The Real Freegans

When we lived in Arlington there was a movement there and throughout the US called freeganism.  This basically was the idea that so much is being wasted and thrown away and to be as green as possible we can reuse items.  There was a NY Times article about the trend and it depicted relatively affluent young people who chose to do away with consumerism and go dumpster diving to eat, decorate their homes, and live.  

Living in the Philippines has given me a different take on this phenomenon.  Instead of it being a cool trend of the hipsters, it makes me embarrassed of the incredible disparity of wealth from what I came from to where I live now (the country in general, not my super-posh Marcos inhabited neighborhood, that could be a blog posting of its own).  

The other day I tried on some running shoes that I hadn't worn since before Stella.  They did not fit at all.  I asked my maid if she wanted them.  Even though they were a size and half larger, she cleaned them up so meticulously, polished them, and sure enough wore them out on her day off commenting on how bouncy they were.  

Our TV that we busted by blowing up with the wrong voltage was a great treat for our driver.

Every day I go through my fridge and find food that is truly on the edge of going bad.  Never once has anyone refused it.  Rotten milk schmotten milk.  Eggs that are expired, delicious.  I even had brown gross lettuce turned into a coleslaw by adding those sample mayonnaise packets.  

It makes me so grateful and so sad.  I heard of a family that was reusing their dirty disposable diapers by scooping out the poop because they couldn't afford diapers.  It broke my heart.  

I don't know if I have a point to all of this other than, there is a huge need here that I cannot ignore, even if I wanted to.  I am so grateful to be from a place where even the poorest of poor would be considered to have means.  Mostly I am grateful for the opportunities that exist so that if one is determined enough they could transcend their circumstance.  

The Empire Waist Strikes Backs

I can't believe how fast time is flying by.  We are hitting our one year mark in the Philippines this month, Tiger is now eight weeks old, Stella is totally potty trained.  When you have a toddler and a newborn, a month is a universe of changes.  

Tiger is huge.  Last I checked he was 14 pounds.  He sleeps through the night, naps often, and is delightful.  Seth and I were settling down tonight and realized he hasn't cried all weekend.  He lets us know by the small grunts, breathing changes, and cute coos.  If he starts breathing fast and grunting I know he wants to eat.  So much nicer than a wail.  I always thought Stella was an easy baby, but now I know what an easy baby is.  This kid is delightful.  He smiles, coos, loves to be held, and likes to get your attention with his songs.  I love my little guy.  

We all went to the dentist (minus Tiger since he is sans teeth) this past week.  The thought of going to a dentist in a non-first world labeled country sounds terrifying but it was really good.  The dentists office was super clean, new, nice.  Absolutely no waiting.  Went in, sat down and this man proceeded to clean my teeth.  The weird thing around here is that dentists actually clean your teeth.  When I was talking to my Filipino friends about this they thought it was strange that anyone but the dentist would clean your teeth.  Stella was jealous of my appointment and asked to go.  Two days later she went with Seth and the second she saw the drill and people that wanted to touch her mouth she clamored on my like a spider monkey.  Her loud screaming allowed the dentist the chance to check her teeth out and determined she was fine.  We are giving her fluoride drops despite my relatives' fear that fluoridation is a communist conspiracy.  Since we do not drink tap water we have to self-fluoridate, although the tap water here is not fluoridated...it has other things in it, but fluoride is not one of them.  

Seth and I have been able to get out a bit more lately.  I went to a work party with him this week, and I was really excited to get out again.  Much to my maid's chagrin, I pulled out every dress I owned to try it on.  You see, at eight weeks post-partum I am still not quite myself.  I am too small for maternity but my regular clothes do not look right yet.  I finally settled on a green dress with an empire waist.  I feel like the baby belly round two lingers longer and this dress was snug on my waist but loose on the belly, and very comfortable.  

Once at the party I was introduced to Seth's contacts.  We were chatting and I mentioned my two year old and he said, "looks like another one on the way?"  In which I had to tell him I just had a baby.  Everyone tried to pretend that the largest faux pax had not been committed, but it had.  I just wrote it off and went along.  After that Seth and I were on the way to the food line when another contact stopped us.  I was introduced and the two ladies asked me when I was expecting.  My eyes started stinging then.  Even as I type, my eyes start stinging.  No getting round it (pun intended)...I still look pregnant in an empire waist dress.  Ugh. 

I have resolved to start up the Body Bugg again.  We will see how it goes again.  

Through a Glass Darkly (or Life's Tinted Windows)

Consider the remix.  The remake.  The "re-imagine".  The critique.  The comment on the critique. I considered it.

The other night, driving home from work through the Manila rain, the old ipod shuffled to a remix of an M.I.A. song -- something extra tacked on to the end of an album. I tend to ignore superfluous remixes, but while listening to the manipulated sounds I started to wonder if one could listen ONLY to remixes, missing the originals entirely.

I decided this is entirely possible; one could even extend the thought experiment to other aspects of life.  A person could go his or her entire life watching remakes of older TV shows and movies; or TV shows based on novels, "re-imagined" movies based on TV shows, and reading novelizations of original films.

