Steffblogg

The stoop gods continue to be kind

2012-01-24T12:53:00.000-05:00

I have mentioned our neighborhood in the past; it's a high-class scavenger's paradise. You want furniture? Great world literature? Toys? Housewares? No problem.

I have been an active participant in this scene since we moved here 2 and a half years ago. I've put things out, rifled through boxes, and come home on more than one occasion screeching "Oliver, look what I found!" I knew (knew!) if I waited long enough I would find a copy of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. My most dramatic find: a Stokke Tripp Trapp chair (hellooooo $300 high chair) that needs a new coat of paint.

Paradise!

Some recent finds:

A giant basket that holds all our shopping bags, umbrellas, flashlights, etc. I do love an organized closet. Especially when you pay nothing to organize it.

Some fun-looking old books. Maybe Nils and I will read these together someday. Maybe I'll just read them on my own.

Stacking rings and stacking boxes (Nils seen wincing mid-topple with the boxes). People leave out some beautiful toys, and with a good cleaning they're like new. He loves stacking things, so the more the merrier.

And finally, his favorite toy. These are gears that spin together when you turn the toy on. He's drawn like a magnet to this thing every time I put it out. Do we have a little engineer on our hands? (Oliver certainly has his fingers crossed.)

A tour of Nils's room

2012-01-03T22:26:00.000-05:00

Have I ever shown you Nils's room? No? It's actually pretty cute. It's the smallest room in our apartment, and also the only one we painted. (Correlation?) It's a peaceful little corner - I've always thought so, anyhow. Find Nils while we're putting him down for the night and you might get a different story. We've read many stories in the rocking chair, pulled many toys off the toy shelves.

Excuse me Nils, please let us in. Toots, can you let us in?

This is his favorite game right now. He closes the door, and waits for you to open it so he can close it again. Very funny.

Yes yes, you are so clever.

There's not too much to the tour, since it's a pretty small space.We've got light gray walls and your typical baby furnishings. If I can, I'd like to direct your attention to the quilt on the rocking chair, window treatment, and crib bumpers. Nils has quite the grandma; she made all these things for him.

One other touch that I love: the grouping of pictures on the wall:

They're illustrations from The Runaway Bunny. I bought a used paperback and ripped out a couple pages; one represents Oliver and the other is me. I'll let you guess which of us is the Alpine mountain climber in a Swiss/Bavarian-style hat.

Simple but sweet, no? Nils has a lot of fun in here (as long as no one is trying to make him sleep). And look! I do believe he's about to start in on his second favorite game - taking his toys and throwing them on the floor. Cleanup? Someone else takes care of that.

To me though, there is another side to this room. Let's look at that last picture one more time:

I'm pretty proud of myself for this. I have always been a secondhand furnisher, and for Nils I did my best to re purpose our own things or find new ones through secondhand channels. His things were inexpensive, and they are both unique and easy on the earth. We have even found some secondhand books and toys (mixed among their new counterparts) - a small feat given the fact that we don't live anywhere near family or friends with older children.

You and yours

2011-12-24T00:34:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukkah! Happy everything!

We're here in Wisconsin for the week, and our family-togetherness happiness has been tempered with news of the saddest kind from another branch of the family tree. I'm holding my little one tight, thinking about the importance of family and friends, and praying for peace and happiness for all those I know and love.

Peace and happiness to you then, and abundant blessings (Too many! Too many blessings!) to you and those you love in 2012.

Much love,

us.

Sea change

2011-12-15T21:39:00.001-05:00

A few weeks back I needed to get a physical photo of Oliver and I, and I needed to get it right away. We don't have tangible paper pictures of ourselves around the house, so I was scrambling. Our China photo album caught my eye - I could take something from there! Okay, so that was six years ago... no matter. We look more or less the same.

I opened the book and was dumbfounded. Who were these people? Good lord... us?

In the middle of the best hike of my life, letting the euphoria wash over me.

Oliver. His humor ever understated, his hand on a monkey butt.

Staying in a Buddhist monastery one night - meditating cheekily.

We were so silly! So exuberant. We were children. The album is full of photos like these; goofy smiles, humorous poses, arms-flung-open excitement. It looks like we didn't have a care in the world. And personally, I didn't. I was having the time of my life, and saw no reason that the rest of my life couldn't continue on in a similar fashion. Maybe not with such extensive travel, but you know. Adventure in your own backyard sort of thing. Life was going to be fun and carefree, because I was fun and carefree. End of story.

I only recently realized how much motherhood has changed me. I was so deeply immersed in the day to day that it took a long time to come up for air and get a good view of my surroundings. Wow. It's as though the very molecules that make me have shifted, have formed new structure thingies (hey man, I've never claimed to be a scientist). Everything is different, and not just because I spend my time in different ways now, I have a child to consider, etc. No, things are just different. My perspective on a thousand situations has changed. I breathe differently. I move differently. I talk differently.

Part of it is a settling into myself. At Cool University, where I work two days a week, I often overhear the conversations of my department's graduate student workers. They're lovely, intelligent people having thoughtful discussions... and every time I hear them I think "that's how I used to talk, isn't it." It's hard to put into words; they seem eager to be known and understood, and to reach out at the same time. I feel more settled, somehow. Some youthful hunger is gone and I don't need anyone to know me. I value friendships and conversation just as much as ever, but it's more about connecting with people I enjoy than learning, experiencing, reaching, etc.

The other part of it is a darkening of the world. I'm more anxious than I used to be. I've got something to lose now. And I mean lose. Things feel so much more serious, and I'm constantly aware of how precarious my happy little life is. I used to roll my eyes at certain situations, or natter on about certain world problems... I think they were just abstract concepts to me, because I never gnashed my teeth the way I do now. There's a twinge in my side, and it won't go away as long as both Nils and misfortune have a place in the world.

All this is not to say I'll never do another goofy pose for a vacation photo. Or that excitement is childish. Or that motherhood alone changes you. I just looked at old photos of myself and realized how differently I used to feel. And how much I had yet to experience.

And still do.

Then and now

2011-11-28T11:25:00.001-05:00

We don't do a lot of videotaping around these parts, but I like to capture a few minutes on film every once in awhile. I forget things so quickly - was he really that little? Oh my goodness, he moves so much differently now. He was such a primal little thing!

At the risk of boring everyone but Nils's grandparents, here are a couple videos. One was taken when he was about 2 months old, and the other just this past week. Please be forewarned that I have some serious "mommy voice" going on in both these videos.

Underhill

2011-11-20T19:59:00.001-05:00

Talk about a lazy day. There was a family nap from 9 to 11:45 (badly needed by all) and a lot of puttering around the apartment. We didn't aim to get much of anything done, or go and do anything of real consequence. We did manage however, to get out for a bit and hit up the Underhill playground.

It's a great place. A bit off our beaten path, and therefore a little exotic. A little-kid paradise in the middle of Prospect Heights. Plenty of space for Nils to stretch his legs:

"Donated" goodies from homes that have outgrown jumperoos, push toys and the like:

And swings! Can you remember the last time you felt the euphoria that Nils seems to be experiencing here?

A quick snack, and time to go home. Too much fun! I think a Thanksgiving-weekend visit may be in order.

Occupied

2011-11-17T20:45:00.001-05:00

I picked a great week to keep hanging out on Wall Street.

I haven't been going there as part of the Occupy Wall Street protest (though sidenote: I have stopped by Zucotti Park a couple times and was totally impressed with their greywater system). Our regular childcare wasn't available this week so I trudged up to our backup option, which happens to be one block off Wall Street.

I was there Tuesday, the day after the protesters had been evicted from the park. I was there yesterday, when things seemed to be calming down. And then I was there oh-so-briefly this morning, when I could hear the noise of the protests before I even left the subway station. Climbing up the last of the subway steps - which by the way is no small task when you have a 20-pound baby, all his stuff, and all your stuff strapped to your torso - I ran right into the NYPD. All of them, it seemed. They stood around near the subway entrance. They stood behind barricades on the street, helmets on and batons at the ready. They were everywhere and like me, they could hear the protesters coming.

"Excuse me," an officer said as I turned toward my street. "Where are you headed?"

"I'm trying to take him to childcare," I said. "It's just down the street."

"Listen, I don't want to be a pain in the ass, but you should take him and get out of here. They're going to try and break down the gates and then... you should just go."

"Really?" I said, trying to peek around his shoulder to see what was going on.

In the end Nils and I got back on the subway and went home. I'll just work tomorrow.

Wiped

2011-11-08T21:29:00.000-05:00

It has been awhile since I last posted here, and not for a lack of things to talk about. Oliver ran the New York marathon. Visitors came to town. I headed out of town for a weekend, sans Oliver and Nils.

Nils started crawling:

He was the world's cutest, sweetest shark for Halloween.

I'm just beat, that's all. Looking at this last picture made me realize it - good lord I look tired. Look at those eyes. And that was a day I felt pretty awake, too. Go figure. It's a combination of the things you would expect. Nils moves around now and is therefore harder to keep track of. The days are getting shorter - aren't we all a little less energetic than we were when the sun set at 8:30? He's been doing a sleep regression thing for an embarrassingly long time, which means I've been up at midnight, at 3, again at 5:30, then finally at 7, just about every night for weeks. And every time I say to him "all right kiddo, tomorrow we start sleep training," he goes and gets a cold, cuts a tooth, etc. And then I totally lose the heart to "set him straight."

And when he goes down for the night, giving me sweet, sweet time to myself, I look longingly at the laptop. Or more accurately, look longingly for the laptop. My apartment looks terrible. Would you believe me if I told you this photo was taken just after I had spent most of my weekend cleaning? No time for blogging! Good lord woman, get your home in order.

The funny thing is, this photo also perfectly reflects what my mind feels like. It's messy and a little chaotic, and no matter how many loads of mental laundry I throw at the symbolic washing machine there still seem to be piles of dirty onesies following me around. And Nils manages to get into my purse.

I wouldn't change any of it though, not for anything. Actually no, that's not true. I would get him to sleep through the night. But that will come soon enough. (Once he gets over this latest cold.) And then I will still chase him around all day, hovering close enough to grab him just before he loses his footing and knocks his head on the coffee table. I will still dream of prune-stained sleepers. I will probably still need that afternoon coffee. It's all good.

Nilsknits for fall

2011-10-16T22:24:00.000-04:00

Knitting in the heat of summer always seems sort of insane to me, but the payoff... the payoff is worth it. Cute little things for Nils!

First up: the professor/grandpa sweater. It's actually called the Baby Sophisticate, but it just screams grandpa/professor to me. Look at that little collar!

And next up: the manly baby vest 2.0! I made a little (tiny little!) version for newborn Nils, and he was just so adorable in it that I knew I needed to make another for this season.

It's a bit big right now, but that should change soon enough. Hopefully not too soon though; stay a baby just a bit longer, little pea!

Lesser-known monuments

2011-10-02T19:50:00.002-04:00

**Part 3 of 3: Germany

We didn't see "sights" in Germany; it was mainly family and friends. We ate that wonderful German bread for breakfast and had cake in the afternoons. Nils sat and played with his stacking cups on a series of living room floors. He squirmed happily in a series of arms. It was lovely and slow-paced. There were a few side trips though, to monuments that probably aren't on the radar of your average tourist:

First, to Hermannsdenkmal (Hermann's Monument). It commemorates a victory of the Germanic tribes against the Romans, and when you climb to the top you can see the surrounding countryside for miles and miles. It was beautiful.

Nils was a fan. He was out of his mind with happiness the entire time we were there, actually. It was adorable - he was shrieking and kicking his legs for a good hour straight.

It tired him out eventually.

Then there was Muenster, the monument to Oliver's young adult years. Oliver went to school and lived out his 20s here, and he was genuinely excited to bring Nils to see the streets he biked down when his grown-up life was just beginning.

And going back even further, Oliver was anxious to bring Nils to his first childhood home. The house itself was torn down some years ago - it's now a gas station/car wash. Hallowed ground.

And finally, a monument (" ") made specifically for Nils - it felt like it, anyhow. It was like he had met his soulemate. We literally had to pry his little hands off the steering wheel when it was time to go.

Rome slowly

2011-09-27T22:22:00.001-04:00

**Part 2 of 3 of our vacation: Rome

Rome was tricky. We couldn't lounge in the mornings like we did in Tuscany. We could come home early, but if we were going to get anything out of Rome we had to be out in it during the day. I've got to be honest; if Nils wasn't so easygoing it wouldn't have worked.

Lucky for us he is easygoing, so out we went. There was something for everyone. The Colosseum for me:

The Vatican for Oliver:

And water bottles for Nils. Seriously, he can play with one of those for a half an hour.

It was a slower, less direct style of sightseeing. There were certain things we couldn't do (museums), and the things we did do were done more slowly. Yes, for example, there was an ancient structure; enormous and beautiful and you could practically still hear gladiators waiting beneath the arena... but within that structure there was a thin wire to hang on to! A wire! We needed to devote some time to this.

And so it was, a push and pull. We pushed Nils a bit sometimes, taking advantage of his flexibility and sunny disposition to cover a bit more territory, see a bit more of the city. He pulled us back in turn, reminding us in his own sweet way that we had to slow it down a bit:

On our last morning in the city we decided to hit up one last place. The Terma Caracalla, a complex of thermal baths built during the Roman Empire. It was beautiful and deserted, and we wandered at our leisure.

I scampered around, taking photos. Oliver sat with a finger on his lips and took it all in, wordless. Nils found another thin, wire-like structure to hang on to:

Something for everyone.

Caffe, gelato, vino (Tuscany with a baby)

2011-09-25T15:00:00.000-04:00

**Part 1 of 3. I feel like writing about each section of our trip on its own. First: Tuscany

From the get go, we knew this trip would be different. We'd be doing Tuscany with friends, for one thing. Friends with their own little one in tow. We'd have a home base too, instead of packing up the bags and moving on every couple of days. More than anything else though, the baby would make it different. How much more limited would we be? Could he handle everything? What would our days look like? It's hard to imagine now that we ever had concerns; everything turned out beautifully.

