Last night I dreamed I was tired.
We were at the beach, everyone was scuba diving, shopping, and beachcombing, and I couldn’t get myself up out of my hotel bed to look for my sandals.
6 month pregnant, I’m still trying to unpack this house whenever Scarlett is asleep.
When I wake each morning my head feels rooted to the pillow.
At least in the dream I was tired someplace scenic.
Scarlett’s eyes flutter and close. Her tiny pout parts, and I feel her body relax in my arms. I stay put for several minutes watching her sleep, my heart bursting. Usually I’m happy to tuck her into bed and get on with my life, but tonight I can’t get enough of her.
These are the days when I chase my freedom. When every missed nap or late bedtime is a frustration.
Today we played at Carkeek park, where she went down the salmon-shaped slide two dozen times. She’s learning to steer herself and stay upright, no longer catching a foot on the way down and tipping sideways. There was a large barbecue going on at the nearby firepit area- a high school graduation party.
I didn’t have to look to know that none of these teens had brought her mother to the party.
Tonight she would happily stay nestled against me all night.
These days are numbered.
It is the night time when I feel the sense of dread.
When I’m listening with one ear to the baby monitor, but I can’t quite fall asleep because it’s there.. waiting to detonate.
When she keeps me up hour after hour, and I start to think those circular thoughts, “I can’t stand it! Let me go! Somebody get this baby off of my tit!”
Or when I’m sick. When I get up and cry while I rock her, desperate from misery and exhaustion.
There are nights when I fear that I have made a terrible mistake.
That I am not cut out to be a parent.
“If you were the worst mother in the world,” Kris once tried to console me, “Scarlett would not be the happy, glowing child that she is.”
I do worry that I will fail her- every day I find new ways to develop my self doubt. Shouldn’t she be better sleep trained by now? Will I ever wean? How will I know when to potty train? How will I know HOW to potty train?
But I have resources to deal with that fear. I read, I talk to other mothers, and I consult with my sage nanny, Serah.
What I really fear is that I’m not strong enough to survive this experience.
“It’s really annoying, when you’re trying to fight one person, and someone else is punching you in the head”
~My slightly battered husband, describing his mugging which happened earlier tonight.
Shame on each and every one of you chickenshit commuters who stood and watched Kris struggle with two muggers without lifting a finger to help.
“I try not to watch Food Network while I’m on the treadmill.”
~John Tabbone
Before going on to describe Paula Dean making Turducken
This weekend I went for a 30 mile bike ride up the West side of Manhattan to the George Washington Bridge.
Seth led James and I on a nice, flat spin along the Hudson, and to a stop at Dinosaur for a lunch of killer barbecue. Kris stayed home with the baby. I felt a bit bad about enjoying all that exercise and good food while he was stuck at home, so I ordered him a big plate of pulled pork, and stuffed it into my fanny pack.
When I got home, I grabbed a shower and took over parent duty for a few hours until Scarlett went to bed, and then I took a book into the tub for a long soak and a read.
I haven’t felt so relaxed in months.
On Monday, my mind felt remarkably clear, and I had a great attitude. I was able to get all of my tasks done and even whip up a pan of lasagne for dinner.
I know that I’m feeling good, at least in part, because Scarlett is getting over her ear infection, and is sleeping at night again. Part of it is because I’m getting over my sinus infection, and I’m sleeping again.
But it still seems like a couple hours in the saddle have done more good for my state of mind than 4 weeks of Zoloft.
It’s good to be back.
Welcome to summer.
The first weekend in June, and it was 90 degrees today. After a visit to the park with Sophie, Kris, Scarlett and I had a nice brunch with friends and retreated to our air-conditioned living room to sweat out the humid day.
Late in the afternoon when the day had cooled, we had another little stroll in the park.
The rolling lawns of the Long Meadow were dotted with park blankets and barbecues. Frisbees criscross the air, and music from a sound stage under construction competed with the squeals of the children.
They had nearly finished putting up the movie screen when we left to come home and put Scarlett to bed.
Today is the beginning of the summer season at the park.
They’re playing Close Encounters of the Third Kind in the long meadow tonight, and the concerts at the band shell will begin running one or two a week.
At nine o’clock, the fireworks began. The blasts were so close the windows rattled, and I could feel the vibration in the floor.