And why watch/read anything at all when one has so many aggregators to boil things down to their meatiest parts?  I can watch The Soup to sift through hours of trash TV for me.  I can read movie spoilers at will.  I don't have to read the New York Times -- I can just access a few blogs for summaries and pithy commentary.

Why do we do all of this? Why do we keep finding new ways to filter reality, tinting windows to keep out the sunlight? Much of it is to save time, of course, but it is more than that. I am thinking that it all boils down to risk aversion.

Why spend $10 on a movie when you might not like it? Read the spoiler.  Why spend an hour browsing the newspaper -- couldn't your time be better used elsewhere? Read a blog for the summary and a quick note on what you should think about the news.  Why invest in new stories and characters when the old ones worked so well before? Turn the book into a TV show and the TV show into a movie.

Perhaps we don't want to risk wasting our efforts on something new and original.  It might not be worth our time.  But I think when we depend too much on this kind of filtering, we lose something else: the joy of discovery, of new ideas -- not rehashed ones.  And without accessing the new ideas, all the context of the critique and commentary is lost.

Bjork -- or at least Michel Gondry, has been onto this for a while.  The Bachelorette video directed by Gondry is the perfect illustration of this idea.  Bjork's original discovery gets filtered and muddled until it disappears entirely.  

Adventures in Anthropomorphism

Two-year old Stella is a master at pretending.  It started with stuffed animals, and simple stories; pandas going to dance, then grab a quick bite to eat.  Baby dolls getting tucked in to bed with a kiss.  The usual little girl stuff.  But then things started to get interesting.  Stella started imbuing her characters with more complex emotions and created longer narratives -- long journeys across the sea and to the top of a mountain; eating a meal, washing the dishes, and then jetting off in flying automobiles.

Oh, how we are proud parents of this smart little girl.  Yet, my favorite symptom of this pretend epidemic is the runaway anthropomorphism of anything at hand.  Stella is never bored when she can make boxes talk to each other, or shoes, or colors of paint.  Today, she was giving the little dots of marker on her leg the adventure of a lifetime.  So far the best example of this was Stella's recent commandeering of the Worcestershire and A1 Steak Sauce bottles for some fun while I cut up her potatoes.  Mommy Worcestershire was telling Baby A1 she missed him terribly.  And then, these two competing brown sauces had a nice hug.

No Use Crying Over Pumped Milk

I admit I was homesick this past weekend.  There are two holidays that are very sacred to me: Thanksgiving and Independence Day (ironically, these are the least sacred holidays to me spiritually but that is beside the point).  I think these are the best holidays because it involves food, friends, family and relaxing-with very little expectations. 

This weekend was hindered slightly by Seth's work cell phone going off at odd hours of the night and on the sacred holiday itself.  While some of your listened to fireworks, we had an awesome Nokia ring tone waking us up.   

 

We went to a small embassy potluck to celebrate the Fourth.  We went all out in trying to find our red and blue shirts.  The kids looked darling and it was Tiger's first real outside outing.  I pumped two bottles of milk so Seth and I could split the feeding duty which we left at home.  Meaning: I had pretty much pumped most of Tiger's dinner out and left it at home, for him to get that out on his own was going to take a long time.  I wanted to cry when I thought of all of the wasted milk, Tiger spent the majority of the potluck under a nursing cover showing off his little feet.  At least as long as I am around my baby has something to eat.  

Stella has been a delight and exhausting at the same time.  Today was a rough day, the kind where she threw a fit if any of us left the room, the kind where she used her potty training to try to get out of a bath, wouldn't eat her dinner, and threw a tantrum when daddy put her to bed as mommy fed Tiger.  We love her, but two-year-olds are tough.

Double Duty--Yup, I Said Duty

My life goes on. Now that I no longer feel as if my small intestines are going to fall out of my gut I am up for blogging again.

Tiger is a dream baby. He sleeps a lot, takes the breast no problem, takes a bottle no problem, takes a pacifier easily, sleeps 7 hour stretches at night, and is the most delightful infant ever.

His sister, however, understands that no mother of two is supposed to have an easy time and has made it her mission to not let me forget that. Starting with potty training.

Stella decided a week ago that diapers were no longer in vogue and wanted to wear panties. When she pooped in them we put her back into a diaper and she came to me ten minutes later asking to be changed because she was wet. Hence the beginning of potty training. It has gone surprisingly well.

We had a few accidents at first but she has now gotten to the point that she wait until she gets to a toilet. It is a time consuming and rewarding time.

She uses potty training to manipulate us. Today she got out of 45 minutes of quiet time saying she needed to poop, and who am I to tell her she doesn't need to poop?

I am also quitting the forced nap and instead moving to a dark and restful quiet time. Yesterday I tried to force the nap and got bit, scratched, and attacked. I fold, Stella wins, she can just relax and if she goes to sleep-fabulous, if not-fine. No more fights with toddlers.

Today I took Tiger to the doctor. He is a hefty little bubbers. He is putting on weight steadily and will become a sumo baby in no time. The doctor was impressed with his staring and neck holding ability, which makes me laugh a little but I will take the compliment.

I have started working out again, only 30 minutes of walking a day, but it feels intense and wonderful to catch up on TV for thirty minutes a day.

Anyhow, I am back hopefully some photos soon.