Today was the first day of my new job and I cannot express what a relief it is to be working in an Indian-Grandmother-Free zone. I get to act like an adult, no one is yelling at me for who-knows-what-reason, and I'm paid to snuggle a precious six month old boy all day.
This evening, in celebration of "I'm Never Going to be Force-fed Rice Again" Day and "Look What Happens When I Only Have to Work Until 4:00" Day, I made...
...wait for it...
...Indian food. Dal, rice, and parathas, to be precise. The flatbreads were surprisingly easy and I can already tell that they are going to be a staple around here. The best part was the surprised (and pleased) look on my husband's face when he walked in to the smell of spicy lentils simmering away on the stove. He thought I was reheating leftover soup. A wifely coup!
Showing posts with label wage slavery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wage slavery. Show all posts
Monday, November 28, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Pneumonia and Apple Cake
How's that for an appetizing title?
There are some positives to being sick with something as scary-sounding as pneumonia. Positive #1: I'm not contagious, so it didn't interfere with my scrapbooking weekend with my mother and DoRena. Positive #2: My employeress didn't want me to come back for work this week. I texted her after a trip to the Redimed on Saturday: "Sorry to bother you on vacation. Just found out I have walking pneumonia. Let me know what you want to do about next week." Her return text went something like this: "Take liquids and rest. Nice working with u. Enjoy ur new job." Thus concludes our association.
So, I've had a few days to loll about the house and recuperate. As of this morning, I feel almost 100%. Except for the hacking cough every time I even think about laughing, but I'm sure that will clear up. Azithromycin and codeine have done their work.
Feeling better and lots of time alone in the apartment can only mean two things: cleaning and baking. In the interests of ensuring that my lungs are fully healed before I expose them to anything unusual, I skipped the cleaning and went straight to the kitchen. There were apples to be used! After much searching and a chat with my grandma (always helpful), I settled on this recipe:
Good Housekeeping* Apple-Walnut Bundt Cake
3 c. flour
1 c granulated sugar
1/2 c lightly packed dark brown sugar**
1 t baking soda
1 1/2 + t cinnamon
3/4 t salt
1/2 t nutmeg
1/2 t ground ginger
1 c vegetable oil
1/4 lemon juice +1/4 c water and 1/2 t honey***
2 t vanilla
3 large eggs
1 lb apples (I used Macs, but something a little tarter would probably be nice), peeled, cored, and coarsely chopped
1 c walnuts, coarsely chopped****
1) Heat oven to 350. Grease and flour 10" bundt pan
2) In large bowl, combine first 11 ingredients (everything but the apples and nuts). Beat at low speed until well-blended, scraping bowl frequently. Increase speed to medium and beat for 2 minutes, scraping bowl. Stir in apples and walnuts.
3) Spoon batter into prepared bundt pan and spread evenly. Bake approx 1:15, until cake pulls away from sides and toothpick inserted in middle comes out clean.***** Cool pan on rack 10 minutes. Remove from pan and cool cake completely on rack.
* I give those fine folks some credit, despite my many alterations.
** The recipe called for 1 3/4 c white sugar, but 1) that sounded like a lot to me, so I cut it back 1/4 c. and 2) I just like brown sugar more. This did not seem to have any negative effect on the texture.
***Sometimes I don't alter things just because I feel like it. This calls for 1/2 c of apple juice and I had to come up with something else since we don't keep juice on hand.
****They also added 1 c raisins, but that sounds like a horrible thing to do to a nice cake.
There are some positives to being sick with something as scary-sounding as pneumonia. Positive #1: I'm not contagious, so it didn't interfere with my scrapbooking weekend with my mother and DoRena. Positive #2: My employeress didn't want me to come back for work this week. I texted her after a trip to the Redimed on Saturday: "Sorry to bother you on vacation. Just found out I have walking pneumonia. Let me know what you want to do about next week." Her return text went something like this: "Take liquids and rest. Nice working with u. Enjoy ur new job." Thus concludes our association.
So, I've had a few days to loll about the house and recuperate. As of this morning, I feel almost 100%. Except for the hacking cough every time I even think about laughing, but I'm sure that will clear up. Azithromycin and codeine have done their work.
Feeling better and lots of time alone in the apartment can only mean two things: cleaning and baking. In the interests of ensuring that my lungs are fully healed before I expose them to anything unusual, I skipped the cleaning and went straight to the kitchen. There were apples to be used! After much searching and a chat with my grandma (always helpful), I settled on this recipe:
Good Housekeeping* Apple-Walnut Bundt Cake
3 c. flour
1 c granulated sugar
1/2 c lightly packed dark brown sugar**
1 t baking soda
1 1/2 + t cinnamon
3/4 t salt
1/2 t nutmeg
1/2 t ground ginger
1 c vegetable oil
1/4 lemon juice +1/4 c water and 1/2 t honey***
2 t vanilla
3 large eggs
1 lb apples (I used Macs, but something a little tarter would probably be nice), peeled, cored, and coarsely chopped
1 c walnuts, coarsely chopped****
1) Heat oven to 350. Grease and flour 10" bundt pan
2) In large bowl, combine first 11 ingredients (everything but the apples and nuts). Beat at low speed until well-blended, scraping bowl frequently. Increase speed to medium and beat for 2 minutes, scraping bowl. Stir in apples and walnuts.
3) Spoon batter into prepared bundt pan and spread evenly. Bake approx 1:15, until cake pulls away from sides and toothpick inserted in middle comes out clean.***** Cool pan on rack 10 minutes. Remove from pan and cool cake completely on rack.
* I give those fine folks some credit, despite my many alterations.
** The recipe called for 1 3/4 c white sugar, but 1) that sounded like a lot to me, so I cut it back 1/4 c. and 2) I just like brown sugar more. This did not seem to have any negative effect on the texture.
***Sometimes I don't alter things just because I feel like it. This calls for 1/2 c of apple juice and I had to come up with something else since we don't keep juice on hand.
****They also added 1 c raisins, but that sounds like a horrible thing to do to a nice cake.
Friday, November 04, 2011
Bits and Pieces
1) Spelling:The grandmother takes some time every day to read through one or the other of Prita's books, spelling and sounding out all the English words. Often, this starts with a barked, "You: come!", followed by her making space on the couch for me to come coach her through the longer words and those that make no phonetic sense. Prita generally just hangs out next to us while this is going on, taking a moment to snatch the book out of her grandmothers' hands every so often, and crying--nay, screaming--when she realizes that she doesn't have all the books in the house in her pile. Two-year olds. Sheesh.
As a result of all of this reading-practice, Prita has started spelling things on her own. It goes something like this:
Me: What's this a picture of?
Prita: D-O-E dog!
Me: D-O-G, but yeah! Good job! Now, what's this?
Prita: G-O-E girl!
Me: Girl is right...
Prita: E-O-E ellyphant!!!!!!!!!
Me: . . . .
She gets the first letter right most of the time, although sometimes she only recognizes letters that come later in the words. Like, she always spells fox "X-O-E." She also makes up letters, as in, "SNA-O-E" snake!"
2) The Three-Egg Diet: My very own soon-to-be-patented miracle plan. See, you just go work for a family that eats lots of hard-boiled egg whites, but never the yolks. These folks should also feel a little bad about wasting any food and be very anxious to see that everything gets eaten and that nothing goes to waste. Let it be known that you don't hate the yolks, in general. Before you know it, you will have an eighty-year-old Indian woman practically force-feeding you three plain hard boiled egg yolks every day. And don't you dare try to sneak one into the trash or the garbage disposal; you're being watched too carefully for such high-jinks. While you will often feel like vomiting halfway through the second yolk (don't do it), this diet will do wonders for your skin and hair. If you can manage to have the same eighty-year-old spoon-feeding you the skins off of the top of a pot of boiled milk, all the better.
