I Want to See My Name In Lights

Back in April, my dad surprised me and came to the States to visit me--on the exact same week as my grandmother's planned trip. Since he didn't want to fly from Phoenix to San Diego (for a number of reasons), my brother accompanied him. You would think that with 5 people, there wouldn't be time for the usual inquiries and inquisitions. You'd think wrong. There is ALWAYS time and opportunity for an inquisition. Historically, my father has some basic concerns: 1) my weight 2) my marital/parenthood status 3) direction of my career (=income). The best way to make me provide details is to bring examples from people we know and let him know where I am in relation to those people. I have hated these 'examples' (comparisons) my entire life.

This is a close paraphrasing (and occasional exact quote of the conversation):

'Your brother and I were talking on the drive over. He was telling me about his job and how stressful it is. I'm really proud of how focused he is on his job.'

'He really is doing well. I think he works too hard, though. He needs to pace himself, otherwise he'll burn out and hate everything.'

'He showed me this blackboard they have in his office. They have it on his computer*, too. It's a list of everyone at the company and who's the best**. He's been tied for either first or second for at least 5 months now...'

'I know! My baby brother*** is so cool! And he makes it look so effortless. I love that he doesn't just go for the money, he educates people and cares. You have no idea how unethical people are willing to be, just for a little extra money or to brag.'

'So, how about you?'

Blank look of confusion.

'Are you at the top of your blackboard?'

So I spent a good half hour explaining my job, how project management is evaluated differently and how my group is isolated so there isn't anyone else to rank me against.

'Are you saying there's no one else in the company that has a similar position?'

'There are, but different.'

'So where is your name on the blackboard compared to them?'

'Dad, we don't have a blackboard. Our work isn't measured like that.'

'Are you telling me that your name isn't even on the blackboard?! BUT WHY?! Can't you try just a little harder?'

And this is why I say I'm a perpetual disappointment to my parents. This was also before we even got to the topic of my burgeoning obesity which will kill me before my time. My poor parents cry just about every time we talk about anything outside of the weather.

*My father is not very computer savvy.
** My brother is in sales, not project management which is why it's easier to compare his work against his co-workers.
***He hates it when I call him my baby brother, but it's true. He will always be my baby brother.

It's Raining Babies (Wheee!)

A brief note on the state of things around me now: I have 9 friends who are either pregnant (and due soon) or have given birth in the last year. I am possibly claiming a pair of twin boys amongst them as my own. I mean I'm happy for everyone, but the twins (and their parents) make me do the happy dance just about every time I think of them. Under the guise of 'niceness' and 'being a friend', I have been slowly bribing the parents with food and baked goods for access to cute, cuddly babies when they arrive. My plan is going quite well so far. I don't even mind occasionally sharing said babies with other friends and aunties.

Speaking of babies, everyone in my family is asking about them. My grandmother, aunt, uncle, cousins...the parents have been asking for years and I ignore them as best I can. Which brings me to an odd(er) exchange I had with my mother over the last few days.

We were talking about my new sister-in-law who had gone to apply for papers/visas to come to the US to visit their family. They're a very extensive, close-knit family. Apparently, their typical Friday lunches involve a good 80-100 family members. I find this impressive, if for no other reason than the fact that that many people can get along well enough to not want to gossip, back stab and out-rumor each other. I'm also amazed that we have married into such a family. I'm not saying we're the gossiping and rumor mongering type (we kind of are), I'm just saying I find it interesting that my almost hermit family has been joined by the bonds of marriage to such a people.

Back to my conversation with my mom: her advice to the in-laws was to skip the trip and the paperwork, just stay home and avoid the hassle. After all, it would be so expensive and even if everything worked out and they got their papers and came to the US, it would be so depressing. They'd be stuck in their relative's houses during a time of economic hardship, surrounded by bad news and reminded of how bad things are every time they went out and saw all the closed shops and businesses. My mother is nothing if not an optimistic ray of sunshine. "But, what can be done? They're the kind of people who just can't get enough socializing. I mean they LOVE spending time together. It makes them so happy..."

Which got me thinking, what makes my mother happy? She has had a very difficult life and endured great sorrow, but there should be something that brings her joy. So the next day, I emailed her and asked, "I don't think I've ever asked or known, what makes you happy."

She replied, in all caps, "BABYSITTING!!! I LOVE BABYSITTING!!!"

Nice try. So I responded as the optimistic and observant daughter that I am, "That's GREAT! Older Brother will be so glad to know that once he has kids, he can bring them to you. You'll be happy, they'll be in good hands and he can go about doing the things he does..."

To say that she freaked out a bit is an understatement. "I MEANT YOUR BABIES!!! I DON'T WANT TO TAKE CARE OF HIS BABIES! STOP PRETENDING YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. WHERE ARE MY GRANDBABIES?!"

And what is there to say to this kind of mania, really? "You should really be careful what you wish for mom. Of course, it's too late now, but for future reference you should think longer before you scream to the world that you want to 'babysit!!!'"

I'm such a good daughter.

