a house!

We found a new home. A house! Or at least the main floor of it. It's a giant old house close to where we live now but a little farther east. It's half a block to the dog park and it has a yard! I'm not usually prone to exclamation marks, but I guess I'm excited since I've already used two in the first four sentences.

It's the sort of place where I feel like Leila can make memories. We can grow carrots in the back yard and she'll remember the stained glass doors to her bedroom. We can easily walk to New Brighton pool in the summer. There's even a basement we can use. I have designs on tucking a desk away in a corner to write at and I think Tom wants to be able to do whatever is he does with tools down there. I might be getting ahead of myself, but I always thought it would be rad to have a dartboard.

I couldn't face the thought of Christmas alone in this crowded apartment so I was trying to find a cute cabin in the woods somewhere, but now, now I think we'll spend Christmas in our new house, and you're most certainly invited for dinner if you're in town. I'm so excited to put up the white Christmas lights that we had up at our wedding, I'm excited to bake, I'm just plain excited. I'm looking forward to seeing Leila's face as we try to show her how to rip paper off of presents, and Norton's enthusiasm at being so close to his favourite place in the world. I'm excited to meet our upstairs neighbours who have a three year old boy.

This is going to be good, I can feel it.

of family and other open wounds.

I'm having a hard time lately. My parents have decided they're furious with me for reasons I don't understand and don't think are as serious as they do. All my life I've tried not to make them angry except for a few times when I was a teenager when I pretended I didn't care. But I do care. I still care. I hate it when they decide they're not speaking to me. It makes me feel like I have a hole in the center of who I am.

They're not bad people. They work hard and they try hard, but it's like their idea of who I am supposed to be never added up to who I actually am. And every time they're reminded of this they get angry. This time it's different. This time, I'm a parent too. Granted, they've been doing it for twenty four years longer than I have, but I still know what it feels like to love a child. I know that Leila and I will eventually have disagreements, even fights, but I also know that my job is to love her no matter what. My love for Leila is boundless and unconditional, and I will try to remember that at all times.

My mother's father, my grandfather, would occasionally get mad and her and inform her he wasn't speaking to her and I remember how it made her feel. She would be so sad and empty. I remember feeling protective of her and angry at him for hurting my mother. I wonder if she remembers this. I wonder what it is my parents see when they think of me. It's taken me years and years not to see myself as deeply flawed and awful. But I know I'm not. Years ago, my counsellor made me draw up a list of ten things I liked about myself. It took me hours, and I'm pretty sure one of them was, "I like my impeccable taste in Star Treks, TNG forever!"

I want to make peace with my parents. I want to prevent this from happening in the future. I want Leila to know her grandparents. But if I can't  have that, then I want to find the strength to let go, to know that I am good person whether or not my parents tell me.

happy nine months, baby menace.

Dear Leila,

I would have written this yesterday, on your actual nine-month day, but you decided a couple of days ago that you are undergoing your first existential crisis. In baby terms, this means you screamed for two days straight. We're working through it together and you seem much more at ease with your existence today.

You've now been an outside baby for as long as you were in an inside baby. You're turning into a totally awesome tiny human with definite opinions and preferences. You have just mastered pulling yourself up onto furniture and it delights you to no end. So much so, in fact, that when you're standing you'll often look over your shoulder with a big grin on your face to make sure your audience fully appreciates your accomplishment.

You still don't have any teeth, but that doesn't stop you from eating a ton. Your current favourites are pitted kalamata olives, humous, cheerios and mango baby food. I especially like that you like olives. It makes me feel related. This is important since people are constantly telling me how much you look like your dad. In fact, no one has told me that you look like me. Although there are times when I am looking at your face that I feel this strange twinge of familiarity, like I am looking at a part of me reflected in you.

Lately, you have learned the joys of making a mess. You like to pull leaves off of plants, dirt out of pots, cotton balls out of the bag, laundry out of the hamper. Sometimes in the morning while I eat breakfast I put your toy basket on its side and let you remove all the toys. You think this is pretty much the best thing ever. And I think you're pretty much the best thing ever.

Love always,

Mom

sakineh ashtiani

This woman was supposed to die today. She hasn't yet. But Iran isn't saying when or if they will spare her. Only that the West needs to stop interfering with their justice. They say Sakineh is an adulterer (a crime she supposedly committed after her husband's death). For this crime she has alternatively been sentenced to death by stoning, whipping and hanging.

The politics of Iran vs. the West aside, I can't help but feel compelled by this case. There is something so painfully beautiful about this woman's face. About the love that Sakineh's son has for his mother. His tireless campaign to save her, so much so that he is in  jail now too. Her lawyers have been forced to flee the country, and her life is stretched out for yet another day.

 Before Leila was born I was terrified of having a daughter. I was scared of all the things that come with teaching someone how to be a woman. What if I fucked her up? What if I made her feel bad about herself without knowing it? And it's hard to figure out how to be a woman. At least I found it hard. I never knew where the line was on certain things until I'd crossed it, until it was too late and I was in over my head. This somehow, put it all in perspective. So this woman allegedly cheated on her dead husband. Something she confessed to only under torture. In essence, this woman has been convicted of being female. Had she been a man, there would have been no repercussions for her actions. I am still scared for my daughter, and for everyone's daughters because this is so wrong, so tragic and so incomprehensible.

For a more comprehensive overview of what's going on with Sakineh, go here.

If you would like to sign a petition to send to world leaders to try to pressure Iran to save Sakineh go here.

I am not in the habit of trying to get people to take action on political issues, but I can't keep from thinking what if she was my daughter, what would I want people to do? The answer, of course, is that I would want her to be protected at all costs.