3) "Healthy. Healthy Food." Speaking of food and controlling Indian grandmothers, the last week, I had my lunch prepared for me. Generally, the grandmother will pull a box of rice and a few leftover curries out of the fridge and leave me to it. Well, leave me to it as she hovers somewhere over my right shoulder, telling me to take more and looking really confused when I don't. This week, however, she plated my food for me. Monday, it wasn't too bad. They were running short on leftovers, so we both got reasonable portions. (Of course, she did "encourage" me to eat two very soft apples as a snack later in the day. Gross.) Tuesday, she made my lunch the same was she normally makes hers: two curries mixed in a bowl, topped with a couple handfuls of chickpeas, fresh diced onions, and a sprinkling of lemon juice. Nothing earth-shattering, but edible. After that was finished, she made up a bowl of yogurt and rice for me. As I was standing in the kitchen finishing that, she walked up to me, put her hand on my shoulder, and said with very careful diction: "This. Healthy. Healthy food. Yogurt. Dal curry. Healthy." Thursday was the worst. We had, apparently, left all concern about healthy food behind, as she completely filled my full-sized dinner plate, half with white rice, half with some spiced rice pilaf-y dish. Mounded. Spilling over the sides. Rice. And then, she gave me more rice so that I would have enough for with my after-lunch yogurt.
4) More Indian TV: Despite my employeress' strictures regarding any TV viewing while her daughter is around, the grandmother continues her soap opera habit. At least naps have been reinstated, so Prita and I can retreat to the bedroom while Granny vegges out. However, her favorite show starts approximately 20 minutes before nap time begins, so I still get to see some of it. And--oh my goodness--it is indescribable. That won't stop me from trying. Imagine a show that seems to be entirely built around 4 characters: (1) the screaming damsel in distress, either standing slump-shouldered and sobbing or laying on the bed or floor, sobbing; (2) the fleshy-cheeked villain whose entire M.O. seems to be to taunt said damsel in the most annoying voice imaginable while bobbing his head smugly; (3) some random crazy-eyed man dressed all in white who is constantly carrying around a bloody knife or machete; and (4) a thicker, tougher, older woman who always seems to be coming to the damsel's rescue, sometimes with the assistance of the crazy man, sometimes without. Now imagine all of this presented in a highly repetitious manner, with exceedingly overwrought background music and quick, zooming camera moves. I really feel like I'm not missing much, not understanding the dialogue. The visuals are story enough.
As a result of all of this reading-practice, Prita has started spelling things on her own. It goes something like this:
Me: What's this a picture of?
Prita: D-O-E dog!
Me: D-O-G, but yeah! Good job! Now, what's this?
Prita: G-O-E girl!
Me: Girl is right...
Prita: E-O-E ellyphant!!!!!!!!!
Me: . . . .
She gets the first letter right most of the time, although sometimes she only recognizes letters that come later in the words. Like, she always spells fox "X-O-E." She also makes up letters, as in, "SNA-O-E" snake!"
2) The Three-Egg Diet: My very own soon-to-be-patented miracle plan. See, you just go work for a family that eats lots of hard-boiled egg whites, but never the yolks. These folks should also feel a little bad about wasting any food and be very anxious to see that everything gets eaten and that nothing goes to waste. Let it be known that you don't hate the yolks, in general. Before you know it, you will have an eighty-year-old Indian woman practically force-feeding you three plain hard boiled egg yolks every day. And don't you dare try to sneak one into the trash or the garbage disposal; you're being watched too carefully for such high-jinks. While you will often feel like vomiting halfway through the second yolk (don't do it), this diet will do wonders for your skin and hair. If you can manage to have the same eighty-year-old spoon-feeding you the skins off of the top of a pot of boiled milk, all the better.
3) "Healthy. Healthy Food." Speaking of food and controlling Indian grandmothers, the last week, I had my lunch prepared for me. Generally, the grandmother will pull a box of rice and a few leftover curries out of the fridge and leave me to it. Well, leave me to it as she hovers somewhere over my right shoulder, telling me to take more and looking really confused when I don't. This week, however, she plated my food for me. Monday, it wasn't too bad. They were running short on leftovers, so we both got reasonable portions. (Of course, she did "encourage" me to eat two very soft apples as a snack later in the day. Gross.) Tuesday, she made my lunch the same was she normally makes hers: two curries mixed in a bowl, topped with a couple handfuls of chickpeas, fresh diced onions, and a sprinkling of lemon juice. Nothing earth-shattering, but edible. After that was finished, she made up a bowl of yogurt and rice for me. As I was standing in the kitchen finishing that, she walked up to me, put her hand on my shoulder, and said with very careful diction: "This. Healthy. Healthy food. Yogurt. Dal curry. Healthy." Thursday was the worst. We had, apparently, left all concern about healthy food behind, as she completely filled my full-sized dinner plate, half with white rice, half with some spiced rice pilaf-y dish. Mounded. Spilling over the sides. Rice. And then, she gave me more rice so that I would have enough for with my after-lunch yogurt.
4) More Indian TV: Despite my employeress' strictures regarding any TV viewing while her daughter is around, the grandmother continues her soap opera habit. At least naps have been reinstated, so Prita and I can retreat to the bedroom while Granny vegges out. However, her favorite show starts approximately 20 minutes before nap time begins, so I still get to see some of it. And--oh my goodness--it is indescribable. That won't stop me from trying. Imagine a show that seems to be entirely built around 4 characters: (1) the screaming damsel in distress, either standing slump-shouldered and sobbing or laying on the bed or floor, sobbing; (2) the fleshy-cheeked villain whose entire M.O. seems to be to taunt said damsel in the most annoying voice imaginable while bobbing his head smugly; (3) some random crazy-eyed man dressed all in white who is constantly carrying around a bloody knife or machete; and (4) a thicker, tougher, older woman who always seems to be coming to the damsel's rescue, sometimes with the assistance of the crazy man, sometimes without. Now imagine all of this presented in a highly repetitious manner, with exceedingly overwrought background music and quick, zooming camera moves. I really feel like I'm not missing much, not understanding the dialogue. The visuals are story enough.
Monday, October 24, 2011
What Goes On
The blog does not get updated when:
1) I am too cranky and cannot find anything amusing to say, particularly as regards my job.
2) I am in Fort Wayne, enjoying some quality time with my six favorite people in the whole world, plus Pastor and Jacqui.
On the job front, I gave notice on Thursday. Everyone cheer! I have another situation lined up, which should be much more reasonable in its demands and much less frustrating. It will also--I anticipate--furnish much less in the way of blog-fodder, so be prepared. I'll be taking care of the 8 mo. old son of one of Evan's classmates. This means that my husband and I will be on the same schedule, most of the time AND I will have Fridays off. Way back in September, I did commit to giving a full month's notice, though, so I will be stuck with my Indian friends through November 18. Oh well. Discounting vacation days (theirs), I only have 16 full days of work left. I imagine I'll pull through just fine.
As to our weekend in Fort Wayne, it was as wonderful as might have been anticipated. We stayed Thursday night at my father's this-is-NOT-a-bachelor-pad. My daddy and I had a nice drive over to Fort Wayne on Friday morning, while Evan attended a career fair in Chicago. Shopping, cooking, eating, visiting with the Petersens over dinner and cake, church at Redeemer, attention from my cat and my little brothers...all awesome.
1) I am too cranky and cannot find anything amusing to say, particularly as regards my job.
2) I am in Fort Wayne, enjoying some quality time with my six favorite people in the whole world, plus Pastor and Jacqui.
On the job front, I gave notice on Thursday. Everyone cheer! I have another situation lined up, which should be much more reasonable in its demands and much less frustrating. It will also--I anticipate--furnish much less in the way of blog-fodder, so be prepared. I'll be taking care of the 8 mo. old son of one of Evan's classmates. This means that my husband and I will be on the same schedule, most of the time AND I will have Fridays off. Way back in September, I did commit to giving a full month's notice, though, so I will be stuck with my Indian friends through November 18. Oh well. Discounting vacation days (theirs), I only have 16 full days of work left. I imagine I'll pull through just fine.
