A Life Unheard

I’ve been feeling a bit down lately. Partially because a great plague has befallen our family, and it truly sucks. I’m a bit of a hyper, always on the go sort of person, and this illness has stopped me in my tracks, and it’s made Azita a big old grumpy puss. I’m not used to this because she’s almost always happy and cheerful.  Luckily this bug seems to be on its way out. But my general malaise remains firmly planted. This morning on my way in to work, as I sat there dreading the rest of my day (a regular occurrence as of late), I realized why.

I live a life unheard.

I walk through my days piping up when I think I have something to contribute to a conversation, and no one hears me. I go to work 5 days a week and have discussions in my area of expertise, and I leave the conversation realizing that no one listened to anything I had to say. My thoughts on the subject had no bearing on any outcomes. So I spend my days implementing other peoples’ ideas, and it’s frustrating. It’s frustrating because I went to school for a really long time. Too long. And in 8 years of my decade of higher education I studied the same thing to death, and then I found a job in the same field and worked in a career doing these things. And 13 years later none of that matters. I’m doing mindless work, and I don’t have a mind that likes to sit still.

Then I go home and things aren’t much better.

Let me preface what’s to come with a statement that I think I have a great husband. He does laundry and dishes, and he even scrubs the bathroom floor. With bleach, just how I like it. But he doesn’t listen to me.

Maybe it’s because he’s a man. We have a conversation, and when I’m talking I can see in his face that he’s thinking about something else. More than likely he’s thinking about the next thing he wants to talk about, because inevitably he interrupts me to express his opinion. And he never remembers anything I tell him, like “don’t forget we have x, y and z this Saturday” or “the doctor said we need to do a, b and c at Azita’s checkup.” He always insists I never tell him these things. Anyone in my family can tell you that I have a freakishly impeccable memory. I can remember conversations I heard when I was 4 years old nearly word for word. I can remember exactly what I wore to the first day of school in kindergarten. I can remember the exact cash register in the exact Giant near my childhood home where my sister bit me when I was 7 and drew blood because she wanted to sit on the bag tray at the end of the register’s conveyor belt. I’m just saying, I have a good memory, and if I remember that I said something, I said it.

My husband never remembers anything I say, because he never listens to it in the first place.

I expect a little of this in life. I know that what I have to say is not always interesting. We can’t always be on all the time. I also know people are sometimes preoccupied with other things. I myself am guilty of not listening quite a lot for this very reason. We are all busy and harried at times. Sometimes I can hardly hear a conversation because my mind is racing and mulling over the million things that need to get done. But when someone talks to me, usually I’m listening AND hearing.

I was raised in a home where children were seen and not heard. As an adult, though, I’m used to being heard.  I mean, in a work setting, I frequently know what I’m talking about. And in a personal setting, well, I think I’m usually nice and pretty damn funny. I’ve been known to entertain a room with my wacky stories, and I think I have an interesting opinion about some things.

I guess I don’t know how I got in this situation. It’s pretty damn lonely life never being heard, and the worst part is that I sometimes think I’ve resigned myself to this being the way life is. But I’m not ready (and I hope I never will) to walk through life like J. Alfred Prufrock. I may be a loner at heart, but I need some engagement to keep me going.

So, today I RSVPed “Yes” for a working mamas playdate. I’m going to make some working mama friends, and we’re going to play in a ball pit with our babies and hopefully talk. And I’m looking forward to it and feeling better about things already, because there’s nothing like taking action in the present to turn life around.

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zahra, March 9th 2010 | Tags: , , ,
Posted in Uncategorizable Ramblings

Kissing the Hand That Force-feeds You

Roger and Azita are both napping, which leaves me hanging out alone on the couch with a sleeping baby on my lap mindlessly flipping through channels. There is nothing on t.v. on a Saturday morning. Probably because most people are out and about. I’d like to be out and about, but my entire family is napping (even the cats). So, this is how I ended up watching a History Channel show on hot dogs. And that is how I learned that the Oscar Mayer weiner jingle is so popular that not only has it been the longest used jingle for any product, but people actually used to call radio stations and request that they play it.

