Who's The Boss?

And the winner is....

And the winner of the Leapfrog Didj is.... (drumroll please)

Nanette!

 

 

Darius and I pulled her name out of a hat.  I've used random.org in the past, but then noticed that it often pulled the same number whenever I ran a contest (one smack in the middle, if you are curious).  So I am relying on the old hat trick for a while. 

Also, I am moving all giveaways over to my review blog.  Betchya didn't know I have a review blog, eh?  It's grossly neglected.  Lots of cobwebs and dust and spiders over there.  Poor little neglected blog. 

To make it a shiny happy place, I'll be having a giveaway a week for the month of December starting with a free laptop skin from skinit.com.   Plus I just reviewed a fun toy that can keep your kids occupied for hours.  So come on over and check it out.

Damn you, Santa

I rely on the "Santa Syndrome" as a disciplining techinque from Halloween until Christmas.  Every parent who celebrates Christmas uses this technique.  You know, the same one that your parents used on you when you were a kid.  The one in which you pretend to call Santa or let Santa know that your child is acting naughty.  The one in which you threaten coal in a stocking.  When you remind your child that Santa is making his Good List and Naughty List, so he best start acting like a good little boy or he may get nuttin' for Christmas.

It's cruel and manipulative, I know.  But it works, people!  It works like a charm. 

That is, until Santa ruined it for me. 

My dad took Darius on a shopping trip to the mall this past weekend.  While they were passing the Santa photo op, Darius waved and said hello to the man in red.  And wouldn't you know, Santa smiled and waved back.  My sweet, Christmas-loving child took that to mean one thing and one thing only...

He's been a good little boy this year and Santa will be bringing him LOTS and LOTS of TOYS.

In otherwords, I'm totally screwed.

Darius came home from the mall so excited about his encounter with Santa.  And totally convinced that the verdict is already in about his "goodness."  No amount of me trying to threaten otherwise has made a crack in his resolve.

Sure, he's a good kid.  In fact he's a great kid.  He's generous and sensitive.  He's kind and cuddly. 

And thanks to Santa, I have no power over him.  By Santa acknowledging his mere presence, Darius has deduced that he is good. 

Santa wouldn't wave and smile at a naughty boy, right?

I hate bad drivers

For all of those returning to work after the long holiday weekend, I urge you to read my piece on considerate commuting.  Apparently all that turkey and stuffing has caused a nuclear meltdown in the area of your brain that controls safe driving. 

Swirving around pedestrians in a crosswalk is not OK.

Tailgating cars already going over the speed limit is not OK.

Reading a newspaper while driving is not OK.

And for peet's sake, it is against the law in Calfornia to be talking on the cell phone without a hands-free device.  Looking around for a cop so you can drop the phone into your lap is not OK. 

Giveaway: LeapFrog's Didj

 Now you don't have to stand in obnoxiously long lines on Black Friday to get this awesome new gaming system from LeapFrog.

 Didj is awesome.  Plain and simple.  You can customize the games to focus on specific needs of your child and track their progess on LeapFrog's Learning Path.    

One very lucky winner will get a brand-spanking new Didj and the fun Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends.  Total retail value is $120.

 

How to Enter the Didj Giveaway:

• Comment on this post before 11:59pm on Friday, November 28, 2008
• Leave your valid email address (without it, you be out of the running)
• You can get extra entries by:
  • Following me on Twitter
  • Posting this contest on your own blog (and leaving a link in the comments)

Winner will be announced on Monday, December 1st.

Sick days

Since becoming a mother, I've had my fair share of sick days.  Usually, those sick days were spent taking care of someone else.  Even if I caught the same bug, there was no rest for me.  The family still needed to eat, the dishes in the sink still needed to be cleaned, and a certain little boy who played in the mud still needed to be bathed.  Sick days were for the weak. 

Of course, as soon as you tell the universe that you can handle being sick then the universe has to open a big of can of whoop ass and whoop your ass.   Lesson learned, oh powerful universe.  Now please go bug someone else.

I spent the majority of this past weekend on the couch.  Moaning, complaining, and coughing.  The fever made my body ache.  The sinus infection made my head hurt.  Going through an entire box of tissues in 4 hours left my nose red and raw.   Having to make my own chicken noodle soup added insult to injury.

Darius, on the other hand, was thrilled to have a sick momma.  He got to watch more than his fair share of TV.  I didn't make him pick up his room or make his bed.  And he had plenty of unsupervised time to decorate with the toilet and sink with an entire tube of toothpaste.  It was a pain to clean-up but the toilet has never smelled so minty fresh. 

I guess I should be glad that one room in this house is clean. 

And cavity-free.

Yes, he's a finance guy

Neville  during our latest discussion about whether or not to have another baby....

"Just think, if we have two kids then we can both have a tax deduction. We'll each claim one kid. Then we can both be Head of Household and get a bigger tax break."

Living in diversity

I'm over at the Silicon Valley Mom's Blog talking about diversity today.