As to our weekend in Fort Wayne, it was as wonderful as might have been anticipated. We stayed Thursday night at my father's this-is-NOT-a-bachelor-pad. My daddy and I had a nice drive over to Fort Wayne on Friday morning, while Evan attended a career fair in Chicago. Shopping, cooking, eating, visiting with the Petersens over dinner and cake, church at Redeemer, attention from my cat and my little brothers...all awesome.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
A Paid Jukebox
Prita likes for me to sing to her. A lot. Any time one of her little toys plays music*, she demands that I sing along. If it's a song that doesn't actually have words, I need to make them up on the spot or risk incurring her wrath. She particularly likes lyrics that involve babies. My best effort so far goes something like this:
Big baby, big baby
Small baby, small baby
Babies big and babies small
Big babies and small babies.
Look out, Oscar Hammerstein II. There's a new lyricist in town.
She also likes going through her alphabet cards and asking for songs that correspond with the pictures. "M for Monkey song!!!!" means Pop! Goes the Weasel because--hey!--there's a monkey in the song. M is also good for Hickory Dickory Dock (the mouse, right?). Bye Baby Bunting goes with R for Rabbit. F for Fish results in Have You Ever Been A-Fishin'. Sometimes, though, I'm just stumped. My knowledge of silly children's songs only goes so far, and it certainly stops well before "X for X-ray song!" When she started crying out for a "W for Watch" song today, though, I knew exactly where to go.
Rise, my soul to watch and pray;
From your sleep awaken!
Be not by the evil day
Unawares o'ertaken;
For the foe,
Well we know,
Is a harvest reaping
While the saints are sleeping.
Etc. etc. and so forth.
*I really want to know two things: Who writes the songs that modern children's toys play and WHO PERFORMS IT?!?! Have they no shame? No pride?
Big baby, big baby
Small baby, small baby
Babies big and babies small
Big babies and small babies.
Look out, Oscar Hammerstein II. There's a new lyricist in town.
She also likes going through her alphabet cards and asking for songs that correspond with the pictures. "M for Monkey song!!!!" means Pop! Goes the Weasel because--hey!--there's a monkey in the song. M is also good for Hickory Dickory Dock (the mouse, right?). Bye Baby Bunting goes with R for Rabbit. F for Fish results in Have You Ever Been A-Fishin'. Sometimes, though, I'm just stumped. My knowledge of silly children's songs only goes so far, and it certainly stops well before "X for X-ray song!" When she started crying out for a "W for Watch" song today, though, I knew exactly where to go.
Rise, my soul to watch and pray;
From your sleep awaken!
Be not by the evil day
Unawares o'ertaken;
For the foe,
Well we know,
Is a harvest reaping
While the saints are sleeping.
Etc. etc. and so forth.
*I really want to know two things: Who writes the songs that modern children's toys play and WHO PERFORMS IT?!?! Have they no shame? No pride?
Monday, October 17, 2011
Gah.
I don't normally like to post pure complaints without at least a little sense of humor...but can we just forget today ever happened?
Prita's parents are in the process of getting her to sleep alone--instead of sprawled on top of her mother--and part of their strategy is skip naps so that she's so tired she'll sleep anywhere, anyhow. This works really well for a parent who works full time and doesn't have to deal with a nap-less two-year-old. I really felt very sorry for the poor little thing. By 1:30, she was begging me for a nap. "Sleepy time now? Sleepy time now? Pleeeeease?" I was under orders, however.
You can imagine how well this went. By 3:00, the child was a total basketcase. Everything caused tantrums and crying. Each time I would pick something up from the floor, be it a length of yarn, trash, or a book, she would start screaming for it and would not calm down until I handed it to her. As soon as the random object was in her hands, however, it would be forgotten. She cried because she wanted a bath. When I gave her a bath, she cried because she didn't like it. When I tried to put her anklets back on after her bath, it was as if I was torturing her. She went from sobbing like her heart was breaking to arching her back and screaming to running to her grandma to tattle on me. I'm still not sure why that last one resulted in Granny coming in to yell at me. I'm still confused.
Better still, the time that would usually be devoted to her nap--the best hour and a half of my day--was spent scrubbing the drip pans of their electric range. I'm not sure this had ever been done before, but Granny decided that today was the day and I was the girl to get it done.
Tomorrow starts at 7:00 a.m. God grant me patience. Please.
Prita's parents are in the process of getting her to sleep alone--instead of sprawled on top of her mother--and part of their strategy is skip naps so that she's so tired she'll sleep anywhere, anyhow. This works really well for a parent who works full time and doesn't have to deal with a nap-less two-year-old. I really felt very sorry for the poor little thing. By 1:30, she was begging me for a nap. "Sleepy time now? Sleepy time now? Pleeeeease?" I was under orders, however.
You can imagine how well this went. By 3:00, the child was a total basketcase. Everything caused tantrums and crying. Each time I would pick something up from the floor, be it a length of yarn, trash, or a book, she would start screaming for it and would not calm down until I handed it to her. As soon as the random object was in her hands, however, it would be forgotten. She cried because she wanted a bath. When I gave her a bath, she cried because she didn't like it. When I tried to put her anklets back on after her bath, it was as if I was torturing her. She went from sobbing like her heart was breaking to arching her back and screaming to running to her grandma to tattle on me. I'm still not sure why that last one resulted in Granny coming in to yell at me. I'm still confused.
Better still, the time that would usually be devoted to her nap--the best hour and a half of my day--was spent scrubbing the drip pans of their electric range. I'm not sure this had ever been done before, but Granny decided that today was the day and I was the girl to get it done.
Tomorrow starts at 7:00 a.m. God grant me patience. Please.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Excuse me while I smash that plate over your head.
So yes. The father-in-law.
He met me at the door when I arrived this morning with a brief "Good morning" and a "What is your name?" and that was the extent of our conversation for the day. It isn't due to any language barrier; my employeress assured me that he speaks fluent English, "because he's an ophthalmologist." For most of the day, he just pretended I wasn't there. Okay, fine with me.
Not that we didn't interact, after a fashion. I think there was definitely some communication going on when he rattled his dirty dishes at me from his position in front of the TV, waiting for me to take them to the kitchen. His eyes never wavered from the screen. Plate. Bowl. Spoon. Rattle-rattle. This happened three times over the course of the late morning. On the positive side, the Granny seemed determined to be extra-friendly, as if to make up for her son's treatment. My employeress told me this morning that her grandmother's only complaint about me over the last month is that I simply do not eat enough. I knew she was trying to fatten me up.
On another subject, we had our first "Sig O's" bookclub meeting tonight and it seemed to go pretty well. We read and discussed "A Visit from the Good Squad" by Jennifer Egan. The conversation was more thoughtful and less faux-intellectual than any bookclub I've ever heard of. My one complaint is that I fixed my mother's famous, nationally-known, award-winning buffalo chicken dip and no one ate any. Except me, of course. But then, the other goodies were...let's just say, not up to bunko levels. Wine, cheese, and veggies, nothing fattening, no beer, very little chocolate. That's gotta change.
He met me at the door when I arrived this morning with a brief "Good morning" and a "What is your name?" and that was the extent of our conversation for the day. It isn't due to any language barrier; my employeress assured me that he speaks fluent English, "because he's an ophthalmologist." For most of the day, he just pretended I wasn't there. Okay, fine with me.
Not that we didn't interact, after a fashion. I think there was definitely some communication going on when he rattled his dirty dishes at me from his position in front of the TV, waiting for me to take them to the kitchen. His eyes never wavered from the screen. Plate. Bowl. Spoon. Rattle-rattle. This happened three times over the course of the late morning. On the positive side, the Granny seemed determined to be extra-friendly, as if to make up for her son's treatment. My employeress told me this morning that her grandmother's only complaint about me over the last month is that I simply do not eat enough. I knew she was trying to fatten me up.