Normally, I like fireworks, but tonight I”m listening with my mommy ears. All I could think was,
“Can’t they use quieter fireworks?”
I hurried to check on the baby, and was relieved to find that our loud new air purifier muffled the ear splitting cracks to dull thuds in Scarlett’s room.
After I was sure she was safe and happy sleeping through the storm, I couldn’t help thinking about how stressful small things like firetrucks, fireworks, and smoking neighbors have become. Then I imagined how it would feel if those crashes outside our windows were bombs instead of fireworks.
I’m seeing a lot of things differently since Scarlett came into my life.
“Wouldn’t it be horrible to have a baby and be in Iraq?” I said to Kris,feeling ill.
“It would be horrible to be in Iraq, period” he answered.
He’s right, of course.
Anyone with half a brain knows it’s bad in Iraq right now.
But it’s hard to feel it, in the midst of our busy, comfy lives with our hot running water and our convenience stores. It’s hard to empathize with people living in fear halfway around the world when American Idol is on.
My Mommy Eyes had given me a moment of that empathy.
It happens a lot these days.
I try not to collect things.
Once people find out you collect something, you get it for your birthday, your graduation, your anniversary. They begin to see your face whenever they come across the collected item, and then they stop waiting for occasions. The little treasures just start multiplying.
They take up space, and you don’t have any control over the quality or style of the items you recieve as gifts. Also, I try not to keep around a bunch of stuff I don’t use, and it’s my constant battle to keep the household stockpile down.
Still.
I am a bike collector at heart.
They’re so beautiful and fun and useful. I love to dream of owning the folding bike for commuting, and the traditional bike for shopping. I’d love a tandem for romantic rides with Kris. A recumbent would be a fun change- I can’t figure out how they start and stop without falling over, but I’d love to try it. Also, I’ve been longing for one of those little scooter things with a motor.
And a Vespa scooter.
And a motorcycle.
Today, I’ve fallen in love with the moederfiets or “motherbike.”
She’s terribly useful, but I’m afraid there’s not enough room in my whole apartment for her.
I don’t think anyone would be surprised to hear me say I’m an idealist.
Though it may be impossible to live up to my ideals entirely, I don’t see that as an excuse not to do what I can.
One of the things that keeps me here in New York is the subway system. I can’t remember a time when driving didn’t make me feel guilty. I must have learned that carbon monoxide is a bad thing before I was old enough to drive. Back home, I did my fair share of driving to the grocery store (.25 miles away from home) and the laundromat (across the street from the grocery store), but I also avoided driving when I could. I biked to school and to work all through college, and generally mooched rides whenever possible.
Despite all of the things I do that I know harm someone, somewhere, for some reason- like wasting the paper cup that holds the latte I’m sipping right now- I tend to choose certain battles and stick with them.
They’re specific, often quixotic choices, but they’re mine.
For example, I only buy soda from a fountain. This is because bottled soda and water are created by privatizing access to water in small towns or poor countries, and then denying local residents access to their own water. In some locations, the results of this behavior are deadly.
Except Orangina, which I order from FreshDirect by the gallons.
I have never seen Orangina at a soda fountain. If I ever do, I suppose I’ll be forced to consider having a fountain installed in my house so that I can create Orangina myself using local water.
For now, I just give Orangina a pass.
Being a parent has created a whole new generation of idealism compromises.
On choosing organic, parenthood scores well. There are wonderful baby foods out there that are completely organic- we use Happy Baby, which is also frozen instead of canned, so it tastes great and has more vitamins. Also, they’re do-gooders (or claim to be) so that helps ease the guilt of not making my own baby food at home.
Scarlett sleeps on an organic mattress, covered by an organic wool absorbent pad, topped by an organic cotton sheet. Of course, lately she’s taken to sleeping with a pillow to help her sinuses drain. That pillow, stolen from her parents’ bed, is made of some unidentified synthetic fiber, and is wrapped in a case made from non-organic cotton. It’s a temporary solution, and one I’m feeling, suddenly, like I’d better fix right away.
I am deeply ashamed of my failure to move from disposable to cloth diapers.
These insidious little landfillers are so effective, so convenient, so AVAILABLE that I have been able to put off learning the essentials of cloth diapering, such as which style to buy, how to use a “doubler” and what kind of cover is best. I cringe inside every single time I change a diaper, and every time I need to order more, I hesitate. “Shouldn’t I call a diaper service instead?”