Tuscany, for us, meant mornings at the villa. Lingering over the breakfast we ate outside. Puttering around the olive groves and country roads while the babies took their morning naps. (Taking turns puttering, of course. I feel compelled to let you know that the babies were not abandoned as they slept) Once the babies woke up, we sometimes made the 30-minute walk to Monte San Savino, the hill town we could see out our windows.

Other days we got into our cars and made our way to other hill towns. Once in those towns, two things were inevitable: coffee and ice cream.

The coffee and ice cream made it all work. Each gave you a place to sit outside, a place to watch everyone pass by. You could linger over your cappuccino while your little babe sat on your lap, staring in wonder at the old woman making faces at him from the next table. Once it was time to move on from the coffee place you could aimlessly wander the streets, snapping photos and pausing to look into shop windows, until you stumbled upon a gelateria. Who wants gelato? (Everyone does.) The adults could sit and blend into the stone walls again, stopping to become a part of the town for a bit instead of simply passing through it. The babes could stretch their little legs on stone streets and rocking horses/moose.

Once back to our home base, there was usually time for a dip in the pool before dinner. Dinner, just like breakfast, was eaten outside and lingered over. It also included my favorite detail from the giant fresco that was our week: homemade wine. Our landlord's own, made from the grapes we walked past each day. One partner sat and sipped near the lemon and fig trees while the other shushed the baby to sleep in the house. The little ones asleep, we all poured ourselves more glasses. We talked about the years to come. We watched the lights go on in nearby Monte San Savino. It was heaven.

(Main piazza, Montepulciano. Bonus points if you can spot Oliver and Nils)

(The Duomo, Orvieto... technically Umbria, not Tuscany)

Big weeks

2011-09-01T21:31:00.001-04:00

We're off!

A couple weeks in Europe await - first Tuscany, then Rome, then Germany. We're renting a house with friends, sightseeing just the three of us, and taking Nils to meet the other half of his family.

Big weeks, these will be. Nils will use his passport for the first time. Oliver will get to - for days and days on end - spend more than 45 minutes in the morning with his son. I'll get to see Italy. We will drink wine (some of us, anyhow), take day trips, lounge with family, and meet our future wives (one of us, anyhow ;) ).

Scenes from a birthday

2011-08-31T11:17:00.000-04:00

Actual birthday boy not pictured. It was a low-key but lovely celebration, and halfway through it we realized it was Oliver's first birthday spent in New York. We were in Germany last year, trapped in Peru the year before, and camping in Canada the year before that. This year's simple gifts, dinner at Fornino, handmade card and homemade cheesecake were technically no match for meeting a brand-new baby (last year), dipping our feet in Lima's Pacific (two years ago), and canoeing to an island campsite (three years ago)... but it felt every bit as fun. Hm. Wonder what it is that made a relatively mundane birthday so good...

The best part of our apartment

2011-08-19T09:42:00.003-04:00

Our apartment is quirky. We love it, but it probably isn't everyone's cup of tea. The ceilings are low (cheaper to heat! Cozy and treehouse-like!). It's at the very top of our 5-story walkup (the stairs keep us so fit!). Etc. etc. Who cares about these things - it has a skylight.

A skylight! A peek at the sky from our living room! An extra breeze blowing in when open windows don't cut it. More light pouring into our already-sunny home. Sometimes when it rains I lay on the floor beneath the skylight and watch the rain drops hit. You can hear them pattering; it's like being in a cabin or a tent. It always reminds me of that magical Saturday I sat on the floor in the young adult section of my local library. I was trying to figure out which Encyclopedia Brown books I hadn't read yet when it started to rain. I was right beneath the skylight and the noise was deafening. Mesmerizing too. It made you glad to be inside, but also tempted you to run outside and get soaking wet.

Other good things in our apartment:

The "big blue thing" we purchased in the neighborhood a couple months ago. A million drawers hide a million pencils, knitting needles, rolls of tape, cords, etc. I hugged it the day we brought it home. No joke.

The lovely way our dining stuff came together. Quick and easy re-upholstering of chairs, quick and easy sewing of table runner... I'm loving it.

A bookshelf that also creates a little hallway in front of the bathroom (can you see the door behind there?) and hides a bunch of important but unsightly stuff (love you, baskets!)

The best part of the park

2011-08-05T09:47:00.002-04:00

One of the best things about living where we live is the park. Prospect Park, Brooklyn's answer to Central Park. There's a bit of rivalry even, with Brooklynites turning their noses up at that bigger, more famous Manhattan cousin. Sniff. That was just Olmstead's first attempt. Our park was his masterpiece.

We live a scant block and a half from that masterpiece, and spend time in it whenever we can. Oliver runs there in the mornings, we picnic there on the occasional summer evening. Nils and I meet up with other moms and babies there and sprawl out in the grass. It's one of our favorite places, and within the park itself is my favorite of favorites: the woods.

That's what I call them, anyhow. They probably have a more official name. No matter. You come into the woods from the relentlessly sunny lawn and the temperature drops 5 degrees. Giant trees keep the sun to a filtered minimum. Paths diverge here and there. There are never more than a handful of people in the woods, and you can be totally alone for minutes at a time. You can hear birds and running water. You cannot hear the city. The trees are enormous.

I walk more slowly in the woods. I push Nils in his stroller and hope he's seeing all the things I'm seeing. I make a mental note: go hiking soon! When I take a peek at him he is, inevitably, relaxed.

We do a lot of loitering in the woods. I walk back and forth slooowly, and loop around multiple times. I take Nils out of the stroller from time to time and hold him, letting him look around from a different elevation. There is so much to see!

Ponds!

Waterfalls! Gorgeous peacefulness everywhere you turn! Nils, are you taking this all in?

Oh, right. Still relaxed.

Golden hour

2011-07-31T17:56:00.001-04:00

Sigh. I just never get tired of looking at pictures of him. People keep telling me to enjoy this time. They say it goes by fast, and before I know it he'll be a kid. Full-on kid, no baby.

I guess it's true. Someday he won't want me to hold him when he wakes up from a nap. He won't constantly smile in that simple, baby way that lights up his whole face. He won't go wild with joy every time he happens to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

Someday I won't be able to filter the world for him - he'll go out and have experiences without my help. I won't be his whole world. We won't spend our days together like we do now. He'll stand up on his own, and there will be a million amazing little things I won't know about him.

Wow. Talk about bittersweet.

What has changed

2011-07-23T05:48:00.002-04:00

I'm a different person than I was six months ago. It probably isn't discernible to anyone else but man is it obvious to me. There's the physical part of course (almost none of it for the better - such is life), but much more dramatic are the emotional, psychological changes. I react to things differently. I see them differently - I'm more sensitive. At first I chalked these things up to hormones and brand-new-mom-itis, but 6 months? Let's call a spade a spade. There has been a shift, and I'm betting my money that it's a permanent one. Or at least a long-term one, anyhow.

The front page of last Saturday's New York Times featured, as its lead story, an article on the drought/famine in Somalia. Front and center, above the fold, was a photo of a woman in a refugee camp, baby to her breast. She was emaciated and looked exhausted, and the baby looked skeletal. Or maybe the baby wasn't skeletal; all I could see was the head. I didn't need to see bony little arms to know what was going on, though. She had walked for days to reach the camp. She was starving, and since she wasn't getting enough food or water, she wasn't producing anything for her little one.

This article came on the heels of Nils's 6-month doctor's appointment, where I learned that he had dropped a little on the weight-gain curve. 25th percentile down from the 50th. (Oliver and I, with our lineage; who'd have thought we'd have a skinny baby, right?) No big deal, I was told, but I worried anyway. "Little thing, " I said as I held him close and kissed the top of his head. "We need to fatten you up! Are you getting enough to eat? Are you hungry right now? Can I feed you?" Seeing that woman then, with her baby, and putting my own concerns next to hers... I felt sick. My little boy wasn't going to starve. My "worst case scenario" involved walking to the grocery store and buying formula. I could not imagine a scenario in which food was not available for Nils.

"Oliver, you've got to listen to this, " I said. I read him excerpts from the article, pausing occasionally to sniffle or blubber. "We're giving money to Somalia."

Just this past week I finished reading Eating Animals, a book I had been meaning to read for quite some time. It makes a strong case for vegetarianism, a concept/lifestyle I have a lot of respect for. I have never been a vegetarian, but I have been slowly cutting meat out of our diet for years - I estimate that we eat 75% less of it than we did when we got married. My reasons for doing this have always been environmental first and health-related second, and it has stopped there. Animal rights has never been a factor. I believe in the food chain/predator-prey thing, so meat has never been "unethical" for me.

Reading this book in recent weeks though, with its first-person accounts of the cruelty that is apparently standard in slaughterhouses and factory farms... it flipped a switch. I couldn't help but draw a parallel between these animals and my own little beast. In many ways, Nils is like a little animal. He can't communicate with me the way adults can. He can't fight for himself. He can't do anything for himself. I feed him, I bathe him, I shuttle him from one room to the next. Left on his own he would be absolutely powerless to get what he needed. And this vulnerability, it's part of what makes me love him so much. We lock eyes and I feel like I tune into something more powerful than just he and I. There's something about Life with a capital L there. He and I are a part of something bigger, and that "bigger" encompasses every living thing. Why not do my best to respect those living things, then? Sure, vegetarianism. Let's give this a shot, see where it goes.*

* It has been three weeks now, an effortless three weeks. It helps that most of my cookbooks are geared towards vegetarians. I will say this though: I woke up this morning with a craving for salt. The first salt craving of my life.

Red fox

2011-07-18T21:52:00.000-04:00

The more Nils's hair grows in, the more we become convinced that it's red. Tough to tell though, since in some lights it looks blonde, and in others, sandy brown. Personally, I'm rooting for red. I think Oliver is too, since he has taken to calling Nils "Red Fox". My favorite part of this father-son lingo? Oliver has absolutely no idea who this guy is:

Red fox indeed!

Fire Island

2011-07-10T22:11:00.000-04:00

For a few weeks now I've been meaning to dip my toes into some water. No, scratch that. I've been thinking about total submersion. Shaking that heat once and for all. Total relief. Bracing myself against a chain of waves. Running sluggishly out to shore and getting pulled back by an outgoing rush of water. Letting my hair get stiff and salty from the ocean. Rubbing a hand over any given place on my body and coming away with a sand-dusted palm.

I am not a beach person. I like to keep my skin a healthy ivory. I have never made "the beach" a part of any vacation I have taken. I think I have purchased two swimsuits in the last 10 years. I do not own a beach towel. That need to submerge myself though; it couldn't be ignored. And so today I found myself - along with my equally sun-shy husband and uninitiated little boy (his first-ever trip to the beach!) at Fire Island. I was tossed around like a rag doll by the waves of the Atlantic. My swimsuit almost fell off about a dozen times, my legs got sunburnt, and it took a bit of effort to not care that my jiggly bits were on display. It was fantastic. I am still not a beach person. I will however, be back at this beach before the summer is over.

Passing

2011-07-08T18:02:00.001-04:00

In recent years I have felt there is something seriously lacking in my life. Hijinks. It has been forever since I jumped in a fountain in the middle of the night, pulled a prank, talked in a public place with a fake British accent about my billionaire father, etc.

My first year out of college, a friend of mine had a motorcycle. She parked it in her building's lot and someone kept coming and knocking it down. (Don't ask me how, but it was somehow obvious that the bike wasn't falling over on its own) This drove her nuts, so one weekend the two of us spent our Friday and Saturday nights crouched in the bushes next to her parked bike. We wore all black, and she kept a digital camera at the ready. We never caught the vandals, but my whole reason for doing the two-night stakeout was hijinks! Woo hoo! It had been forever.

This same desire led me to agree with Oliver and my brother last summer that yes, we should indeed sneak into Detroit's Central Station. 18 stories of abandoned wreckage... sounds like prime turf for hijinks! I was breathless with excitement the entire time we were inside, and practically bouncing off the walls once we finished our tour and came out.

The motorcycle stakeout and the abandoned railway station represent the exception to the rule though - it has been forever since I've done things in that spirit on a regular basis. I don't think about this change in lifestyle too often, but when I do it is with regret. It always makes me think that I've lost something, and that as the years go by I'll lose even more. The giddiness of my younger years was intoxicating. I still love telling some of those stories or, even better, enjoying the memories myself.

I got an email from an old friend the other week, out of the blue. She and I used to do all sorts of ridiculous things together. On a school trip to Disney World we jumped off a ride and ran out the emergency exit, just to see where we'd end up. Bored out of our skulls one summer evening, we made cupcakes, wrote an acrostic poem to go with them, then drove around town and delivered them to our friends. We went to Mike's Great Skate one Friday evening toward the end of high school (and if you're from Kenosha you know how out of place we would have looked there), just to see what sorts of looks we would get. Hearing from her reminded me all over again of the things I used to do... and don't do any more.

When I started to really think about it though, my perspective shifted. Yes, I used to do silly, fun things and now I don't. What were those silly things though, if not attempts to live a life that was nice to look back on? They were small adventures, and once I was old enough they faded out and bigger ones took their place. Interesting jobs, wonderful trips, diverse cities to call home, etc. If some of my youthful exuberance had faded, couldn't these things at least be passable substitutes?

And then I was hit with another memory, again with the old friend. She went off to college a year before I did, and she left Wisconsin to do it. A few nights before she left we ended up in her kitchen, taking pictures with all the dairy products we could find in her house. (Keep Wisconsin in your heart!) I seem to remember her mom passing in and out of the evening's frame, smiling in at us from time to time.