On another subject, we had our first "Sig O's" bookclub meeting tonight and it seemed to go pretty well. We read and discussed "A Visit from the Good Squad" by Jennifer Egan. The conversation was more thoughtful and less faux-intellectual than any bookclub I've ever heard of. My one complaint is that I fixed my mother's famous, nationally-known, award-winning buffalo chicken dip and no one ate any. Except me, of course. But then, the other goodies were...let's just say, not up to bunko levels. Wine, cheese, and veggies, nothing fattening, no beer, very little chocolate. That's gotta change.
Friday, October 07, 2011
Friday, Friday, etc.
Ahhhhh, the sweet smell of the weekend. No really. Something smelled really amazing on the way home tonight. Someone was grilling brats and someone was burning leaves (is that legal, here?) and the combination of those smells--along with the earthy smell of the leaves lining the sidewalks--was just heavenly.
Not much to report on the job front. Today was a fine day, despite the fact that I was overly tired and cranky when I got to the apartment this morning. That grumpiness evaporated when I found that my employeress had a canister of chocolate-covered almond butter toffees to which I was welcome to help myself.
Om nom nom nom nom.
The father-in-law arrives on Tuesday, and I'm not quite sure what to expect on that front. Updates will follow, I am sure. The good news is that it sounds like I have next Friday off AND I also have the Friday after that off so we can fit in a long weekend trip to Fort Wayne.
Not much to report on the job front. Today was a fine day, despite the fact that I was overly tired and cranky when I got to the apartment this morning. That grumpiness evaporated when I found that my employeress had a canister of chocolate-covered almond butter toffees to which I was welcome to help myself.
Om nom nom nom nom.
The father-in-law arrives on Tuesday, and I'm not quite sure what to expect on that front. Updates will follow, I am sure. The good news is that it sounds like I have next Friday off AND I also have the Friday after that off so we can fit in a long weekend trip to Fort Wayne.
Thursday, October 06, 2011
It's a phase, right?
Prita has a charming new trick. I say something, and she repeats it back precisely, with a loud "NO!" appended to the end of the last word. It goes something like this:
Me: Please pick up your matching cards.
Prita: Please pick up your matching cardsNO!
Me: It's time for yogurt.
Prita: 's'time for yogurtNO!
Me: Get your fingers out of your nose!
Prita: Get your fingers out of your noseNO!
Ah, yes. The Terrible Twos, but with a language gap. She's not quite sure what I'm saying, but she is NOT GOING TO DO IT!!!
This is why Evan and I have decided that all of our children are going to be naturally obedient and compliant....
Just kidding. I know we're doomed.
Me: Please pick up your matching cards.
Prita: Please pick up your matching cardsNO!
Me: It's time for yogurt.
Prita: 's'time for yogurtNO!
Me: Get your fingers out of your nose!
Prita: Get your fingers out of your noseNO!
Ah, yes. The Terrible Twos, but with a language gap. She's not quite sure what I'm saying, but she is NOT GOING TO DO IT!!!
This is why Evan and I have decided that all of our children are going to be naturally obedient and compliant....
Just kidding. I know we're doomed.
Tuesday, October 04, 2011
It's the little things you notice.
Prita has two stuffed bunnies that she loves. One is purple, the other is white.
I'm trying not to read anything into the fact that, after playing with said bunnies today, she threw up her snack of blueberries (purple) and a later snack of yogurt (white).
I'm trying not to read anything into the fact that, after playing with said bunnies today, she threw up her snack of blueberries (purple) and a later snack of yogurt (white).
Monday, October 03, 2011
Today: A story.
Once upon a time...
We had a good weekend. Rumor has it there were parties and keg stands involved, but I wouldn't give that too much credence. Unless you've seen the video Evan sent my mom.
Things went swimmingly today. The morning hours flew by, the child ate, the child slept, we went to the park, and my employeress came back at a reasonable hour, despite her dire warning that "hours will be longer this week." Of course, she also came home 3 minutes after the bus I had hoped to catch was gone, giving me the choice to 1) wait an hour for the next bus or 2) do my walking thing and meet the bus as far away as I could get in an hour.
My job isn't that bad, but given the chance to but some space between myself and them, I'm always going to choose that option.
Anyway, I walked four miles, rode the bus for about 1 mile, and got back off to meet my husband at Grainger (the business school building). We did some shopping and headed home. The end.
Epilogue: I found out this morning that my employeress's father-in-law--son of Granny--is going to be coming from India next week to spend "5 days." I put "5 days" in scare-quotes because I'm scared. They told me that Granny was originally intending to stay a month, but she has now been there 5. If they say the father is staying 5 days, what does that actually translate to? This would not trouble me so much were it not for the fact that it sounds as if he'll just be hanging around the apartment all day..... But who am I kidding? More stories!
We had a good weekend. Rumor has it there were parties and keg stands involved, but I wouldn't give that too much credence. Unless you've seen the video Evan sent my mom.
Things went swimmingly today. The morning hours flew by, the child ate, the child slept, we went to the park, and my employeress came back at a reasonable hour, despite her dire warning that "hours will be longer this week." Of course, she also came home 3 minutes after the bus I had hoped to catch was gone, giving me the choice to 1) wait an hour for the next bus or 2) do my walking thing and meet the bus as far away as I could get in an hour.
My job isn't that bad, but given the chance to but some space between myself and them, I'm always going to choose that option.
Anyway, I walked four miles, rode the bus for about 1 mile, and got back off to meet my husband at Grainger (the business school building). We did some shopping and headed home. The end.
Epilogue: I found out this morning that my employeress's father-in-law--son of Granny--is going to be coming from India next week to spend "5 days." I put "5 days" in scare-quotes because I'm scared. They told me that Granny was originally intending to stay a month, but she has now been there 5. If they say the father is staying 5 days, what does that actually translate to? This would not trouble me so much were it not for the fact that it sounds as if he'll just be hanging around the apartment all day..... But who am I kidding? More stories!
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Catching Up
Before I say anything else, let me just put this out there: chili-masala pumpkinseed pralines. Mmmm mmmm mmmm!
It's been a good week. It started off well, Monday being a day off for me. I used it wisely and took several hours to do some necessary cleaning of the apartment. It was one of the highlights of my week. Seriously. I reveled in my reclaimed domesticity. I also did not-so-fun things like pay bills and get The Worst Passport Photo Ever taken, but all that paled in comparison to the fun I had just getting stuff done at home.
I know you think I'm being sarcastic, but I'm really not.
There hasn't been much to report on the nannying front, at least, not much that provides any entertainment value or inspires me to new heights of hyperbole. Prita is now napping for me. It requires at least 20 minutes of singing and rocking on my part, but at least she's getting some rest. She has some definite favorite songs to be put to sleep by: "Pop! Goes the Weasel" (aka, The Monkey Song), "Baa Baa Black Sheep," and everyone's favorite "Little Bunny Foo-Foo." I should have started keeping track of the number of times we have been through "Bunny Foo," as she calls it. She also requests things like, "Big Baby Song" and "Octopus Song" and I have no idea what she's talking about. My inability to oblige only infuriates her (at least, when she's tired), and the only way to soothe her is to start singing, "Little Bunny Foo-Foo, hoppin' through the forest...."
Granny and I are slowly but surely improving our communication skills. We now serve Prita all her meals, get diaper changes done, give baths, and do dishes and laundry with a minimum of ridiculous gesturing. We had a charming little interlude today when she had me come sit next to her so she could sound out the words in Prita's Mickey Mouse book and have me check it for her. She knows all the letters and can sound things out, but she doesn't really seem to know what the words mean. After she had worked through a paragraph, she had me read the whole thing aloud...and cackled all the way through. I know my reading voice sounds considerably different than my normal talking voice, but really? Am I that funny? Laughing over, she grabbed Prita's Telugu primer and started showing me the letters and how to pronounce their names and the names of the accompanying pictures. I really can't remember a single thing, except that "rumpum" (or something like that) means saw. That'll be a great help, I'm sure.