Then the baby poops, and I set that thought aside and rush to order another case of Pampers.
For years I have resisted the disposable cleaning products trend. I use environmentally friendly spray, real sponges and washcloths, and a real broom and mop to clean my house. I even have a squeegie to for cleaning my windows. Why use a paper towel when a real dishrag will work just as well? But it’s a short hop from disposable diaper wipes to disposable anti-bacterial wipes.
To me, the Swiffer has long been the poster child of disposalism.
A cheap plastic handle and a cheap plastic swivel head, designed and constructed to make me buy box after box of textured napkins that cling to the dirt, and go into the trash. You don’t even have to bend over!
Today, I have reached a new low.
I started off blameless enough…I know that the Swiffer handle itself was abandoned in the apartment when we moved in. But I bought that box of toxic chemical sheets myself.
With Scarlett starting to crawl, I have started to get desperate about the dog hair situation, and nothing clears out the fur faster than a quick Swiff before work.
I am on the horns of a serious idealistic crisis.
The evil empire! A Swiffer in the house!
Thankfully, I wrote this blog entry.
While Googling to find out what they call those chemical paper napkin refill thingies, I came across this eco-friendly Swiffer-like thing.
Now I face a new dilemma.
If I buy the eco-friendly Swiffer-like thing, what will I do with the Swiffer I have?
Do I throw the evil chemical patches in the trash to go poison a landfill? Should I use them first?
Do I give them away so someone else can throw them into the landfill?
I cannot unmanufacture these things.
There’s no easy way to win back your soul once you give in to disposalism.
I feel like an old couch. Lumpy, threadbare, and sprung.
In the beginning, it seemed natural to be a bit of a mess. My body was wonked out by pregnancy and chidbirth, I hadn’t put two hours of sleep together since leaving the hospital, and I was home alone all day with this tiny, beautiful person who cried all the time, and couldn’t tell me what she needed.
I remember how I stressed about the dog. She needs a walk, but it’s 15 degrees out! I didn’t want to take the baby out in the cold, but I didn’t have anyone to help me.
I kept thinking, “Tomorrow is the day I’ll cook something for dinner.” and “When the weekend comes, I’ll clean this house”.
When we were on our Christmas trip, I was sure I’d started getting the hang of this parenting thing. I’d finally gotten Scarlett to start napping and I was feeling so much more relaxed. This didn’t take into account the fact that my only responsibility the entire 5 weeks was taking care of baby. Once we got home, the house was still there, looking like somebody had turned it upside-down and shaken it like a snow globe.
I began to feel panicky. I cried easily. I worried constantly about the baby, and felt like a failure on every level. A bad mom, a bad housekeeper, a horrible pet owner, a rotten real estate investor, a needy wife.
Here’s the wierd thing about feelings: you always believe in them.
If I felt overwhelmed, I was sure it was because something was overwhelming me. I just needed to organize more, focus better, cooperate with my husband more efficiently. It didn’t occur to me to wonder if my coping skills were somehow impaired.
Kris was unwaveringly supportive. “I don’t expect you to cook, hon.” he said with a hug, “We’re just going to do whatever we need to do to get through this.” He meant the new parenthood thing. Neither of us was thinking about post partum depression.
Things started to get radically worse when two stressors collided:
I started thinking about getting a nanny, but the idea of leaving the baby with a stranger terrified me. What if I picked a Bad Nanny? I started thinking about quitting my job, but could not get my mind around that either. Am I really the kind of woman who can do dishes every day and not earn her own money? The crusty house seemed an accusation.
Every day, my To Do list grew, and I couldn’t tell the important things from the ones that could wait. It all seemed heavy and unweildy, and I was this tiny person, shrinking beneath the weight of all her failed responsibilities. I put off deciding about my job. I avoided reading my email.
Kris encouraged me to quit my job. “What is it that draws you back there?”
Duty? Guilt? Money?
The best way I can think to describe it is stark raving panic.
I wanted to crawl into something safe and familiar. Something not too stressful.
We hired a dog walker.
We hired a housekeeper.
I arranged to go back to work part-time.
We begged William to come visit- both to give me the cheer and support of an old friend, and to give me some decent hair.
I still felt anxious and overwhelmed. I made lists, and then forgot where I put them.
After I came home crying from a meeting with my real estate partners (for the third time), Kris and I began to talk about an exit strategy. We also began to talk about getting me some medication.
