"It's All Relative in West Virginia"

well hello mr. bison.

latvians heart birch trees

i'd rather be shopping - j/k!

my ideal vacation = white sand, clear blue water, hot sun, massages, fantastic book, delicious food, dancing, beautiful sunsets, jet-skiing, burnt nose and cheeks (i'm olive skinned and wear blush 24-7 people), the best desserts, sleeping in, and NO KIDS (i love them, but can't i get a week free of diapers, poo, cheddar bunnies, questions, the berenstain bears, nose-picking and daily laundry?)

alex's ideal vacation = running, hiking (for miles), fishing, canoeing, rain, bugs, rush rush rush (my husband cannot relax and is a very impatient man. he complains constantly about my walking pace - which i swear is normal. he has told me numerous times that emails addressed to him by me must be short, succinct, and get the point across in the first sentence. but i digress...), delicious food (the one thing we can agree on), waking up at the crack of dawn, WITH KIDS.

tomorrow we leave for west virginia: the land of incest and rotten hygiene. i hope i haven't offended any loyal west virginian readers. to make matters worse, i will have zero access to television, the internet, and decent restaurants and i will be forced to hike (probably in the rain given my shitty luck with weather and vacations) for miles - with 2 whiney kids who enjoy walking as much as i do (on a scale of 1-10, i give the act of walking a 2.5 - unless there is a worth-while destination such as a movie theater, a haagen dazs parlor or a loehmanns at the end of the tunnel.) the only thing keeping me sane right now and preventing me from entering a deep depression is the prospect of eating smores. i will make it my mission to eat smores for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. fat ass? flabby arms? cellulite? double chin? pssssht. it's my fuckin vacation. afterall, i have to blend in with the hillbillies. ouch. *shaking head* i'm so ignorant. blending in again. ok ok, my work here is done.

the pics above are from our trip to jackson hole, wyoming. my initial reaction when i heard we were going there: shock and mortification. i'm not going to lie. it was a truly magical place.

dare i say west virginia will be the same?

Driving Miss Dina

a mother's work is never done. we are life coaches, personal shoppers, stylists, housekeepers, nurses (bed pan = diaper in my book), butlers, chefs, and personal assistants to our kids. i have a new job title to add to my resume: chauffeur. dina goes to school 7 days a week. here is her schedule:

monday - K, ballet

tuesday - K, soccer practice

wednesday - K (don't be fooled - I have to drive A to her program on Wed and Thurs)

thursday - K

friday - K

saturday - soccer game, farsi school

sunday - latvian school

since alex has a crazy, inconsistent schedule - much of the chauffeuring duties fall on me.

(note to self: next time you decide to marry a doctor, make sure he's a dermatologist - he'll be home by 5pm every day, never be on call, and you'll be wrinkle-free.)

i can't even imagine what would happen if i ever got a DWI or had to amputate my right leg. my poor kid would not be well-rounded and thus not get into any good colleges, and possibly reside with me forever. *double shudder* (note to self: lay off the vodka on girl's night out, unless you've hired your own chauffeur.)

12 years ago i saw a fortune teller in iran, who told me that one of my future kids would be a soccer star (never mind that this same person said i would give birth to a boy and a girl). so i'm thinking my little soccer sensation could be D. she shows some promise in the video above. i have a feeling A is going to be a wrestler or football player - but she could be my ticket to a college soccer scholarship, because D is just so dainty.

as a parent, you live vicariously through your kids and sign them up for activities/sports that you wish you had done as a child. mom and dad: thanks for the gymnastics, ice-skating (mom's dreams), violin, piano, and santoor (dad's dreams), but they really weren't my thang. my dreams for the girls: guitar or piano, basketball, soccer, art, persian dancing, karate and languages.

i have to introduce the girls to everything (exhausting myself in the process) and eventually let them decide what they like best. as kids get older, some of the roles i mentioned above will certainly diminish. (you better believe my duties as a housekeeper, butler, and stylist will (this last one i will forego kicking and screaming). but i know that for the next 11-14 years of my life, i will be a driver to my kids until they get their licenses. i may even have to buy a van down the road (*shudder*) - as a 3rd car of course if i want to partake in some car-pooling action with other moms in my boat. (are you loving the transportation references?) i can't even think about incorporating A's future activities into my daily schedule, for fear that i may have a thelma and louise moment and drive my car over a cliff (unless of course i meet brad pitt along the way.)

Doing vs. Getting it Done

**now a word from our sponsors: the entrepreneur in my husband thinks some of you will actually click on these ads to the right and make me some money. i love how all the ads have something to do with poop. awesome. as you were.

motherhood is the hardest job i've ever had. there are days i wish i was "working" again or back at school taking final exams and writing essays. (why did i ever complain? it was all a piece of cake compared to this) and you know what i've slowly come to realize. just because i have these thoughts, doesn't make me a bad mother. the reality of motherhood is not at all what you see in commercials and movies, where mothers are emanating this glow while breastfeeding (it sucks) or playing on a see-saw with their kids (makes me wanna vomit). those hallmark/kodak moments definitely happen, but not every single day.

i used to feel an enormous amount of guilt about ever feeling ungrateful about my situation, because i made this choice. and i know it's better for my kids. i should feel lucky that my husband's income allows me to stay at home. but motherhood is a lot of work. it requires one to be incredibly nurturing, patient, warm, and giving. i love my kids to death, but i do not love every single minute of every single day that is devoted to their care. i spend much of the day alone, cleaning up and caring for my girls - making sure they're entertained, clean, clothed, fed. kids are attached to your hip, they think they live in a restaurant, barking out orders for pasta or pizza, make mess after mess, demand a lot, and without fail or consistency, cover you in snot, vomit, or shit.