I've also gotten a little more confidence when it comes to mealtimes with Granny. Previously, I had just been taking some of whatever she thrust at me, regardless of whether it sounded good or if I was even hungry, We've established, now, that I can get food when I want it--she doesn't have to serve me--and that I will not always want rice with curry, followed by rice with yogurt. Sometimes, I may just eat an apple and some nuts or cheese. Consequently, when I do have some of what Granny is having for lunch (or breakfast), I enjoy it a lot more and don't feel gross all day.
Tomorrow is Friday, which means 1) I get paid and 2) I get to look forward to an entire weekend at home, with my husband. Sounds pretty nice.
It's been a good week. It started off well, Monday being a day off for me. I used it wisely and took several hours to do some necessary cleaning of the apartment. It was one of the highlights of my week. Seriously. I reveled in my reclaimed domesticity. I also did not-so-fun things like pay bills and get The Worst Passport Photo Ever taken, but all that paled in comparison to the fun I had just getting stuff done at home.
I know you think I'm being sarcastic, but I'm really not.
There hasn't been much to report on the nannying front, at least, not much that provides any entertainment value or inspires me to new heights of hyperbole. Prita is now napping for me. It requires at least 20 minutes of singing and rocking on my part, but at least she's getting some rest. She has some definite favorite songs to be put to sleep by: "Pop! Goes the Weasel" (aka, The Monkey Song), "Baa Baa Black Sheep," and everyone's favorite "Little Bunny Foo-Foo." I should have started keeping track of the number of times we have been through "Bunny Foo," as she calls it. She also requests things like, "Big Baby Song" and "Octopus Song" and I have no idea what she's talking about. My inability to oblige only infuriates her (at least, when she's tired), and the only way to soothe her is to start singing, "Little Bunny Foo-Foo, hoppin' through the forest...."
Granny and I are slowly but surely improving our communication skills. We now serve Prita all her meals, get diaper changes done, give baths, and do dishes and laundry with a minimum of ridiculous gesturing. We had a charming little interlude today when she had me come sit next to her so she could sound out the words in Prita's Mickey Mouse book and have me check it for her. She knows all the letters and can sound things out, but she doesn't really seem to know what the words mean. After she had worked through a paragraph, she had me read the whole thing aloud...and cackled all the way through. I know my reading voice sounds considerably different than my normal talking voice, but really? Am I that funny? Laughing over, she grabbed Prita's Telugu primer and started showing me the letters and how to pronounce their names and the names of the accompanying pictures. I really can't remember a single thing, except that "rumpum" (or something like that) means saw. That'll be a great help, I'm sure.
I've also gotten a little more confidence when it comes to mealtimes with Granny. Previously, I had just been taking some of whatever she thrust at me, regardless of whether it sounded good or if I was even hungry, We've established, now, that I can get food when I want it--she doesn't have to serve me--and that I will not always want rice with curry, followed by rice with yogurt. Sometimes, I may just eat an apple and some nuts or cheese. Consequently, when I do have some of what Granny is having for lunch (or breakfast), I enjoy it a lot more and don't feel gross all day.
Tomorrow is Friday, which means 1) I get paid and 2) I get to look forward to an entire weekend at home, with my husband. Sounds pretty nice.
Friday, September 23, 2011
A Tale of Two Dishwashers
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.... That is, it was 6:15 on Friday morning. Best, in that it was Friday. Worst, in that it was an ungodly early hour and the sun had not yet shown up. I hadn't slept much, thanks in large part to my husband having only that night taken up the habit of snoring. (At least he wasn't sleep-walking.)
My employeress had told me the day before that I should get over to the apartment any time from 7:00 to 7:30. Like any normal human being with a functioning brain, I chose the later of those two options and timed my morning to arrive right before 7:30. On the bus on the way over, I got a frantic call from my employeress, asking where I was and why I wasn't there yet. I jabbered for a moment, trying to figure out how to answer without 1)sounding snotty or 2)apologizing for going along with her plan. I passed her in the hall on my was up to the apartment, looking completely frazzled and harried. When I got inside, I was treated to a scolding from Granny, the only intelligible words of which were "seven," "seven-thirty," and "LATE." I shrugged and smiled what I hope was a winning smile. This is my new go-to answer when I have no idea what's going on or no idea why I'm being scolded.
Speaking of being scolded.... I should mention that I have a big, nasty, problematic fault that is coming into direct conflict with Granny. My fault is this: I HATE being told how to do something with which I'm already well-acquainted. In this case, the issue is dishes. As part of the "light housekeeping" I'm asked to engage in, I'm supposed to clean up the dishes after meals and snacks. I know how to do dishes. My mother made sure of it, even if I did pass that task off on my brothers as soon as humanly possible.
Thus, it really, really, really irks me when I start to clean up Granny's kitchen mess and she stands behind me, looking over my shoulder and giving directions. (I may not understand a single word, but I understand the intent.) Occasionally, she will grab the scrubber and pot from my hands and give a demonstration. I'm never quite sure what the point is, as I clean dishes exactly the same was she does: apply soap, scrub, rinse. The best part of all of this is that I'm supposed to wash all the dishes...before I put them in the dishwasher. If she finds a dish in the (dirty) dishwasher that still appears to have been used, she will pull it out and wave it at me. Finally today I seem to have reached a point where she trusts me to clean everything properly and no longer inspects the dishwasher every time I leave the kitchen.
Contrast this with my home life: We got a new dishwasher a couple weeks ago and Evan has been testing it by seeing how much gunk we can leave on the dishes and still have them come out clean. So far, it seems to have dealt well with everything.
(I'm struggling to find a way to work in a play on Sydney Carton's last line, but my creativity has failed me. Oh well, here it is in all its beauty, sans sense or context: "It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.")
My employeress had told me the day before that I should get over to the apartment any time from 7:00 to 7:30. Like any normal human being with a functioning brain, I chose the later of those two options and timed my morning to arrive right before 7:30. On the bus on the way over, I got a frantic call from my employeress, asking where I was and why I wasn't there yet. I jabbered for a moment, trying to figure out how to answer without 1)sounding snotty or 2)apologizing for going along with her plan. I passed her in the hall on my was up to the apartment, looking completely frazzled and harried. When I got inside, I was treated to a scolding from Granny, the only intelligible words of which were "seven," "seven-thirty," and "LATE." I shrugged and smiled what I hope was a winning smile. This is my new go-to answer when I have no idea what's going on or no idea why I'm being scolded.
Speaking of being scolded.... I should mention that I have a big, nasty, problematic fault that is coming into direct conflict with Granny. My fault is this: I HATE being told how to do something with which I'm already well-acquainted. In this case, the issue is dishes. As part of the "light housekeeping" I'm asked to engage in, I'm supposed to clean up the dishes after meals and snacks. I know how to do dishes. My mother made sure of it, even if I did pass that task off on my brothers as soon as humanly possible.
Thus, it really, really, really irks me when I start to clean up Granny's kitchen mess and she stands behind me, looking over my shoulder and giving directions. (I may not understand a single word, but I understand the intent.) Occasionally, she will grab the scrubber and pot from my hands and give a demonstration. I'm never quite sure what the point is, as I clean dishes exactly the same was she does: apply soap, scrub, rinse. The best part of all of this is that I'm supposed to wash all the dishes...before I put them in the dishwasher. If she finds a dish in the (dirty) dishwasher that still appears to have been used, she will pull it out and wave it at me. Finally today I seem to have reached a point where she trusts me to clean everything properly and no longer inspects the dishwasher every time I leave the kitchen.
Contrast this with my home life: We got a new dishwasher a couple weeks ago and Evan has been testing it by seeing how much gunk we can leave on the dishes and still have them come out clean. So far, it seems to have dealt well with everything.
(I'm struggling to find a way to work in a play on Sydney Carton's last line, but my creativity has failed me. Oh well, here it is in all its beauty, sans sense or context: "It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.")
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
"...the monkey chased the weasel...."
Another 7:00 AM day. It's getting easier to wake up, although no more enjoyable. As Evan astutely remarked last night, "Oh, you're one of those 'eight hours of sleep' people." I had to correct him. I'm one of those 10-11 hours of sleep people.
