper, Teya and baby Eden. Seeing as this comment came from a 70 year old Chuck E. Cheese employee, I pawned the remark off on poor elderly sight and/or dementia. It was only days later that the true nature of said remark became overt and undeniable.

Tawny and I were taking the kids to Bouncin' Bear, an Alaskan indoor inflatable playground. The young lady working the cash gave Tawny and I a good look, then asked me to sign the waiver as the legal guardian of our apparently 'modern family'. Then the cashier told us that siblings receive discounted admission, so Harper and Teya's entrance fee would be reduced. Ok, point taken. If I'm not mistaken for a man, I'm at the very least considered to be the father-figure in a same-sex parenthood.

Our image of being a progressive family unit is not helped by the fact that Harper consistently refers to both me and Tawny as "mommy". Harper absolutely adores Tawny. When Harper sees her for the first time each day, she lets out an excited squeal, holds out her arms and says "MOMMY!!!" And, being the nurturing, loving, quintessential mother figure that Tawny is, she smothers Harper in kisses saying "oh, my baby!" This greeting, when performed in public, only furthers the notion that we are in fact both the mothers of three beautiful girls.

Not that Tawny and I are ashamed of this image. Actually, we kind of bask in it. Hey, if it gets sibling discounts for the kids and stops men from hitting on us (ok, who am I kidding- stops men from hitting on Tawny), then we're all for it.

"Oh, what a lovely woman and her child..."



"...And look at the father. Not wait-is she a girl or a boy? No, not the baby. The baby is obviously a girl. I mean that mother-or is it the father? Oh well, cute kid, at any rate..."

It's been a while. You look great.

Okay everyone, don't get too excited about this post. It's only a quasi-return.

I've been omni-consumed with writing my thesis over the past few months, with time for little else other than full-time motherhood, Rivers, teaching a couple of classes and The Bachelorette (who does Bentley think he is?) But seriously, with the exception of nourishment, the upkeep of minimal personal hygiene (notice the shaved head)and Sunday night dates, I have been glued to the computer researching and writing. The good news is that my thesis is officially due on July 16th, and I am currently in the editing phase which means that my return to blogging is imminent.

I miss recording the events of life in cyberspace. So many things have happened that have been wiped clean from my clotted mind. Memories are nothing without you, internet.

Notice that over the past 6 months, my personal appearance and thesis writing dedication have had an inverse relationship. As the amount of my dedication to thesis writing increases, by personal appearance decreases. Or at least the amount of hair on my head. I guess its subjective. All I know is that I feel like a dude.

Harper and Rivs are still cute though, so that's good.

Martha Stewart and the Facebook Revolution

In light of the spirit of revolution sweeping the Arab world with seeming domino-efficiency, social media has been dubbed the finger that flicked the first piece. Seldom does one hear of the Egyptian uprising without the terms “Facebook” or “Twitter” enmeshed into the revolution’s narrative of success. It has become common knowledge to anyone following the events surrounding the revolt against Mubarak’s regime that the initial Tahrir Square protest on January 25th was organized on Facebook. And like a mama bird proud of her chick’s newfound flight, Western media were quick to christen the social network as victors in the Egyptian uprising, now better known as “The Facebook Revolution”. But were international media over-zealous in bestowing the victory to the medium rather than the Egyptian people?

The mere title “Facebook Revolution” seems to give credit to the social network site as though it were itself an ideological entity determined to oust Mubarak. Deeming Egypt’s revolution a victory of social media represents the momentous event as an isolated phenomenon occurring in a vacuum, instigated by the medium itself.

Another tidbit of common knowledge is that the initial Egyptian protests were instigated by youth. So, an important question to posit is whether the extensive use of social media in organizing the January 25th protests is simply because it is the primary communicative tool of the youth. The very nature of the internet is that it compresses space and time, making communication across vast areas quick and effortless given the necessary tools (computer, broadband connection). Following Tunisia’s success in revolting against Ben Ali’s authoritarian regime, the Egyptian youth acquired newfound confidence for a longstanding message: get Mubarak out. Seeing as 78% of Egypt’s youth are Facebook users, it is only fitting that they would choose the social network site to disseminate their message of protest. This could likewise explain why the first few days of protest consisted mainly of youth, or those who accessed the message via social media. However, once mainstream media outlets indexed the events as newsworthy and broadcast the events on satellite TV, the spirit of uprising was proliferated throughout Egypt, thus inviting non-Facebook users to join the revolt (ie the older generation and the poor). This could be a strong indicator that although social media aided in organizing initial protests, the revolution couldn’t have been as successful without the older generation’s participation (lawyers/doctors/union strikes), who represent only 22% of all Facebook users in the country.

