and the whole world has to answer right now. just to tell you once again.

Today was the first time that I ever cried when I heard Michael Jackson’s Bad. Its not that I was a huge fan, I would always say he was amazing, and I tended to defend him if people spoke of him acusatorilly and I felt sad over his slow, slow death, and now over his quick one.

But strangely enough I had a dream about him three nights ago, two nights before he died. 

I was under a quiet overpass in Los Angeles with some homeless people, it was a cold clear night. We were standing around an old oil drum burning wood and paper and anything else that would burn for warmth. The people were nondescript hunched bundles wrapped up so only their eyes could see and were too cold to speak. About six to eight of them just waddled around through the smoke looking around for something to add to the fire. One of the figures was wrapped up in a brown freyed fabric, and it slipped off his head a little revealing his face. It was Michael Jackson and I was shocked when I recognized him. He had a short afro and his nose was his original, broad across his face between two brown cheeks glowing in the fire light. I noticed also that he wasn’t wearing a shirt but didn’t seem affected by the cold. He pulled at the fabric and hid his face again. I said to him “Hey! I know who you are?”, he didn’t respond. I said “You are Michael Jackson, what are you doing here?” (thinking that a rich and famous man could choose to be anywhere he wished), and he said “I am here like you are.” I thought for a second. It hadn’t ocoured to me that it might be strange for me to be there also, but that incongruity seemed small compared to running into Michael Jackson of all people. “But you have to go make music.” (why I used the word “go” in there I don’t know). And he sat down on the curb letting his hood fall back and started scratching at the dirt he had been using to poke at the fire. He smiled and said, “I am everywhere, cant you hear me?” and pointed to the distance with his stick. At  first I made a smirk thinking that that was a little corny but in the next moment I got what  he meant. I heard his music everywhere as if it was coming from the stars, but there was no sound. I then said “But you shouldn’t be here, you should be…” and he replied “Where should I be?” and he started to laugh. Not a crazy person laugh, but the laugh a child would make. I turned from him and looked around behind me to see if anyone else had noticed the real Michael Jackson sitting in front of me, but I couldn’t see anyone outside of the firelight and I sensed that they had wandered off. I turned back around and Michael was gone and I felt my heart sink. I looked down the dirt road in both directions and there was no sign of him. I stared off in one direction hoping he would reappear. I started to feel angry. I had had Michael Jackson in front of me and I hadn’t asked him anything good really, I had blown it on stupid pointless questions. And then I turned my anger at him. Why had he come to me as a wise old homeless man and had nothing important to say? But thats when it hit me. He wasn’t a wise old man, he was not a teacher. He was a child again and free, and he owed nothing to anyone anymore, not even answers. 

And I woke up peacefully then and smiled to myself and felt as if I had been handed some kind of answer to some big picture somewhere if only I could remember the lyrics. It was only a dream,  I know. But I was left with a feeling of him for a couple of days. He was part Jesus figure, part grim reaper, part clown like as he played in the Wiz, and part Tiny Tim… go figure. I didn’t predict his death, in fact I wondered if it was a predictor of my own. But U was left feeling somewhat blessed or just lucky that I had stumbled upon him, the flash of him, the too bright star that he was.

I do not think of myself as psychic, but I have so many premonitions that it isn’t something that shocks me anymore. That is why when I was 9, my Mother came into the room in the morning to tell me that my grandmother had died, I answered “I know, she told me.” And why when last Thursday, before I heard the news, a passenger in a low riding Honda Civic with his sneakers up on the dash drove past me as I got out of my car and he said to me. “Yo, those are some mad tats. Hey, Michael Jackson died…today. That is some fucked up shit.” I answered “Thanks” and “yeah, I know.” as he drove off.

i heart my doghead

I saw a T-shirt in a shop window the other day that said “I (heart) haters”. And it got me thinking about “haters” and if I was one of them. I realized that I was from time to time when I was not being a lover. And I got this idea to start a “hate meme”, asking people to list what they hated instead of the usual goofy questionnaire passed around that asks you to list 10 little known facts about yourself or whatever. Not like I am big on meme’s, I don’t do them often (maybe once). But I figured that we define ourselves so much by what we like (Hi, Im Kristin. I like moonlit walks on the beach, hiking, surfing, biking and techno) why not include a list of things we hate, or dislike, or simply find irritating? Maybe Facebook can have a whole section of your profile page where you can list your least favorite things to do or movies and books you hated, etc. Everyone’s pages are so filled up with things they are “fans” of, I haven’t seen this much love since it became fashionable to have an “I (heart)” bumper sticker on your car that showed the world what you love. Stickers  like: “I (heart) my dachshund head”, or “I (heart) golf” were everywhere. It is just not fashionable to be a hater these days, only if you are Eminem maybe.

The hate meme would have to have a rule that you could not include a name or obvious reference to someone that you knew directly. But people would inevitably list people in their lives, and it would be all my fault that someone’s feelings were hurt, or someone lost their job when they listed their boss or co-worker. The fate of all kinds of things may be altered with the push of the little snowball of negativity. I wouldn’t want that kind of heavy karma on my shoulders. I have in fact taken steps recently to do some karmic-clean up and spreading any hate might not help me in my quest for sparkling dharma. I am a big believer in that whatever energy we put out comes back to us. But I am also a believer in creating safe outlets for our frustration (hence the dry wit, self effacement and sarcasm you may find here), and being true to your feelings.

Maybe we should write down what we find offensive in this world, put it out there, only to help us let it go. Pretending that nothing affects you negatively may not be the right way to go. Maybe we should list them, own them and set the whole thing aflame in a bonfire of all things we want to be rid of from our past. We can include in the pyre a pile of voodoo dolls of all negative and toxic people we have known, include all lists of things we made for ourselves to do that we procrastinated on, old mismatched furniture we got out of yuppy trash and used but always hated, all conversations with collection agents or DMV employees, all of our old discarded fashions, our guilt and our shame, or greed or envy, our lists of unreasonable and unattainable goals, all photos and phone numbers of ex lovers and ex friends, all copies of mass market paperbacks assigned in high school that you have carted from apartment to apartment over the last 20 years, all hours wasted in line, all unused exercise equipment, any outdated electronics, any missed payments… unkept appointments and unreturned phone calls, an old precious big wheel with a hole in the tire, any fake orgasms, all poorly made decisions made that may have directly or indirectly hurt someone, any feet put in your mouth, any botched attempts, old postcards and trinkets, friends who let you down, all old family dysfunction, any fear hammered into you by the church, any unrecoited love, any notions of grandeur, any lousy first or second drafts, lies told.. white and black, any gifts received that you never liked but pretended to and kept out of guilt, episodes of bad parenting, and all of your past failures, or near misses, and any broken hearts. Douse it with gasoline, set it aflame and watch it go up in a huge roaring blaze and watch it burn. Watch it all until it is nothing but a pile of smoking ash and glowing embers.

I really don’t want to be defined by what I am a fan of, nor do I want to be defined by what I hate or dislike. Its not all just hate either, “hate” as I refer to it here is not just negativity. It is not just the absence of love like cold is just the absence of heat. It has more substance than that. It is what is unacceptable to me, and what makes me feel incredibly sad or angry, and what impacts my life negatively. And maybe shining a light on these things is the fist step to deciding what to let go and what to stand on my house and get really angry and shout about.

So here is my list of 10 25 50 things I hate, dislike, or find annoying. Unspecified within those parameters, and in no order.

1. world hunger and thirst
2. poverty
3. access-a-ride van drivers (a New York thing)
4. ignorance
5. excessive horn honkers
6. brussel sprouts
7. pencil pushers and bean counters
8. when people use the words “paradigm” and “earmarked”
9. pollution
10. animal slaughter / the meat industry
11. when people stop at the top of an escalator or in a doorway
12. post traumatic stress disorder
13. natalie merchant
14. steely dan
15. cancer
16. homophobia
17. evangelism
18. caves
19. psychologists
20 smokey edged daily photos of your dog
21. people who have no sense of physical or aural space
22. spiny rainbow balls
23. new york traffic/parking cops
24. collection agents
25. people who enact incredible cruelty and abuse
26. people who step on other people to get ahead
27. alarm clocks
28. overcompensating personalities
29. human trafficking
30. heartache
31. mtv
32. depression
33. expensive leather handbags
34. phantom of the opera, les miserables and all bad broadway musicals
35. the extreme right wing mindset
36. elective surgery
37. missing my daughter when she is at her father’s every other week
38. eggplant
39. killing of animals for their fur
40. fast food
41. proselytizing
42. bratz dolls
43. stolen elections
44. the Catholic church’s stance on birth control
45. aids
46. torture
47. genocide
48. crafts
49. sinead o’connor
50. hatred

laundromat by the sea

We spent the last few days in Bay Head, NJ at Tom’s sister’s summer place. It was perfect beach weather for most of it, and when it wasn’t we went to the beach anyway. Around 5pm the beach clears out and the outgoing tide leaves tide pools perfect for two year olds. I love this photo of Jack in mid “but flop”.

