I was telling N something in Russian (well, obviously, it was in Russian since that’s the language we speak to each other). As usual, my delivery was loud and expressive, not to say intense.
“So they just sat there, all quiet (тихие)!” I concluded.
“Тихие! Тихие!” Klara suddenly repeated with a perfect pronunciation.
Then she thought for a bit and added, “Га, га, га!” This was a line from the only Russian nursery rhyme I sing to her (because it’s the only one I remember). She had figured out that I was speaking in another language and provided the only response she knew in it.
On a different note, my crazy hair has come in useful. Klara has known the words “hair clip” and “hair tie” for months and can easily distinguish between the two. She also slaughtered at bath time the other day when she said, “I want lotion, Mamma. No, different lotion, please. Put lotion on tummy.” It’s almost creepy because she’s so small.
And yes, I feel very vindicated because people used to stare at me like I was going dotty when they saw me address complicated speeches to an infant. Who was right this entire time, huh, suckers, huh? (I don’t mean you, blog readers. I mean the passersby who were freaked out by my behavior.)
With all unhealthy behaviors we engage in, it’s very useful to ask: what does this unhealthy behavior obligate me to do? What does it liberate me from doing? Nobody would engage in unhealthy behaviors if they weren’t rewarding.
I wish people remembered this and started asking themselves: which unpleasant activities do I manage to avoid by reading about what Trump said on Twitter, and what somebody else thinks about what Trump said on Twitter, and what it all means?
Wouldn’t it be great if people remembered that nothing that anybody says on Twitter has any meaning? The whole purpose of the activity is to say meaningless stuff. There’s no meaning to posting pics of fluffy kitties, is there? It’s just a way to kill time.
I’ve reread some of the ancient posts and they made me feel nostalgic. Back then, blogging was the thing, everybody did it. It was so cool.
Of course, on the positive side, one never gets any crazies to post comments unless a post gets linked on FB.
This is what the real lack of mobility looks like. In the US, mobility is insanely good, better than anywhere I have seen and can imagine. And I say it as an immigrant who moved to this country with one suitcase and a mountain of debt less than 15 years ago, married an undocumented jobless immigrant, and is at this moment lying in front of a fireplace in a large house, making a list of things to bring to yet another beach vacation in 2 days.
I know it’s fashionable to sigh about how feudal and oppressed we all are but for me that would mean denying my whole life.
Maybe I should place all posts in Private mode before publishing them because it’s what anybody wants to hear anyways.
A feminist club for the very rich is
awash in millennial pink, with softly lit desks for working, a beauty room for primping, a snack bar with coffees and organic granola, plenty of art, a lactation room and a large library of color-organized books written by and about women.
Of course, the books have to be color-organized because the little airheads will get too confused otherwise.
The whole thing is financed by the same investors that are funding Goop.
Read the whole thing, it’s hilarious.