Wh-wh-wh-what?

Talk about kissing the hand that is trying to force feed you. This isn’t entirely shocking to me, I guess. I remember when I was a kid, people used to sing that McDonalds jingle that was basically a somewhat musical rendition of their menu. I remember it was also one of the most popular double-dutch rhymes on the blacktop. I’ll admit that I participated in said recitation of the commercial jingle many times, but I LOVED DOUBLE-DUTCH. I had to if I wanted to participate.

I know, I know. Would I jump off a bridge if every else did? Well, actually, I might jump off a bridge if everyone else did. If it looked fun, I would. And double-dutch is fun, so I jumped off the bridge. OKAY? Cut me a little slack. I was 8.

But here’s what I wouldn’t do.  I would never, ever, even if my life depended on it call a radio station and request that they play the jingle for a commercial product. That’s where I draw the line.

I mean, I worked in advertising for two of the most mind-numbing years of my working life, and I can tell you that those people don’t need the American people to inflate their egos any more. Their heads will burst.

So if you ever get the urge to call a radio station and request that they play the Alka-Seltzer jingle or the NFL something or another theme song. STOP. Think of the ad men and their heads. Only you can save them from spontaneous cranial combustion.

This is a public service announcement brought to you by the Council for the Abolition of Corporate Asskissing (CACA).

p.s. I’m talking a big game here, because let’s face it I’ll do what it takes (except for selling my body) to earn a paycheck and put a roof over my and my family’s heads. I just won’t enjoy it. So there.

………………………………
Zahra Safavian
aim: zindex3
m: 571.289.5369
h: 703.351.4424

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zahra, March 6th 2010 | Tags: ,
Posted in Uncategorizable Ramblings

Eh-Baba and Bah Bah

This morning after a night of only a couple hours of sleep, Azita wakes up, jumps to a sitting position and gives me a big slobbery kiss. On the mouth. And she says MMMMMMMMmmmmmmm-uh and then giggles. I couldn’t help but laugh semi-hysterically.

Then when she was eating her breakfast, she says “mmmmmmmm. bah-bah-bah-bah” and she rubbed her tummy. When Iranians eat something tasty, they say “bah-bah-bah.” Apparently, Azita has picked that up. And that’s not all. When she stopped eating and moved on to playing with her food, I took her tray away, and she wasn’t too thrilled about that. Her response? “eh-baba.” If you’re Iranian, you know why that’s cute. It’s just such an adult thing to say. The way she said it, it was like an old man was talking in my little toddler’s voice. You can also probably imagine from whom she picked that up.

Me thinks it’s time for Roger to get serious about watching his language before she moves from copying the eh-babas and bah-bahs on to the “F*%! you, asshole” and other choice things Roger likes to say when he drives, walks or does just about anything.

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zahra, March 4th 2010 | Tags: , , ,
Posted in Parenthood + Childhood

Ignore It and It Will Go Away

I’m still pondering the topic of weight, everyone. Still. I know. You’re thinking, “Wait. When did she ever stop. That’s all she talks about. Blah blah blah.” Whatevs. Just hear me out.

Recently, actually maybe a year ago, someone told me a story about a woman. A woman who had a weight problem. And the person who told me the story said something like this: “She is always dieting and exercising and watching her calories. And she won’t eat anything with sugar or carbs. And she’s still fat. I think this just goes to show you that if you think about your weight all the time, you will only gain weight. If people could just not think about it, everyone would be thin and healthy.”

Now the woman who told me this story is skinny. Naturally skinny. At any dinner I’ve been to with her, she eats twice as much as I do. And she drinks lots of wine and has dessert and appetizers. And her idea of exercising is to go for a walk, and not even a really brisk one or long one at that. And with all that, she was a size 2. When pregnant even.