The “Kitster” as he is sometimes called got his toes dipped in the ocean for the first time. The first of manny this summer.

Bay Head is an upper crusty town south of Pt. Pleasant. Think pastel shirts and patchwork plaid shorts. There was some great yard sale findings on our wagon ride to the bakery at 8am. We missed Joe Biden at the bakery by an hour or so. He was in town with his wife for her birthday. The cottage we stay in behind the main house is also referred to “the laundromat by the sea”, we pack the car up with all of our bags of laundry. The kids have tons of freedom and are allowed to run free up and down he stairs and outside. They don’t ever get to do that in NY and they were tentative about going out alone. They are definitely city kids. The local municipal trucks are bright yellow as are some mid-life crisis sports cars. Jack & Marlowe called them all taxis. I think Tom had the most fun digging holes at the beach, jumping the waves, playing on the slip n’slide and riding the crazy bus on “the boards”. We hit the boardwalk on our way out of town. Marlowe got in trouble for sticking her hand in the water on the boat ride. How can you not want to put your hand in that water? They rode the boat, the choo choo, the airplane, the pink elephant, the hot air balloon and the crazy bus. Oh and a little pony cart ride where you rung the little bell. The mini roller coaster swoops past it and Jack looked at it and pointed and said “that one”. I think the pony cart ride is a thing of the past now. Jack does all his rides with a serious face. He is focused on everything. But we got him laughing spinning the hot air balloon around. Marlowe is a future roller coaster enthusiast for sure.
I love the beach in Jersey. I love the smell of the cedar shingles heating up in the sun, the sandy feet, the airplanes dragging signs up and down the beach, the outdoor shower, the after beach nap on the king bed with the white sheets with the curtains waving in the breeze. I could never live in a land-locked or lakeless state. I love that my kids have this to grow up with. Tom grew up having family here near the Manesquan River and he looks forward to making it a part of his kids childhood. I don’t know about the waterskiing thing… but I look forward to it too.

a shower on the upper west side

I went to my friend Diane’s wedding shower last night. It was held at her mother’s house in one of those high-rise condos on West End Ave in the city. This weekend is an alternate shower at the Mother-in-Law to be’s house in NJ. I sense dueling alfa Mom stuff here. I didn’t ask. Diane and I have been friends for about 10 years. She used to date my ex husband’s brother. So as someone said at the shower we “ditched the guys and stayed friends”. Diane seems pretty straight and a like a typical girl. When you first meet her, you wouldn’t think we would likely be friends. But she is awesome and has a great sense of humor and is super motivated in business (she owns a successful motorcycle school), and is non judgmental and we get along really well, although I hardly see much of her we are both so busy.

I had not been to a shower in a long time and forgot that this was the subdued family tea party type of thing. There was a lot of family there, I didn’t know anyone there other than Diane. I met everyone, mothers, aunts, sister-in laws, grandmas and a couple of her friends. I grabbed a crystal cup and ladled in the spiked sherbet punch and grabbed a chair. A woman sat down next to me and we started talking. She looked almost exactly like Sandra Bernhard, and her personality mirrored the character Sandra played in the movie The King of Comedy. I pictured myself as Jerry Lewis looked, duct taped to the chair as she went on and on about what, I can not tell you…  something about her sister being a born-again Christian and that her gay son was living with her and working at the Gap and that she is into juicing, straight vegetables every morning, yada yada. She was actually very nice even though later she smacked me in the funny bone with her ring when I gave away a hint when we were all playing a wedding shower game. Diane had to guess what her husband to be (Joe) would answer to certain questions posed to him in advance, a-la Newlywed Game style.

Before the shower I couldn’t figure out what to get her for a gift. I had looked on her registry at Bloomingdale’s and wasn’t sure if shower/wedding etiquette dictated that I was to bring a registry gift to the shower or that was supposed to be for a wedding gift. I could not b’elieve the stuff on there: Michael Fina pattern china, Donna Karan silk sheets in pewter, $250 pillows, tons of All-Clad cookware and Le Creuset bakeware… I couldn’t find the answer on marthastewartweddings.com so I asked my sister-in-law and she said to bring a shower gift geared toward the bride at about $30. Since I think of myself as a damn good gift giver, I went on-line and bought her a $100 gift certificate for The Brooklyn Kitchen, redeemable for cooking classes or upscale kitchen ware. I felt it was a thoughtful gift and something she might actually do, being that the place is a few blocks from where she works. I never had a shower or a registry. Most of my best friends live scattered around the globe and I would have wanted them there, I also hate the attention, especially all of that kind of girly attention. We didn’t do a registry because our wedding cost way more than we had to spend on it and we needed the cash. We were that couple ripping open cards on our wedding night in order to pay the band, and writing checks asking people to please wait a few days to cash them. Looking back we don’t regret it, we loved our wedding and were glad we chose to have the fun wedding we wanted instead of getting stuff. I told myself that we would collect some vintage pattern of china as it was more our style anyway. Something 50’s.

So when Diane opened her presents they were indeed things from her registry. Now I am not the most feminine of women, and I really don’t think I am materialistic at all. But man were those towels fluffy! I can’t cook, I don’t even like to cook and I was getting all excited about her presents as she passed them around. Holding up and admiring the cutting boards, and opening and closing the shiny tongs.  No really, I am fine with my Rachel Ray set… but does Le Creuset now make their stuff in black?! How cool would that be to pair it with pots in Caribbean blue? What would I possibly need these pots for? Making mac n’cheese, frozen ravioli? I even found myself salivating over her shiny new All Clad slow roaster, big enough to take a bath in. It would take up over 50% of my available counter space and we don’t even eat meat! It is the most impractical thing I could own next to a lawnmower. Diane told me all about the time she needed a recipe for Moose Chili and I thought of Sarah Palin and her love of Moose Stew and I thought I may be psychotic and or possessed with some other personality other than my own to be INTO this discussion. I was acting like a woman who just loved domestic life. Who wanted to wear one of these sexy aprons sold on etsy. Who made a moist pot roast, who smiled as I disinfected, and who’s socks were whiter than white. But oh those pewter sheets! … they were so shiny! And her pillows so fluffy. That gravy boat was so adorable. I had no idea I was having female bonding time and I was relating to these women on a level I don’t think I ever had before. The woman with the green wool skirt suit with the ruffled shirt, sensible shoes and a hairy mole on her face said that her gift had a theme. It ended up being “something to drink, and something to eat”. I found myself smiling as if to say “now isn’t that clever”. I really thought so at the time. I was really enjoying these women’s company and I really did have a lot of fun with the whole thing. I think I just surprised myself at how much of a girl I was. And it felt good to think for a short time that women make their men happy by cooking for them, and that it is our role. And that married life was just that simple. Diane was a total sport too. I caught her using the words “honking” and “mother of all” when referring to her slow cooker. Diane said that her fiance only ate meat when she met him, so this gift from the mother-in-law was quite the passing of the torch.

There is nothing wrong with getting nice stuff. I prefer to give a list of things I need to my family around Christmas and my birthday. But if you are going to look around my house and decide what you think I need or think I need replaced, I would prefer to be asked about it first. I prefer a cool thoughtful gift actually, preferably one thing of quality over a quantity of things of less quality. I do not like the mentality that it is a sin to spend money, however the addiction is met when tons of things are bought at TJ Max and Marshalls just because they are on sale. (THEY ARE NOT ON SALE FOLKS!!!) Maybe this Christmas ill add a silver wine coozy to my list of desirables, and the fluffy towels in “bone”.  Tom laughed at me last Christmas because I was going to ask everyone just to donate money to a charity in my name instead. There is no way my family would have gone for that. The record world have scratched and the party-goers would have stopped dancing. You can not upset what is and will always be. Tom knows that I prefer tickets to something, a trip or a class as a gift over something physical. But I guess I like nice things as much as the next girl and I should just admit that maybe I am just picky.