That's what I want now. I want to be the mom, passing through the background on my way to read a book on the porch. I want to laugh to myself at the silly, fun things my kids are doing. I get it. Life changes, and if you let yourself change with it, it can be really good. Who I was at 17 - that's not who I'm supposed to be now. Sometimes now, mine is a supporting role. That's cool. I'm content - no, excited - to raise my kids to dream up ridiculous shenanigans of their own.

One love

2011-06-30T19:22:00.000-04:00

We've been in New York for over three years now. Three years. That's longer than we have ever lived anywhere together.

I'm not going to pretend that we know everything about the city, because the things we don't know outnumber the things we do. Definitely. Still, we have a pretty good lay of the land. We have favorite restaurants. We have favorite bakeries. Okay, I have favorite bakeries. Too many favorite bakeries. We have rituals and traditions. We generally know where we're going and know what to expect once we get there.

New York is still big enough and strange enough though, that we are sometimes completely surprised. Father's Day, for example. Who knew that, if you took the 2, transferred to the S, transferred again to the C, then once more to the A, you would end up somewhere so completely not New York? And that you would still in fact be in New York?

The Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge is way out on the edge of Queens. A quiet, wildlife spot within sight of the Manhattan skyline. Well, just barely in sight. Being there was like escaping the city. Birds took flight and landed in marshes. Ospreys hung out in their nests. We walked and walked, rarely encountering other people.

Homes in the nearby neighborhood were built on the water, on stilts. Boats crowded together in little marinas. The roads were wide, and the houses had yards. Our pace got a little slower, our tastes a little less "New York" (dinner at a nondescript diner! Iceberg lettuce in our salads!). We shook hands at the end of the day (good job, sir!) and patted Nils on the head. A new adventure! Another story to tell ourselves someday down the road!

Can you see the skyline? No?

What if I zoom in? Now?

Stopping to smell the green stuff

Snow falling on cedars

2011-06-22T20:29:00.000-04:00

It's been a year since I've read a book. More or less. Reference books about babies not counting. It's been strange, since I have always - always - had a book on the bedside table, so to speak. Being a "reader" is important to me; it's one of the ways I identify myself. It's how I've spent so much of my time. It's the closest thing I have to a passion. When I found my mind wandering last summer, and my efforts to rein it in didn't work, I decided that I had to let it go. "This is what happens to you when you're pregnant," I told myself. "Just give it a few months. You'll be back."

Then Nils came, and any thoughts of reading flew out the window. And it wasn't even that I was so busy or tired (which I was, of course). I just didn't want to read. Everything sounded boring and complex, and I knew I would just start a book and put it down 40 pages later. Or, if something finally caught my interest, the whisper of the opening pages sent a voice in my head to scold me. "Hm. Reading, are you? Wow. Didn't know you had so much time on your hands. And I suppose there's nothing else you could be doing with that time. Hm."

It was all well and good enough. I busied myself with household and logistical tasks while Nils napped, and watched delicious television with Oliver in the evenings. I went to bed early when I could. "You'll be back," I told myself while I chopped vegetables or folded laundry. "Don't sweat it."

I'd be lying if I said it didn't gnaw at me though, a bit. Who was I now? Was I just a mom? Had I lost parts of myself forever? Would I ever be able to sit down again and think long, drawn-out thoughts? Would I ever want to? Would I stop learning now? Would I just live through my child?

Then I picked up a book one day. Snow Falling on Cedars, a novel I had started some time ago and tossed aside. "I'll just read it on the subway to and from work," I said. "Just a little bit here and there." I read on the subway, and it was good. Then one night Nils fell asleep, dinner was ready, the apartment was clean, and Oliver called to say he'd be home in about 45 minutes. 45 minutes to myself! 45 minutes in a quiet house while the light turned golden before fading out. I stretched out on the couch , and there I stayed until the key turned in the door.

I finished the book today.

I'm back!

To my thoughtful, generous man

2011-06-19T09:06:00.000-04:00

Happy Father's Day, dear husband! Thank you for giving our son those eyes. Among other things.

The rest of life begins

2011-06-06T16:18:00.000-04:00

Last week I went back to work. It was both nerve wracking and not a big deal at all.

I've got what, to me, is the ideal setup. I think. I'm working part time, just two days a week for now. Maybe I'll kick it up to three in the fall, maybe not. I work two days in a row in the middle of the week, leaving me a nice five-day stretch to spend with Nils. My workdays are shortened too; six hours instead of your typical seven. I'm keeping up my skills and resume then, and having adult interactions without feeling like I'm letting someone else raise my son. This is a good compromise. Probably the best I can possibly get.

That first morning was hard (as were the several nights that preceded it). I wished for a way to make him understand why I was leaving and when I'd come back, but those sweet blue eyes were uncomprehending. Walking to childcare, I thought to myself, "this is unnatural! Why do we live in a society that forces us to separate from our children so soon?" Would he cry all day? Would he feel panicked and abandoned? Would I feel panicked and neglectful? Turns out we were both fine. He was all smiles when I dropped him off in the morning and all smiles when I returned. He'd had a good day, I was told. He'd only cried once. He's a cool cat, that kid. For my part, I was able to both focus and catch up with co-workers. The day sort of flew by; imagine that. I'll go back in twice this week, and will probably freak out just a little tiny bit.

So all is well. Having been through time at home with my baby and the return to work though, I can now say with confidence that I like being at home. I like it better than being at work. Raising Nils is such an amazing thing, and I know it's only going to get better as he gets older. There's so much I want to teach him.

Work is great too, of course. I plan to continue doing it. I'm just so glad that I can do it on a part-time level for now.

That old summer itch

2011-05-29T16:56:00.000-04:00

With the turn to summer each year generally comes an itch to get up and go - preferably somewhere quiet, dramatically scenic and far away. This year is no different. We've just recently made our vacation plans (family time in Germany with a side of friends and sightseeing in Italy), and my excitement is powerful enough apparently, to have spilled over into fantasies of more! Some places I wouldn't mind being today:

Out hiking. I wouldn't mind making my way up and up until I could rest at a spot like this one. (Gros Morne National Park, Newfoundland)

It would also be nice to take those same hiking boots and navigate a stony beach. Maybe stop for lunch right along the water. Finish the food and loll about, tossing rocks into the water. (Gulf of St. Lawrence, Newfoundland)

I wouldn't mind staying close to home, either. The Hudson River Valley is beautiful, and it's just a commuter train-ride away from the city. I could do a little day hike, turning around once in awhile to admire the view behind me. (Hudson Highlands, New York State)

It would be nice to try and tackle a real mountain, too. As "real" a mountain as I'm going to tackle, anyhow. I wouldn't mind looking up and letting my jaw drop. (Zugspitze, Germany)

If I'm going to start climbing mountains, why not go high enough to break out the winter jacket? I'd love to feel the air getting colder and colder, to fill a bottle with water from a glacial lake. I wouldn't mind seeing peaks so massive that they almost seem to make sound. (Ilampu and Laguna Glacier, Bolivia)

I think a day hike or an overnight outdoor excursion is in order...

Connected unconnected thoughts

2011-05-24T19:19:00.001-04:00

A few weeks ago I found out that I had lost my job. Budget cuts, apologies from my boss, etc. It was a shock. I looked over at Nils, giggling and kicking his feet on a blanket, and felt like everything had just shifted. No longer a woman on leave, I was now an unemployed librarian - and one who already had a three month gap on her resume. Or, looking at it another way, I was suddenly a stay at home mom. What had been a lovely break, precious time with my baby, now became... what had it become exactly? Who was I now? Why was it that everything I did now seemed trivial and silly? Where exactly did I fit in?

A week and a half later, I found out that I had gotten my job back. Budget finangling, exclamations from my boss, etc. Another shock. I had just gotten used to the idea of being home with Nils for a bit longer. I had adjusted my expectations and made new plans. Okay, so now I was a mom who worked part time? Good, right? Wasn't that what I wanted?

Just this past week I was in North Dakota, visiting some relatives. A cousin and I took a walk late one night, Nils in tow. The air was cool and Nils slept on my chest in the carrier. The town was dead silent; houses to our right and fields stretching out forever to our left. Far off in the distance the lights of Fargo made a halo. Everything seemed so small and enormous at the same time. All I could think was "I'm just one little person, walking along one tiny road in one of a million small towns. I am insignificant. So incredibly insignificant." It felt good.

Every night before I go to sleep I pray. "God, take whatever you want from me. Take everything from me. Leave me joyless and hopeless; whatever works best for you. Just watch over every single hair on his little head."

Our first mother's day

2011-05-10T17:19:00.000-04:00

What a wonderful day! I had sort of been imagining it since I found out that Nils was on his way. What would it be like to be a mom on Mother's Day? Turns out it feels pretty good. Strangers came up to me with well wishes. I think they saw how tiny my little one is, and assumed (correctly) that this was our first Mom's Day together.

And honestly, it was just the best! Oliver had it all planned out. First, brunch on the Upper West Side while Nils napped.

Then on to the Bronx Zoo. The zoo! Okay, so maybe Nils is still a little young to really get the whole "zoo" experience. Still... he looked at some of the animals:

The polar bear didn't seem to hold his attention though. Go figure:

His hands though - those were worthy of his time:

He even got in a little practice time on two legs:

Now the pressure's on... Father's Day.

Brief interruption

2011-05-06T11:29:00.000-04:00

We took a short break yesterday from putting the apartment in order. A visit to Greenwood Cemetery was in order. (More park than cemetery, really.) It was a gorgeous day; blue skies, cool air, crisp breezes. How could we not take advantage of that?

I grabbed a taco from a nearby tacqueria and we headed for a spot with both sun and shade. We ended up sitting on the steps of a mausoleum on top of a hill. The grass was so thick and tall that the blanket I spread out for Nils billowed up around him. He flailed his limbs about and made baby sounds. I took in the view: Manhattan, the Hudson, Jersey, Brooklyn. To anyone not from Brooklyn it may seem strange that I took my child to a cemetery. Just trust me on this one. And anyhow, it seemed like a kind thing to do. If I were resting for eternity at the top of a hill in Brooklyn, I would love it if a woman and her little one came to play nearby one day, feeling the breeze, enjoying each other's company and giving thanks for the beautiful day.

First nap in his new bedroom

2011-05-03T21:03:00.000-04:00

We've moved! To a new place that's twice as big! Okay, so it's still New York and therefore tiny by just about anyone else's estimate... but it feels huge to us.

The best part? Other than the fact that Nils finally has a bedroom, that Oliver and I have a bedroom that is larger than the bed we sleep on, that the kitchen has drawers, that we have a skylight? The apartment is just across the street from our old one. Exclamation point! We're still close to the farmer's market. We still live a block and a half from the park. We still have access to all our favorite restaurants, shops, etc. We can still see neighborhood friends with ease. Perfect perfect perfect. Now if we could just get everything unpacked...

Photos and words to follow at some point in the coming days. Once Nils lets me plop him down in the play gym long enough to get things in order.

Fun times!

2011-04-21T11:37:00.002-04:00

"And vhen you sleep I vill come to your home and strangle you.

(Love you, husband!)

Full bloom

2011-04-17T16:21:00.000-04:00

It's spring! The long winter seems to be over! Though to be fair, I didn't mind winter all that much. I think I even enjoyed it. I was pretty much going to be housebound for a month of it anyhow, so why not look out the window at some pretty snow?

The snow is long gone now though, and just this week my neighborhood exploded with buds and blossoms. There are daffodils in the park, tiny leaves on trees, and pink, white and yellow blooms everywhere I look. Bloom world, bloom! Give me a green Prospect Park to picnic in! Show me your tulips! Let that explosion of life really get underway.

And did I mention Nils? No? Well, if I can play doting mama for just a minute, in the last two weeks he has done the following things for the first time:

* grabbed a toy

* rolled over

* blown a raspberry

* made a consonant sound (a gurgle-y "g")

* laughed in a long chain - laugh after laugh after laugh

* lifted his head 90 degrees during "tummy time"

Spring indeed.

Admitting you have a problem

2011-03-31T21:59:00.002-04:00

Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery, right? So uh, hi. My name is Allison and I can't stop posting photos of my smiley little boy in adorable outfits.

Or in this case, adorable footwear. In my defense, this photo stream started out with a clear purpose: to send Great Aunt Monika a photo of Nils in the darling strawberry booties she knit for him. Problem is, once I started taking pictures I couldn't stop. And now I can't stop myself from posting them.

Yes, the photos are all similar. Yes, this is probably the equivalent of showing you slide after slide of my vacation in Florida. You probably don't marvel the way I do at the slight variations in his expression, the movements of his hands. You might think to yourself, "easy there, lady. One picture is plenty."

One step at a time.

Friday moon

2011-03-25T16:48:00.002-04:00

Last Friday was a beautiful day. One of those days that makes me love where I live. Nils and I met up with some moms and babies. We took a long walk in the park. We chatted with various shopkeepers and passersby. The sun shone brightly. It was 75 degrees in the sun.

That evening Oliver and I went out to dinner in the neighborhood, Nils in tow. Nothing big, just a local ramen place. Still, we were out to dinner! With the baby! We've done brunches and lunches before, but dinner felt like a big deal. It was a beautiful night and the entire neighborhood was outside. Everyone had shed a layer or two, and the giddiness was palpable.

"Oh look Olli," I said as we paused at a corner to wait for a walk sign. "The moon looks huge." It was the night before a full, blue moon, and it was enormous. Bright too, and constantly darting out from behind a patchwork of cloud cover. "Let's just stand here for a minute and look at it."

I love being a mom, and the happiness I've felt in recent weeks is so much more than I had hoped for. I love being with Nils, and I feel like Oliver and I have really hit our stride as parents. I am so, so glad we have reached this point because it certainly didn't start out this way.