I’ve covered how much I exercise and restrict my calories. It sucks because I’ve had to do this my whole life. Ok, maybe not the first 5 years, but I’m not exaggerating when I say I’ve been on a diet since I was 5 years old. Still, this is the hand I’ve been dealt, and I make a point of trying to make the best of it. At least having to always eat right and focus on healthy eating and exercise habits means that I will never be shocked when I hit 40 (in only three years, people!) and all of a sudden can’t stay skinny while subsisting on fast food. Or when I realize I’m a size 2 with shockingly high cholesterol. None of that will ever happen to me.

I’m just saying, I’m not complaining.

But, I am annoyed. One year later, I’m still annoyed. Because I hate (and I did mean to use that strong of a word) people who are naturally skinny and who think that those who aren’t just need to do what they do to be like them. Not thinking about food or exercise will not make me lose weight. And neither will going for a 30 minute walk every day. Nor will eating turkey or fish. Or any of the other ideas imparted onto me by those who don’t have this problem. And anyways, who ever said I want to be like these people.

I realize that there are some people who are fat, and they are fat because they have bad habits. But it’s really none of my business how they got fat. Nor is it my place to tell them how to lose the weight. That is between them and their doctor.

It just galls me when people think all fat people are fat because they are lazy and have no self-control. And I swear that if I hear another ludicrous weight loss suggestion from someone wearing size 2 pants, I’m going to kick them in the shins and run away.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

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zahra, March 3rd 2010 | Tags: , ,
Posted in Categorizable Rantings, Food + Fitness

Baby Booty Boot Camp

It’s been over a year since Azita was born, and I’m still a good 10-20 pounds over where I’d like to be weight-wise. I don’t really have the aspirations I used to have when it comes to my weight. This is a good thing, because my weight goals in my 20s were not exactly healthy. They are decidedly more relaxed now. I’ll admit that I am so lazy as to aim for the very highest healthy weight to give me a healthy BMI.

Here’s the thing. I don’t think that’s possible without starving myself. Before Azita was born I worked out a minimum of 1 hour a day. EVERY SINGLE DAY. Some weeks I would take a day off. Most weeks I would put in an hour and half a day with some really, really long workouts on the weekends. And that’s not all. I went hiking on the weekends, I went for long walks, I spent time outside kicking a soccer ball around or playing in a pickup game. In other words I was very active. And the quality of my activity was high. I never did easy workouts. I did advanced step aerobics classes, extended high intensity spinning classes, bootcamp classes, long runs, interval workouts — everything was very intense. If my heart rate didn’t get up to 80-90% of my maximum, I wasn’t satisfied.

My diet wasn’t so bad either. I ate a healthy vegetarian diet — that means I actually subsisted mostly on whole grains, vegetables, fruits, and lean soy protein. No mac n’ cheese or giant bowls of pasta for me. I actually kept track of every calorie that went in my mouth and made sure to keep my total daily calories at 1500 or less.

With all of the above — guess what? My weight still put me in an overweight BMI. Go figure. But I didn’t care, because I enjoyed exercising and I’ve always felt much better when I eat well. And I was healthy. Really healthy.

When I started trying to get pregnant I loosened up on things a bit. I worked out throughout my entire pregnancy, but not as hard. I ate whatever I wanted. I gained a crapload of weight. We’re talking Jabba the Hut proportions here. Well I’ve lost all of it except 10-15 pounds, and I’m finding myself stalled. I haven’t lost a pound in over 3 months.

Maybe it’s because I’ve relaxed just a little bit on the intensity of my workouts. I’m just so exhausted sometimes between work and taking care of Azita and more work. And yet more work, and then trying to cook and take care of the household — and that’s with a husband who is actually helpful around the house. Sometimes it’s easy to convince yourself that you deserve to take things a little easy. I’ve also gotten a little lazy about recording what I eat, and I suspect I’m probably eating a little more than I should. Ok, I lied. I know that I am eating more than I should, because after decades of counting calories I can estimate pretty accurately how many calories I’m ingesting. And it’s bad. Embarrassingly so.