Diane liked her present though. We planned on taking the cooking class together. She said that we should bring a bottle of wine, and I said that maybe we shouldn’t take the class on “chopping” then. I should really learn to cook. I frightened everyone at a Memorial Day picnic a few days ago with the story of my macaroni salad fiasco. I tried to reassure everyone that I didn’t reincorporate anything that fell on the floor back into the mix. For Diane’s shower we were to bring our favorite recipe and add it to a homemade book of “tried and true” favorites. I thought about including my repertoire of cold cereal, toast and popcorn, or some white trash favorites but decided it wouldn’t be that funny. So I put in a recipie for Zucchini Bread I like to use. It really does last about 2 hours in my house before it is demolished, so it wasn’t something I pretended to make anyway. Sandra next to me put down her recipie for juice and put it in the “Starters and Sides” section misinterpreting “starter” for “breakfast”. All that time in a room of women talking about food and domestic stuff made me want to throw a Tupperware party (do they still have those?). Maybe a bento box party instead (did you know there is a bento box community? And lots of great bento blogs like Lunchinabox.net?). The next thing you know ill be wearing pearls and mopping in my heels cooking a Tofurky in the oven. Or ill get crafty and make something with a hot glue gun, fabric strips and some Styrofoam balls. It could happen.

Diane and Joe’s wedding is in Vermont. I wonder if they will have Moose as one of the meal choices? I look forward to dancing with grandma and the hairy moled aunt. We have bonded and can now unashamedly rip it up knowing that we all secretly pined over a tea service and some tongs together.

twit

What is this twitter thing? Do I have time to write whatever randomly pops into my head and “tweet” it. (Or is it “twit”?, or is twit past tense.. I have twit. Or I have twat… nooo). I have to say that on Facebook, I am not so sure I really care if so and so is “tired” or  ”at work”. I can barely keep up with my own list of stuff to do, or should be doing, I can’t get my order of operations down and I am bad at chronology.. all I need is someone else’s shit to do (or doing in this case) in my head. I admit I have posted a status here and there, and often find some of my friends status’ very funny. And I love to hear about a friend doing something unusual (Akimi: Im on a boat!) But I am finding Twitter a little confusing. The threads are hard to follow. And a lot of random stuff people say makes no sense to me whatsoever. It is almost as indecipherable as my teenage daughter’s text messages when I am one of several people she is texting at the same time. I get that micro-blogging could become addictive. It would satisfy some sort of OCD in me where I am always boiling down and labeling all of my thoughts and actions, and it would give me practice in generating impromptu one-liners. But it also seems to be a window into our lazy-lazy brains. We fill up space and time in our heads with repettitive thoughts and random meaningless stuff. Trying to be present in the moment and posting where you are (in the) now seems like a “mindfull” and healthy thing, but allowing ourselves free  reign of our thoughts and then enabling our lazy thought habits by making our pointless rambling in our heads become important… and important enough to be made public, doesn’t seem healthy to me. It seems like crack for the mind and ego. (As I sit here posting my husband is playing Call of Duty on the X-Box, yeah… THAT’s not crack for the mind and ego, eh?). I haven’t posted anything on Twitter yet. Although I was psyched that Brian Lehrer is following me (only because I am following him). I am not sure I need another time-suck on my hands when I really don’t have much time to suck at this point. If I get to a quarter of my stuff I need to do in one day I am lucky, so twitting may be on permanent back burner. I could just see me at the playground, ignoring my kids while they climbed up the ladder to the slide because I was tweeting from my cell phone. That would be some bad parenting. My only other “free time” would be when I am in the bathroom, and the posts might get pretty boring from there. Ill stick to macro-blogging me thinks. I may write somewhat minimally due to my hatred of overly flowery adjectives. And my haiku posts are… short. (So is Twitter posting like writing a haiku? Be creative and express yourself within its limitations? 5,7,5 syllables or 120 characters?) So I can relate to the direct route to getting one’s point across. But sorry, I need some character development… a climax and a conclusion at least. What you are doing every second is just not THAT interesting, its not all newsworthy. I took the internet access off my Blackberry. It just stressed me out. I didn’t need to see all of my e-mail all the time and be that accessible. So I sure as hell don’t need to know that so and so is “watching Lost” or that so and so is “on line at the bank” in real time. I am not totally against the self-indulgent part of it, this blog is in fact all about me, my thoughts and feelings and my life and the people in it and people I come accross. Who knows, maybe twitter will be my new hobby, I can annoy everyone with all of my disjointed random thoughts. To hell with that pesky yoga and that annoying reading. Faster, better. shorter, now! 

 

My friend Tony’s blog iJamming has a very funny post about his trip to England, written as if he’d twittered it in 150 characters or less after so many people told him he should join Twitter.

sometimes i suck at this

Today was one of the most difficult days of parenting I have ever had. It pales in comparison to yesterday, which was an absolute flop. My kids are sick. Jack & Marlowe are completely miserable with coughing and sneezing and have faucets of snot running down their faces. I woke up at 6am after having nursed Kit 4 times in the night, to them starting their day off with tears and whining. Marlowe had crawled into Jacks bed and was pushing against his legs with her head. And he just whined at her. So it began. 

Somehow we made brownies this morning. I am smart enough to buy 2 cake mixes at the store for cooking projects now. But other than that and some pretty nice water colors… it was 8 time outs for Marlowe before noon, and me screaming like only Fae Dunnaway can. And nap was not the usual “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” sung to them and tucked in, it was more like “STOP WHINING!!!”, “ENOUGH” , “GOOD NIGHT” and a slam of the door. Not my best parenting morning, a total disaster actually. But the kids were non stop demanding, whining and horrible to each other all morning. I just yelled. That is something I try not to do, but all coping went out the window because on top of it Kit is sick and was crying a lot and I still have the tail end of this stomach flu and have what feels like rocks rolling around in my belly. Still, Jack & Marlowe are only two and so beautiful. Even when Jack gets that smirk on his face while he is just touching the thing with his finger that I am telling him not to touch, he is beautiful. I always feel guilty after yelling into their innocent faces. I know that I am not the only mother that reaches a breaking point, we are human after all. My neighbor stoped me out in front of my house the other day to talk my ear off about how she feels like all she does is yell at her teenager, and doesn’t feel like it helps at all. And I have read many people post about reaching the end of ones rope with toddlers on the Brooklyn parents of twins forum I belong to. Some people argue that you can’t pretend that you are not angry when you are, and that you should show how you really feel within a certain limits, and that your kids should definately know when you have reaced your limit. I can see how this can be true. But what if you showing your anger does nothing but fuel the fire, and create an atmosphere of tension and negativity? What if all the anger in the world wouldn’t change my kids behavior? What if you wake up at that limit and stay there pretty much the whole time if there is never an oportunity to come down? 

I dunno’ this moning I took myself out of the picture a couple of times and walked into the other room and tried to calm down. And it helped a little. But not much. There was the constant feeling of being rushed. Jack and Marlowe needed to be supervised with everything or they would whine or hit eah other. They wanted this or that or shoved books in my face when I was holding the baby, or wanted to play with a different toy when we werent finished cleaning up the old one. The stress can get pretty high. Usually I am pretty capable of handleing all three kids on my own. I do what I can to show my physical boundries. “Do not put that book in my face.”, and my boundries of space and time “No, I can not read that book to you now, I need to cook breakfast now.” But Jack can whine and repeat his asking until you are ready to go berzerk. I am also pretty good about trying to deescilate things and remove one kid from the bad behavior situation and tak to them. But it isn’t always possible to do this, especially now with a baby in my arms. Its easy to get frazzled. I get nothing done but play referee and be the person who isn’t entertaining them fast enough, with Kit’s cry going up my spine. This morning I thought I handled it very badly. Even though I went over the rules with them first thing “If you hit, punch, push, bite, or kick, you get a time out.” (ding!, ding!, ding!), it still ended up with me yelling and loosing it.