I woke up early the day we went home from the hospital. It was a cold, clear January day. We had an amazing view of the Manhattan skyline - you could even catch a glimpse of the Chrysler building if you looked out to the left. My beautiful little son lay sleeping in his clear plastic hospital bassinet, and my husband was conked out in one of those terrible, uncomfortable chair-cum-beds. We were going home! I sat up gingerly, swung my feet off the side of the hospital bed, and bawled.

I knew why I was crying. It was the hormones. Every pregnancy book I had read told me to watch out for day 3 - that was when the baby blues might hit. It also didn't help that I hadn't slept more than an hour or two a night since Nils had been born. So I knew all these things, but that didn't make blowing through an entire box of tissue any easier.

The first weeks of motherhood were hard. I've talked to a lot of new mothers since then, and without exception everyone talks about those first weeks as though we're telling war stories. Physical pain, breastfeeding issues, lack of sleep, uncertainty, frequent bouts of weepiness, etc. You've got this little baby who you love so much, but you've also got this strange feeling of dread - in my case it seemed almost like a physical thing, the size of a lemon and located directly in the center of my chest.

I would tiptoe over to look at Nils while he slept, and while an overpowering love sometimes swept over me, an overpowering terror took over the other times. I often felt guilty, but could never figure out what it was that I had done so terribly. I cried multiple times each day, mostly between 4 and 6 pm - my baby blues "witching hour". I wanted to be a joy-filled mother, but I couldn't stop feeling anxious and upset.

But then things started getting better. And once they started getting better, they got really good really quickly. The hormones leveled out, he started sleeping a little longer at night, I became more sure of myself as a mother, he started to smile, etc. Before I knew it I was excited to get up in the morning, and I was that mother in the cafe reassuring the woman with the three week old that "it gets better really soon. Trust me." Nils's and my days became full of smiles and happiness, and the unexplainable, groundless guilt I had often previously felt turned to an easy confidence. I know I'm not a perfect mother, but I know that I love my son. More importantly, I know that he knows I love him. As long as we have that down pat, the rest will work itself out.

It was this peace of mind then, that made me see the moon and marvel at it the way I did. So much to be excited about! I watched the light dim slightly behind a passing cloud, and looked forward to getting Nils excited about things like this. I looked forward to the excuse to see things through his eyes, to having little adventures, just the two of us. I hoped that he would be the kind of kid who sneaks up to the roof just to look at the moon and have a private, secret moment.

Handknits in action

2011-03-11T16:08:00.000-05:00

Back in the last days of my pregnancy, I used this blog to show off some of the things I was knitting for Nils. Ah yes, all that time on my hands.

It recently occured to me that I should post some follow up pictures - show my hard work put to good use. Without further ado then, ...

The easy baby kimono. Bright green with navy blue ties. Totally non scratchy. Makes him a bit thicker and even sweeter to hug.

The easy baby cardigan. Still just a teensy bit big, which is nice. This will be a nice Spring sweater, for when it's too warm for a coat but too cool for just a shirt.

And my favorite, the manly baby vest. Soft, warm, bright and stylish. There is only one problem with this vest: once you see your baby in it, the risk of an impromptu photo shoot increases dramatically.

That's it... work it, baby!

Oh yeah, gorgeous smile! Gimme more!

The camera loves you! (So does Mama.)

Let's add some accessories!

Pure gold!

More thoughts (with alas, no creative title)

2011-03-06T13:18:00.001-05:00

The rest of the world continues to go about its business (protests in Wisconsin! Revolution in the Middle East and North Africa!), and my focus continues to remain right here in my little one-bedroom corner of the world. It's amazing how much little details and mundane tasks have taken on such importance. My days are full of repetition: feeding, changing diapers, pacing the floor while bouncing the little boy on my shoulder. I tend to say the same things over and over too; exclamations when he lifts his head during "tummy time", outpourings of affection when he smiles at me, words of reassurance when he cries.

Sometimes I wonder if my intellect is being dulled by all this repetition, and sometimes I think I'm getting to some higher plane - getting to some greater meaning by seeing past the mundane. Or maybe I'm just being a mom to my son. Whatevs.

A few scattered thoughts I've had in recent weeks:

* Oh wow, breastfeeding is nature's way of forcing you to bond with your baby. As a breastfeeding mother you cannot be apart from your child for more than a couple hours. The two of you spend hours - literally - each day in close physical contact. How did I never realize this before? Incredible. I love nature and all the ways it makes us do the right things.

* If you are riding in a cab and your baby lets out a loud, squirty fart, how can you make sure the cabbie knows that the noise didn't come from you?

* If you constantly call your child one name or another from a long list of nicknames (Nilsie, Nilsie Q, Q, Squirmy Squirms, Squirms, Sweet Pea, Sweetie Sweets, Cutie Petootie, Cutie Petoots, Petoots, Toots, Drools Verne, Smiler, Little Guy, etc.), how long will it take him to realize that his actual name is Nils?

* Being a parent has made me realize that there is no one way to do anything. People are so passionate about so many things (Formula is wrong! A baby must sleep on its back! Let the baby tell you when it's time to eat, not the other way around! For proper bonding to occur, it is crucial that the mother and baby room together in the hospital - no nurseries, please!)... yet when my own mother had her babies, the rules were all different. She was told to do things so much differently, and my brother and I turned out just fine. I'm going to follow most of the "rules" as they are written now, and my kids will turn out just fine. As far as I'm concerned though, people can do whatever they want with their kids. If the rules are just going to change again in 30 years, who am I to say who's right and who's wrong?

* I can't believe how much attention Nils and I get when we go out in public! Or more accurately, Nils and that random, uninteresting lady who is carrying him. People love little babies. I get tons of comments, and often notice people sneaking glimpses at him out of the corners of their eyes.

* You know, given enough diapers and clothing changes, and a willingness to breastfeed in public, there's really no limit to how long we can be out and about. Good lord, we FLEW to Wisconsin the other week, just the two of us. If we can do that we can do anything.

Settling in

2011-02-13T14:26:00.000-05:00

This past Friday Oliver and I went out to dinner. My mom was in town, and she encouraged us to go out and have an evening (or at least a couple hours) just the two of us. We walked to a French bistro in the neighborhood. It was fantastic. The owner, a Parisian expatriate in a stylishly ill-fitting sweater, showed us to our table and described the specials with a heavy accent. We had wine with dinner. I looked around at the other tables, marveling that these people have probably been living "normal" lives for the past four weeks. The whole world has probably been operating as usual, in fact. I'm the one that has slipped away for a bit. I was the one on a Friday night who felt sleepy at 9:30. I was the one anxiously checking the wall clock every few minutes, wondering if I'd been away for too long. I was the one whose mind kept drifting back to images of my son - fast asleep, staring up at me with the eyes I can't resist, laying in his bassinet with arms and legs flailing. We walked home at a brisk pace, Oliver I suspect because he was cold, and me because I wanted to catch a glimpse of those little eyes again.

I think I'm settling into motherhood nicely. The baby blues have come and gone, and the great mystery of "what on earth do I do with this child?" is a bit closer to being solved. It helps too, that Nils is such an amazing little guy. I know I know, every mother says that about her kid. It's most likely true too, that every baby is amazing. That doesn't stop me from thanking the good lord that this little one is mine. Can I gush just a little bit? I am totally in love.

Mine. All mine. Amazing.

Not too much right now

2011-02-02T15:07:00.000-05:00

Not too many thoughts to offer up right now. Many thoughts tumbling around this rusty coffee can / brain of mine, but nothing that can be appropriately written down yet. Not enough distance or perspective. All is well though, and I love my little one more each day. Some pictures perhaps?

Nils

2011-01-20T18:21:00.000-05:00

He's here now. All went well. All is well.

And his name is Nils. Why Nils? Briefly:

We wanted a German name. Something that was short and sweet, but left a good tone ringing in our ears. After we had decided on Nils and I was chatting with my mother one afternoon, she joked that we should name the baby something Norwegian. His last name was German, after all. His middle name (my maiden name) was Finnish. Shouldn't his name cover all his ethnicities? Just for kicks I went to a couple "Norwegian boy names" websites and sure enough, there was Nils. Settled.

A couple months later I was having a daydreamy doodle-type moment, and wrote out his name on a piece of paper. It was the first time I had ever done this, and something about it struck me as odd. It turns out that "Nils" is composed entirely of letters from the name "Allison". I know, I know. That probably isn't so meaningful. It's not an exact anagram after all (Nilsalo? Can't do that to him.), but something about it just feels nice to me. I spent nine months forming him. His cells came from mine, he listened to the blood running through my veins. I imagine little parts of me breaking away to form parts of him... and it seems so right that a few letters broke away from my name to form his. Wouldn't it be nice if for the rest of my life, every time I heard his name I remembered that bond? You know, because I'm in danger of forgetting and all.

On to pictures:

One day old in his hospital bassinet.

Sleeping on my shoulder. I know it looks like I've got a sneer on my face, but I swear I'm just looking down.

With Oliver after a long and difficult night. Both finally getting to do what they want - sleep.

Nearly a week old now, and flashing those eyes of his at us.

Babies don't smile at this stage, I know.Doesn't it look like he's smiling, though?

the last one, I swear

2011-01-12T12:36:00.000-05:00

Still waiting. 8 days overdue now and I'm still hanging out here. Just waiting.

No, that's not entirely accurate. I'm not just waiting. I've gotten a few things done. I finished up two handknits for the baby, for example. Pictures below, and I swear these are the last "things I made for the baby" pictures I will be posting for awhile. Also the last post before the baby himself. I'm determined about that one.

The "easy baby cardigan" I was working one during one of my last posts. It was taken from More Last Minute Knitted Gifts, and was just as advertised - easy. A tiny Mr. Rogers sweater! I'm rubbing my hands together with glee.

My "manly baby vest", as posted on The Thrifty Knitter. Super soft, super cute... is it wrong to dread the day he grows out of it?

All right, Allison. Enough with the knitting and the posting already. Just have the baby!

So much time

2011-01-06T19:51:00.000-05:00

I've been off work for a week now. Just me. No baby to take care of yet. Just lots and lots of time. I'm sort of savoring this down time, and sort of wringing my hands with impatience. How to fill the time?

So far:

I've just about finished my little baby sweater.

I've stocked my freezer with meals to eat later, when we're exhausted and overwhelmed.

I've made lunch dates.

I've napped.

I've run a whole mess of silly little errands.

I've spent a lot of time on the phone.

I've cleaned and organized my apartment.

I've gone to prenatal yoga.

I've sat quietly, focusing with creepy intensity on my wall calendar.

Two days overdue. Little Steff Man is going to come when he's ready, and I kind of like that idea. He reminds me of me - he'll do things when he thinks the time is right, and not before. Rock on, little sweetmeat! Follow your gut! Just um, do you think you can be ready really soon?

More little things

2011-01-01T14:17:00.001-05:00

I don't know if it's nesting, or if this baby gave me just the excuse I had always been looking for. Whatever the reason (a little of both?), I've continued my sometimes-bordering-on-obsessive streak of creating. A bit of knitting, a bit of sewing. As before, the projects are all pretty small. They've all been fun though, and I've learned a little something from each. The best part: my little muse will only give me MORE ideas and inspiration once he decides to arrive. Ah, the possibilities!

If I may share a few of the things I've been working on:

A tag blankie. I can't pretend to know all that much about babies, but many reliable sources have told me that they go nuts for this sort of thing. They love sucking on the ribbons, etc. All right, then. Worth a shot.

My first ever hand-knitted sweater. Exclamation point! It took me many starts and start overs, but I'm more or less happy with the end result.

A fleece winter hat, as modeled by an Ugly Doll (which I did not make). You can't see the hat's cute little elf-like pointy top from this angle. Will that keep you from sleeping tonight?

A small pile of swaddling blankets. Now all I have to do is figure out the mechanics of the actual swaddling process.

In progress now: a baby blue cardigan. This one is a bit bigger than the green sweater - once he outgrows the first he'll be able to slip right into the second. Don't worry, love; you'll never go without a mama-made sweater! Not even if you want to! I make this promise to you!

Back to waiting

2010-12-19T22:19:00.000-05:00

I had December 29th all set up in my mind. I was making my peace with the idea of surgery, and getting excited at the idea of actually knowing what day my son would be born. Letting go? Allowing life to take its course? That stuff's for losers.

As I arrived at my doctor's appointment this week, I was informed that the date had been changed to December 28th. One day earlier even! One less day to wait! Okay, I could do this. If breech was our fate, and I was potentially destined to deliver all my children via C-section ("normal" birth after a C-section is apparently not so common)... at least I'd get a date to circle on the calendar. And I wouldn't have to worry about wasting two weeks of my maternity leave just sitting around my apartment, staring up at the ceiling.

Oh, silly Allison. You should know better than to get too attached to any idea of how birth will be. As it turns out, Little Steff Man pulled a dramatic, last-minute maneuver and turned head down for me. My own "mother's intuition" being somewhat underdeveloped (ahem), it took a sonogram to tell me this. I should have known, really. I had stopped getting quick, stabbing kick pains in my lowest parts. I had started feeling movement higher up and waaay to the right, something completely new. Etc. etc. I guess I was just so eager to have a definitive plan that I ignored the actual signs as they presented themselves to me.

It's back to waiting, then. This is good. I want to do this the way women have been doing it for thousands of years. I want to know what labor is like. I've managed to switch gears now, from researching C-section recovery to reading up on how to tell false labor from the real thing. It's all good... but I still kind of hate the uncertainty. When will it all go down? In four days? In four weeks? Guess I'll just have to let go. Let life take its course. Gol.

22 / 16 / Really, who knows?

2010-12-13T21:33:00.000-05:00

This is it.

Okay, not really. It's not it yet, though I feel like I'm constantly on pins and needles. Just about time, right? Any day, right? Ooh, is that a cramp? The earliest sign of labor?

Tomorrow, Tuesday, marks the day that our little one is officially considered "full term." 37 weeks. He could be born tomorrow and not be considered premature. That means he's more or less ready to come out, right? Any time now, right? Ooh, is that another cramp?