Where I Foment Scandals From Afar

If you ever meet me, you'll notice a few things: I have a fondness for red shoes and red lipstick; I am vain and I love big earrings. My parents did their best to quash all of these characteristics when I was growing up. I remember my mom once asking, "Where do you get this from? I don't wear jewelery or make-up. But this?!"

I may have solved the mystery.

My grandmother was visiting me for a week. Knowing she is going back home to attend my cousin's wedding, shopping was on our itinerary. There was also a long list of family members who had asked for dresses/shoes/accessories for the same wedding, "if I came across anything". Honestly, we did our best. We visited just about every mall, outlet and store I could think of from Carlsbad to Downtown San Diego. We couldn't find anything that fit the styles, budget and tastes of the people involved. I incorporated shopping into our sight seeing, meal times and social calls. I had deep conversations with friends as I skimmed racks and racks of clothes that were entirely inappropriate for my purposes. I actually exhausted my grandmother on Saturday after whisking her from one mall to another.

The thing that bothered me most was that my grandmother had seen my various red shoes--and she commented on them. The shoe loving woman who wore high heels and corralled a gaggle of grandchildren on her long walks wearing a chador loved MY shoes. Every time I wore one, she'd start giggling with joy and say, "What pretty shoes!". I was determined to find her a pair she would wear.

Finally on Tuesday, on the way to the airport we stopped by Marshalls. I saw a pair of red sandals that she clearly liked. I grabbed them in her size and kept walking. Slightly behind me, she was trying to keep up, saying, "I can't get those. I can't take them home, it's not becoming. *giggle giggle giggle* Your mom will not approve. *giggle* Maybe if I wear them when I have company over." I was already at the register paying, if for no other reason than to hear her giggle like that all the way to the airport. And perhaps wait for the call from my mom, asking me what I was thinking buying my grandmother red shoes. We bonded over our love of red that has always been a mystery.

We stopped at the next store, where I moved on to phase two of my unintentional plan to upset the balance of proper dress amongst the women-folk in my family. My new sister-in-law will also be attending the wedding, and had hinted that she would like a dress. My parents are of the modest dress mentality. So much so that half the things I wear (shorts, sleeveless shirts, almost any formal wear) scandalizes them and results in a polite but firm request to 'see what else I have to wear'. My sister-in-law apparently is not so fond of these suggestions (and I don't blame her one bit). So imagine my glee when I saw a lovely green dress that may have lacked sleeves and may also have been low cut. The good news: 1. It will look great on her. 2. She loves green 3. She will practically be obligated to accept the dress because I got it for her. 4. It was almost 60% off! The bad news? I will be getting a number of scandalized calls, wondering "What I was thinking?! Had I forgotten who I was shopping for? WHAT WAS I THINKING!?!"

I blame it on the math. With two purchases, I made three people very happy--maybe more. I did some very good deeds. I may have thought of doing this on my own, but would never have gone through with it without encouragement from a slightly mischevious friend. Now excuse me as I adjust my halo. It may get knocked off soon.

Am I Evil? Perhaps

My parents have been visiting us over two trips; a few days at a time. The first trip provided some interesting moments and revelations, including the very real possibility that I'm a slightly wicked child after all.

M started running around the same time that I would trot over to the park by our house. By the time I joined TNT last year, he had joined the Tri(athlon) Club and was occasionally participating in local runs and bike rides. He has often said that he started running because I started, which flatters me to no end. Today, he runs and bikes much more regularly than I have since last October.

When he came home a couple of weeks ago (the first time my parents were here) he was still in his running clothes, sweaty and flushed from his 6 mile run. My parents started oohing and ahhing over how much more fit he looked and how impressive that it was that he was becoming so active. My dad couldn't stop admiring his will power and committment. My mom kept whispering to me how much better he looked. I kept smiling, because I know my parents and knew exactly what would be coming after all this admiration. I almost had a little countdown going.

To their credit, they both held out much longer than I thought they would. On the afternoon of their second day here (less than 24 hours), they asked if I ever went running with M. "No, he's asked me, but I don't like being left behind so I don't go at all." Now, this may have been a good time to say, "No, I ran with my Team In Training group until October, when I went to semi-retirement because of my injuries." But that would have opened a whole new can of worms, explaining the fact that I hid a half marathon and one of my proudest accomplishments for so long. So I let it be. Later than night, my dad started another conversation with M, asking if he would go to Phoenix and train my brother to run. (My brother who played rugby for a few years until he injured his knee, etc. who still managed to train until he could barely stand).

"You should also take GWCH with you."

Looking at me, "Of course, running may be too much for you right now" (slowly evaluating my figure with a little sadness) "Maybe you can walk around the block a little bit, then work your way up to walking to the park..." (the park is about 3/4 of a mile from our place) "You just need to get started and maybe one day you can run, too. With a better diet, you can probably lose some weight while you're at it!" He said this with the optimism of a man who hasn't given up on his child yet, a man who is still waiting for a miracle that will provide him with stories to take home of his daughter getting up and finding her legs.

M slowly said, "I started running because of GWCH. I didn't used to run, even when my co-workers kept encouraging me to. She inspired me." (Again, big brownie points to a man who can defend and compliment me at the same time).

"Well, that was back when she was in college. I don't know if she actually ran then, probably just walked to the library and said she was running."