About one in 10 new mothers experience some degree of postpartum depression. These complications usually occur within just days after the delivery, and can occur even a year later. These symptoms include:
- Sluggishness
- Fatigue
- Exhaustion
- Feelings of hopelessness or depression
- Disturbances with appetite and sleep
- Confusion
- Uncontrollable crying
- Lack of interest in the baby
- Fear of harming the baby or oneself
- Mood swings – highs and lows
Our efforts are having an impact. I’ve been back at work for three weeks now, and the nanny hasn’t given me any reason to panic. Our lawyer is drafting the separation agreement from the real estate partnership, and that’s a huge releif.
Last week, William came. He cooked. He empathized. He took Scarlett and I for a walk in the park. He brought a breezy, relaxed feeling into our house, and he gave me hair like this:
…at least, it looked like that when he styled it.
When I style it, the curl creeps back in and the bangs fly up in the wind, bringing to mind the tall ’80s bangs I’d rather not remember.
Some days I feel like I can concentrate.
Some days, I feel like I make progress on my tasks.
Some days, I even write in my blog.
…and then the accountant calls, or the dog walker doesn’t show up, and we have a hard day.
Next week, I have an appointment with a doctor who, I hope, will give me some of this drug my mother-friends have told me about- the one that helped them start feeling like themselves in only a few short days. I just hope nobody at the office notices the baffled stares and the vacant smiles in the meantime.
If I get that medicine, I think I’ll be in good shape. I’ll have my focus and my confidence back, and all of these worries will take their rightful place in the back of my mind.
Then there will really be only one thing left. I’ll just need someone to say,
“Your hair looks just like Bridgett Fonda!”
Yeah. That will be good.
Yesterday was the first summery day of 2007, so William and I took Scarlett and Sophie to the park.
William was holding the baby while I was fiddling with the stroller. When I looked up, Scarlett was cute as a button riding on Uncle William’s shoulders.
I froze.
“Don’t ever let Kris see you doing that.” I said, though I was unable to resist a smile at how happy Scarlett looked up there.
I explained that Daddy once knew an EMT who told him too many horrible stories of children killed or maimed when they tumbled backward from their fathers’ shoulders.
“You’ll never catch me holding our children that way.” Kris told me once, as we watched a dad passing on the sidewalk, little son riding high on his shoulders.
“I’m not going to let her fall”, William said, holding her little ribcage with both hands, his elbows sticking out beside his ears.
I allowed that he was holding her fast enough, and snapped a guilty picture before he took her down.
Throughout our walk, William poked fun at my hovering.
“Is her hat in her eyes?”
“Is she sleeping?”
“Don’t let her put that toy in her mouth, it isn’t clean”
“Should we put her a jacket on her?”
“Is the baby sleeping?”
“It’s getting close to her bedtime. We’d better head for home.”
“The baby is fine” William said, “Learn to relax and enjoy your life!”
I started thinking about the Rules of Parenthood that I had designed for myself back in the days Before Scarlett (BS).
In Before Scarlett times, I scoffed at those over protective parents who never let their kids get dirty.
“Kids get dirty. That’s what water is for.” I’d say with a shrug.
In Before Scarlett times, I swore I would not use electric gadgets to pacify my child. “Baby neglectors” I think I called them. I was going to fill all of these precious waking hours with love and learning.
Some of these ideals (no TV until the age of 2, no Hershey bars…) we’ve managed to live by.
Others, I guess, are just so much BS.
Post Script: On reading this post, Kris told me that the hold William is demonstrating in this picture is not, in fact, the deadly hold. The key is where you grip the child. If you hold on to your child by the feet, he’d better be wearing a helmet, because if he goes over backward, the momentum of his fall will most likely jerk him out of your hands. If, however, you hold him by his torso (as William demonstrates) or by the hands, you will have leverege to stop the backward fall before it gets going.
I have been trying to figure out how to listen to This American Life at my desk for three weeks.
I listen to the radio online, but I have to get through the corporate firewall to do it. Normally, when I go to an external website, I get a login screen, where I type my user ID and password, and then I’m allowed to view the site.
But This Life is wily.
When I click on the link to their free streaming content, the link spawns Windows Media Player without triggering the firewall login. Without that login, Windows Media Player falls into the black hole of doom.