Doing the math then, there are 22 days to go. Only, there might not be. More accurately - according to my doctor - there probably aren't. Little Steff Man, determined to do things his own way, is breech. Butt down actually, with his legs folded up close to his face. There is, apparently, not a doctor on the East Coast who will deliver a breech baby. I've done acupuncture, I've tried moxibustion, I've layed at home with my face in the ground and my backside high in the air. No success. In the face of all this, and as the window of "he can still turn" has just about passed, I've been scheduled for a C-Section. December 29th. 16 days from now. 16 days! That's just a little more than two weeks! Is that possible? Honestly, I kind of thought I would just be pregnant forever; never actually have the child.

There are about a million different thoughts going through my head. Sadness at the thought of missing out on labor. Nervousness about the possibility of surgery (I've never even sprained an ankle before). Certainty that there must be something I'm forgetting to research. Uncertainty: has it finally become too much to walk to work? Above all these though, is the one thought that comes to me strongly and regularly during the course of each day: my lord, I can't wait. I can't wait to meet him, to look into his eyes for the first time, to be his mother. I'm glad this thought trumps everything else, because it's helping me get past the details and just focus on that one important thing.

Ooh, is that a cramp?

A final bit: nicknames we've been using these last months:

*Milk-fed piglet

*Sweetmeat

*Chubba the Hut (after a recent ultrasound picture seemed to show an enormous set of cheeks and a weird, Jabba The Hut-like eye)

*Little Monkey

*Chen (won't try to explain the pronunciation; this is the German suffix that makes something a diminutive. It's basically like calling him "Little.")

*Scrumchkin (scrumptious munchkin)

Just a couple more weeks and we can use his real name...

Yup. Capricorn.

2010-12-08T03:22:00.000-05:00

It happened for the hundredth time this past Sunday. I was out, this time at an organic cafe. After I had finished my almond-honey-date smoothie (and man, was it good) and the bill had been paid, my friendly, dreadlocked waiter looked at me and smiled. "When is your baby due?"

"January. Early January."

"Ah. A Capricorn."

This has been the biggest surprise for me. I can't tell you how many times people have said this to me. Cashiers, waiters, people waiting in line with me at the pharmacy, etc. Just about any time a stranger asks me about my due date, I know that a short discussion of astrology will probably follow. Who knew?

Am I the only person who doesn't put much stock in astrology? Am I also the only person who hasn't memorized the date ranges of each of the signs? I couldn't tell you the signs of anyone I know, even though I know their birthdays. The only reason I even know he'll be a Capricorn is that it's my sign too. What comes after Capricorn? Danged if I know. Who's compatible with Capricorn? No clue. And anyhow, really? Everyone who was born in June is compatible with everyone who was born in February? I find that hard to believe.

Not to sound dismissive or skeptical. I don't disbelieve all this - it's just never been something I've been interested in learning about. And I guess I assumed that much of the world felt the way I did. So much for that belief!

When all is said and done though, I kind of enjoy hearing the "ooh, he'll be a Capricorn!" comments. You know how strangers are always approaching pregnant women and touching their bellies? This has never happened to me, thank goodness. Instead, I've had a different sort of intimate interaction. These lovely people have been reaching out to me for just a minute, excited about a little portion of my son's identity. And even if it's in a way that I can't completely relate to, I appreciate it.

Yes, he will be a Capricorn. And yes, I agree. Capricorns are good people.

Things I am thankful for today

2010-11-25T07:43:00.000-05:00

Happy Thanksgiving! Or more likely, hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving! I woke up feeling grateful today, and decided to give some thanks electronically. In no particular order then (other than the order in which things came to mind):

A lively little boy who, although he still refuses to turn head down, constantly reassures me of his presence by kicking, stomping, stretching, and hiccuping. He's a big'un too; at my last appointment he already weighed 5 pounds, 5 ounces. Eat up, little piglet!

A sweet, supportive husband who gets nervous when I walk down stairs, and regularly sidles up to me to slip a hand over my belly.

Good, supportive friends who give me insight, build me up, and are excited to share in my experiences.

An amazing family that does the same.

A warm, inviting little home that I have no fear of losing or being kicked out of any time soon.

A profession that I truly enjoy. Good co-workers, interesting work, and the ability to do that interesting work on a part-time basis after the baby comes. (Have I ever mentioned that? My plan to work part-time next year?)

Brooklyn! I am thankful for the beautiful, diverse borough that I live in. I discover new corners every week, see all sorts of interesting people all the time, and can't imagine living in any other part of New York.

Good health, both physical and mental. I know there are many who don't enjoy these things, and I give thanks every day that I do.

A past full of amazing experiences, and a future full of possibilities. We have so many ideas of the things we want to do, and places we want to go. And I don't see a baby as limiting us; I see him making things that much better.

The country

2010-11-15T22:09:00.000-05:00

Went to Pennsylvania's Amish Country last weekend. Inexpensive fabric stores, bags of apples for less than a third of what I would pay in my own neighborhood, restaurants that close at 7pm, quiet country roads, cherry apple cider, well-behaved little boys in straw hats. Good stuff. Except for the restaurant hours. 7pm? Really?

Marathon Sunday

2010-11-11T21:38:00.000-05:00

Things tend to happen all around me - cool, New York things - and I'm either unaware of them or unmotivated to participate. I blame New York. There's way too much going on here. Festivals, readings, West Indian parades, concerts, shows, indie craft fairs, etc. It's overwhelming, and when faced with all these options I tend to throw my hands up in the air and go back to my normal, you-can-do-this-stuff-in-any-town-in-America activities.

Once in awhile though, I'm able to focus in on something and be a part of it. This past Sunday for example, I rolled out of bed, walked three blocks down the street, and watched the best runners in the world glide past me. The New York Marathon. Very cool.

The course runs through my neighborhood, and thanks to the helpful marathon website I was able to time my arrival on the sidelines to match the arrival of the first male runners. Olympians, world record holders; I stood on 4th Avenue for a good 15 minutes waiting for them, and they flashed past me on a wave of "wooo!"s from the crowd. I got the chills. I wondered if the great Haile Gebrselassie would win (he wouldn't).

Behind the pack of leaders came a steady trickle of great-but-not-the-greatest runners. Show's over, right? Funny, it turned out not to be. I loved watching the non-elites. Many had their native flags stamped on their racing pinnys. Lots of Brits, Norwegians, Frenchmen and Italians. Really?, I thought while Oliver sipped his McDonald's coffee next to me. These people came here all the way from Europe? Just for this race? Tall Germans with square jaws ran past in pairs. A man wore shorts made of the South African flag.

A number of runners had their names written on their shirts. Handwritten; they had done this themselves. I was confused, but only until the woman next to me started yelling "Go John! Vive le France, Phillippe! Keep it up Paco!" Ah. Hey, everyone needs a boost now and then.

Some hours later, we happened to be up near Central Park, where the marathon finishes. "The race is still going... should we go watch for a bit?" I asked. We hemmed and hawed, then found ourselves up on a hill overlooking the flood of finishing-somewhere-in-the-middle-or-maybe-towards-the-back runners. It was mile 24, and some of these people looked like they were just barely hanging on. One man made his way over to the sidelines and stopped, clearly hobbled by a leg injury. He was so close! But he clearly couldn't go on. He let out a frustrated cry and struck the fence in anger. He bent over for a few seconds, then started to walk forward.

One man ran by in a head-to-toe orange spandex bodysuit. Another wore a hot dog costume. Two runners - an older father and his 30something daughter perhaps? - held hands and seemed to each pull the other along toward the finish.

And the crowds kept cheering. Just as they had back in Park Slope, people yelled out for total strangers. I think this might have been my favorite part of the race, the whole "rooting for the best in all of us" thing. There is such pain and struggle involved in running a race like this... and so much joy and humanity in screaming yourself hoarse to show your support for these struggling, complete strangers.

November

2010-11-05T19:24:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was one of those rainy days, and looking out the floor-to-ceiling window I sit next to at work I could see an enormous curtain of mist. It looked almost like snow, although I knew it was too warm for that. Low 40s, Fahrenheit. Not just yet, winter.

For as long as I can remember, there have two months in each year that I hate: February and November. February is gray and slushy, with no immediate hope for spring and no leftover Christmas glow. November is also gray, and leafless and sluggish and not quite cold enough for beautiful, cleansing snow. Blecch. It doesn't help that November comes right after October, my favorite month. The whole month of October seems to be this big, flaming red and orange reminder to enjoy each moment. And November? It always says to me "hope you enjoyed those moments. They're past now."

This year is different, though. This year I'm enjoying November. Pleasantly surprising. I think it's partly due to the fact that I'm STILL excited about not being hot anymore (stop complaining about summer, Allison!), and partly because my current situation has completely upended the way I look at the cycle of the seasons. The end of fall, far from representing endings and darkness, means anticipation now. When winter - the great void - officially starts, I'll be mere days away from new life! A new beginning! Who needs daffodils and sunlight? Give me a snowy day. Howling wind. Wrap me in a blanket and hole me up in my apartment - I don't plan on going outside for longer than 30 minutes at a time.

Honestly, I could probably be spending this month in the flames of Hell and still feel good about it. Just two more months to wait! I'm so excited to see what (and who) he looks like. I can't wait to hear the sounds he makes while he sleeps. I look forward to picking him up while he cries and putting an end to the tears because my presence comforts him.

Little things for the little one

2010-10-23T11:19:00.000-04:00

My urge to create continues. With the busy book behind me, I've turned to other things. Little things. Things that I can finish relatively quickly and feel good about, which will hopefully inspire me to make more things. More little things. I've got a half dozen different projects in mind, and am looking forward to an upcoming trip to Amish Country, where I'll meet up with my parents and cruise the reasonably-priced fabric stores with my fabric mentor (Mom).

If I may share:

The first thing I ever made for the little one (resting atop a scarf I made two years ago. Hey-ooo!). A rattle courtesy of Lotta Jansdotter's Simple Sewing for Baby. Lotta is Finnish (Finn power!), and I love the Scandinavian aesthetic a lot of her stuff has to it. Modern, spare, not overly cutsey... but ridiculously cute at the same time. I look at this and I can see the fat little hand that will eventually grab it.

Project number two: simple baby hat. I'm not sure how well it's turning out, but I am insanely proud of myself for finally learning how to knit in the round. I can make more than just scarves now! Oh, the visions I'm having... hats for all of us, sweaters for the baby...

Project number three (in progress): get better lighting for this apartment! Such is the cross I bear.

Maine

2010-10-10T21:11:00.000-04:00

I like my life. In the decade or so that I have been an adult, I've had a lot of fun. Going here and there, doing this and that... it's been really nice. I know that's about to change - in a good way of course; I welcome the change - and I've been trying to make the most of these last months as a carefree, possibly somewhat self-centered, childless person.

Last weekend, for example. My last "just for me" adventure for quite some time (I imagine). I drove up to Maine for a long weekend trip with a friend. We spent a rainy day in Portland. We went to Acadia National Park. We ate really good seafood. We had "drinks" in a church-turned-bar. We cracked jokes, discussed the finer points of the greatest juvenile literature series ever written, recalled songs from our elementary music classes, talked about our families, stayed in a motel room that looked like it had been sawed off from a corner of my grandma's house, bought fancy soaps... etc.

Did I mention how much I like my life? And the people in it? Did I also mention how totally cool I am with the fact that it will be very different in a few months? This trip, planned before I was pregnant, was perfect at the perfect time.

A few pictures. I forgot to bring my camera along for half of our excursions... these were all taken in Acadia. Gol, I do love the North Atlantic.

Magic!

2010-09-25T07:26:00.007-04:00

My favorite from the most recent batch of ultrasound photos. Is he breathing out phosphorescent bees? I knew he was special!

Full disclosure: those aren't bees. They're fingertips. A little less dramatic, but magic all the same. And I still think he's special.

All right, I give up.

2010-09-16T19:39:00.000-04:00

I know that "every woman's pregnancy is unique," but there were certain things I assumed would happen to me. You know, because they happen to everyone. I thought I'd have weird cravings. Or cravings at all. I thought I'd suddenly have a more sensitive sense of smell. I imagined a beast-like hunger that could never be satisfied. I pictured morning sickness.

Never in all my idle imaginings did I think I would no longer be able to read.

I mean, I can still read. The letters still come together to form words. My eyes can still scan them and create meaning. It's just that I can't focus.

This is really killing me. It's just so strange. I can't tell you how many books I've started and tossed aside in recent months. Or how many I've sort of limped through, only half present but desperate to hold on. I've tried re-reading old favorites - I think "The Hero with a Thousand Faces" is currently gathering dust under my bed, where I finally chucked it one evening. I've tried reading new (to me) books by some of my favorite authors. Meh. I've tried reading more "candy"-like things - a mystery, a Bill Bryson book about traveling through Europe, "High Fidelity". Eh.

It's sad, because I can't imagine myself doing much reading after the baby gets here. These months, right now, were supposed to be something of a "last hurrah" for me. Who knew?

I'm just going to put it in writing then, and by doing so let it go: no more books for awhile. And that's totally okay.

Thankfully, I'm able to handle The New Yorker. I guess I'll just be reading magazine articles for the next three and a half months.

And maybe I'll get some of those food cravings, too. Anything can happen, right?

Bad pictures / good project

2010-09-12T19:03:00.000-04:00

As a 30th birthday gift to myself, I put together a "life list" this past December. One of the items on it was "learn to sew."

My mother has been sewing since she was an adolescent, and she is amazing. She made clothes for me when I was a kid, she quilts, she has a little just-for-fun, very-low-key business of selling American Girl doll clothes, etc. I grew up with a basic knowledge of the craft, and even made a little piece here and there, but I never had the desire to buckle down and really learn it until quite recently.