What I didn’t realise was that my kids are sick and acting unusually irritable, and so was I. Together we were a mess. Tom came home from work about 1pm thank God. I was nursing Kit in bed while the twins slept, and I talked to him about  the morning and we discussed what we should do differently. When the twins woke up things were okay for about a half an hour when it hit the fan again. We decided that we needed to get out of the house, rain or not. Thats when Marlowe had a kniption. A full on freak out lasting about 15 minutes. We finally calmed her down but she was a disaster and everything was followed by tears. Getting her shoes on took forever. Tom and I stood in front of the house looking haggared. I put the baby in the snuggli and opened my umbrella. Tom put the rain cover on the stroller and we decided we would rather get soaked  than spend one more minute in the house with stir crazy and sick toddlers. We were able to distract them with different things we saw along the way. Their eyes were all red and puffy in the sun but the clouds loomed ominously behind us as the raindrops began to get closer together chasing us down the sidewalk. We walked south about 5 blocks and ducked into Wallgreens when it started to pour. We putzed around there like the desperate parents that we were. We danced at the musical cards and played with dog toys and bounced balls in the isles. Kit didn’t find the shampoos very interesting and chose to fall asleep instead. Our basket filled up with all kinds of essentials. Two new packs of primary color play-doh, two purple whales for the bath tub, two bubble-making animals, two rubbery spiney water blobs with eyes, some new matchbox cars, a plastic bat and ball, a huge bubble wand, a photography book about animal friends, two boxes of tissues, some children’s Tylenol. We racked up a lot of stuff, and when the rain stopped we stood in line and piled all the crap on the check-out counter, catching annoyed glances from the people in line behind us tapping their toes holding their nasal spray and hair gel. In front of the store we busted open what we could and made bubbles stick all over the dripping wet cars nearby. We walked home and stopped and showed the kids flowers, and cats and dogs and lawn statues. A lady on her porch commented that I was brave to have another after the two. When we got home it was an hour before their bed time, we had been gone three hours. I was so glad that Tom had come home, I had planned to make this trek by myself today, it would have been rough. He made me feel better by saying that it wasn’t just me, that they were in particularly horrible moods and that we had made the best of it.

Its hard to see it when you are in it. I love being a mom to these guys, but it gets you down when you feel that nothing you are doing is working to improve their behavior. I have to remember that I am the adult here, and that as my Grandmother used to say “this too shall pass”. And although my initial reaction may be the most genuine, it won’t necesarrily get me what I want in the long run. I don’t want to be “scary Mom”. So yelling at them just makes me that. But I don’t want to coddle them and speak in that annoying sweet voice that parents often do. It comes accross as patronizing or disingenuous. Somewhere in between there is what I am going for. A stern direct voice that explains exactly what I expect and exactly what the consequences are. And I need to try and explain in advance what will get them in trouble and follow through with it every time. From what I understand, a toddler does not make the connection right away that a behavior is wrong. The consequences often have to be repeated. Maybe so, but how many times do I have to say “Don’t touch Daddy’s records!” before it sinks in? How many times does Marlowe have to get a time-out for biting? I am trying to keep them occupied positively and I try and help them use their “big words” instead of acting out. But its not always possible. I have to say that parenting toddler twins (and a  4 month old, and a teenager) is the hardest thing I have ever done. Hands down. I think because they are my children, and I want them to be respectful people. Its impossible to see if you are making any progress when you are deep in it without any outside perspective. Ru asked me the other day if I was bored being a stay at home Mom. I told her that I loved it, and that I did’nt have time to be bored.

Yeah, I do love it. And I get mad when mornings all go to shit and I can’t enjoy my kids like I wish that I can. They are amazing people and incredible fun. We are learning together I guess. So many people comment that I must be an expert at parenting at this point. I really am not an expert. I just wing it the best I can and I often get it wrong. Well, tomorrow is another day and another chance to do it better. One thing I have found that works well is that I give them a chance to do a “do over” when they mess up in the behavior department. I think it gives them a chance to have some control over an outcome. I think I need to extend that opportunity to myself. I would not want to do this day over again, but I would like to start tomorrow off with a deep breath and a chance to do the right thing for them.

haiku day #1

two week stomach flu
woke up to a new season
seven pounds lighter

i need new music
rediscovered radio
what year are we in?

random night

Now that we are coming out of the fog of a pregnancy and having a new-baby. Once a week we have our babysitter Hannah come over about 5ish, and we somehow make it out the door. That time of night is tough, everyone is looking to be fed and Kit gets cranky and the kids are punchy. The plan was to get a babysitter for me to do something one night a week regardless of Tom’s work schedule. I thought and thought of a ton of things I could do, mostly classes I could take in various interests. But finally I decided on leaving it open and doing something different every week. Sometimes with Tom and sometimes on my own. I wanted to enjoy the city again. I almost forgot it was there.

The first week Tom and I went to a local spa called D’mai and got a couples massage. We had never done this before and this is not the kind of money we can spend weekly, but we went for it. It was a little strange to be massaged next do each other. Do we have a conversation as if we are alone? Do we all talk the four of us? As in most slightly awkward situations I made a few jokes. I kept telling Tom he was snoring loudly. I wondered about the new age music playing in the background. Was it tough on New Age artists the most? All their music is downloaded for free, and they don’t really tour and sell merch… is their main income from CD sales at a kiosk at Wall-mart? Poor bastards. The massages were great, just strong enough. The girl who massaged me had rough hands, but it felt really good. And it was really romantic actually (for Tom and I). Afterwards we went to a fish restaurant next door (Brooklyn Fish Camp), and stopped in at a friend’s new bar in the S. Slope called Safe Haven. It used to be a BBQ Joint. They still have food and now have some live music. Tom harassed the bartender in his usual style, and we argued about what was the best length for a song. Then we left before Marquis Moon by Television ended (which I think is about 9.5 minutes long). It was a tiny taste of our ol’ “hang out at the bar days”, they are a distant memory since the kids arrived. We had joked about just spending the whole babysitterd time at the bar. Tempting but would have been regretful at 6am.

The next week we went into the city and had some Indian food at a restaurant on 6th Street. We call Mahattan “the city” here in Brooklyn. 6th Street has a row of amazing Indian restaurants and nothing I have found in Brooklyn compares. It is rumored that they all share the same kitchen in the back courtyard. A little sittar and some curry always makes me feel all warm inside. We stopped in to a tattoo shop to say hello to a friend of mine and I got the tattoo itch all over again. It was something I haddn’t thought of much, I thought I may have matured out of it. But then I got an idea in my head and now it will roll around there, redrawing itself over and over until I get it right. The only relief is when it is finally etched into my skin.

The third week I was feeling under the weather… the beginning of a two week stomach flu from hell. We took it easy and saw the movie Earth at a nearby theater. It was Earth Day after all. The movie had amazing photography, a lot of time-lapsed seasons footage and a few slow motion death scenes. They banged home the global warming effects on the polar bear, the killer whale and the elephants. The film watched a year in a life of a family of each of these species. I would have a tough time not intervening, especially in the polar bears sense now that they are endangered and at near extinction. Being that their demise is from man, I would not be able to stop myself from trying to save them, feeling responsible for my species’ carelessness. Mellow date night, oh and I had the best pizza I had ever had in my life, ever. We eat at Toby’s Public House often, but it dawned on me then that it was really the best pizza ever. I like how Bam the bartender makes his own jerkey.. and has a tattoo of himself holding.. jerkey.

This week we canceled the sitter because I have a stomach flu from hell. It is almost gone but has dragged me through it and I am feeling exhausted. I missed Tom’s cousin’s wedding at the Jersey shore. Had my nails done and dress altered and everything. Boo-hoo, wah-wah. But all is not lost. Summer arrived like someone flicked a switch and we are wearing our flip-flops and drinking beverages with lemon. I am excited about our new freedom once a week and we have a list of things we want to do in the next coming weeks. It feels good to be able to enjoy the city again and all the craziness of it. We took the kids to Manhattan and just walked around the other day. We had so much fun. Jack loved the subway. Marlowe conquered two new play-groounds. Kit was just a model baby as usual. There is so much energy to draw from, and so much good people watching. Its so easy to get stuck in our little habitrail of life. Just getting tasks done all the time, (get diapers, fill up the car, food shopping, laundry, clean the kitchen, drive to day-care, make dinner…) it feels like we could be living in the suburbs sometime (with half the space and twice the expense!), its so nice to feel like a whole summer is ahead of us and the ability to enjoy  it and have countless things to choose from. My time away from my kids is so minimal, I can appreciate it so much more. When I go to the cafe, I see people sitting there just spending time as if they do it all the time. It is so alien and far from my reality now. It is interesting to me to see what Tom and I come up with to do… if we only have 5 hours of free time this week (and that is not an exaggeration) than what will you choose to do with that time? Treat yourself to good food or culture? Take a walk and not feel rushed? Shop? Sit and read? Visit a friend or be alone? I really don’t know what to do with my free time any more than I did when I had tons of it honestly. Maybe ill use random.org to help me choose from my list. You have to register to use their random draw service, but the coin fliper is free and you can choose to flip all different kinds of coins. Susan B. Anthony’s, Yen, Australian Dollars, Swiss Francs. Maybe I will do all of my big decision making this way. Or, I could carry around a hat and slips of paper for random drawings.. or a coin.

whatever happened to eddie?