The early start meant lots of gorgeous morning hours, which Prita and I spent at the park. I used my handy-dandy smartphone (I still can't get over that thing) and found a city park with a playground about a mile away. We walked down and Prita spent the next two hours running, jumping, swinging, sliding, and staring at all the bigger kids. I was happy to let her go as long as she wanted because, of course, lots of exercise means a better nap, right? Or no nap, if you're dealing with this kid. She managed 10 minutes of sleep in the stroller as we walked home. That was it. She was good to go for the rest of the day. Not that I didn't try to get her to nap again. We spent 45 minutes in the rocking chair, singing. If sound stopped coming from my mouth, she would cry. I cannot count the number of times I sang "Pop Goes the Weasel" to the wee beastie.
For all that, it was a pretty good day, and the mother came home over an hour early, so I get to spend the entirety of the evening with my husband.
The early start meant lots of gorgeous morning hours, which Prita and I spent at the park. I used my handy-dandy smartphone (I still can't get over that thing) and found a city park with a playground about a mile away. We walked down and Prita spent the next two hours running, jumping, swinging, sliding, and staring at all the bigger kids. I was happy to let her go as long as she wanted because, of course, lots of exercise means a better nap, right? Or no nap, if you're dealing with this kid. She managed 10 minutes of sleep in the stroller as we walked home. That was it. She was good to go for the rest of the day. Not that I didn't try to get her to nap again. We spent 45 minutes in the rocking chair, singing. If sound stopped coming from my mouth, she would cry. I cannot count the number of times I sang "Pop Goes the Weasel" to the wee beastie.
For all that, it was a pretty good day, and the mother came home over an hour early, so I get to spend the entirety of the evening with my husband.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Gone Walkabout
Firstly, we had an excellent weekend in Fort Wayne. Buca was delicious. The Johnny Appleseed Festival was awesome, as always. Church at Redeemer was church at Redeemer, and therefore difficult to beat, this side of Heaven. Even if Pr. Petersen was AWOL. I got hugs from some of my very favorite people (besides my family, I would have to count Jacqui, Lori, Nancy, and the Reunings in that extremely exclusive group).
Our drive home was uneventful and we made pretty good time, despite missing an exit and ending up driving along Hwy 14 through Palatine and Barrington. I only cried sporadically...the whole way home.
It rained all night and into the morning hours, but it stopped just in time for me to make my walk to the bus stop. The rest of the day only got more beautiful by the hour. When I got to work, I discovered that Prita spent the weekend sick with whatever nasty cold I had last week. She seemed to be on the mend, though, with no runny nose and very little congestion. She and I took a long walk late in the morning, just after the sun finally broke through the clouds. I'm seriously considering writing to Google to request that their maps have some way to indicate on which routes you will be forced to push a stroller uphill. I was so warm by the time we got back to the apartment (despite it only being in the 60s, at that point), that Granny was a little alarmed and made me drink some water. She really is a nice old lady.
On toward Prita's 2:00 naptime, I was trying to wear her out by having her ride her tricycle up and down the apartment hallways. As we were heading back toward their unit, Prita started crying out for her mom and, when I turned around, there she was. She hadn't been feeling well all day and finally decided to give up and come home. I felt bad for her, facing the prospect of putting her daughter down for a nap AND stressing out over missing work AND nursing a headache and a cold. But anyway, I got to leave 4 hours early.
Practically skipping with glee, I got outside and pulled out my phone to determine what time the bus would be coming by. Turns out, the buses run much less frequently during the day and the next one was not scheduled to be along for another hour and ten minutes. Rather than go sit somewhere and wait an hour, I started walking along the bus route, keeping track of the stops and planning to stop just in time for the bus to catch up with me further down the line. Originally, I figured I'd just walk a few streets down, until I found a stop with a likely looking bench where I could sit and read. No. Instead, I ended up walking over half the length of the route between work and our apartment. When I got home, I figured I had walked just a touch under four miles. But it was a perfectly beautiful day, and I was full of energy and wearing really comfy shoes, so I didn't even notice.
Evan and I made good use of our unexpectedly free afternoon. We headed over to the DMV (which was, incidentally, on the route I took home) and Evan got his license renewed, while I replaced my IN license with a WI license. That felt oddly final and I'm afraid I pouted a little when I figured out that they weren't going to let me have my old license back. After the DMV, we did our second ever Big Grocery Trip, this time checking out Woodmans. Which was huge and overwhelming and delightfully cheap.
Our drive home was uneventful and we made pretty good time, despite missing an exit and ending up driving along Hwy 14 through Palatine and Barrington. I only cried sporadically...the whole way home.
It rained all night and into the morning hours, but it stopped just in time for me to make my walk to the bus stop. The rest of the day only got more beautiful by the hour. When I got to work, I discovered that Prita spent the weekend sick with whatever nasty cold I had last week. She seemed to be on the mend, though, with no runny nose and very little congestion. She and I took a long walk late in the morning, just after the sun finally broke through the clouds. I'm seriously considering writing to Google to request that their maps have some way to indicate on which routes you will be forced to push a stroller uphill. I was so warm by the time we got back to the apartment (despite it only being in the 60s, at that point), that Granny was a little alarmed and made me drink some water. She really is a nice old lady.
On toward Prita's 2:00 naptime, I was trying to wear her out by having her ride her tricycle up and down the apartment hallways. As we were heading back toward their unit, Prita started crying out for her mom and, when I turned around, there she was. She hadn't been feeling well all day and finally decided to give up and come home. I felt bad for her, facing the prospect of putting her daughter down for a nap AND stressing out over missing work AND nursing a headache and a cold. But anyway, I got to leave 4 hours early.
Practically skipping with glee, I got outside and pulled out my phone to determine what time the bus would be coming by. Turns out, the buses run much less frequently during the day and the next one was not scheduled to be along for another hour and ten minutes. Rather than go sit somewhere and wait an hour, I started walking along the bus route, keeping track of the stops and planning to stop just in time for the bus to catch up with me further down the line. Originally, I figured I'd just walk a few streets down, until I found a stop with a likely looking bench where I could sit and read. No. Instead, I ended up walking over half the length of the route between work and our apartment. When I got home, I figured I had walked just a touch under four miles. But it was a perfectly beautiful day, and I was full of energy and wearing really comfy shoes, so I didn't even notice.
Evan and I made good use of our unexpectedly free afternoon. We headed over to the DMV (which was, incidentally, on the route I took home) and Evan got his license renewed, while I replaced my IN license with a WI license. That felt oddly final and I'm afraid I pouted a little when I figured out that they weren't going to let me have my old license back. After the DMV, we did our second ever Big Grocery Trip, this time checking out Woodmans. Which was huge and overwhelming and delightfully cheap.
Friday, September 16, 2011
On Vacation
Evan and I are spending the weekend in Fort Wayne, so don't expect much from me for the next few days.
We have all sorts of plans. Tonight, we're having dinner at Buca di Beppo in Indianapolis with my Caston aunt, uncle, and cousins, and also with Grandfather Dear. My Grandmother Dear is ditching us to go hang out with her church ladies. The ostensible reason for the party is that my birthday was earlier this month, Evan's birthday is later this month, and Jonathan never got his birthday party back in April. Really, it's just an excuse for us to visit the family and eat way too much pasta. I'm okay with that.
Just a brief update on the nanny front: yesterday was good, even though it started off with me crying in front of my employer. I was overly tired and had a racking cough and no voice and the combination of the three just suddenly overwhelmed me. I tried to make sure that she knew that I was not crying because I hate my job. And I was not crying because I can't communicate effectively with either Granny or Prita, despite the fact that the tears started rolling just as I started talking about that. She was understandably freaked out, and I got a call later from her husband, making sure everything was okay and that I am really comfortable with the position. The answer, of course, was "Yes. It's only been three days. Any problems we have now will only improve with a little time. Stop worrying. There's nothing wrong here..." etc.
