Beware: Curfews May Lead to Increase in Promiscuity

(this one's got 'i'm going to give my mom hell' written all over her face)

(when i was a teenager, my mom cursed me and said, "i hope god gives you a girl exactly like yourself." translation: i hope your teenager will be a belligerent, argumentative, pain in the ass.)

growing up with strict persian parents is one thing. being the first born of strict persian parents is a whole other ball game. can i sue my parents for past wrongs? i'm sure there is no statute of limitations. there certainly isn't one with sex offenses. and what they did to me is bad. really bad. almost on par. ok not really. but, i wonder if i would have legally emancipated myself like that romanian gymnast or drew barrymore, if i had known what the hell that phrase meant when i was a teenager. here are a list of my gripes:

1. 11pm curfew in high school

2. midnight curfew in college (they wanted to protect me from car accidents with drunk drivers)

3. no sleepovers in high school (they thought a friend's dad or brother would molest me)

4. zero love life in high school thanks to the no talking to the opposite sex policy (they deduced that conversing on the phone is like the gateway drug to having sex)

5. living at home with my parents for all FOUR years of college, thereby resulting in:

6. no dorm experience ("vaay live in dorm when you live ther-tee minutes from es-kool, makes zee-ro sense taraneh jan.")

7. no apartment living experience in college (see above)

8. no study abroad experience in college

9. no frat party experience (come on - i had seen the movies and had always dreamt about getting really drunk at a frat party and making out with a dreamy, blonde frat boy - i had also imagined myself with really big boobs in this scenario, you know you did too!)

my little sister should really shower me with gifts on a monthly basis or at the very least remind me of my awesomeness on a daily basis - for the nice, easy, smooth road i paved for her with my very own blood, sweat, and tears (literally).

1. my little sister slept at a friend's house every weekend in elementary, middle, and high school! ("have a vonder-fool time dar-leeng!")

2. she had a plethora of male friends, who called the house, and had full on, pleasant conversations with my dad. [this is the same dad who barked, "don't ever call here again" to one of my guy friends who called about a homework assignment once and nearly made him shit his pants]

3. she lived in the dorms her freshman year ("it is not safe to de-rive home late after studying at de libary all night")

4. the cool apartment style dorms her sophomore year ("it is good to not have roomate")

5. she lived in a sorority house her junior year ("dis is good for resume and so-ro-retee do good tings for community, yes?")

6. studied abroad in spain her senior year ("dis is very good ex-per-eeyence for you!")

as you can see, my parents evolved. (hmmm...or maybe they felt really bad that my sister has a dairy allergy and overcompensated with freedom and no discipline. that can't be it! i had asthma dammit - i couldn't breathe! she couldn't eat ice-cream. which is worse??? strike that.)

yeah yeah - i know the oldest always goes through hell. and parents have either come to their senses or have given up the fight with the second and third born. but i'm still very bitter. (shocking!) i will admit this - when you have your own kids, you kinda start to understand where they were coming from. you start to realize that your parents were not the crazy, heartless, cruel people you thought they were. you start to understand that the world is an unsafe, unpredictable place filled with lunatics and rapists.

i wasn't allowed to get my license until i turned 17. i thought it was the end of the world and that god had dealt me the shittiest hand when it came to being born. i think about dina driving around in 11 years at the tender age of 16 and i'm like, oh hell no! i open up the metro section of the washington post and am obsessed with reading the little blurbs that describe accidents involving teenagers who have lost their lives. it happens almost every day! should 16 year olds really be on the road? blaring their music, texting their friends, and talking on their cellphones?? i think not.

despite the world being a scary place, i know that if i raise my child to be a mature, responsible, smart, and sensible person - it's ok to let them go. dina can go to stanford and live in the dorms. (she just better know that i will move to cali with her and buy a place within a 5 mile radius.) i know that my parents were concerned for my safety and well-being and thought they were doing what was best for me. but when you become too restrictive and suffocating, you run the risk of your kid turning into a crack whore. they were lucky i didn't rebel and turn into a slut. that's because they had done a good job of raising me. (and because i'm a people-pleaser - ahem. not in that way - i like to please authority - you know be teacher's pet, my parents' favorite, etc.) so i will try to remember the hell i went through when it comes to the battles that are sure to come my way during my girls' teenage years. i will try to be more open-minded and less controlling. i will try to be less oppressive and more tolerant. i am an over-bearing persian mom (it's in my blood), but i'll make sure to let the cool, mellow american side of me shine through.

