My husband has worked umpteen days in a row, including weekends. Moreover, he’s gone most evenings between the hours 3-8 pm, which I call the “marathon hours”– the hours of the day when I tend to lose my shirt. Since I can’t clone myself, I am rushing like mad between homework and making dinner and practicing piano and getting to swimming lessons, and getting the kids outside to enjoy this lovely weather a good hour before it gets dark. And then its baths and pjs and bedtime snack and brushing teeth and stories and bedtime. When he’s not around, several days in a row, all I can do is get the kids clean and fed and where they need to be and pass out on the couch afterward.
A month after switching classrooms at her preschool, my three year old is still upset at drop off. Most days she doesn’t cry, but she gives me this pathetic teary-eyed look that makes me want to impale myself on something sharp. I’m told she’s sad for about 2-3 minutes after I leave, and then she’s laughing and talking and playing with her friends like nothing has happened. But in the meantime, her mal adjustment bums me out the entire day, so much so that I’ve contemplated taking her out of preschool for the rest of the year. But I’m working on a bunch of projects at once. She has to go.
Enough of my droning on…
I really enjoyed this blog post about what it means to be classified as Asian. I frequent an Atlanta message board, and I often hear that the area I live in isn’t diverse because it’s just “Asians.” I think it’s time we get rid of the term. Asians are Sri Lankans and Bangladeshis and Koreans and Chinese and Malaysians. And Pakistanis and Indians and Vietnamese. There are so many different countries, so many different languages, foods, traditions, cultures, religions. It’s like lumping me, an American, in the same category as someone from Canada or Mexico. I know virtually nothing of those countries, and I’ve visited them each maybe twice in my life.
Do you call yourself Asian? Or are you more specific?