I had to find a way to trigger the firewall login.
For a while, I solved this by right-clicking on the link and copying the URL from the Properties dialogue box. I pasted that URL into a new browser window, and voila, the login.
Then This Life struck back.
They created their own, proprietary media player, which spawns automatically when you click the link. Now, when I try my right-click trick, all I get is the URL to the lousy .gif.
Damn you This Life!
I realized that it was time to come out to my friend, James.
I had to confess that I don’t know how to Podcast.
It was a humiliating moment, but also a liberating one.
After an informative half hour with James, I found Odeo.
Now I can subscribe to my favorite shows, then log in to Odeo and listen to them at my leisure.
This whole adventure made me realize that I’m not the geek I thought I was.
I guess I have to accept that I’m just a smart girl who likes to hang around with the geek crowd.
I’m a geek hag.
I looked in the mirror and realized I have become one of those TV makeover people. The before picture.
How did I let this happen?
I promised myself that if I ever became a parent, I would never become Ugly Sweatpants Mom. But there she was, staring back at me from the mirror.
There was a time when I could not imagine myself a mother.
A time when I thought motherhood was wiping up drool and flipping grilled cheese sandwiches with the sound of children’s television programming in the background.
Eventually, thanks to moms like Katie, I decided I’d be one of those moms who took time to ride a mountain bike.
That’s when I promised myself I’d never become Ugly Sweatpants Mom, and I’d never be one of those mothers with nothing to talk about but baby, baby, baby.
Um…
So! How ’bout those Democrats?
I am so lucky to have had family in the house, helping out for the first four weeks of Scarlett’s life on the outside. I don’t know how I could have fed myself or walked my dog, or gotten a shower without the two moms and my sister, who took turns staying with us.
Still.
Ingrate that I am, I did find myself occasionally looking forward to the day they would all be gone.
Despite all their help, it is always stressful having people in your house. I secretly started to yearn for the day when it would be just us… our little nuclear family going it on our own- ‘getting back to normal’.
But what is normal, now that Scarlett is here? Certainly it won’t be anything like it was before. Today is halloween. In the old normal, Kris and I would have gone to a party or a haunted house, or out dancing in costume. Especially since the weather is unbelievably nice today.
Hopefully, normal will be something more manageable than week six.
Today I opened my inbox and realized I have missed many important things since my last login, including a conference call for the real estate class I’m taking. It makes me feel a bit panicky.
On an average day in week six, I nurse, rock, pace, and learn to butter toast with one hand while the other holds a shrieking, thrashing infant. My neck and back ache from falling asleep sitting up.
Who am I? How did I get here?
It’s 11:29 a.m., and I’ve walked the dog, eaten oatmeal, and nursed for 3.5 hours.
I hold out hope for a shower.
Most times I look at Scarlett, sleeping, eating, or crying and clawing at my throat, and think, “What an adorable little treasure!”
Occasionally, I look at Scarlett and think, “What have you done with my life?”
Today I walked Sophie by the fountain at Grand Army Plaza. After a bold fall day in the high sevenites, the cool night air tasted sweet.
I watched my dog nibbling a long blade of grass and looked around my life.
I live exactly where I should be living right now.
My dog, my marriage, and my new little banana…
All is well and all is well.
Today I feel blessed.
Ken Ley died of a massive coronary today.
Convicted of 10 counts of fraud and conspiracy in the collapse of Enron corporation, Ley was awaiting sentencing for his crimes.
Enron filed for bankruptcy in December 2001 after investigators found it had used partnerships to conceal more than $1 billion in debt and inflate profits. Enron’s downfall cost 4,000 employees their jobs and many of them their life savings, and led to billions of dollars of losses for investors.
The collapse was the first of the high-profile corporate scandals that later rocked WorldCom, Global Crossing, Adelphia and Tyco.
CNN
He cooked the books to keep stock prices high even as the company was failing so that he could earn his big bonuses (which are tied to stock performance) and artificially inflate stock prices while he quietly sold off his shares.
Now he’ll never pay his debt to society.
Almost makes me wish I believed in Hell.
Almost.
In yesterday’s post, I listed just a few of the things that are going terribly wrong in our country. Today, I’m thinking about how our lawmakers are dealing with these large and pressing problems. Here’s a sampling of what our public servants have been up to lately:
These are all red herrings.