While this desire to start sewing was building within, I got the news that a set of friends was expecting a baby. Lightbulb moment - I could make them a busy book!

Over the years I've watched my mom make a series of these books for friends, relatives and co-workers. So cute! Educational and fun! Making one would force me to go over the basics of sewing again and again (change the thread, change the stitching, etc.), but the whole thing wouldn't be too complicated for me to handle.

It was settled, then.

Below are some photos of the finished project. I had to use flash on my camera, so the colors look a little washed out... ah well. You get the idea, right?

(baby ladybugs are inside... in case you were wondering)

(Rabbit and crocodile finger puppets in the cars.)

As for vacation...

2010-09-09T21:47:00.000-04:00

It was wonderful. I don't feel like using so many words to describe it just now - maybe a few photos and captions can fill you in.

Much of our time was spent with Oliver's family - who, because I respect them and any desire they have for privacy - are not pictured here. Oliver's mom's dog though- I can post a picture of him. You don't mind, do you Bodo?

We made our way one day to Bremen (of the Bremen Town Musicians fame). It had a beautiful "old town" section, complete with town hall and rickety cathedral (both pictured). A beautiful place - if you find yourself in northwest Germany at any point, it's worth dropping by.

Silhouetted in the tower of Bremen's cathedral.

Taking leave of Germany after a bit, we made a brief foray into Denmark. Our first stop was Aero Island, a little island in the East Sea. We stayed in a village called Aeroskoebing (pictured). It's a rarity - perfectly preserved 18th century buildings and very little of anything else. No condos, no fast food chains, no malls. The perfect place to go for an escape from the real world.

Our biggest doing on Aero Island: an epic bike ride. The island itself isn't all that large but the bike route weaves back and forth a hundred times, sucking the strength out of your legs but giving you views like this one over and over again. I could barely pedal come evening, but I wanted to keep going. Every minute was beautiful, and every place I was that day was exactly where I wanted to be. The world needs more bike trails on tiny, quiet islands.

The little guy enjoyed the view - his first of the East Sea.

Oliver also enjoyed the view.

Copenhagen was our other destination, and it was wonderful too. Canals, bikes, and all those beautiful buildings. We wandered around for a couple days, feeling guilty and nervous about two things we had never bothered to learn: a single word of the Danish language, and the dollar-kroner exchange rate.

My favorite part of Copenhagen - its outdoor cafes and the fleece blankets that hang casually off the backs of their chairs. A fleece blanket in August! Sorry to be the crazy old weather lady again, but I can't help it. This photo captures me at my happiest - wrapped in a blanket, sitting in a cute neighborhood, relaxing. Blankets in August! All right, I'm done now.

Our last stop was Frankfurt, where we spent a couple days with some friends. Frankfurt is mainly shiny tower-like buildings (background) and almost no quaint, old-style "German" buildings (foreground). The old-style buildings are fake-ish anyhow. The city was destroyed at the end of World War II, and all its historical buildings were reduced to rubble. The facades pictured are just replicas of the originals.

And thus it came to an end. We'll be back next year with the little guy in tow. I'm already plotting day trips and North Sea island excursions. Maybe I'll find some more fleece blanketed-sidewalk cafes. I still can't get over that. Fleece blankets! In August!

All right, I'm done now.

How it is this time

2010-09-02T06:10:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I come back from vacation feeling energized and enthusiastic. My two weeks of adventure and relaxation have led me to all sorts of new plans and ideas for regular life, and I whistle while I do the post-trip laundry, etc.

This is not one of those times. As our plane approached JFK yesterday afternoon, the pilot announced that the temperature at our destination was 94 degrees. That broke me. I actually shed a few tears on the plane. Dropped a couple f bombs while Oliver tried valiantly to remain patient. I know there was more to my freakout than just the weather - exhaustion, hormones, a fresh reminder that so many of the people we care about live so far from us - but the pilot wasn't making announcements about any of those other things, so the weather bore the brunt of my rage.

I don't mean to be a cranky old lady who always talks about the weather, but after two glorious weeks of sweaters, fleece blankets and chilly evening walks, New York feels horrible. It's going to be 95 degrees again today. I am so tired of not being able to spend time outside. Of coming home from work and feeling listless and cranky. I want to turn on the oven again. I want to go for a bike ride. I thought that by skipping out of town when we did we could cheat the city of its last two weeks of summer hell, and come back renewed and cooled down. September would be a brand new month. Silly me.

Off!

2010-08-18T21:23:00.000-04:00

24 hours from now, I'll be on a plane. We'll be spending the next two weeks in Germany, with a little side trip to Denmark thrown in as well. Looking forward to putting my German to use, eating things I can't get here, seeing friends and family, and seeing my first piece of Scandinavia. Norway and Finland... you know you're my true loves. I'll get to you someday soon. Preferably when I have more than 4 days to explore you.

Back in two weeks! With pictures!

The name

2010-08-10T21:17:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking about names for a long time. Long before I was pregnant - long before I was even thinking about trying to get pregnant. It started in Beijing, when I was teaching English. One of my students was named something along the lines of Mei Lin... Mei Wa... Lin Mai... the actual name escapes me. She told me the story once of how she had been named. Her parents had been living some distance apart in the early days of their marriage, and her father would fly to visit her mother every few weeks. There was a mountain range between the two parents... the daughter was conceived in the winter... her name meant "Snow bird that flys over the mountain."

I loved the fact that her name really meant something, that it told a story. I've been a little bummed ever since, knowing that my own naming process wouldn't be nearly as poetic.

We've been talking about names quite a bit, trying to both come up with ground rules and make whatever we choose meaningful. Some decisions we've come to:

1. Little Steff man's middle name will be my maiden name. For me, this is a no brainer. I like the idea of using the middle name to honor someone you love - and now we'll be honoring my entire family.

2. Hot on the heels of heels of this decision, no names beginning with A. I want to be a good mother, and I'm pretty sure good mothers don't give their kids the initials "ASS". Maybe he'd appreciate the humor. But probably not.

3. His name will be a German one. I'm pretty sure about this. It's a way to connect him to his dad's family and culture, since we're going to be raising him in the United States. I don't want him to say "my dad's from Germany." I want him to say "I'm half German."

4. He'll have a German name, but it won't be a weird one (weird by American standards, that is). No Lothar, no Wolfgang, no Joerg.

5. The name can't have two obviously different pronunciations - one in German and one in English. I was in love with the name Bastian for awhile, but realized that my pronunciation (Bah' * schee* ahn) would fly in the face of what most American would want to say (Sebastian minus the "Se"). Nope, not gonna do it.

We've got a couple contenders right now, and are going to let them roll around on our tongues for awhile to see if either is a keeper. We'll share our choice with the rest of the world as soon as little Steff man is born... I like the idea of having a small surprise for everyone.

Two encounters

2010-08-02T18:57:00.002-04:00

I had to go to the post office during my lunch hour one day last week. I don't generally like going to the post office, and I especially don't like losing a lunch hour to do it. Duty called though, and there I stood, eating hummus and pita while shuffling forward spot by spot.

Lucky me, I was called to the window of my favorite post office worker. I've always figured him for a Native American, though I've never asked him any questions about his ethnicity. Let's just say he's Native American. I like picturing him that way. He's got a soft, smooth voice, and he is always so pleasant.

I asked him for a pen. "For you, the best pen," he said. I had used the wrong tape to wrap my package. "I'll let it go for now, but make sure never to use this tape again." I promised him I wouldn't. And I won't. Our business concluded, I got ready to walk away. "Have a wonderful day," he said. "Take care of yourself and your family. Stay healthy."

I stopped in my tracks for a second. "Thank you," I said. I felt like he had just given me a blessing.

* * *

Later in the week, I had to leave work early to go to the dentist. My root canal was infected, and I needed antibiotics to put an end to the throbbing in my gums. This was actually my fourth visit to the dentist - in as many months - for the same problem. Long story.

In the elevator, I pressed "15." I was tired. I was worried about the infection. I was annoyed with the professional who had told me to wait until January to have anything done. As the car started upwards, I sighed and leaned my head against the wall.

"Are you okay?"

I came back to reality and looked at the man standing across from me. He was in his 50s, and had a soft Indian / Pakistani accent. "Have you had a bad day? Are you feeling all right?"

"Oh," I said, smiling. Nothing serious. Just a toothache. Going to the dentist." I pointed to the elevator doors as they opened for me.

"Ah." He laughed softly. "Good luck!"

"Thanks," I replied. I walked into my dentist's office, feeling good.

Blue ribbon day

2010-07-27T09:06:00.001-04:00

From the get go, I knew I was having a boy. I knew it. I wasn't happy about it at first (girls are more affectionate! They talk about feelings! Their clothes are cuter and their names are more fun!), but I talked myself into an acceptance of my fate, and that acceptance eventually became excitement. Yesterday, when I woke up for my doctor's appointment - the one that would tell us once and for all just what it was I was building in there - I actually thought "oh no, what if it's a girl? I don't want a girl." Progress.

By the time we got the official word - yes, boy - I was both completely unsurprised and thrilled. "I knew it!" I shouted, jabbing a finger in the direction of the ultrasound tech. Beside me, Oliver nodded wordlessly. We make a lovely couple, don't we?

After the appointment, I skipped along the blocks to the subway station. "Boy! boy! boy!", the running chorus in my head. I passed people on the street, attempting to pierce them down to their souls with my happiness. "Boy! boy! boy!" On a corner of 29th somewhere between Madison Avenue and Broadway, I noticed a church with an installation of some sort along its fence. Big blue and yellow ribbons were tied to the rail, thousands of them. A white tag with a name and number hung from each. Still bouncing, but with my interest piqued, I glanced at them as I passed. I figured out pretty quickly that the numbers were ages, and that the names had military titles attached - private, corporal, sergeant.

Oh.

How many of those boys' mothers skipped along at one point, shouting "boy!" to themselves and making all sorts of plans? How many of them had daily conversations with their unborn little ones, saying things like "I'm always going to be here; you'll never be alone," and "I'll never let anything hurt you"? Who am I to think I can make promises like those? How can I possibly fight against all those forces out there, any one of which can crush me at will?

I can make him a radical pacifist with an affinity for Canada. That's for starters.

Surviving the summer

2010-07-18T22:05:00.001-04:00

I'm not an air conditioning sort of person. I don't mind sweating out the occasional hot streak, and I love ceiling fans. I also love open windows, simplicity, and saving money. And so on and so forth.

So yeah, sweat. The last few summers haven't really involved sweat so much as cooler weather, ceiling fans (bless their hearts!), and our lone rotating fan that occasionally swept over me as I went about my business. This summer has been different. It topped 100 a couple weeks ago, and has regularly pushed well past 90 in the days since. The air has occasionally been uncomfortably humid and there have been air quality warnings. We have spent many evenings slouching listlessly on the couch, eating applesauce and bran flakes for dinner (I ain't turning on no stove!), and letting the dishes pile up (I ain't letting no hot water touch my hands!). Our third-floor apartment has little air circulation, and it has been a little bit brutal.

We've made it this far though, and I think we're going to make it all the way. A few things that have made it all possible:

*Pillow in the freezer. Yes, the pillow comes out smelling faintly of damp cardboard. Oh well.

*Wet washcloth in the freezer. Comes out of the freezer NOT smelling like cardboard. Bonus!

*Cold shower after work. This cools me down for a good 30 minutes. Bliss!

*Running ice cubes over my arms and neck.

*Putting a box fan in the window. It pulls in the cool air at night, letting me sleep peacefully.

*Going to the movies, where there is always air conditioning. Would I have seen Toy Story 3 and the Karate Kid if it weren't a million degrees out? Probably not.

*Sitting on a couch made of ice. Okay, that one's not real. I can't tell you how many times I've wished it was, though.

Only six weeks until September.

A few thoughts on pregnancy

2010-07-12T20:16:00.001-04:00

**Warning: if 3-D ultrasound photos creep you out, do not scroll down.**

I have no plans to turn this blog into an all-pregnancy-all-the-time kind of place. Nor do I, for that matter, intend to make it an all-about-my-baby-all-the-time thing, when that point comes. Since both are a pretty big thing in my life though (the first now, the second later), I'll write about each with some regularity. This is Steffblogg, after all. It's not Alliblog. Ugh. Alliblog. What a horrible name. The whole point of it has always been two pronged. First, to give me an outlet to write about things I want to share. Secondly, to give people an idea of what our life here is like. Especially Oliver's mom. He's a man of few words on the phone, and I know he doesn't tell her about 9/10 of what goes on with us. Sorry about that, Konni.

I'm one-third of the way through this pregnancy, and I've been thinking about it a lot (Shocking, I know). It's been really positive so far, and really interesting. Some things that have really gotten me thinking:

1. I don't think I can properly describe in words just how good it has made me feel when people react with real excitement and happiness to the news. I've gotten cards, hugs, promises of handmade gifts, multiple exclamation points (via email), and declarations of "you just made my day!" I know I'm stating the obvious here, but other people sharing my excitement... it's the greatest feeling. It makes me want to go find a friend / relative, hear some good news, and shower that person with well wishes.

2. I know I'm going to eat these words in a few months... but I'm really impatient to start looking pregnant. I've got a little bump, but it's so small that it's probably mistaken for a regular paunch. The aftermath of a big lunch maybe. I want the cute, medium-sized bump! I even bought a t-shirt for it last week: navy blue with a cute design and the words "two hearts that beat as one". Sappy? Perhaps. Don't judge me!

3. If you go onto Google and type in a symptom - any symptom - and the word "pregnancy", there will be hits. Aside from the obvious ones: bloating, cramps, constipation, backaches, nausea, exhaustion, etc., there are things like "hot feet", "numb fingertips", "nodules on the gums" and "drooling". Drooling? Good lord... Who knew this was such a carnival freakshow of medical issues? And here I was worried about farting in public.