So I was sitting at a cafe a couple of days ago having a very delicious crepe and a cup of coffee. I had an hour of free time to hurry up and relax. A new cafe opened up in my neighborhood and is owned by a parent of a kid that goes to my kid’s day care, so I wanted to patronize. I do what I usually do when I have a window of solitude which is to spend the time writing in my notebook. Its part journal, part lists of stuff to do, part scrap paper and part ideas that pop into my head. I am not yet someone who wi-fi’s, I still take pleasure in the analog version of writing sometimes. So as I sat there waiting for my order to come up, the waitress stood out front and smoked a cigarette with the door wide open blowing in freezing smokey air. When I put on my jacket and put up its fuzzy rimmed hood, it didn’t register with her that I was doing so because I was freezing. Through the smoke walked Josh. And he announced that his name was Josh in a way that made me wonder if that was his real name. It was too perfect for him. Said too loud, overcompensating for his tall geeky awkwardness, and said as if he had spent years at Princeton only to hone the delivery of his name “Josh”, said assertively, yet softly on the lengthened “shhhhhhhhh” following the “Jahh”. He said his big name to everyone that worked there apologising for being late to his meeting with the owner. The waitresses were folding menues at the back with the owner’s husband and he sat himself down and proceeded to talk loudly about himself for a good 15 minutes. 

Josh works for a major free newpaper in the city here, but had been working for them for only 2 weeks. I assume he was working as someone sent out to dig up ads from businesses, not do a restaurant review. He was formerly a headhunter at a firm in LA, and had recently discovered stand-up as an outlet. “Stand up?”"” are you sure? This guy chatted up the waitress in his loud nasaly voice and I sensed no bit of “funny” in there. No sarcasm, no wit of any kind. He drew no attention to irony and his delivery was as irritating as a honking goose. He seemed like the kind of guy who could hold a long and genuine conversation about cats. I thought that maybe he was just using a line he used to try and pick up girls, but he mentioned that he had a girlfriend in there somewhere. Now I have one friend who does stand up, and I have never seen his stuff. But he is a funny guy. You can feel the funny around him. He shows this capacity in his perceptions of every day life and how he reports it all back. When you are around someone who is “funny”, their humor rubs off on you and things that weren’t funny before are now funny. Everything becomes something to be made fun of and everything seems ironic and laughable. I could tell. Josh was completely funny-free.

Josh then told the waitress stuck in this conversation that he had a blog. A comedy blog. Titled (and I paraphrase) “A comedy blog for generation X’ers and beyond”. Ffff..what? Entshuldegung? I almost spit out my coffee. If you have to title your blog a “comedy blog”… how funny can it be? This guy was as boring as Wonder Bread. I was pretty sure the waitress was imagining herself in one of the scenes from Airplane (where a guy on the plane bores anyone to death that he sits next to), pouring gasoline on herself. But no, she piped up with an admission that she too had a blog that was “funny”. Aaaagh! Does everyone have a blog these days? Shall we all exchange URL’s now? I kept my head down in my notebook, pen going, looking busy. Don’t look at me, I am not a joiner. I did not want to be included in their conversation. I sensed them looking at me (as a fellow writer) and my talking with them would have felt as natural as if we were all to burst into choreographed song and dance. A musical about blogging right there in the cafe. Thats what we need.

Josh remarked that blogging was “a lot like stand-up”. Um, no its not. Its writing, and if you are doing it for a laugh, you are going to wait a long time to hear one. (Although I have seen people write things like “ha Ha Ha ” in comments… but you know what I mean.) Being humorous seems like an entirely different thing than comedy. Maybe in the comedy vs. tragedy sense of it all. But not all attention to irony , sarcasm and wit is meant to be comedy. Sometimes it is on the verge of being sad, sometimes even mean, sometimes meant to make the reader feel uncomfortable and maybe angry, all that with a minute pinch of underlying love for life and joy. I refuse to think of my writing here as “comedy”. One of my favorite comedians is the late George Carlin. He was able to take what we all took for granted as being normal, and delivered it back to us in a way that revealed the rediculousness of it all. And it all seemed so obvious when he said it. As if we had been thinking the same thing the whole time but couldn’t find the words. I saw an interview with him, and him speaking candidly about his craft was just as riviting as his routine. He spoke in all seriousness and you never expected him to burst into schtick. It was because he had gained our respect as an intellegent man. And because his everyday persona and and his stage persona were inseperably meshed. But when he spoke, his powerful perception rubbed off on you, and you felt able to “get it” when before you were maybe a little confused about it all. He would have made a good preacher, if he didn’t dislike organized religion so much.

One of my best friends named Josh (but pronounced in a very unpretentios way) worked at a comedy club in Manhattan doing audio. His favorite part of the job was when he did sound for a church without a church who rented the space for their mass. It was a non-denominational church and progressive thinking in that its doors were not closed to anyone. I wonder how many times the echoes of the preacher or the camedians ran on similar themes. And I wonder how the observer might forget where they were for a second… church or comedy club. How many messages were helpful or useful, …how many hit home.

Maybe the funniest people in the world are like Josh from the newspaper that has a comedy blog. Maybe the funniest part about him is the part that he doesn’t know is funny. Maybe comedy is when we try to be funny, and humor is when it just is funny without effort. There are various blog awards out there that have “best humor blog” as a category. Humurous writing is lumped in with blogs about funny photos of pets. I think I would rather win the “hottest mommy blogger” award. Its good to have goals. 

As I downed my coffee and grabbed my take-away bag of half inhaled carrot cake. I was a little angry that my hour of me-time was shadowed by a loud talker. But I had to remember that it was not my living room, and when you go out to a public place, you open yourself up to the possability/likelyhood that someone will ruin your expectations. And yet still, it gave me fodder for this post, so why complain? Funnily enough, I found this George Carlin bit on YouTube after I wrote this post:

the ass doctor, hues of pink, beige and blue and soluble fiber

Asterisk, pound, ampersand, exclamation point! If anyone ever suggests hemorrhoidal banding to you, run.. run like hell. Three Tylenol with Codene’s later and I am still in pain. I am not a pain lightweight either. I am tattooed down to my wrists and have birthed 4 children… but there I was, lying on my side on the doctor’s table, paper dress with the opening to the back, flood light shining into my behind while the nice man put tiny rubber bands around my post-pregnant lady hemorrhoids… I cried and winced and moaned and when they were through, I made him go back in and take the f’ing things off. He was able to except one, and that should “fall off in a day or two”…geesh this shit hurts.

Thank God Tom was nice enough to have come with me to the appointment. Only true love would bring a man to a Proctology appointment with his wife. Not one of our most romantic dates. He waited in the waiting room with Kit. No amount of standard issue wall prints in pink, beige and light blue hues could soothe the poor kid in a doo-rag sitting next to him. He could not sit, and was leaned over so far that he would have done better lying on the floor. There was no shame in it. We were all there to see the ass doctor.

Somehow I got through birthing a 10 lb baby with only having to take a few Motrin afterward, but this post-baby issue I have put off from 3 babies ago, and now I understand why. As an alternative to surgery (that can lay you up for 2 weeks) they offer this out-patient procedure. Ill spare the details but I ass-ume you get the picture. It felt like horrible period cramps. There was just no way I was going to function coherently in this state, I prayed to the Gods of Hydration and Soluble Fiber and promised that I would drink like a camel and have roughage regularly if I could be sure to avoid this torture in the future.

The nice doctor called me at home later on in the day saying that he was “worried about me”. It is nice to know that someone cares about you and your colon. Even if it is a guy who has a special interest in colons. I always thought the guys jack-hammering at 8am had a rough job to face in the morning, but this might be worse. It’s gotta be a tough job, he must make a fortune. You wouldn’t know that from the office though. The phones were the light up square button kind with the metal lever that the handset rests on. When it rang it was a ring you might hear coming from off stage in a period piece from the early eighties. We jumped out of our seat whenever it rang. Miserable doo-rag guy didn’t leap, he just rubbed his temples harder.