Rather than taking responsiblility for their disastrous failures and criminal behavior here and abroad, our elected officials are trying to distract us.
With elections looming in November and a growing public outrage over the war and numerous corruption scandals, they’re trying to create some outrage about issues they can control.
Let’s go down to New Orleans and see if they care more about gay marriage or building levees.
And let’s really think about flag burning. Studies show that there have been about 4 instances of flag burning in the past 20 years. This is more important than the health care crisis?
Let’s not get me started on illegal immigration. I need to write a whole post on that topic. Suffice it to say that this is another way to use people’s prejudice to stir up some votes.
The new politics is about appealing the absolute lowest, knee jerk, bigoted caveman in all of us. Forget about reason, let’s just make voters mad. Let’s appeal to the HATE in all Americans. That’ll get us re-elected.
But who wants to live in a country run by hate?
I want to go and see An Inconvenient Truth, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to do it.
Okay, what I really want is to HAVE SEEN it.
I want to know what is in the movie; I want to be able to discuss it intelligently with my friends.. but I’m afraid to actually sit through it. I know I’ll walk out crying, with one more horrible, heavy truth lying cold on my heart.
I’ve considered buying a ticket- just to show my support, and then going home to ask a friend for the half-page synopsis. If I could only believe that my $10.00 contribution to the success of the film might still, somehow, save us all from Global Warming.
In recent months, I’ve begun reverting to the old ways- devolving into the Ostritch Girl I was raised up to be. When I was a little girl, I hated when my Dad watched the news.
I didn’t want to know about the wars going on in other countries or the people who lost their homes in the big storm. I was not interested in police shootouts or drug raids.
I couldn’t fix my Dad’s depression or my grandmother’s frailty; I couldn’t find Dad a steady job or provide a place where we all could live and never have to move. My own problems had already shown me how small and powerless I was.
I just wanted to read my Black Stallion books and imagine that everything could be solved with a child’s patience and a long, bareback ride.
I understand why someone would rather watch American Idol than listen to the truth about what the U.S. is doing to innocent people at Guantanamo Bay.
I understand why it’s more appealing to mow the lawn than to have a serious discussion about the proper balance between national security and individual liberties.
I understand that it was bad enough to watch the devastation of Hurricane Katrina and our government’s disastrous inabilty to respond- but how are we all supposed to digest the additional insult of the 2 billion in tax dollars that have been blown on waste and fraud in the rebuilding effort?
And the bad news just keeps coming.
…and the hurricane season is here, and the levees are not repaired.
It’s enough to make me want to stick my head in the sand.
Or into a children’s book.
There’s something powerful about the human voice. Something personal, and real, and revealing. This is why I love these radio programs.
In depth reporting that we don’t find on network television- though you can find it on the National Geographic channel, Discovery, or The Learning Channel.
Stories, in which I get to hear real people talking. Real monkeys fighting. Footsteps crunching on gravel.
Today I found something that every American should hear.
Interviews with prisoners at Guantanamo Bay. Comments by George Bush, Dick Cheney, and Alberto Gonzales. A history of the right of Habeus Corpus.
This is the kind of thing we should all be thinking about- the kind of thing we must all know as we are making our way through life.
While you’re washing dishes, folding laundry, or walking your dog, listen to Habeas Schmabeas.
The latest ironic turn in the Valerie Plame investigation:
NEW YORK What was Valerie Plame working on at the CIA when she was outed by administraton officials and columnist Robert Novak? MSNBC’s David Schuster on Monday said he had confirmed an earlier report that she was helping to keep track of Iran’s nuclear activity–not a front and center issue for the White House.
Earlier this year, Larisa Alexandrovna of the Web site RawStory.com, reported that Plame, whose covert status was compromised in the leak, was monitoring weapons proliferation in Iran. At the time, officials told her that Plame’s outing resulted in “severe” damage to her team and “significantly hampered the CIA’s ability to monitor nuclear proliferation.”
So… in an attempt to get Bush and Cheney re-elected, the Bush-Cheney administration leaked information that compromised the team that was watching over Iran’s nuclear program. Three years later, Bush is offering threats to Iran that sound chillingly like those he was shouting at Iraq before he sent in the troops.
If he was really serious about Iran’s nuclear program, one would think he wouldn’t out his own undercover agent.
I guess back then, national security was less important than his re-election.
It’s good to know where a person’s priorities are.
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