It's all worth it, though. Here's a picture of the little one. It was taken about three weeks ago, so things have probably changed since then. Still:

Weekend in the Quiet Corner

2010-07-07T21:27:00.001-04:00

You might remember me saying that we were going to Martha's Vineyard for the 4th of July weekend. Plans changed, as so many plans have changed this year (sometime I'll tell you about the dozen different summer trips we mapped out before actual flights were booked). Unsure how well three months of pregnancy and three nights of tent sleeping would mix, I canceled our campground reservations only to discover that all hotels were already booked. Ah well. Next year, perhaps?

Instead, we found ourselves in Connecticut's "Quiet Corner", a sleepy, somewhat bucolic area in the north of the state. We stayed at a beautiful B & B, wandered down country roads, snuck into a corn field (being careful, of course, not to disturb any of the corn), swam in a pool, saw fireworks. On the actual 4th, we went to Woodstock's annual 4th of July Jamboree. This place was almost unreal in its small-town Americana charm. There was a frog jumping contest for kids(' frogs). There was a pie eating contest (not for frogs). The ladies of the church sold strawberry shortcake with homemade biscuits. A band played in the gazebo - the band meets once a month in the local church basement, and its leader invited members of the general public to come and join anytime.

The festival's high point was the parade - it was the coolest, folksiest, small towniest parade I've ever seen. The elderly veterans marched first, followed by a marching band of local citizens. The town's kids came next - it seemed like every single one was there - on bikes decked out with balloons, red-white-and-blue streamers, and stuffed animals. A string of vintage cars followed, and the local fire trucks closed things out. Short, simple.

the view

the corn (way more than knee high, by the way)

measuring the frog's jump

fancy bikes in the parade

(And on an unrelated note, Germany lost its game today. I've written about the team a couple times, so I thought I'd complete the story arc with a mention of their demise. A sad day indeed.)

Deutschland Tor!

2010-07-05T14:52:00.002-04:00

Germany won another World Cup game this weekend, beating Argentina to move on to the semifinals. We watched it at a local sports bar, and I have to say it was more than a little strange to see Oliver drinking a beer at 10 am. Ah well. That's how it's done, I guess.

The actual strategy/athletics part of the sport still sort of makes my eyes glaze over, but I've found other ways to amuse myself. A couple things I've noticed:

Mesut Oezil. This picture doesn't really show it, but he has the biggest, saddest eyes I've ever seen. He runs around the field looking like an abandoned puppy. And he's 21 - a little baby! I want to take him home - teach him to read, give him a soft toy to play with.

Bastian Schweinsteiger (in black). The literal translation of his last name is "pig climber." Pig climber. Heh heh. Oh, the schoolyard taunts he must have dealt with. Guess he's laughing now, though. All the way to the bank.

And of course, there's Joachim. Looking sharp as always, my friend.

Seriously, this World Cup thing is turning out to be a lot of fun. It helps of course, when the team you're rooting for keeps winning its games. We joke that if it were possible, we'd sneak a tiny Germany jersey and soccer ball into the womb. May as well get the whole family in on the fun, right?

14 Paper Clips

2010-06-27T07:48:00.000-04:00

The first item of clothing to go. Farewell, fitted waistlines.

I am blessed, and I know that. The first trimester of my pregnancy has been easy. The nausea has been limited, and limited to just that: nausea. The only foods I have actively not wanted to eat, sweets and Mexican food, are hardly depriving the little one of valuable nutrients. I've been tired often and a little uncomfortable now and then, but if those are my biggest complaints, well, see sentence # 1.

Overall, it has been a very positive experience so far. I really like being pregnant. I feel fuller, more meaningful. I live a small life, and I can't help but think that creating this baby - and any others that follow it - is probably the most noble thing I will ever do. I feel powerful.

I also feel anxious. I look at my flaws and weaknesses and hate the thought of passing those on to my child, or seeing them affect my child's quality of life. I worry that something will go wrong in the next months, that the brain will stop forming or the umbilical cord will get wrapped around something it shouldn't be wrapped around. And six months? Only six months left to prepare? That seems really close, and a mere four weekends from now it will be five months.

Luckily (again, I'm blessed), my excitement and faith that everything will turn out fine generally win out over the anxieties. The baby is 8 centimeters long already! It weighs around 14 grams (paperclips)! I have heard its heartbeat, and seen it move its arms. This is good.

Loew

2010-06-23T22:30:00.002-04:00

Germany played its third game in the World Cup today. I wasn't able to watch, but Oliver filled me in on all the details this evening. They won, and they'll play again this weekend. Woo hoo! Can't wait to watch... and that's in no small part because of this guy:

Joachim Loew, the coach. Look at him! I just love him. Windswept hair, dapper coat... and that scarf! I can't process this.

...And is that a gold bracelet on his arm?

I grew up with this guy as my archetypal coach:

Oops, mistake. Wrong picture. Sorry about that. I actually meant to post this one here:

Jowls, mustache, heft. Mike Holmgren wouldn't be caught dead in a peacoat. And he definitely wouldn't wear some fancy little pair of Italian leather loafers. Hand the man a Starter jacket, put a clipboard in his beefy man paws, and he'd be set to go.

Oh Joachim, what will you wear for the next game? Will it be that fitted, cornflower-blue sweater from game 1? A killer suit, perhaps? I look forward to Sunday.

Decompressing

2010-06-13T09:58:00.000-04:00

The view in the early evening.

Last weekend we finished up our whirlwind 5-weeks-of-entertaining-and-traveling spectacular. We were in Fargo, North Dakota for a wedding, and it was fantastic. I've got such a cool family; I can't believe I don't see them more often. It's frustrating to live so far from all your relatives. Why can't I just live in Wisconsin, Michigan, North Dakota and Germany all at once? (And somewhere crazy and foreign too. I can't be tied down!) Maybe then visits wouldn't be "an occasion" - they'd just be a Saturday lunch or something equally low key. Maybe then I could actually be a regular part of people's lives, and not just a foreign body that sends the occasional note and shows up for weddings and funerals.

But enough of that. This past week has been my time to decompress, and it has been wonderful. Just as wonderful as all the previous weekends, I think. I've come home from work each night and plopped down on the couch, book in hand. I've been lounging with the windows open (and we have huge windows; I really should take pictures of the apartment sometime), just enjoying the sound of the wind in the trees. Occasionally glancing up at the slowly-darkening blue sky, catching the odd glimpse of a plane on its way somewhere else. Listening to my neighbors as they fire up their grills.

I get my energy from quiet and stillness. That's why I vacation in large, silent spaces. That's why being in big groups for too long makes me short of breath. My evenings on the couch this week then, have been a heavenly pause. There are so many things I want to do this summer! We're going to Martha's Vineyard for the 4th of July. We'll spend a couple weeks in Germany and Denmark come August. The World Cup just started. Manhattan and Brooklyn beckon (come... you haven't finished explooooooring usssss...). I want to spend more time in the Bronx. Can we fit in a hiking trip somewhere in New York State? Commotion, noise and movement promise to be constants. This past week of quiet has made me ready for them.

Memorial Day in Detroit

2010-06-01T22:14:00.000-04:00

We had originally planned to go camping over Memorial Day weekend. I even checked out a library book at one point on hikes in Adirondack State Park. Back in March though, I was seized with sudden inspiration. A couple emails to my brother, a heads up to Oliver and it was settled: road trip to Detroit. My brother would drive from Milwaukee, we would drive from New York. Simple. Perfect.

As the weekend approached and I told people where I was going, I got a lot of quizzical looks. Detroit? On purpose? Yes, Detroit. On purpose. I've heard so much about the hard times it's going through. You hear about abandoned buildings, rampant unemployment. I wanted to see it for myself. What is it really like? What's an inaccurate stereotype, and what's real?

I can't say that I've got Detroit nailed down (I imagine it takes a little more than 2 days to do that), but I can say that I really enjoyed it. It's got a Midwest industrial feel to it that feels more "at home" to me than New York often does. It's got killer chili dogs. It has an incredible art museum - after 10 years as an art history buff, I finally got to see a Diego Rivera mural (below).

It has a lively downtown, and great architecture. And yes, it has abandoned buildings. Lots of them. Some of them are surrounded by vacant lots. One building in particular really caught our attention: Michigan Central Station.

Michigan Central Station was once a major railroad terminal. Today it is 18 stories of nothing. Completely abandoned and going to seed. Every inch of the inside is covered in graffiti, and scavengers have spent the last 20 years pulling out copper tubing, stair railings, and anything else that might have value.

And how do I know that every inch of the inside is covered in graffiti? That's right, my friend. Oliver, my brother and I snuck into the building. We found a piece of loose fencing, crawled under it, and ran for it. A few pictures to help you understand what it was like in there (and I apologize for the blurry ones: we only had a camera phone):

The entrance, walking into the main hall. Such an amazing space.

My brother and I walking through one of the many hallways. We had actually joined a "black ops" tour at this point - I'm not sure where these people came from, but the leader was a local guy who comes to the station all the time. He has done painstaking research, and could tell us what just about every room was used for. He has also been cited by the police several times for entering the building.

A view out a stairwell window - to the bridge to Canada. 15th floor perhaps? No glass in the windows, of course.

Top floor. The whole floor was one room with these enormous windows running along both sides. I can only imagine what it looked like in its heyday.

The view from the roof.

Oh, the agony.

2010-05-27T21:08:00.000-04:00

Do you have a period of time where everything happens at once and totally overwhelms you? That time, for me, is now. I'm overwhelmed in positive ways (mostly), but drained just the same. I've been coming home from work and crashing on the couch, unable to even get up the strength to read a book. And honestly, the strength that compelled me, just a few minutes ago, to write a little bit here is quickly fading. Couch... couch...

The dishes are piling up. I spilled a little oatmeal on the floor this morning and didn't bother cleaning it up. Didn't have the energy. My library books sit on the coffee table, two weeks overdue. Yes, the library is a 5-minute walk from my apartment. No, I will not be going tonight either.

I'll snap out of this soon. In the meantime, here are a couple pictures I took this past weekend at the Jersey Shore. The North Atlantic! I really love it. If I could get my act together I'd go on and on about why I love it (the cold, the gray, the places I associate with it), but meh.

Friday's sightings

2010-05-02T19:56:00.000-04:00

I've lived here, in America's celebrity playground, for two years. I have seen very few celebrities. I am told that they are everywhere, but whatever; I don't see them very often. Andy Samberg once walked in front of me and hailed a cab. Kelly Cutrone passed me on the street sometime back, chastising a young assistant. Josh Charles stared at me once in a FedEx-type store - I tell people he was checking me out, but I think he was actually looking at me with a little bit of disdain. Otherwise, nada.

That is, until Friday. I was working in the Village that day, and as I turned up Lafayette Street I was lost in thoughts of the day and weekend ahead. Alongside me, a man and his young son were running down the street with their dog. They were laughing and playing some sort of "hide and seek" game - I smiled at the sight, then suddenly realized I was smiling at the sight of Liev Schreiber. I felt my face turn bright red and all I could think was "do not let him know that you know who he is! Play it cool..." I'm not sure why I thought this. Maybe I wanted to seem like a real New Yorker? In any event, I walked past him, my heart thumping in my chest. He was so tall! And handsome!

Fast forward to the end of the day. Oliver and I had plans to meet for dinner in the East Village, and I went to Tompkins Square Park to wait for him. It was a beautiful Friday evening - sunny and warm but not too warm. I sat on a park bench with my book, loving the fact that it was finally warm enough to pass the time in a park, rather than a coffee house. "Excuse me," I heard. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I like, love you..." Hm, that sounded like someone talking to a celebrity. I looked up oh-so-casually and saw Justin Long. The Mac guy! He was walking right past me, and I would have had no idea if someone else hadn't called out to him! Again trying to (perhaps) look like a real New Yorker, I looked back down at my book.

So yeah, I played it cool. But squueeeeal! Two celebrity sightings in one day. I've got to pay more attention to my surroundings. Who else is walking past me?

Looking at the calendar

2010-04-27T22:58:00.000-04:00

I've been running around making different plans for different weekends this spring / summer. I sat down today, put it all together, and was a little taken aback. Did I really schedule all these things?

Coming up soon: A friend in town for the weekend. We've got more plans than we know what to do with - it promises to be a spectacular, jam-packed time.

The next weekend: a visit from my parents. I'm trying to craft the perfect itinerary, one that inspires them but does not exhaust them. Two Broadway shows will be involved. Also a tour of the Federal Reserve (that one's for my dad). A tour of Chelsea art galleries perhaps. Possibly a day trip somewhere outside the city. Definitely lots of walking.

The weekend after that: Jersey Shore beach weekend with friends. Promises to be amazing in that way that time with old friends is - nothing special has to happen. You just have to be together.

The weekend following: a road trip to Detroit with husband and brother. Give the good people of Detroit a little of our money, see some of the sights. I rarely see my brother too, so it'll be nice to spend time together.

The weekend after that: family wedding in North Dakota. A chance to see some relatives for the first time in nearly three years. Can't wait to catch up.

Dang! I didn't realize I had it in me to be so awesome!

Washington was here (he's not here now, though)

2010-04-11T22:54:00.001-04:00

Oh, Brooklyn. The love I have for you just keeps getting stronger.

I like walking, and my definition of "walking distance" is probably different than some people's. (When I lived in Chicago, for example, my apartment was walking distance from downtown - it only took me an hour and a half to get there.) With this mindset, I continue to be amazed at how many different things I can walk to here in Brooklyn. My newest point of interest: Greenwood Cemetery.

I know, a cemetery, right? You think maybe I'm stretching it to call it a point of interest? You'll just have to trust me on this one. Or maybe I can explain it to you somehow.