The thing is, I want another baby, but before I get around to trying for one I want to make sure I’m as healthy as I can be. So it’s time for me to kick myself in the butt and put myself in baby booty boot camp — as in I need to get serious again about losing this baby booty. I need to step up the intensity of my exercise and get back to some major calorie restriction. At this point I have no one to blame but myself for my current situation. After all I did give birth over a year ago. I believe the saying is “9 months on, 9 months off”, not “18 months off.”

Normally I wouldn’t blog about this, but I’m hoping putting this out there will hold me to this task. It would be too shameful for everyone to know I’ve failed, right? Maybe. We’ll see.

Wish me luck, friends. I need it.

1 Comment

zahra, March 2nd 2010 | Tags: , , ,
Posted in Food + Fitness

A Room of One’s Own

In the 20s Virginia Woolf wrote about the doors closed to women. “A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write,” she said. I couldn’t agree more. Times haven’t really changed. I would say that a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to live — really live and breathe and thrive — but it is so rare that women get this. Maybe this is just my experience in life, but I think many women are in the same boat. When you get married, all of your stuff, all of your life becomes joint property. Yet should said marriage dissolve, your former spouse will do everything in their power to take all of that and more away. And let’s face it, not many women have the financial power or the aggression to stop that from happening.

When I joined households with my husband, I came into the venture with very little stuff of my own. What I did have was largely disposable in that I didn’t really care about it. Things come and go, but there are a few things that can never be replaced. That is the yardstick by which I measure everything I have — or at least whether or not I will keep it for ever and ever. This philosophy in life comes in handy when you are not only a person who doesn’t like to live with clutter but also a person with pretty bad dust and mold allergies. Pictures, the few little knick-knacks made for me by my grandmother, a couple things given to me by my parents or sisters that represent moments in my life I’d like to remember whether for good or bad — these are all I really need to keep, and they can basically all fit in a couple file boxes.

My husband is very different from me. When I moved in with him he cleared a drawer and a wall in his apartment for me. I was actually quite happy and pleased with this at the time.  I made my stuff fit as best as I could, but the fact was I was squeezed into a corner of his apartment, and in retrospect I think I was probably squeezed into a corner of his life as well. I am not a believer in giving up oneself for another person, but I am a big believer in growing and changing with another person — i.e., compromise — with the understanding that there are some things that are personal and sacred and not to be touched. I guess I didn’t know that 90% of my husband’s life fell into that category.

Since then this has been our struggle. I am not a rich person, and neither is my husband. It is highly doubtful we will ever live in a place that accommodates everything we would both like to have. And we have a daughter now, and I hope to have another child one day soon. At night when I can’t sleep I sometimes think about this and wonder how we will fit everything and still have space to breathe and move a little. And by “we” I guess I really mean me.

When I was in school studying graphic design I was enthralled by the Swiss designers, specifically by their brilliant use of white space. All of my work teemed with white space. I like my life to be the same way. Roger dreams of a home with floor to ceiling shelves on every wall, with every shelf filled with treasures. Clearly we have a dilemma, and I don’t know how to solve it.

This isn’t to say that Roger hasn’t purged a lot of stuff from his life. He has. He has gotten rid of a lot. And I appreciate that effort towards making me happy. But the fact remains that we may never be in a spot where I will really have more than a corner of my own, and some days, like today, that is a hard pill to swallow.

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zahra, February 28th 2010 | Tags: , , ,
Posted in Family + Friends

Baby Feet

I have an aversion to feet. I know I’m not alone in this. Lots of people aren’t fond of these extremities, but perhaps the severity of my aversion sets me apart. I don’t like to look at them, touch them, and definitely not smell them. I don’t even like to get pedicures because it makes my stomach turn to see feet touched. Even my own feet. Crazy, I know. What person in their right mind can’t enjoy a pedicure?