Otherwise, the day was good. We spent a total of 5 hours outside, walking. We walked to the Social Security office so that I could drop off the paperwork to get my name changed with the government. Later, we took a route that just happened to lead right through the nearest Starbucks. Talk about fortuitous. Incidentally, I finally discovered just why Granny wants us to get out of the apartment so often: she uses the time to watch her Indian soap operas. Really. Watch the full 5 minutes, I dare you. The full episode I got to see yesterday was even better.
We have all sorts of plans. Tonight, we're having dinner at Buca di Beppo in Indianapolis with my Caston aunt, uncle, and cousins, and also with Grandfather Dear. My Grandmother Dear is ditching us to go hang out with her church ladies. The ostensible reason for the party is that my birthday was earlier this month, Evan's birthday is later this month, and Jonathan never got his birthday party back in April. Really, it's just an excuse for us to visit the family and eat way too much pasta. I'm okay with that.
Just a brief update on the nanny front: yesterday was good, even though it started off with me crying in front of my employer. I was overly tired and had a racking cough and no voice and the combination of the three just suddenly overwhelmed me. I tried to make sure that she knew that I was not crying because I hate my job. And I was not crying because I can't communicate effectively with either Granny or Prita, despite the fact that the tears started rolling just as I started talking about that. She was understandably freaked out, and I got a call later from her husband, making sure everything was okay and that I am really comfortable with the position. The answer, of course, was "Yes. It's only been three days. Any problems we have now will only improve with a little time. Stop worrying. There's nothing wrong here..." etc.
Otherwise, the day was good. We spent a total of 5 hours outside, walking. We walked to the Social Security office so that I could drop off the paperwork to get my name changed with the government. Later, we took a route that just happened to lead right through the nearest Starbucks. Talk about fortuitous. Incidentally, I finally discovered just why Granny wants us to get out of the apartment so often: she uses the time to watch her Indian soap operas. Really. Watch the full 5 minutes, I dare you. The full episode I got to see yesterday was even better.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
"Walk walk walk walk walk"
Today started off much worse than yesterday, and by "much worse" I mean a whole half-hour earlier. That's right, ladies and gents, I woke up at 5:45 AM and was out of the house by 6:15. At that hour, life is not worth living. In fact, I'm pretty sure I wasn't alive, but rather undead.
Anyway, my zombified form made it to the bus stop on time. The ride went quickly and there were no hiccups or wrong turns. I was even the last one on the bus for the final 4 stops before my destination....Which must be why the driver decided to stop for coffee, 1 mile from my stop and 5 minutes before I was supposed to be there. The look on my face when he said he was stopping to grab some coffee must have been something to see, because he immediately changed his mind and got back behind the wheel, and I made it to work on time.
Granny* offered me breakfast, which in this case involved curried green beans, mystery orange curry, rice, and chapatis. It was all delicious, but my poor, cossetted stomach was not prepared for that onslaught at 7:00 AM. Note to self: buy granola bars. We had essentially the same meal for lunch, minus the chapatis and plus a boatload of homemade yogurt. At one point in the not-so-distant past, I deluded myself into thinking I would be happy eating Indian food all the time. I was so naive.
Prita and I were kicked out of the apartment around 9:00 and told--very forcefully--to "walk walk walk walk walk!" We walk-walk-walked for almost an hour, coming back just in time for the power to go out as we walked up to the apartment. Granny was trying to get lunch started and could not figure out why the rice-cooker wasn't working. Try explaining "power outage" without any common words. After I went around pointing to all the non-functioning appliances saying "power: off" and making a chopping motion with my hand, she caught on. The outage only lasted about 20 minutes, though, and the day got back on track.
After Prita's lunch, we were kicked out of the apartment again with another vigorous "walk walk walk walk walk!" Prita was asleep within minutes, but I couldn't make myself turn around and go back to the apartment. I made a tour of the neighborhood, wishing I had brought my book along on the journey. Finally, after 45 minutes of fairly aimless wandering, I gave up and went back, hoping to get some reading in while Prita finished her nap. She woke up as soon as we walked in the front door. Back upstairs, I laid down with her and she was nearly asleep again when Granny walked in, yelling for me to come eat lunch. At that point, Prita gave up on sleep for the remainder of the day and became her usual, hellion-like self.
Other highlights include peeling a basket-full of onions, being chastised (I think) for letting Prita watch me play Angry Birds to get her to sit still for 5 minutes, and seeing a dead body carried out of another apartment while out walking. Good times, all.
Overall, despite some mishaps, it was a much better day than yesterday. Tomorrow should be better yet: it's the last day I work this week AND I don't have to be there until 8:00.
*I should note that in referring to the grandmother as "Granny" I'm not being disrespectful or flippant. (That's reserved for the actual content of my comments.) Rather "Granny" is how the family refers to her, when speaking English. I haven't the foggiest notion what else to call her. Although, she knows to call me "Brittany." Amazing.
Anyway, my zombified form made it to the bus stop on time. The ride went quickly and there were no hiccups or wrong turns. I was even the last one on the bus for the final 4 stops before my destination....Which must be why the driver decided to stop for coffee, 1 mile from my stop and 5 minutes before I was supposed to be there. The look on my face when he said he was stopping to grab some coffee must have been something to see, because he immediately changed his mind and got back behind the wheel, and I made it to work on time.
Granny* offered me breakfast, which in this case involved curried green beans, mystery orange curry, rice, and chapatis. It was all delicious, but my poor, cossetted stomach was not prepared for that onslaught at 7:00 AM. Note to self: buy granola bars. We had essentially the same meal for lunch, minus the chapatis and plus a boatload of homemade yogurt. At one point in the not-so-distant past, I deluded myself into thinking I would be happy eating Indian food all the time. I was so naive.
Prita and I were kicked out of the apartment around 9:00 and told--very forcefully--to "walk walk walk walk walk!" We walk-walk-walked for almost an hour, coming back just in time for the power to go out as we walked up to the apartment. Granny was trying to get lunch started and could not figure out why the rice-cooker wasn't working. Try explaining "power outage" without any common words. After I went around pointing to all the non-functioning appliances saying "power: off" and making a chopping motion with my hand, she caught on. The outage only lasted about 20 minutes, though, and the day got back on track.
After Prita's lunch, we were kicked out of the apartment again with another vigorous "walk walk walk walk walk!" Prita was asleep within minutes, but I couldn't make myself turn around and go back to the apartment. I made a tour of the neighborhood, wishing I had brought my book along on the journey. Finally, after 45 minutes of fairly aimless wandering, I gave up and went back, hoping to get some reading in while Prita finished her nap. She woke up as soon as we walked in the front door. Back upstairs, I laid down with her and she was nearly asleep again when Granny walked in, yelling for me to come eat lunch. At that point, Prita gave up on sleep for the remainder of the day and became her usual, hellion-like self.
Other highlights include peeling a basket-full of onions, being chastised (I think) for letting Prita watch me play Angry Birds to get her to sit still for 5 minutes, and seeing a dead body carried out of another apartment while out walking. Good times, all.
Overall, despite some mishaps, it was a much better day than yesterday. Tomorrow should be better yet: it's the last day I work this week AND I don't have to be there until 8:00.
*I should note that in referring to the grandmother as "Granny" I'm not being disrespectful or flippant. (That's reserved for the actual content of my comments.) Rather "Granny" is how the family refers to her, when speaking English. I haven't the foggiest notion what else to call her. Although, she knows to call me "Brittany." Amazing.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
First Day
Ha. Haha. Hahahaha. Hahahahahahahahahaha....
Sorry. Crazed laughter over.
So, I started my new job this morning. I am nannying 40ish hours a week, taking care of a two-year old girl, only child of a young Indian couple. Those 40 hours began at 7:30 this morning. (Rather, they were supposed to. More on that in a moment.)