Okay, so it's a cemetery. But it's beautiful. And enormous. If you were "anyone" in the 19th century, you were buried here. Your family members were too, right alongside you. If you had money, you had some sort of elaborate memorial built. A mausoleum perhaps. Or an obelisk. Or a pyramid. Yes, a pyramid. I saw one.

If you couldn't afford a pyramid (or had too much good taste to want one), you could simply have an elaborately-carved memorial pillar, like the one pictured above. All of posterity would know that you had been here, and that you had been someone who mattered while you were alive.

Greenwood is littered with the earthly remains of notable people. Leonard Bernstein, for example. I loved the fact that someone had left him a note. Did his music change that person's life? And the rocks - a Jewish tradition, right? What about the Ricola? He apparently battled emphysema for many years; an in joke? What an intimate setting! You can come so close to him, say or do something so personal. Give him a small gift.

Beyond the famous, Greenwood is full of the graves of regular people. This one (above) really caught my attention. Her name was Freelove! And she lived to be only 18. "But who can help to grieve to lose a gift like this"? I hope she and her parents were reunited.

One of the best parts of Greenwood is this spot, up on Battle Hill. The view is spectacular. Manhattan, Jersey, the Statue of Liberty, New York Harbor, Brooklyn brownstones - everything is spread out before you. The history behind Battle Hill is pretty spectacular as well; George Washington and his troops fought part of the first battle of the Revolutionary War on this very spot. It's funny to sit there then, and look out at the 19th century grave stones, early 20th century houses, shiny modern skyscrapers in the distance. Everything is just layers, isn't it. We add and add, sometimes tear down.

All it took was a broken shoulder

2010-04-05T20:51:00.000-04:00

My mother-in-law came to town this weekend. She arrived at our apartment, looked around for a couple minutes, then slipped on our floor and broke her shoulder. Good times!

As she lay on the floor, writhing in pain, Oliver and I sort of stood there and gaped at each other. What just happened? What are we supposed to do? I don't have any experience with unexpected injuries / illnesses; are we supposed to call an ambulance? 911? Do we need to call an emergency room in advance? Can we just walk in?

Her nine-day trip became a 2 1/2-day trip. Insanity. I brought her to the airport today, wincing every time our cab drove over a pothole. She walked slowly, careful not to bump her not-yet-fixed-in-any-way shoulder. She apologized several times for inconveniencing me, for making me take the afternoon off work.

Day to day, I live a very selfish life. I come home from work and think, "what do I want to do tonight?" I wake up Saturdays and wonder, "what do I feel like doing this weekend?" I have heard that some people regularly factor in things like spending an afternoon with a grandparent, helping a parent with some sort of home improvement project, assisting a sibling in some way. I don't do any of these things. I fly home once a year and spend that time enjoying the company of my family, not helping them. Sometimes I wonder if I'm still a child - taking, taking, rarely giving in return.

It was really nice then, to adjust my schedule today. I talked with the ticket attendant at JFK and tried to get my mother-in-law a better seat. I carried her suitcase. I double checked that she had Oliver's phone number and told her to call us if any problems arose. I rode the subway home, hoping she would make it back in one piece. It felt wonderful to be the giver.

I should call my parents. Maybe mail them something useful.

The Ride

2010-03-21T20:52:00.000-04:00

It's officialy spring here. One whole week in the 60 degree range. I think the danger of snow is officially behind us. This past weekend was the first non-rainy springlike weekend, and we celebrated with what is becoming an annual tradition - a long bike ride. Last year's was up to the George Washington Bridge, and this year's was a loop around the island of Manhattan (plus the distance from our apartment to the Brooklyn Bridge). 37 miles. Gruelling enough to be rewarding, but not too gruelling to take the fun out of it.

We've been in this strange place for two years now, and I still don't know how I feel. I love it here, I'm not so thrilled, etc. Fitting, I guess. A complex, nuanced place deserves a complex, nuanced reaction. Sometimes I feel as though I'm flitting around on the edges, observing but not taking part in the scenes that surround me. I feel a little disconnected - it's strange.

Walking to work this past week though, passing by all those people out in the sunshine, I've felt excited to be here with them. I love seeing the construction guys, the pretty girls in their expensive clothes, the older business types. I've felt my "New York" scale tipping more definitely toward the positive. And this past Saturday, at the start of our big ride around the city, I biked behind Oliver as we crossed the Brooklyn Bridge over to Manhattan. I watched him, some 10 feet ahead of me, against the backdrop of elegant bridge and impressive skyline. I heard the traffic noise, saw the cars moving along FDR Drive. This island of chaos and noise was waiting patiently for us. It was beautiful.

I just recently finished an interesting book on Buddhism. It makes a lot of points (as books tend to do), but one of my favorites is the concept of 83 problems. Everyone has "83" problems. When you desire to get rid of them all, the only thing you are doing is adding problem #84: the desire to be rid of all problems. Life will never be perfect. My relationship with New York will never be perfect. Instead of trying to figure out what my ideal is, maybe I should just be here, and appreciate it for what it is.

Fear

2010-03-07T21:26:00.000-05:00

This past weekend I went skiing for the third and final time this winter. The weather was great, the snow was great, I made progress. It was great, all of it. I like the thought of picking up a new hobby - and one that takes a bit of work to pick up - at the "late" age of 30. I hope I keep collecting new interests for the rest of my life.

I went up to the mountain with people who are much better skiers than I am, and this ended up forcing me to try things I hadn't thought I would dare to. I went down new trails and had moments of real terror. I would ski off to the side of the run to collect my bearings, then look down and realize how steep the path in front of me was. It's one thing to ski down a steep hill, and another entirely to look down it and anticipate. You've got time to think, to picture yourself losing control or getting hurt. It's better not to stop, really.

In the end though, I came to appreciate the fear. The fear told me that I was trying something more challenging. The fear went away after a couple runs and told me that I had learned something new. I learned to take measure of my fear and use it as a guide. Too much of it was a clear indication that I wasn't ready for Difficulty Level X. A healthy amount flipped a switch somewhere and told me to go and attack.

And while I was mastering my fear, I couldn't help but draw a parallel to my everyday life. Do I scare myself enough? How important is it to scare yourself? What is the ideal ratio of comfort to risk? Or more accurately, what is my idea ratio of comfort to risk? What's the focus? Is it success? Is it kindness, love, and calm? Are the two mutually exclusive?

Oh yeah, and how soon until Winter 2011?

Give and take and give back: German children's book edition

2010-03-02T22:56:00.002-05:00

In an ideal world, I would be more graceful. The tactful kind of graceful. I would always say the right things, say them softly, etc. I live in the real world though, and in that real world I can be sort of sarcastic. I always mean that sarcasm in the best possible way, and only use with those I'm close to - those who I think know that love and respect underlie the caustic humor.

Oliver is my main target. Forgive me Lord; I mock him mercilessly. I can't help it - he just gives me so much fodder! I admire the fact that he speaks every day in a language that is not his own. I respect him so much for that... think it takes such brain power... but man he says the funniest things. Some of my favorites:

*Occasional references to former presidential candidate "Mike Huckleberry"
*Concern that a small wound would leave a "scarf"
*Heartfelt insistence that, were he an artist, I would be his "moose"
*Confusion between beloved '80s sitcom and "White Christmas" crooner = "The Crosby Show"

What goes around comes around though, and he's having the time of his life with the sad little German sentences that dribble out of my mouth. He points and laughs at the children's books I bring home and struggle to read. It's all good. I best be taking it, after all the dishing out I've done. And honestly, it is funny.

So yes, I am reading books with two sentences per page. And it's hard! The books are really cute though, so I don't mind the struggle. And I'm no expert in German children's books, but I've noticed a few things in them that are, um, a little different. Coincidence? Culture? Let me know what you think.

Here, for example, is an image from a really sweet story about a boy, his grandpa, and the grandpa's guardian angel. In this picture the boy is visiting his grandpa at the hospital :

Do you see anything different in this picture? Something you don't remember seeing in your own childhood books?

...Like a pisspot? And it apparently wasn't enough just to draw the pisspot. No, the pisspot had to be full of urine. Because... um, because... um, you know, I actually have no idea why. I'm so confused.

Then there's this image. This is from an adorable story about a cowboy who is afraid to ride horses. Here you see the cowboy falling out of the hole in his wall (long story) onto the back of a horse. This is sort of a central, crucial page in the book. Again, notice anything that sort of surprises you?

...Like a naked woman? With carpet that doesn't match the drapes, if you know what I mean? I'm no prude. If I were reading this book to my child I like to think that I wouldn't even cover the picture up. Nudity. Nothing wrong with that. It's just... really? Is that level of realism really necessary here? "Yes sweetie, cowboys like to look at pictures of naked ladies. Just because, that's why."

In the end, I've got a healthy amount of respect for a culture that adds these sorts of details to its children's books. When I showed the pictures to Oliver (snickering like a child), his response was along the lines of "well, of course. My grandparents had one of those pots under their bed. Why wouldn't you put one in the book?" Children are going to live in the real world someday; why gloss over these sorts of things now?

So Germany, I love you and respect you. That's why I hope you don't mind if I tease you mercilessly about things like this.

Invisibility. Absolutely.

2010-02-21T13:59:00.001-05:00

A few years ago I heard a great story on This American Life. It was about superpowers - two specifically. Flying and invisibility. When people were asked to choose one, they were often pretty passionate about their choice. They couldn't imagine choosing flying over invisibility, and vice versa.

I felt pretty passionate too. For me it was flying, no contest. What's not to love? You could just step outside in the middle of the night and jump up into the air. You could soar over everything, have this private place (the sky). It would be exhilarating. Invisibility would come with too many temptations - the main one for me being the urge to spy on people. Aren't some secrets better off kept? Do you really want to know the secrets of exes, strangers, and the famous? Flying. Hands down.

The years have passed though, and the more I think about it the more I want to change my answer. Invisibility. Absolutely. I could board planes and go anywhere in the world - for free! I could go into places and see things that are currently off-limits to me for one reason or another. I've often preferred observation to participation, and this would be my chance to go into homes all over the world and see how people live. They would be themselves; they wouldn't be polite for their guest. They would talk the way they normally do, do their normal things.

I know there are a lot of logistical questions to work through. Would my clothes be invisible? Could people still touch me and if so, how would I handle crowded streets and airplanes? Would my invisible feet make impressions when I walked on carpets, leave footprints in the dirt? Would it be possible to get some sort of translation device that enabled me to understand the language of any country I went to?

I do not have answers for these questions. All I have is a desire to see the following things (among others), invisible:

Space

2010-02-17T21:16:00.001-05:00

I've lived in three different apartments in the last three years, and each has been smaller than the last. (More expensive too, cruelly enough.) I like small. As I've said before, it keeps me from buying unnecessary things. It makes me feel like I'm living more deliberately, being more responsible with resources, etc. etc. It's good.

Okay, but sometimes it's a little less than good. Like when I try to wash my face in my tiny bathroom sink and as the water goes from cupped hands to face it splashes all over the floor - the sink isn't big enough. Or when I have to stand on tiptoe and move the mixing bowls to open the cupboard that holds the tupperware containers - there's nowhere else to put them. Or how each morning, as I open the drawers of the ad hoc bureau I keep in my closet, they ram into Oliver's chest of drawers - the chest of drawers that rams right up against the bed - the bed with the head that rams right up against the radiator. Nowhere else to put any of these things. I could go on and on - we don't have any drawers in the kitchen. Our 4-foot high, rotating fan is currently broken up in bits and stored in different corners because we don't have enough space to store it in one piece. A fan! We have to sort, fold and hang-dry our laundry in the living room, so every couple weeks there are sweaters, socks and t-shirts everywhere for a day or two. Never a dull moment!

We have two closets. Each is about 4 feet across. That is the sum total of our storage space. Did I really grow up in a house with a basement? With a garage? Did I used to have apartments with storage units in the basement? Amazing. Did I really used to live in an apartment that had a whole room just for dining? And a giant front porch?

Will I ever have those things again?

Eh, do I want them?

We've been talking about buying a house at some point in the next couple years, which is both exciting and scary. Buying seems so final. A tiny apartment is an adventure, but what happens if "small" becomes permanent? What happens if you officially realize that you will not in fact be moving on to a more affordable area, that you will not in fact have a backyard. Or a second bathroom. Or a real kitchen. Or a coat closet. Your son and daughter will need to share a bedroom and your parents will be forced to sleep on your couches when they come to visit because there is no guest room. Does an amazing neighborhood make up for that?

All in good fun, right?

Why don't I hate myself?

2010-02-10T15:49:00.001-05:00

It's February. The middle of winter. I'm not exercising regularly (refuse to pay for an overpriced gym membership when spring is just around the corner). I'm eating heavier, less nutritious foods (fare thee well, blueberries - helloooooo pancakes!). By my calculations, I should be in my dark winter place. Full of self loathing and regrets. How have I managed to beat the odds? I wish I could figure this out - I'm sure the information would come in handy for future winters.

No use fretting. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, right? I've enjoyed this season of cold so far, and thought I'd share a couple images:

Frozen rocks on Lake Michigan. I took this photo on a clear, chilly day over the Christmas holiday. Christmas at home is always great, which means guaranteed good memories associated with a cold time and place. Not bad.

Oliver the runner in Central Park. He ran a 4-mile race last weekend, which - full disclosure - this photo does not capture. I stood at the finish line for the entire race, swearing quietly in the frigid cold and straining my eyes to catch a glimpse of him in the sea of runners that streamed past me. I missed him of course, and made him pose for this picture a few minutes later.

I had limited dexterity in my fingers for several hours after the race, but it was worth it. Winter doesn't have to mean full retreat. You can still get out and do things. Just be prepared to use two hands to lift a fork during the meal that follows.

Snow! There's a full-on blizzard here today, and I love it. I love all New York storms. All the fun of extreme winter weather with none of the hassles - no shoveling, no digging out your car, no dangerous roads. Pictured below: the view out my living room and the view out my building's front door.