There is one exception to the rule. Baby feet.  I just love Azita’s feet to death. I love the little indents on her toes. The tiny toenails. The pads of fat that fill in her arches. The way her toes wiggle when something touches them. The creases where her ankles meet the top of her foot. I can’t get enough of them. Sometimes I just hold her feet in my hands and stare at them and think, “I made these.” They are so amazing, and I can’t even explain why. Especially given my aforementioned aversion to the foot.

Maybe it’s because they’re so stinking adorable.

BabyFeet

Yup. That must be it.

1 Comment

zahra, February 25th 2010 | Tags: , ,
Posted in Uncategorizable Ramblings

Finding Me

This morning I took a little time to do something I almost never do — take a look at the search strings that lead people to this blog. Not only did I have a good laugh, but I learned a lot about myself and others.

  1. For example, I didn’t know I was incapable of having fun, but there it is — the ninth top search string to find me.
  2. I’d thought I would be alone in finding Apolo Ohno annoying. After all he’s the most winning winter Olympian ever and a dancing star. People love the guy. Well, consider the following search strings: apolo ohno annoying, apolo ohno unattractive, and ohno’s facial hair annoying. And Shaun White doesn’t fare much better according to all the people who found me by searching for Shaun White cocky.
  3. People are really interested in all things catfish, as evidenced by the following searches: do catfish hibernate, where are bye catfish, catfish for toddlers, catfish hibernation, catfish on true blood, catfish bells (huh? really?) and catfish necklace (seriously, wtf?).
  4. I need to do more crafts and write about them. My sparkling bib necklace post gets the most hits, and it’s the second top search string to lead to my blog.
  5. I need to do a better job brushing my teeth it seems. How else do you explain grit in teeth?
  6. Many, many others have been traumatized by kaleh pacheh.
  7. And finally, mother complains whenever I spend money. I don’t even know what to say about that. I guess it’s pretty self-explanatory.

Who knew reviewing search string stats could be so entertaining? Me thinks I’ll be spending a little more time on this activity in the future.

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zahra, February 24th 2010 | Tags: ,
Posted in Uncategorizable Ramblings

One Year Ago Today…

Azita laughed for the first time.

It’s hard to believe that only one year has passed since this video was taken. On the other hand, I can’t believe an entire year has passed since this video was taken. At the time I thought I’d never be able to keep Azita alive. When she laughed for the first time I started to believe I could do this raising a child thing. One year later I have so much more confidence as a mother, and Azita can do so much more than laugh. She walks and climbs and runs and even talks a little. But it’s still her laugh that fills me with wonder and gives me the boost of confidence I need to make it through another day.

I love her. Plain and simple.

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zahra, February 23rd 2010 | Tags: , , , ,
Posted in Parenthood + Childhood

Finding Fun in the Little Things

This weekend we spent a couple hours with family at a local burger joint. Azita had so much fun that she passed out the minute she hit the carseat.

The thing that amazed me was how much fun Azita was able to have with just a few straws.

It started with drumming.

And then there was pickup sticks…

…and baton twirling.

And when she was done with the active playing, she pondered the meaning of the straws for a while.

Those straws got a lot of mileage in just two hours, and somehow she managed to keep herself entertained. At some point in my life I was able to do the same thing. Now I need to have the tv or radio on in the background, a laptop on my lap and a book or magazine next to me in order to keep myself interested. I’m not saying I’m incapable of having good, simple fun. It’s just not a regular occurrence in my life.

Azita, on the other hand, will have the best of times with the most basic things, whether a fistful of straws or a piece of tinfoil or her foot. When do we lose that ability? When does this stop being a part of our nature? It’s good to have that reminder sometimes to slow down and find fun in the little things in life.

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zahra, February 22nd 2010 | Tags: , , ,
Posted in Parenthood + Childhood
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