not to mention the fact that it's hard to never have an uninterrupted conversation let alone carry an adult conversation. it's hard to go anywhere for more than 2 hours with kids and when they're with you, they want and need your constant attention (mom i'm bored. mom i'm tired of walking. mom i'm hungry.) sometimes the worst is the day to day routine and monotony of it all. it's the same day over and over. wake up at 7am. make breakfast. feed kids. clean up. play. learn. make lunch. feed kids. clean up. pray for nap. make a snack. feed kids. play some more. mediate fights. make dinner. feed kids. clean up. bath. read bed-time stories (after the 139th book, you inevitably get asked, can you read me one more book?) put kids to bed by 8pm. my 13 hour days with them can be brutal. it's hard to be around anyone for that long.

and just because i'm busy, doesn't mean i'm not utterly bored. some days, i just gotta get out of the house. often times, i get through the day by turning mundane tasks into major events just to kill the time and have something mildly interesting to do. errands become momentous undertakings. i'm proud to say, i've totally lowered the bar of expectations. a day in which laundry is done or the kids' beds are made is a triumph. the highlight of a day becomes a trip to the grocery store (you know all about my love for costco) or farmer's market, going to the gross germ-infested indoor mall playground, going to the park, taking dina to ballet, soccer, latvian school and soon farsi school (oh my).

but i have to remind myself that kids are little for a very short time. my baby just started kindergarten. it seems like yesterday, my husband and i were living in philly in the middle of winter 2 days before D was born and arguing about whether we would walk the 2 blocks home from the hospital after i give birth, or have him pick dina and me up in a car with the car seat. (never let a man decide these things: i could barely pee let alone walk after pushing out a watermelon through my you know what). i read an article a few years ago that mentioned a truism that all parents should heed. the author wrote, "i wish i had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less." i have to cherish this time together, the hugs and kisses, even the poop (ok i think that's taking it too far) and 'can i sleep with yous,' because pretty soon they'll be teenagers and want nothing to do with me and i'll be left spending 12 hour days with my husband. insert commercial-like image: i'm glowing and euphoric as i sit next to my husband and look into his eyes for hours on end. ha!

Till Running Do Us Part

about once a month, i engage in some serious whining. this complaining is usually directed at my husband. this month's topic: my husband's lack of romance. i can't remember the last time he made plans to take me out on a date. against people's court's advisement, i take matters into my own hands. i line up babysitters (the g-units), make reservations, do my hair, and tell my husband we have plans friday night.

**note to guys: just because you marry the girl, doesn't mean you have to stop writing poems (he is going to kill me), surprising us with chocolate on our cars while we're in LSAT class, accompanying us to the movies (oh that stopped 24 hours after we said "i do")

T: "honey let's see a movie tonight."

A: "i don't do movies."

T: *blank stare*

back in high school, i was the go to person for relationship advice. i doled out relationship advice like it was my job. carolyn hax who? shiiyet. i had zero experience of course, unless you count my boyfriends in kindergarten, 3rd and 4th grade. as a persian girl, growing up with traditional persian parents, i was forbidden to associate let alone date the opposite sex. that didn't stop me of course. funny anecdote: i remember being on 3 way (coolest invention ever at the time) with a boy and one of my friends. we asked him for his list of superlatives (i.e. best looking in our grade, best body etc.) and guess what? yours truly was voted for sexiest voice on the telephone and most likely to xerox her butt. *applause* thank you. thank you. it's such an honor. [please note: i did gain some redemption 9 years later by actually winning best smile in law school (probably my proudest moment)] so why is it that this self-proclaimed relationship guru is having difficulty in her own love life?

in an effort to shut me up, my husband took matters into his own hands yesterday. want to know what his idea of doing something romantic entails? why it's going out for a run together. with the kids. and where does the romance fit in exactly? he pointed out: jogging side by side of course. silly me. call me old-fashioned, but i would be perfectly content with some flowers (orchids please), chocolate (i'm not picky as long as it aint dark), a massage, 20 minutes of hair-playing, or a hallmark card that reminds me of my awesomeness. running together makes me feel anything but romantic. in fact, it has the opposite effect. in my mind, i'm cursing him and counting down the minutes until this "quality time together" is over. my husband loves to run. he would do a monthly marathon if he had an understanding wife that could tolerate all the training time away from the family. he even bought the above hideous shoes. that's how much he loves running.

so back to yesterday's love affair... i feel way too much pressure going for a run with my husband. i just can't keep up and i feel like i'm holding him back. oh and he thinks i'm some kind of superwoman that can run and simultaneously carry on a conversation. hello! i have asthma. know your family's medical history doc. so after mile 2, he says to me, "okay i'm going to run another few miles and meet you back at the car." wtf? that doesn't sound very romantic. dropping me like a hot potato. i told you i cramp his running style. but i wanted to kiss him right then. soap opera style. i was going to get to turn around, take a leisurely stroll back to the car, listen to my ipod and enjoy some peace and quiet.

T: "sounds good A, see you soon, take your time" and he stops me dead in my tracks.

A: "here you go honey. (he passes the jogging stroller reins to me-mind you there is 80 pounds worth of heavy cargo inside) if you're going to walk back, you might as well get some exercise and take the kids with you."

T: *blank stare* (i'm really good at those.)

oh and guess what loverboy told me this morning, all bright-eyed and bushy tailed:

A: "i think i'm going to do the marine corps marathon in october."

T: taking imaginary gun and pointing it at my head. gulp. "oh, really?"

A: "you know what that means. lots of training. it's only 2 months away."

T: "sounds great babe. i'm sure the kids will love training with you."

A: *blank stare* (now that's a first)