Leave it to me to not post in a long time, letting my readership dwindle down to nothing only to leap right in with an interesting post about hemorrhoids. I always talk about my “never again pile”. I can safely now add “hemorrhoidal banding” to that pile. (I think ill make a tag by that name.) So ill leave it at that before the Tylenol 3 starts talking.

parenting moments

There have been a few times over the last few weeks where I have laughed and said out loud or thought to myself “Oh. Well THATs a parenting moment”. First was last week when on a snowy into rainy day we decided to take all of the kids grocery shopping out of desperation to get out of our house after too many days cooped up inside. I didn’t know that on the trip over, Jack had undid the velcro on his sneakers so that when I held Marlowe in my arms and held Jack’s hand to walk from the car to the line of wet carts. I ignored his little voice say “my feet are cold” thinking that he was just complaining. But when he said “my feet are wet” I looked down to see him standing in his socks, feet submerged in a slushy puddle. A parenting moment.
Tom put the baby back in the car and Jack was happy as a clam to sit in the front seat of the car and play with the blinkers, radio and inside lights and pretend to drive and have my undivided attention while Tom took Marlowe inside to grab the essentials (milk, bread, beer, donuts).
Another moment was Tom’s when we were with Jack, Marlowe and Kit in the waiting room of the doctors office and Jack announced “I have a poop”. Tom took both kids into the bathroom to find there was no changing table (in a pediatrician’s office… really?). So he had Jack bend over and touch his toes while he cleaned him up. And Marlowe decided that this was a good time to hold on to the sink basin and run her tongue along it (in a pediatrician’s office… really?!!!). As if we weren’t germ infested enough. A parenting moment.
But no parenting moment felt like the one I didn’t expect this week. I am on night two of sleeping in a chair next to my 3 week old son’s crib at the old St. Vincent’s Hospital. I watch him cry for the long 7 minutes it takes to blow the infant nebulizer in his face every 4 hours. And I listen to him breathe like a man who has smoked unfiltered Camel’s for 50 years. He has the virus many kids have, but in a 3 week old it is a much more serious thing and they want to keep a close eye on him. We may go home tomorrow, maybe the next day. The twins are with Tom and family is helping out with them.
A “parenting moment” I guess is one where you feel that your abilities as a parent are tested to the limit, or a moment where the insanity of the situation would lead you to cry or laugh so as not to cry. It is a moment of love felt for your child as they say or do something filled with innocence. It is a moment where we put a note in the margin’s or highlight with a fluorescent marker to recall again in later years when we can look back and laugh. It is a moment in your relationship where you look at each other and feel a bonding because you are sharing it. Or it is a moment where you feel complete fear as a parent as you feel yourself failing miserably at it. But, there is really no other “parenting moment” comparable to watching your child suffer and being helpless to do anything about it.
I listen to Kit cough his wet gooey coughs and wish I could cough for him. And I feel bad that his first days on this planet had to include any suffering outside of his wet diapers. Instead of watching hours of snowy reception TV or either one of the two videos in this room’s extensive VHS library: Bugs Bunny episodes or Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon in Concert (Lay-zers!)… I opt to listen to Kit breathe with the fluorescent overhead off, while nurses chat at their station and parents walk their bored and restless kids up and down the hallway of the Pediatrics floor, the wheels of their IV stands scraping against the Linoleum. And I think to myself how thankful I am to have had these 26 days with him so far, and the 9 months before that that we shared intimately for that matter. Maybe the first parenting moment with Kit was when Tom and I went in for the first ultrasound and felt more nervous then hopeful, and then looked at each other with relief that there was no bad news. We knew as experienced parents that had been through it all recently how much of it is out of our control. For Kit and Jack & Marlowe I am able to make decisions that affect them in small and in profound ways. And I do not take that for granted. Thankfully Tom and I make decisions together pretty easily and trust each other’s parenting completely. The little decisions and embarassing, comical, stressful, beautiful or sweet parenting moments make us fall in love deeper with our family, but it is when the harshest decisions have to be made that the parenting moments will most define us as parents.
There has been two times when I wanted to get my older daughter medical help that I thought she needed but was unable to legally because I have joint custody of her. It was and still is the source of all of my anger; seeing my child suffer and feeling helpless to help her. It is the cruelest thing one parent can do to another. And the act of denying a parent access help for their child was no where more prevalent than in the Emergency Room waiting room. I only had to walk through it the other night on the way up to our room. We are part of the lucky few with insurance. The waiting room was packed and every pipe and draped off section occupied. Many parents were there with their very sick kids looking desperate to be seen, waiting for hours. I do not understand how some people think that we have the best health care in this country because anyone can walk into the ER. That is not acceptable health care. It is neglect.
Kit is going to be fine, he is on the mend and he will be back to his usual self again, that guy we all know who doesn’t get out of his PJ’s and who smirks and laughs when he sleeps as if he has a sense of humor already. His family is at home waiting for him to say and do all of those things that we will remind him of when he is older and has kids of his own maybe. I look forward to sleeping in my own bed again too. They should have a chiropractor make the rounds for the parents sleeping on the chairs around here. I miss Jack and Marlowe, and Ruby of course. But I spend half of her childhood missing her so its a familiar feeling there. I am sure it is awfully strange for them to have us gone too. I look forward to being greeted by all of their smiling faces. Marlowe wearing an apron serving me a plastic frying pan with a plastic strawberry and plastic fried egg inside, Jack wearing just a diaper, and his fireman hat dancing and DJing on his boom box, and Ruby with her head in her computer facebooking sitting on my big white living room chair (yes, I have 2 year olds and a white chair, don’t ask me what I was thinking) wearing mismatched socks and too much eyeliner and is complaining about her braces that were just tightened. They are there, waiting for us, frozen in time in my mind, as we are stuck in this hospital room. Hours run into each other, and night and day are blended together. And we wait for all of the moments to begin again.

i am a super cool exploradora

Wow, its been a week already. I am just starting to come out of the fog. A week ago on Sunday morning at around 2am Tom and I had a baby boy. He was 9 lbs 15 oz …and 22 in long. A BIG boy. We named him Christopher Owen Wallace Ferrie. We nick named him “Kit” so to us his name is Kit until he chooses otherwise. Kit is his cowboy name, or maybe his baseball player name. I dunno’ we just liked it. The literary Christopher Marlowe (whom Marlowe got her name) was actually called “Kit” so I guess its a theme). Family will most likely call him Christopher though. I always loved how it is popular for surfers to wear a pendant of St. Christopher, the patron saint of travelers, and mariners. I don’t surf or ride motorcycles anymore, but I learned a lot about the power of the ocean and speed and an engine and how one has to find the balance between its power and using its power… anyway, the life lesson stuck with me and I was attracted to the name. Tom works on the water too, so it seemed like an appropriate connection.

Kit’s birth went really well. My Ob broke my water and I walked around to get labor going and within an hour it was going strong and within 6 hours all in all he was out. He has a full head of dark hair and it looks like his eyes will be blue. He started nursing like a champ 10 minutes after birth and yesterday the pediatrician weighed him at 10 lbs 8 oz, so the boy is growing like a weed already.

While in labor we turned off all the lights and Dr. Russell just sat on the bottom of the bed as if we were having a nice chat and helped where she could. She has such a calming presence and was perceptive enough to realize that I paniced when I closed my eyes and made me keep them open. I remember the twin’s birth being less painful, but that can’t possibly be true. I think I resisted the pain longer and kept my energy up in my chest with this one, and when I finally got in a groove and pushed into the pain did I finally start making some progress. At one point she told me to rest and I yelled No! and kept pushing. I know it sounds rediculous but when I was in the early stages of labor I had a damn song from the kid’s show Dora the Explorer stuck in my head. The characters were annoyingly chanting “bridge… mountain… waterfall!” over and over like a broken record. And I thought, Oh God, is this going to go on and on in my head for this whole thing? But I decided to use it somehow and although I hadn’t planned to use any visualization I was able to go there pretty easily and had it take me through the contractions. I imagined myself on a small wooden foot-bridge on a hot day in the shade of the leaves, the sound of the stream underneath and the smell of the forest around me. I imagined that I was hiking and at the point in the hike where I was starting to get into a pace that felt energized. At the top of the contraction I imagined that I was hiking on the top of a snowy mountain. The cold snow blowing like powder on my face and the light from the moon making the path ahead of me shine, nothing around but snow and I felt like I was warm and had energy to make it to the top that was in sight. Then on the back side of the contraction I imagined that I was sitting on the edge of a pool watching a huge waterfall crash down in front of me. I heard its loud rumbling and I watched the water fall down with a sense of relief and release and its spray was refreshing. In transition and during the pushing all of this went out the window, but it worked for a long time. It was pretty poignant that Tom’s sister Kate sent us an e-mail a couple of days later that showed the daily poem that the Writer’s Almanac published on the day of his birth:

My Son, Under the Waterfall

by Alan Michael Parker

The weight of what falls surprises, the solidity of
the slapping water, its constant and different pressures,

the way when you’re thirteen everything seems
not to have happened, life itself, and yet be

dumped upon you, and you can spread wide
your arms, wide as the rest of July, and still

be filled with feeling while holding nothing,
like a movie screen, or the voice of the girl

who called on a Friday to ask about the homework.
Moss slimes the rocks, cattails rim the pools,

and the water rushing to arrive through the cut
feels like sunlight on your skin if only sunlight

would have mass and volume and pound
your head and shoulders, and with your mouth open

breathing is like laughing and laughing
is like breathing, and the surprise persists,

the sense of being between elements and standing up
in your swim trunks and sandals as though

on land and swimming at once,
and your resolve also matters, to keep hold

of these feelings, of each single feeling
no matter the future, to stay true to what you feel

and not to give the next kid a turn, the long line of
campers beginning to chant your name, and you

pretend not to hear, deafened by the lovely
crushing of the water on your head.

