lamiki

Today is my sister’s due date As I write this there are 39 minutes left of Sunday, November 21st Eastern time and baby is still well inside.

“Hold on, baby, hold on.” Every text message and email that my Mom sends is signed that way. My husband and I are already here in New Jersey, but Mom and Dad don’t fly in from Seattle until Wednesday night. We’re playing baby roulette, and according to the midwives and other stories about when first babies come due, the cards are in our favor.

Dear Howeberry,

Today is your due date, but seeing how there are a few minutes left until midnight and your mama is not showing any signs, it seems as though we’ll have to wait another few days until we see you. And that’s okay. Your grandma won’t be here until Wednesday and she’d really like you to wait for her. I’d like you to wait for her, too.

You are the first grandbaby in both of our families and there are so many people who already love you. When your mom first told me that she expecting you it was by phone while I was stuck in horrible traffic.

She asked what my plans were for Thanksgiving. You see it was March and November was not in my immediate plans. (more…)

I have a tickle in my throat that goes down my lungs and into my belly. Make me laugh and I will cough, convulsively. It will sound like I’m hyperventilating because I am. The more air I give myself the worse it is. Air is like this toxic love affair—I know I need it but the more I have, the more it hurts.

My neighbor in seat 23E cringes each time I open my mouth. She is a woman who has snake-like qualities, is long, lean, and impeccable peripheral vision. She has one eye on the mass-market paperback novel she purchased at the Hudson News stand before boarding and the other eye watching me, surreptitiously. While one eye paces the words, the other watches me breathe. She’s constantly cringing and I doubt it’s because the plot is so engaging.

Sickness. I have no idea if I’m contagious, but 23E sure thinks I am. I wonder if it would have put her at more at ease if I boarded the plane wearing a SARS mask; probably not.

She may be a decent woman and not worth all this commentary. When she sat down and stored her lovely brand name tote bag, I smiled and she smiled back. There was all the potential in the world for us to be best friends a 6-hour transcontinental flight could accommodate, except that I coughed, and all promises for a future together shattered like a glass souvenir in checked baggage.

There’s a businessman wearing a crisp white button-up shirt. As long as his WIFI works and his PowerPoint loads at a cruising altitude of 30,000 feet, he will not pay attention to my coughs. The cabin is quiet. Even though it was an afternoon flight, half of the passengers are passed out, snuggling with people they’re supposed to or unconsciously snuggling with those they’re not.

There are parents with mostly-well-behaved kids doing art projects across the aisle. They’ve packed a cooler full of food to feed many hungry children. I have not asked if they’re going or coming, and I have no idea what they’re doing with a glue stick. And they have a giant stuffed shark that just popped out of nowhere.

I need to sneeze, but I’m worried 23E will lose it.

Time stands still at this altitude. We’re halfway through our flight and it’s dark outside my window. The reflection of the moon is pacing us through a reflection on the wing of the 737. The businessman is finishing up his deliverable, the snake lady is flipping another page, my headphones are blasting my favorite bands and I’m one beer shy of creativity. Other than my own internal monologue this flight is uneventful.

I’m on my way to Jersey, the New one, to spend a few weeks with my sister, brother-in-law, and family that will arrive in stages. She’s expecting the first baby in our family on Sunday the 21st, but my new niece/nephew is guaranteed to be late. I’ll be cooking the Thanksgiving turkey and I am excited beyond belief.

Photo Credit: ecstaticist

Editor’s Note: This is a work of fictionalized observation, mostly.

I am always anxious and nervous when I travel. Even if it’s a weekend trip, less than 4 hours by car away from home, I can’t help staying up all night, tying up loose ends and packing.

So here’s the thing, I’m going on a trip to see my sister. Granted it’s 2000 miles away from home, but this is not a business trip at all. She lives in somewhere, New Jersey, not nowhere, New Jersey. We’ll be staying at home, cooking, etc., All I need to pack are comfy clothes (the same 5-outfits or so that I wear everyday) and my Timbuk2 bag full of my computer, a few files, and more-than-one old school journal, some pens, and cords. Oh, and probably a book. That’s all I really need, and yet I have so much more. (more…)

Sundays are days of rest. Days when we sleep in, giggle each other awake, and crawl to get pancakes and do things regular people do, like go grocery shopping, do laundry, and clean.

As we waved to our neighbor this afternoon while carrying 80 pounds of cat litter into the house, he asked if the race season was over. The race season is something that devours the majority of our weekends and “spare” time. My husband shouted, “Yep, now we have more time to take care of the house!” Our neighbor laughed. God, I’m sure he hates the fact that our yard looks like Jurassic Park. And when he walks his dog, he cautiously looks over our fence, scouting for Velociraptors.

Today we were domestic, and it felt good. We even hosted a group of friends and played board games over lasagna and wine. These are friends who have known my husband for our entire life together, and they all have or are having babies.

Lately, when someone I know learns that I have a husband, it surprises them. I’m not sure why as I have some very sparkly diamonds that I wear on a very specific finger and don’t hide. After their shock wanes, their next question is, “Do you have—” or “When are you having kids?” It’s as though by telling them that I am legally attached to a man means that the next logical step is to take over the world, one teeny-tiny baby at a time. Otherwise what’s the point of getting married in the first place, right?

This opens a can of worms and sparks internal dialogue. What I really want to ask them, but never do, is “Why do you want to know?”

There are a few reasons why they’ve jumped to ask me this question:

1. They are curious about my life and genuinely care about me
2. They only believe people are married to have kids
3. They think married people who don’t have kids are weird and hate kids
4. They think married people are weird, period.

Thinking more about the situation, this question is generally asked when I’m in the “getting to know you phase” with someone. Therefore, people who fall into the #1 category will generally not ask this question because they care and they know that the question of to procreate or not procreate (not practice, mind you) is a personal question, because it is.

The reason why a person asks this question tells more about the place that person is in their life and what their own views are, than it does about me.

Photo Credit: Krug6

The Mighty Mazda after literally taking a "bite" out of an Oldsmobile (for the record, the insurance company ruled in favor of the Mazda)

The best car in the world is a 1989 Mazda 323 SE, 5-speed manual, with a 1.6 liter engine and it’s share of 100,000 miles. It was discovered in the suburbs, parked in a ditch, with a “for sale” sign awkwardly taped to the window. It had a sun-faded hood and plastic chrome hub caps that sparkled in the July sun. It had four doors and a trunk that was deep enough to sneak multiple teenagers into a drive-in movie. It was the perfect first car, purchased with hard-earned cash, split 50/50 with my sister.

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