For our family, diversity is about blending our two cultures.  When Neville and I fell in love, I didn't realize how easy it would be to blend certain aspects of our cultures while at the same time be so difficult to blend others.  Finding balance or even something that remotely looks like balance takes a ton of work. 

Come on over and check out my latest post on being an Insider and an Outsider.

[Darius] is an insider and an outsider in both communities.  He can blend into both.  He understands Gujarati.  My son is what is means to be diverse.  He has two religions, two languages, two cultures, two names, two identities.  He thrives in both worlds.   Yet on the outside, my son looks white.  He got his fair skin and brown hair from his momma.  If only looking skin deep, you'd never know his diverse roots. 

Just be thankful you don't have to see me in real life

I'm sick.

Last night we attended the Thanksgiving dinner at Darius' preschool.  I offered to help set-up because, yet again, only one mom volunteered to help.  After three hours around sixty children, I could practically feel my body fighting off a cold.

Those kids are adorable; but, they are adorable little germ-infested children.  Like shooting fish in a barrell, it was inevitable that some virus would find its way over to me. 

The symptoms started mid-way through the children's performances.  At first, I blamed it on the over-active heater blasting in the banquet room.  By the time we arrived home, I could already feel the sinus pressure building up.

This morning, I headed into the office to be one of those people.  You know the type: co-workers that cough and blow their nose and complain about coming down with a cold while the working in close proximity to other people.  Yes, right now I am one of those inconsiderate co-workers that really should go home to rest instead of exposing a bunch of innocent people to the sick bug.  I know, I know... I'm a terrible person and getting lots of bad kharma for being at work while sick.

In my defense, I didn't think this cold was going to be all that bad.  When I walked in the office at 8:30 this morning, I could still breath through my nose and wasn't tempted to bang my head open to relieve some of this sinus pressure.  With each passing minute, I am getting worse.  In fact as I type this, I am contemplating shoving tissues straight up my nostrils so that I don't have to keep blowing my nose. 

I keep saying to myself "After this email, I'll pack up and work from home."  Or "When it's 1:00, I'll go home."  Or "I'll just get some soup from the cafeteria and then I'll feel better."

I know a flu bug has been going around.  Thank god, there isn't any vomitting or diarrhea involved.  I promise that if I do puke, I will leave the office. Just after that one last email...

Miss or Mrs?

Even though we are not legally married, Neville and I often refer to each other as husband or wife.  We never correct friends or co-workers when they assume that a couple with a child and a mortgage would be a married couple.  For all intentions and purposes, we are married.  We just chose to not get legally married. 

As a career woman, those who assume that we are married don't think twice about me having my "maiden name."  And that's okay.  I don't mind when people assume we are married.  I don't mind being called Neville's wife.  I love Neville as a wife loves her husband. 

But there is one part of this whole married, but unmarried lifestyle that I never considered.

What will my child's friends call me? 

Am I Miss Robyn?  Am I Miss Roark?  Am I Mrs. <Insert Neville's Last Name>?

Darius has his father's last name just as I have my father's last name.   But since Neville and I aren't married, and all of our close friends/family know that, I wonder what I am supposed to be called?

I guess, technically, it would be Miss Robyn or Miss Roark. Ms. Roark?

With my godson and goddaughter, I have always been Auntie Robyn.  With the pediatrician, I am Mrs. <Neville's Last Name>.   At work... well, who calls anybody by anything other than a first name at work these days?

Nowadays, it isn't uncommon for women to keep their maiden name when they do get married.  Even if Neville and I had chosen a traditional path, I still would have kept my last name.  It's my name.  It's a part of my identity.  And, yes, the feminist in me thinks the whole name-changing thing is stupid when you consider the origins of the tradition. 

So even if we were married, I still would be struggling with my formal name.

And for those of you who think that children no longer need to use the formal Mr/Miss/Ms/Mrs anymore, just this week I've been called with a Miss or Mrs in by five separate families.

We haven't touched the subject with Darius about the fact that we are not legally married.  How would a four year old know what that means anyways?  He has two parents who live together, love each other, and love him.  Yes, he knows what it means to get married.  He's attended more than one wedding and it outnumbered by girls who want to play house at preschool.  I think he's just assumed that we got married before he was born.   Which is somewhat true.  After all, we were in a committed relationship before he was born. 

When I hung out with a mom-friend this week, her daughter kept calling me "Darius' Mom."  I'm thinking that's what I'll stick with until I figure this whole thing out.

The Dishonor Roll

Ah, how I love living in a digital era.  Check out the Dishonor Roll of people and businesses that supported Prop 8.

There is also a database of contribtors that allows you to see who supported Prop 8 by making monetary donations to the campaign.  I plan on personally boycotting these business (It's not like I ever cared for Denny's anyways).

This is a civil rights issue.  Just as people boycotted buses to end segregration in Montgomery, today we can boycott businesses that supported the elimination of civil rights for a group of people that are different. 

For those that still believe in the "protection of marriage,"  I urge you to watch this.