“My Son, Under the Waterfall” by Alan Michael Parker, from Elephants and Butterflies. © BOA Editions, 2008.

I am amazed that I am now the mother of four children. But somehow I feel that it was always meant to be, and that he was waiting for us. The post-partum recovery will take some time, and I have to take it as easy as I can with two two year olds and a teenager. I get so many comments on his size, even the nurses were amazed at how big he was and complimented me on delivering such a big baby. I figure that it is similar to pushing out an extra large bowling ball as opposed to a medium bowling ball. Either way its a bowling ball and still hurts. But I have big babies (J & M were 7 & 8 lbs about) so maybe I am the wrong person to compare. With all of the complaints of my aching nipples and sore body, a fever and chills not to mention sleep deprivation and feeling like Ive been hit by an 18 wheeler… its a pretty good deal all in all. Jack and Marlowe have been so sweet to him, and have been good about the attention diversion so far. Yesterday Marlowe picked up the phone in her play kitchen, put it to her ear and said “Hello nipples!”. That gives you an idea of the main topic of conversation around here.

Today I sat on the couch with my (don’t call it a boppy) nursing pillow as the “milk man” went for second helpings again, while Jack and Marlowe stood on upside down plastic bins listening to the Ramones and playing air guitar and drums yelling “Hey! Ho! Let’s Go!”, Tom clapping and encouraging them and singing along, while Ruby laughed at them and texted at the same time. Welcome to your crazy family Kit. Its loud and a little insane sometimes, but there is a lot of love and fun ahead for you.

Tonight when we put the twins to bed they said goodnight to everyone they could think of. Marlowe said goodnight to Joey, Dee-Dee, Tommy and Johnny too (we were listening to the 1st record). Kit buzzed in his bouncy seat, the thing is so old it needs a kick start and runs like the VW bug in the Woody Allen movie Sleeper. He smirked milk drunk and all fuzzy from his first bath. Its hard to believe he is really here. And that I won’t wake up and find that it was just a dream. Pregnancy was hard, and although it was without complications, it still took more energy than I thought it would as I carried a big baby and still had to keep up with toddlers. Some days I don’t know where I found the energy, I tried not to think about it and just do it. And looking back I would do it again, and I would take a rickety bridge to the tallest snowy mountain to the remotest waterfall any day to get to him if I had to.

out day

Well, tomorrow is “out day” as my OB likes to call it. I was at her office today and as my twins played with the scale, curtain and blood pressure pump and velcro, she looked at me and said. “Um, well you are half way there and I am surprised you’re not in labor and it should be pretty fast being number 4 and all… and what do you think about just coming in tomorrow, breaking the water and getting things moving.”
What a smart lady. I am all for having things take their natural course, but being that I am really almost there anyway, that sounded like a good idea. Natural timing might be in the car on the Brooklyn Bridge and that is an anxiety I can take out of the equation now. For some reason I have had about 5 people tell me about births that happened in cars in the last couple of days and I am starting to wonder if that wasn’t a bit of a nudge from somewhere to do this differently. A hospital birth was something we knew we would do. We knew we wanted the doctor that delivered the twins to be there and that was more important to us than where. And the more I thought about it, I liked the idea of laboring without the mayhem of the twins and family logistics around us. Here, there would be no quick exits.
So we are going in tomorrow night. Me and the little guy being night people and all, and with the full moon and decrease in barometric pressure with the oncoming storm.. we should be in good shape. Who knows what helps it all. My closest friends are all sending their positive thoughts, lighting candles and toasting wine or whatever they want to do too. Ill take any help I can get. Although I think I have everything I need to do this. At the twins birth and a bit with Ruby’s birth, I relied heavily on my dry sense of humor. I thought that it was me disassociating with my body, but now I think that wit it is just a part of me and ultimately was really helpful in lightening things up and staying positive.
I look forward to it. When I had the twins, I was standing for 12 hours with back labor, and had severe pre-eclampsia (HELLP Syndrome) where my blood cells were turning to mush, and I hadn’t slept the night before or eaten in 24 hours and was pretty much beyond what I thought I could do and then some, and my doctor handed me a cup of herbs and said “it isn’t any worse than you thought, it is only as bad as it is.” Which is a pretty Buddhist way of looking at it for an OB. Although at the time I was prepared to hunt down the anesthesiologist in the hallways myself. Somehow a small thing can pull you out of the fear and help you find more strength that you didn’t know you had. I hope tomorrow I am able to find this strength and take it one moment at a time.
Wish us a happy and healthy birth if you want and ill be checking back in as a thinner mother of 4. Four!

happy birthmasskwanzmahannuka day

Well, I have had 2 hours of sleep. The pregnancy restless legs at night had me doing the 4 – 5 hour late night dance party again. So when I fell asleep at 3 (which is actually good comparatively), and Jack woke up at 5am demanding to be sung the “A,B.C,D,E,F,G! song”, I knew this would be a rough morning. Its Tom’s birthday today and I wanted to let him sleep in. Which he did until 7:30, pretty luxurious for around here. Jack & Marlowe sung their version of Happy Birthday at the table to him (and themselves, and other random people) and he was happy to see them in such good moods (waffles and syrup had nothing to do with it). Tom is 32, and that is amazing to me. A father of 4 at 32, wow. He is such an amazing father though and I am so proud of him. Lately he has been obsessed with researching his ancestry on-line. It’s totally perfect for his personality: organization and a puzzle. He has found so much more than I thought he would find. Copies of the census’ from 1880 showing the first arrivals from Ireland, 8 kids and all. People look at me cross-eyed when I tell them I am having my 4th kid. But back then (and in Irish Catholic families), that was pretty normal. I can’t imagine having 8 kids at a time when there was no formula, no huggies, no bouncy seat… it must have been so hard. Many of Tom’s relatives going back were named Cornelius. So now he is on a big kick to name the new boy this. Um, no. Its hard to tell when he is serious because he is such a joker so much of the time, but he is really serious. I dunno’ I think of Planet of The Apes, or Don Cornelius, the first host of Soul Train (my husband being born in 76′ doesn’t have those same 70’s connections). Tom showed Ru all of the family tree he had found so far on his computer. She was interested, but said it was creepy. I suppose it is, looking back on the dead relatives that are long forgotten. I would prefer to have known someone I name my child after. Perhaps there was an admirable Cornelius in there somewhere, but what if one of them was a right bastard? Tom loves the story of a great great uncle that was an apprentice pilot and quit to join the circus. I wonder what happened to that guy? Anyway, we are kind of stumped on the name honestly. Its hard to name someone you haven’t met yet, and I am sort of superstitious about it too. I’d like to think he has a say in it somehow. My friend Josh was over last night and he said that he was almost named Oliver. I asked if he thinks his life would have been different if his name was different. He said yes, and that a small change would make a big change over time. True, perhaps you meet someone you wouldn’t have met otherwise while waiting for your name to be called alphabetically. So when the new baby is here, his fate may be changed just by a wince from gas when we ask him “how about Cornelius?”. The first in a lifetime of life changing decisions. Some with more or less thought put into them.
So I am finishing this post a couple of days later now. I am at the end of the pregnancy and in the zone to either stare at the wall, sleep or reorganize my closet. Writing has escaped the brain, and all effort is spent on pre-production of the Christmas event. I have been enjoying a good laugh on the “war on Christmas” however. Brought to you by people who are greatly offended by use of the word “X-Mass” (the X is an abbreviation of the Greek alphabet’s spelling of the Greek word for Christ), and that Merry Christmas is not used in large chain store’s advertisements, but replaced by Happy Holidays. Would you feel better if there were animated images of the baby Jesus or the three wise men poking from behind a photo of a snow blower or flannel PJ’s for sale? Cant we recognize that we are living in a multi-cultural society and there are a few holidays celebrated at this time of year? OK, it is in poor taste to change the words to traditional Christmas songs, and it is dumb to say something is a “holiday tree” or a “family tree”, but ultimately they are selling crap and we just don’t have to act as consumers and boycott this or that store to wave our entitlement flags the highest, you are asking a capitalist organization that makes money off of consumer greed and the marketing of secular Christmas to be sensitive to one religion’s part of the holiday, how can this be what is important about Christmas? Just celebrate it the way you want to and put your energy into showing the way you think “giving” or “not giving” should be this time of year. If someone says “Happy Kwanzaa” to me… I am not offended. I would think that was very nice. And its true, we are all too afraid of offending someone. But a “war” on Christmas? p-lease. No where near as oxymoronic as the term “War on Terror”, but still, the misuse of the word “war” makes me think it comes from a similar polarizing and paranoid source. It is a holiday celebrated in many different ways. And even if a family who doesn’t believe in the birth of Christ chooses to celebrate Christmas. I would think a “good Christian” would just be thankful for a family choosing to celebrate something that brought their family together. The secular Christmas themes are a part of this culture at this point and evolving with the times as it has been doing even before a Coke advertisement made Santa jolly. And lets not forget all of the changes made to “Christmas” when the Puritans decided to oust the Pagan symbolism. What Christmas are you defending from this war? The white Christian majority version of it? …OK, tangent, sorry.
We had some of Tom’s old friends over last night to celebrate Tom’s birthday. It was so nice to see them, and Tom was so happy they were visiting. One has been living in New Zealand for a couple of years so it was great timing that his visit was this week. We are about to go through, well… a tremendous bonding experience, and it was good that we got in some fun before the diapers hit the fan. We had fondue, a birthday tradition Tom has had since he was little, and Ru reported that the Christmas cookies we made earlier tasted horrible dipped in hot cheese. She hung out all night with us. I love that she is able to do this and confident in herself enough to join in the conversation. Tom loved his birthday (and his new iPod) and I was happy we were able to put some attention on him for a change. Now onward to next week and the annual stuff giving around our holiday tree (tee hee). No really, I love Christmas, but I really look forward to the time when the presents have been unwrapped, the tree has been chipped, the baby has been born, family has been visited and the nog has been drunk and we can take some time to just relax a bit and begin to look forward to spring.