Let's say Martha Stewart is marooned on a deserted island and desperately wants to make coconut cake(because hey, she's Martha Freaking Stewart). Unfortunately, unlike in Lost, it appears that this island really is deserted, which means no readily available ingredients. But again, she's Martha Freaking Stewart, and by golly she's going to eat cake. So she shimmies up a tree and harvests coconuts, grating some for the cake and pressing others for oil. She then braves the ruthless roosters to steal eggs from the wild hens nesting behind her hut. She arduously picks wheat growing in the valley to the west and grinds it into organic flour using nothing but some river stones she found on an afternoon hike. And, just to make the cake extra delicious, Martha hacks down some sugar cane, presses it by rolling large boulders over it, catching the sugary juice in a hollowed coconut shell (Martha recycles). Now, everything is ready for her feast except for one looming detail: she ain't got no fire. So, no bakey-bakey. She knows she can slowly bake her cake in an underground makeshift oven, but she still needs a match to start the fire. Defeated, Martha loses hope that she will ever again bite into a moist, creamy coconut cake. Then one day, in search of some new banana leaves to compliment the color tones of her bamboo hut, Martha happens upon a backpack that had washed up onto shore, drying in the sun. Quickly, Martha opens the bag hoping to find some kind of fire-starting device. And she does. In the outside pocket of the Jansport bag, Martha excitedly pulls out a single, solitary match. Hallelujah, and it just so happens that Martha brings her cake mix everywhere she goes in a gorgeous hand-crocheted palm leaf fanny pack. So, Martha pours, mixes and bakes a delicious cake. Later, after Martha is rescued by one of her old inmates friends from when she was 'lock up', everyone says "wow, it's so wonderful that match was there. Otherwise, you could have never made and enjoyed that delicious cake. That match was really a godsend, wasn't it. Imagine if that match hadn't been on that otherwise deserted island? Don't you just love that match, Martha?" Martha slowly nods her head in agreement, but is crying inside. "What about me?" she wonders. "There would have been no cake at all if I hadn't harvested the wheat. Or shimmied the coconut tree. Or pressed the sugar cane. Now all anyone ever cares about is that stupid match. But I made the mix. I made the mix..."

Get it? Martha does.

Egyptian Chocolate

Have you ever had a friend with lots of chocolate who didn't share it with anyone but you? Everyone knew that he was horribly selfish, but you didn't really care because, hey, you love chocolate! And when everyone else started starving while you and your friend became mildly obese on the abundant flow of rich cacao, it still didn't matter because, hey, you love chocolate! Then one day the poor, starving people started to demand chocolate from your friend. They said "it's not fair! The only reason he has chocolate is because he keeps stealing it from us! Look-we have proof!" (Cue black-and-white security tape of friend commandeering a Hershey truck). They start calling him a tyrant and a thief. And, well, you still love chocolate, but you don't want the people to see how fat you've become from all that delicious, creamy goodness. So you start to distance yourself from your friend. Heck, after a few days you've lost enough weight that you're hanging out with your newfound friends and calling him a thieving tyrant yourself!

Perhaps you haven't had a friend such as this, but the United States of America sure has. And his big fat name is Hossni Mubarak.

Remember when democracy in the Middle East was the foreign policy American dream? Well, it turns out that democracy is a privilege of the chosen few, allowed only if The People can promise to vote in America's interest. Unfortunately the USA has a poor track record of supporting oppressive dictators in the name of its own stability and strategic needs. Then, once their cover is blown (they've been getting fat on chocolate, too!), they are relatively quick to backtrack and denounce their BFF as an oppressive violator of human rights.

This isn't to suggest that Mubarak is not a thieving tyrant who steals the people's chocolate because indeed, he is. It's just that we never seem to blame the friend's friend who got fat on the stolen chocolate (AKA oil, CIA dirty work, War on Terror, Israel, etc.) How can the US be such an advocate of democracy while simultaneously supporting an authoritarian leader who denigrates all notions of democracy?

It doesn't seem too long ago that this nation initiated an all-out war in order to overthrow a dictator and instill democracy. Now how is it that this dictator was so heinous while for 30 years the US administration had been puckering up to Mubarak, an only slightly-less evil version of the aforementioned? And if memory serves us correctly, it wasn't too long ago that Saddam was America's BFF when it was time to fight Iran (circa 1980)...

Ah yes, it seems that democracy is a strategy rather than an ideology for some in the USA. I guess it's time to go on a diet.