We Don't Need No Education...

goodbye criminals. hello teeny-boppers. i will no longer answer to a judge. i will have to kiss up to the principal. i'm leaving behind words like mitigating circumstances, incompetency, the alford plea, and possession with intent to distribute and familiarizing myself with dangling modifiers, sonnets, denouement, and oxymorons (god i love that word). i'm trading in black's law dictionary, the federal rules of evidence and the constitution for farenheit 451, the scarlet letter and 1984. i'm removing restitution, rehabilitation and punishment from my vocabulary and replacing it with romanticism, transcendentalism, and existentialism. farewell benjamin cardozo and thurgood marshall. i'm with shakespeare, dickens, and keates now.  folks, i'm switching careers.  

it's a little scary. am i making a huge mistake? will i be any good? will the students like me? will i win teacher of the year or be the laughing stock of high school? will the teenage boys hit on me? will the valley-girls eye me up and down, grit and say whatever? are there teacher cliques? will i befriend the cool psychology teacher or sit in the corner of the faculty lounge with the geeky/socially-awkward physics teacher? am i going to have to chaperone a prom or homecoming? will i be grading a million papers while watching project runway and wondering what the hell have i done? will the parents annoy me? will i have to fail some kids and distribute some Cs and Ds? what if i see a cheerleader giving the stink eye to a sophomore whose taking prednisone for asthma and can't help the chubby cheeks and acne? ahem. (memories...all alone in the moonlight) oooh can i give out detentions? (oh it's personal and it's payback time bitches).  am i going to have to get cliffnotes again for books i don't understand and don't care to read?

i love reading. i love writing. i loved teaching to law students as a TA in law school. i love editing papers. i mean i really love it. there is nothing more satisfying than taking a red pen and crossing stuff out and drawing arrows and these things: {     } and question marks all over a paper (ok i lie - a tres leches or slice of pumpkin cheesecake is more satisfying, but i'm talking brains not belly right now). i also really like the idea of being home at a reasonable hour with my kids. i really really like the idea of having summers off, winter break, spring break, and all the other holidays (i heart jewish people and dead presidents and notable historical figures).

i can't wait to give a pop quiz. and dole out parts and make students act out macbeth. i'm joking. i do think our teachers are underrated, underpaid, and unappreciated. when i look back on life, my teachers and professors had the most lasting and profound impact. i hope some day people will look back and remember miss. azani as their favorite high school english teacher. that would make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and may just trump the high i get from biting into a heath bar. fyi: definition of heath = a tract of open and uncultivated land. synonym = moor. how ya like me now?  

if you don't eat yer meat, you can't have any pudding. how can you have any pudding, if you don't eat yer meat?!  what is it with me and song lyrics lately? it's a great song nonetheless. (that's a great word too.  i'm going to start using it in every day conversation.) carry on, class. 

You and Me Baby Aint Nothin' But Mammals...

okay - so west virginia is no wyoming, but we still managed to have a nice, relaxing time. after 4.5 hours of driving and 389 "are we there yet?" questions we finally arrived. the house we stayed in was beautiful, but it was in the middle of nowhere. at night, alex would set up booby traps (note to self: look up the word origin for "booby" trap) at each entrance into the home, for fear that someone would kidnap the kids in middle of the night. on our first night, my husband left our room at 2am and slept with the kids. i asked him, what if someone kidnaps me and there is no one to protect me?? it was dark, but i'm pretty sure i saw a shoulder shrug. thanks honey. i love you too.

we were informed the day before we left for the trip that there would be a TV and dvd player, but no cable. my husband, who was going to the library to return some books, was assigned the task of renting some movies for the week. we spent each night, watching national geographic videos. i was hoping for movies along the lines of the diving bell and the butterfly, but should i have really expected this from the man who took me to see the beavis and butthead movie on our first date? now you'd think watching national geographic movies would be highly educational for our 5 year old. but boy did we have to do some major damage control.

Day 1: Lions

D: "mommy, what is that boy lion doing to that girl lion?"

Alex quickly responds, "he's giving her a piggy-back ride."

D: "can i have a piggy-back ride right now?

Alex: "you most certainly cannot!"

Day 2: Zebras

D: "look guys - even the zebras are giving each other piggy-back rides."

us: "piggy-back rides sure are fun!

Alex: "mommy loves piggy-back rides."

me: "ahem...shut up alex."

Day 3: Rhinos

D: "rhinos give piggy-rides too!! that is so cool! that must hurt the other rhinos back. they are heavy."

Alex: "mommy is heavy too. she hurts my back during piggy-back rides."

me: glare. followed by middle finger (when the kids are looking away of course), followed by mental note: no piggy back rides for daddy in the foreseeable future.

anyway, a fun time was had by all. some highlights: i can't look at another marshmallow until the year 2020. i beat my husband bowling. dina got bed bug bites all over her legs. i ate freshly caught fish from the river and was paranoid all night that i was going to die from some fish-borne disease. i am the UNO queen. my husband has picked the last 3 three vacation sites and being the awesome wife that i am, i have obliged him. it's pay-back time. i'm thinking hawaii in july...sans kids.

"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)