secretary of sedentary

There is a tiny dot in the exact center of my TV screen. It is not in the pixels or a part of an image. It is what we have in this house when the new war game on X-Box called Call of Duty comes out. This dot allows Tom to aim his weapon of choice at a target before the site comes into focus. In real life, in war your vision would not have such a sticker, but this is not real life. This is you, sitting on the couch with a beer in a frosty mug, eating salty snacks and talking on the headphones to other men via the internet in your unit, who are doing the same thing. Rude and insulting comments are plentiful but so are references to people they work with, and the pause button used after one player says… “Dude, I gotta step out for a second, I have to go get a beer/take a piss/talk to my wife.” Many women in the US go through a few months of diverted attention and one word answers around this time of year: football season. But thankfully I live with a man who likes baseball. So this fall, instead of John Maddon’s voice booming over the sound effects of the visual graphics, it is the sound of gunshots, gruff commands and people dying with one of three canned death sounds. Most of the time it is all through Tom’s headphones as not to wake the kids thankfully.

There is a playback that shows you who shot you when you are killed multiple times. This is so that the player can learn from their mistakes, or be inspired to kill more. This new version is modeled after WWII, and the commercial for the game says “Like nothing you have ever seen before.” Yup, I thought… the boys to men (and all the grey area in between) that play this game have never seen WWII, and even if a player has or is presently involved in active duty, they have still never fought like they did in WWII, and won’t again.

Now Tom can be the most loving husband and caring father, give the gentlest of kisses and sing the most lovely falsetto emulating Morrissey in the shower. But he is after all, a man and whatever way you look at it, he still desires camaraderie of his friends and doing things that appeal mostly to men. Like blowing things up, war games, standing in freezing cold surf casting a fishing pole at night, giving people a great deal of good natured yet brutal shit and drinking beer and eating pickled and spicy or salty snacks. This is something that must be hardwired or maybe its just the testosterone. What do I know? But it does remind me that there are differences and make me think that a woman in charge of ending the war in Iraq, establishing relations with Russia, Afghanistan and Iran, among other giant peace keeping tasks in the world today… may be a really, really good idea. Hillary may have the most difficult job in front of her if she takes the position of Secretary of State. But it is an opportunity of a lifetime, and also in the lifetime of this nation to make a huge impact on history. And last I heard, the Clintons are not ones to shy away from opportunity and hard work.

It is not that I think a man would just walk into the position with a “kill em’ all” attitude. (You can buy a T-shirt that says “Kill em All and let God sort em out” at the Strategic Air and Space Museum in Nebraska if you are looking to do some early Christmas shopping). Many men are renowned for their mediation and diplomatic skills. Just look at the amazing things Martti Ashisaari has done in his lifetime (winner of the Nobel Peace Prize 2008). But maybe, just maybe we need a woman’s touch and I don’t mean candles and drapes and a splash of color. Maybe we need someone in there that has a different perspective and approach and if there is anything about her being a woman that may contribute positively to it, than fantastic. A colleague of Martti Ashisaar’s was asked why they thought he was so good at negotiations and mediation between two waring people. And it was said that he learned a lot about both cultures and their histories, and then showed each side a huge amount of respect for their culture and things that were important to them, so that each side going in to talk felt that Martti was on their side. Women are known to be good mediators because they have an ability to be better at feeling empathy and compassion. Maybe Martti, a square looking businessman type in his 70’s had a feminine side he didn’t even know he had. It is not that I think we need to feel empathy and compassion towards people, especially those guilty of terrorism and genocide. But I would like to think that a woman may have the ability to sit between each side, or meet with someone and command respect and at the same time be careful and calculated in her approach, yet bring to the table an understanding and respect for the negotiation process as well as an ability to look at the multiple levels a person or culture may have… emotionally, behaviorally, morally and what layers make up each one’s identity. And perhaps be successful in her ability to be convincing more than a man might. Maybe, maybe. It seems like a really good idea to me.

I don’t call myself a feminist at all. I do not advocate that women are better than men. I think of them capable of the same things but in different ways. And women better at some things, and men are better at some things. I am not just wanting Hillary to be SOS just because she is a woman either. I think she would be perfect for the job regardless of her gender. And honestly, as much as I secretly wanted her to wipe the floor with Sarah Palin in a debate. I was much more impressed that she did not take the bait of the media to point to sexism when discussing her.

Thankfully I don’t live in a relationship anymore that shames me for having emotions, or strong emotions. My perspective is always influenced by my emotions. They are inseparable. And having strong emotions does not make one “irrational”. It makes one honest and the emotional component of things has value. But it took me many years to learn this. Now I am not saying that I think we should have a SOS that says “fine then, be that way” and storms out of the room in tears. We need someone tough as nails. But someone tough also recognizes that strength is not found in suppressing one’s emotion, but feeling it and pressing on anyway. We shall see, I hope she takes the job.

So Tom and I for this season… the “its cold out and we are expecting a baby any day now season” have settled into our sedentary, hermit like habits (other than his winter surf fishing) and we have our stations of entertainment (TV, computer, books, x-box) to pull us through our days until the crocuses come up. So for Christmas, I am thinking that I may get Tom only “as seen on TV” gifts. The suction handle, roto tiller, a tub of oxy clean, a Life-Alert necklace, a chin-up bar and a Barak Obama commemorative plate. And hopefully he gets me something that keeps me occupied, like some knitting needles and yarn. I can look like one of those New Yorker women with their goofy knitted hats with the ear flaps and long caterpillar puffy coats buying cans of cat food at the grocery store. Single women with time on their hands and cats. Actually, with 3 other kids, time on my hands has not been something I often find myself with. Maybe I can get some of that. I am no Clinton, I am not in a pant suit up early in the morning go-getting. I am in a hormonal fog, nesting and moving furniture and trying to mentally prepare for an infant in my life again and feeling the stress of the expectations around the holidays vs. what I can actually do right now. Tom has been joking that for Christmas he is getting me a “get in shape after childbirth” trek in the Himalayas with some nice sherpas. Or season lift tickets to a ski slope in the Poconos. Yup, thats perfect. There will be hills and mountains involved in my near future however, but not like those pretty snow capped ones. I look forward to it. Its better than working off a $20 million campaign debt, thats for sure. Anyway, when not reviewing the labor progress, the countdown to the end of the Bush administration has me plenty occupied. Ill take a hot tea (an hour of world news, sugary snacks) and some fuzzy slippers in the meantime though.