M opened his mouth to say he was referring to my training and the half marathon that I ran last year. I stopped him with a calm look and a smile stolen from the Cheshire cat. My running was officially my secret. You see, in the past, this conversation would reduce me to tears. I would be angry that my parents didn't think I was acceptable in some way; or the fact that they would talk about my fixing/improving myself as if I wasn't even there. I would probably even be a little angry at M for accidentally providing an opportunity for them to criticize me. But this time things were different. I am officially too old to care that I don't fit into the image of how great I could be. I have come a tiny step closer to accepting myself, flaws, pounds and all. I also have a secret that I kind of enjoy keeping. There is no need to defend myself, now that I know what I can do. I can just sit back and nod in agreement when they say it would be good if I could be motivated enough to wake up early and walk around the block. I may be a little evil to get such (perverse) joy withholding information like this from my parents, but I can't help it.

Hey Jealousy

I'm back! Well, kind of--more in the process of coming back. I have been away on a few adventures and trips, been duly punished for my time away from the office by one of my (least) favorite co-workers and have been writing friends fun emails that none of them have received on account of all of the emails ending up in my Drafts folders. I apologize to everyone who has been emailing me and hasn't gotten a response in a while. I'd like to think I'm not rude, just forgetful. This should not surprise any of you.

On a happier note, I have been crocheting quite a bit lately. My new hobby started in August when I had rare foresight to start a project before the time had passed. I started a scarf for a friend while I was visiting my grandmother. My grandmother kept commenting on how cute it was, how quickly it was coming along and how lucky my friend was to have me thinking of her. Now, I may not have seen my grandmother in five years, but I have not forgotten how unsubtle she can be. Despite my firm belief that a project intended for one person, should only be completed for that person--I broke my rule and gave my first scarf to my grandmother. She was gleeful. She went back to Iran and showed it to everyone, bragging about her talented granddaughter who loved her so much that she made instant scarves for people. Normally, I would be happy to hear about people singing my praises--however this time around the praise has caused a ruckus. My father started asking my mom why I had never made him anything (except for the assorted baked goods, foods and knit scarf and cap). Did I not love him enough? Why was I ignoring him? Did I not remember how much he hated the cold? Now you may think this sounds a little bit like a jealous child throwing a tantrum*--you'd be right. That is why my poor mother started a scarf for him which was quickly going no where. She sounds miserable every time I call her. I told her to drop the crochet hook and yarn, and wait for me to send them a package.

Since then, I have finished a few scarves--which are a great project to work on while on cross country flights--and have a growing stack of patterns and yarn. I'm really enjoying the quiet that comes with focusing on a pattern and trying to create something pretty and useful. It is almost as satisfying as cooking--just more enduring and fewer calories.

Unfortunately, it is not a hobby that allows multi-tasking. Sure, I can watch TV and attend early morning meetings, but I can't type and crochet at the same time. Soon, I will have to find a balance between yarn related activities and posting stories that are swirling around in my head.


*As a side note, if you ever wonder where some of my more charming personality traits come from, please remember these family moments. Especially the subtlety, impatience and jealousy parts. While I would like to think that this Pomegranate has rolled far from the tree, it initially dropped pretty close to it.

Oh Brother

It was a matter of time before it happened and deep down, I know it probably wasn't personal. That didn't make me embrace the usurper of my throne any more. His arrival turned my world upside-down and it hasn't stopped turning since.

Until 1977, I was a carefree little princess at the center of my family's universe. Uncles bribed my mom to play with me, aunts proudly showed me off to their friends and grandparents would monopolize my time as their God given right. I was the benevolent and adored little dictator of our universe.

Life was good.

But then my parents placed us all in exile--in a cold land far, far from my happy kingdom. On that cold, March morning in the strange state of Iowa he came to our world and we have never been the same.

Had he been healthy, perfect and happy, he would have been tough competition. But he was none of those things. He came to this world, barely breathing and hanging on to life to pacify my mother. I was lost and ignored in the shuffle, left to adjust to a cold, distracted world. I was powerless in the face of his illness. I could neither lift the darkness that had entered our world, nor could I charm my way back into anyone's attention span. After all, it is hard to compete for attention against a child who is only sent home to die.

And so, I did the only thing a disgruntled princess in my position would do: I made myself invisible and harbored a distrust of people that hasn't quite gone away.

The fact of the matter is, he was mostly innocent--and I soon forgave him his near death tendencies. I even appreciated his humor and forgiveness in those moments I accidentally pushed him closer to his demise. I could not forgive him for his gunpowder personality, his disruptive habits and his sheer joy in provoking me. Half the times, he didn't even put any thought into provoking me, and those were the worst offenses.

Thirty years later, he is the same. He beat Death in a staring match and gained a cult following in the process. His nurses still look me up and call me, telling me of his antics in the hospital. His teachers groan at his irrepressible personality, even when he set his school on fire. Multiple times. And he still provokes me, without an effort. I want to share his joys and lift his sorrows, but I cannot. At best I can caution him and not rain on his parade. I fear that despite our differences (and similarities) I still have not forgiven the boy who cast me out of my kingdom.