My wonderful husband got up early to walk me to the bus stop. It was a lovely morning, if a little cool, and he made that walk much more enjoyable. I got on my #14 bus and was on my way. Until the driver missed a turn, drove a couple miles out of the way, circled back around to get back on her route, and made me twenty minutes late for my first day of work.
Thank goodness the people for whom I'm working are very understanding and flexible. I called them and they told me not to worry about anything and just get there ASAP. When I got to the apartment, the husband was at work and the wife was ready to walk out the door, leaving me alone with their daughter and their eighty-year-old grandmother. Did I not mention her before? She lives with them. And she speaks no English.
The little girl--I'll just call her "Prita"--is a squirrel. She doesn't sit down to eat; she runs back and forth and you have to reach out at just the right time to get the food into her mouth. At least today, the grandmother did most of this. She would cajole her for 5-10 minutes (at least, I'm assuming it was cajoling...it sounded like it, but I really have no idea what she was saying) and finally Prita would back up against the far wall, lower her head like a bull, and charge. About the time she pulled even with the grandmother, she (the granny) would force a handful of food into her (Prita's) mouth.
Prita spent much of the day reciting her ABCs to me, or having me write them out one at a time on her Magnadoodle. Prita doesn't actually converse in English--she talks mainly in whatever Indian language the family uses--but she knows a number of English words that she can shout out. She especially likes cats and I cannot number the times she yelled, "C is for KITTY!!!!!"
Prita is on a set schedule of meals and naps, although her mother was out the door before I could ask what time the nap was set for. It took granny and I several tries at gesturing and trying to find mutually-comprehensible words before I could find out from her that Prita goes to bed at 2:00. Well, come 1:00, granny scooped her up, beckoned for me to follow, and carried Prita off to her (granny's) room. She set Prita in the middle of the bed, laid down on one side, and gestured for me to lay down on the other. Uh...come again? I have no problem cuddling with a child who needs to be coaxed into sleep, but cuddling with a child and an 80 year-old woman who I've never met before and with whom I can't really communicate? Weird. I tried it anyway, but Prita was having none of this napping business. We gave up and let her run around for awhile. Several tries at putting her to bed were unsuccessful, so I let granny know that I was going to take Prita out for a walk in the stroller, to see if that would get her to sleep. Don't ask how I got that across, but I did somehow. Granny was also able to tell me to make sure Prita was wearing shoes and to keep the sun out of her face. Bethany and Granny: 1, Language-Gap: 0. That walk was the best part of the day. That that's despite my congested state which made the entire endeavor completely exhausting.
Anyway, Prita never did get a nap, but she did get increasingly moody and clumsy with every passing minute. By the time her mother got home around 6:00, she was mood-swinging like a manic-depressive and running into walls, but she would NOT sleep.
There are so many more quirks in this job, most of them will just have to wait.
Sorry. Crazed laughter over.
So, I started my new job this morning. I am nannying 40ish hours a week, taking care of a two-year old girl, only child of a young Indian couple. Those 40 hours began at 7:30 this morning. (Rather, they were supposed to. More on that in a moment.)
My wonderful husband got up early to walk me to the bus stop. It was a lovely morning, if a little cool, and he made that walk much more enjoyable. I got on my #14 bus and was on my way. Until the driver missed a turn, drove a couple miles out of the way, circled back around to get back on her route, and made me twenty minutes late for my first day of work.
Thank goodness the people for whom I'm working are very understanding and flexible. I called them and they told me not to worry about anything and just get there ASAP. When I got to the apartment, the husband was at work and the wife was ready to walk out the door, leaving me alone with their daughter and their eighty-year-old grandmother. Did I not mention her before? She lives with them. And she speaks no English.
The little girl--I'll just call her "Prita"--is a squirrel. She doesn't sit down to eat; she runs back and forth and you have to reach out at just the right time to get the food into her mouth. At least today, the grandmother did most of this. She would cajole her for 5-10 minutes (at least, I'm assuming it was cajoling...it sounded like it, but I really have no idea what she was saying) and finally Prita would back up against the far wall, lower her head like a bull, and charge. About the time she pulled even with the grandmother, she (the granny) would force a handful of food into her (Prita's) mouth.
Prita spent much of the day reciting her ABCs to me, or having me write them out one at a time on her Magnadoodle. Prita doesn't actually converse in English--she talks mainly in whatever Indian language the family uses--but she knows a number of English words that she can shout out. She especially likes cats and I cannot number the times she yelled, "C is for KITTY!!!!!"
Prita is on a set schedule of meals and naps, although her mother was out the door before I could ask what time the nap was set for. It took granny and I several tries at gesturing and trying to find mutually-comprehensible words before I could find out from her that Prita goes to bed at 2:00. Well, come 1:00, granny scooped her up, beckoned for me to follow, and carried Prita off to her (granny's) room. She set Prita in the middle of the bed, laid down on one side, and gestured for me to lay down on the other. Uh...come again? I have no problem cuddling with a child who needs to be coaxed into sleep, but cuddling with a child and an 80 year-old woman who I've never met before and with whom I can't really communicate? Weird. I tried it anyway, but Prita was having none of this napping business. We gave up and let her run around for awhile. Several tries at putting her to bed were unsuccessful, so I let granny know that I was going to take Prita out for a walk in the stroller, to see if that would get her to sleep. Don't ask how I got that across, but I did somehow. Granny was also able to tell me to make sure Prita was wearing shoes and to keep the sun out of her face. Bethany and Granny: 1, Language-Gap: 0. That walk was the best part of the day. That that's despite my congested state which made the entire endeavor completely exhausting.
Anyway, Prita never did get a nap, but she did get increasingly moody and clumsy with every passing minute. By the time her mother got home around 6:00, she was mood-swinging like a manic-depressive and running into walls, but she would NOT sleep.
There are so many more quirks in this job, most of them will just have to wait.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
On the Hunt
I finally sat down and got serious about looking for a job today.
Wait...just....give me a minute....
SNIFFLE
Okay. I'm fine, really. It wasn't that bad. I put in an application at Starbucks, both my home office on the Capitol Square and two others in town. I also looked up all the banks within walking distance and applied to the two that were hiring tellers. I took a deep breath and an antacid and checked the city and county websites for jobs, since that would be the place to find something library-related. No luck there, but that's really okay. As much as I loved my library job, I'd really rather not work directly for the government again. It always made me feel a touch squeamish. While I was holding my nose (or was it my breath? I don't know...holding something and feeling ill, anyway), I also checked one of the job sites with paralegal job listings. Then I came to my senses and realized that I would rather work at Sears--now hiring 7 salespersons--than go back into the law office environment.
I also checked out Craigslist, for the first time ever, and was immediately sidetracked by the weirdness. "YOU CAN BE A SURROGATE MOTHER. $30,000+!!!!!!!" "Make $3,000 a day from home. Not a scam." "Apprentice seeking Jedi Master." All good options, I'm sure.
The search continues tomorrow. And every day until I am successfully bound in wage slavery.
Wait...just....give me a minute....
SNIFFLE
Okay. I'm fine, really. It wasn't that bad. I put in an application at Starbucks, both my home office on the Capitol Square and two others in town. I also looked up all the banks within walking distance and applied to the two that were hiring tellers. I took a deep breath and an antacid and checked the city and county websites for jobs, since that would be the place to find something library-related. No luck there, but that's really okay. As much as I loved my library job, I'd really rather not work directly for the government again. It always made me feel a touch squeamish. While I was holding my nose (or was it my breath? I don't know...holding something and feeling ill, anyway), I also checked one of the job sites with paralegal job listings. Then I came to my senses and realized that I would rather work at Sears--now hiring 7 salespersons--than go back into the law office environment.
I also checked out Craigslist, for the first time ever, and was immediately sidetracked by the weirdness. "YOU CAN BE A SURROGATE MOTHER. $30,000+!!!!!!!" "Make $3,000 a day from home. Not a scam." "Apprentice seeking Jedi Master." All good options, I'm sure.
The search continues tomorrow. And every day until I am successfully bound in wage slavery.
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