So, I took Arun to his little day school this morning. Neither of us did as well as I had hoped. When I said that I had to go, he interpreted that to mean that HE had to go and he began to yell "No! No!" because he was having fun. When he realized that it was actually ME who would be doing the leaving he started crying. Ditto for yours truly, although I held my own tears until I got into the car. Yes, we will both be fine. Excuse me a moment while I dig out a wineglass....... SO...... I come back to a quiet home with only Anjali to contend with. Ha. PSYCH! I forgot about my husband, the Work At Home Dad (Also known as a "WAHD", the other player in the wargames that fathers play - the whole WAHD vs. WOHM Wars. What? Have not heard of them? Not of the wars where fathers fight about whether it is right to stay home with their kids or stick them in daycare? You have not seen the paternal rending of the garments over the unrelenting guilt? The pointing of fingers? What? Where have you been?)
Anyway, X is already sniffing around asking what's for lunch. Apparently, I need to find a quality nursery school for X and only then, will I be Home Free. Literally.
DUDE, it has blown up and I have no fucking clue how to fix it. I am so weary of fiddling with code, republishing, reloading photos on Fluckr. Bah. I got the banner fixed, but I think the rest will have to wait. I will still be publishing photos on this blog - Anju's 12 Week and Arun's 1st Day of School must be shared. Besides, Anju's got this whole Mad Scientist thing going on with her hair lately. Seriously - how can I deprive my loyal blogfriends of THAT?
I read Cane River by Lalita Tademy recently. This book is based on actual people and covers the lives of 3 generations of women - beginning pre-civil war on through reconstruction. The details of daily life in that era, both for slaves and freed people was fascinating. And heartbreaking. It was a difficult read for me emotionally with just having had a baby. My heart grew so heavy during some sections, that it was hard to let go - even when I was not reading the book, certain events that had happened in it would still linger in my mind. Just the fact that I can choose to nurse my baby whenever the hell I want does not sit lightly with me.
The thing is, when I was a girl, I was so in love with the romanticized version of the Civil War - hoop skirts, mint juleps, fancy balls? Count me in. I read Gone with the Wind when I was 11 years and have read it 3 times since. Of course, in my adulthood I see now what complete bullshit novels such as that one are and I understand why black folks have such issues with them. I feel a little ashamed of how I used to view the deep South in that era, but I do logically know that I was just a kid/young adult who was not really thinking things through. It is also easier to believe that things were not so bad because to face the truth that humans could be so indifferent to other humans and treat them so casually as property? It boggles my mind.
And the racism is still there. Still here. Still everywhere. I am not saying anything so profound, I know it and I am sure you know it, too. And the scariest kind of racism exists today, the sort that runs just underneath the surface, the sort that does not necessarily reveal itself. As an adult, I have had to look hard at myself. I have had to question previously held notions that such novels as Gone with the Wind built for me at such an impressionable young age. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, but it had to be done.