Geeky Mom

Just claiming a feed.

I can’t yet go the route of donating in someone’s name and sending a card–though I might do that for my dad and stepmom. I can, however, shop in ways that do someone some good. I also plan to donate some time or goods to some organization around here. Here are some of the places I found so far:

• Buy for Charity–up to 35% of your purchase is donated to the cause of your choice
• xgive.com–40% of the proceeds go to selected charities
• World of Good–where you can buy fair trade products designed by artisans from around the world.
• Oxfam America–shop at partner stores, find a list of more fair trade stores, or donate in someone’s name
  

There have been a few posts about the recent passage of a spending bill that included a provision that allows providers to refuse abortion services if they are opposed to abortions. Despite my new-found activism, I didn’t fight this one. However, I’ve been thinking a lot about this “culture of life” the Bush administration keeps talking about in the middle of a war. Here are some places where you can find out how many people have died in Iraq.

• Iraq coalition casualties
• CNN’s Casuality List
• Washington Post’s Faces of the Fallen

Yes, there are far more abortions performed than there are soldiers killed. But no one is working on finding a way to minimize the occurrance of abortion. The right is simply trying to make it illegal while the left goes on the defensive to make sure that doesn’t happen.

Frankly, there are a lot of things that cause death that we should be doing something about: cancer, violent crime, diseases of all kinds, drugs. Why aren’t we pouring money into health research or education (which would be an abortion deterrent)? I don’t pretend to have all the facts here or all the answers. But every day, I keep thinking about why we never seem to deal with the underlying problems. We treat the symptoms. If this is a culture of life, I don’t want any part of it.

Kitchen counter,
originally uploaded by lorda.

So here is an example of what I’m dealing with. What you can’t see in this picture is that the other two counters are spotless. I’m hoping in a few weeks that this will be gone. There are–unfortunately–other areas. I’ll show you those as well. I figure making it public means I have to get rid of it now.

This whole idea of taking the pictures was actually a thought my husband and I had to take these pictures and send them to his mother as an argument that we didn’t need any more stuff. We can’t deal with the stuff we have and every ounce of new stuff that comes into the house is just more stuff we have to find a place for. Sigh. I’m working on it–in 15 minute increments. So far, so good. I’ll show you the good tomorrow or later today.

via New Kid and Profgrrrl

I went to the grocery store this afternoon and while I was there, I picked up some hairspray. I haven’t purchased hairspray in years, so I’m thinking, “Why am I getting hairspray?” I decide it has to do with going to my mother’s next week. This line of thinking leads me down a whole thorny path related to my appearance. I am not an unattractive person. In fact, some would say I’m downright attractive. But I have issues with my appearance that go back to–you guessed it–my mother. Let’s just put it this way, I spent a lot of time with a book on my head and with my feet in hard shoes. I was the only girl in junior high whose mother was begging her to wear makeup. I distinctly remember my mother showing me magazines and saying, “This year, the style is . . .” She probably meant well, but she wasn’t working with me. I was pretty awkward looking until about my sophmore year in high school (note: this is about when I finally wrestled control of my looks from my mother). I was short, had bad hair, braces, and glasses. The boys called me Fido. In 7th grade, a boy bought Christmas presents for all the girls he knew. Every other girl except me got cheap jewelry. I got a stuffed cow. It was a cute cow, but it told me a lot about how I was perceived–a friend, never a girlfriend.

Anyway, since those awkward childhood days, I’ve gone back and forth between caring and not-caring about my appearance. The truth is, I care, but I want to look like I don’t really care. How fucked up is that? Thus, the hairspray. I’m planning to get my hair cut either tomorrow or Monday. The last time I had it cut I really wished I’d had some hairspray so I could style it in a way that looked like I hadn’t styled it. Sigh.

I know I’m going to be on display and I guess part of me doesn’t want to disappoint my mother. I do want her to be proud of me and knowing how much she values appearance, I feel some need to accommodate her, not for my sake but for hers. On one visit, during my 10 year college reunion, she took me to her school. Afterwards, she commented about how poised I’d been and how graceful. I’m not sure my mother had ever complimented me in that way before.

Another, more selfish, reason for the hairspray is that I want to show off a little myself. I have some “big-city” style. It’s weird, I know. And it’s weird, too, that I only think about these things when I’m visiting family–mine or Mr. GM’s. With friends, at conferences, even at reunions, I just don’t worry about it that much. I think I must be trying to live up to some expectations (in the case of Mr. GM’s family) or living down an ancient perception of what I look like and who I am (in the case of my family). Maybe I should bring along a therapist to Thanksgiving dinner.

So 8 a.m. came really early this morning. I really could have stayed in my nice warm bed. I opted for scootching the kids over and making some space for myself, but it was pretty cramped and uncomfortable. Mr. GM moved them a few hours later, but I can say with confidence that I did not sleep all that well. Not to mention the beer. It’s wearing off now, but I still feel quite groggy. Plus it’s overcast and yucky outside.

The soccer game itself was amusing because the kids just really didn’t want to play that much after the first half. We struggled through, though.

Today I’m going to start getting re-organized. I’m on a real kick. I noticed, too, that on Thursday when I was cleaning some stuff up, my son pitched in. So I think this is a good thing–being a role model (something I haven’t been in the neatness department). Now if I can get Mr. GM to see the light, all will be good in the world.

So, I went out drinking with the office buds–always very fun. We always drink one more than we think we should. We managed to NOT talk about work (most of the time). Much fun had by all. Mr. GM took care of the kids and then darted off to a movie when I got home. I actually like this–that we can have separate lives and still be connected somehow. It’s good. The kids are in my bed right now and I’m trying to decide if I have the energy to move them or if I’m just going to scootch them over and make room for myself. I’m thinking the latter at the moment. For the record, the drink for the evening was Guiness–at least 3, maybe 4 (which is nothing compared to college days, but hey, I’m a mom). There was food at some point. Okay, I’m off to read some to try and sober up a bit to prevent a hangover at the 9 a.m. soccer game. Yippee.

Hee. I liked these. Indy is the land of my inlaws–the entire extended family (with a few exceptions). It’s a strange juxtaposition of middle-brow-trying-to-be-high-brow culture and downright redneck. I’m headed to Memphis myself in a few days. I might have to take some sign pictures there.

Not so bad. After I worked myself up into a frenzy, the conference was actually quite nice. The teacher praised my son’s intelligence, was concerned about forgetting homework, but figured we’d work through it. I gotta stop doing this to myself. It will be okay. I can say that to other people for some reason, but not myself. Geez.