I Can't Go On, I Must Go On*

When I started taking pictures for my Look Out Below project four months ago I was not sure how it would go. I kind of envisioned the worst - lots of pictures of my feet - but that has only happened a couple of times.

I have taken more pictures of Ada than I thought I would. That has been a pleasure, being able to think about portraits in a new way.

Signs and text continue to enchant me, and it has been nice to find them accessible from different angles:

Other things I have noticed coming up a lot:

• Patterns: natural, human-made, and both
  
• Store displays: here, here and here 
• Somewhat surprisingly to me given that these photos were taken in the winter and early spring: interesting outdoor seating 
• Light and shadow pictures 
• Day to day life
  

And a few things that don't fall into a category but that I am glad to have captured:

Clockwise, from upper left: Monkey Boy at the park; remains of brunch at Stephanie's house; Ada at the park; dead bird with cherry blossoms

*apropos of nothing, but hoping that at least Susie and Mike are amused.

Questions for a mother

When I talked to my sister earlier this week, she asked what I was doing for our mom for mothers day. I said that I was going to put it off a week, because our parents would be in town the weekend after Mother's Day, so what was the point of sending a gift  when I could just hand my mother one a mere week later.  "You know, like I am doing with your  birthday" I added. (We happened to be talking on Karen's birthday, she is coming here next week, and I am lazy like that.)

I still don't have a Mother's Day gift for my mom, but I do think I will use the excuse of Mother's Day to ask her some questions. Lisa Belkin posted these questions on the Motherlode blog. Belkin saw them in a recent issue of Real Simple (the original article, by Judith Newman, is available on CNN's website)

1. What’s the one thing you would have done differently as a mom?
2. Why did you choose to be with my father?
3. In what ways do you think I’m like you?
4. Which one of us kids did you like the best?
5. Is there anything you have always wanted to tell me but never have?
6. Do you think it’s easier or harder to be a mother now than when you were raising our family?
7. Is there anything you regret not having asked your parents?
8. What’s the best thing I can do for you right now?
9. Is there anything that you wish had been different between us — or that you would still like to change?
10. When did you realize you were no longer a child?

To be fair I will be willing to share my answers with her too. And with you, too. Some of the answers are about my relationship with her, others about my relationship with Ada. I imagine the answers will be different next year, and the year after that. Here is what I have now:

1. I am sort of going to punt on this one - I think there is a lot I will wish I'd done differently by the time the kids are grown. At this point, the main thing I can think of is that I wish that I could more fully get over my own boredom and impatience with much toddler play and just do what Ada wants me to do, even when that is pretending to make pancakes for the 30th time this week. 
2. I chose to be with Chris for a lot of reasons. I fell in love with him in college, and I remember thinking that he was, in a dating sense, above my class. He was beautiful and calm and sweet. (He still is.) I stayed with him because he is thoughtful, funny, a good cook, smart, athletic, tall and a bunch of equally important and unimportant things. Maybe we can wait until father's day to get into this more. (He's already blushing a bit.)
   
3. How am I like my mother, or like Ada? It is easier for me to think about the ways Ada and I are alike: we are both very emotional, hearts-on-our-sleeves types; easily frustrated; easily amused;  love carbohydrates, beets and picking up flotsam. I hope I am analytic like my mother. My mother has often said that she and I are the "nice" ones in the family, meaning the ones most prone to do things to make others happy rather than act on our own desires. I am not sure that is more true of me than it is of Karen, we just express ourselves differently.  
4. Right now this is easy - Ada is way more entertaining that the twins are. I think this question will get a lot harder in the coming years. This is the one question I am not sure my mom will answer, and I don't know what she'll say if she does. She and my father have been good about not playing favorites. To a great extent I think their expectations for my sister have been higher, so that might feel like they held back more with her, but I never felt like they loved one of us more.
   
5. I wonder whether I will tell Ada how angry I am at her for refusing to potty train. (hmm, writing that in the blog might make that moot...)  Similarly, I would want to wait a long long time before telling the twins that while I was pregnant I was ambivalent about whether I should have tried again after Ada, whether it would have been better to just have one child. that seems like the kind of thing that it is okay for an adult child to know, but not something I'd want a kid to hear.
   
6. I think there are a lot of things that are easier for me than they were for my mother. I had Ada at 34, my mom had me at 30. My age seems normal among my friends, but my mom was kind of an anomaly for waiting "so long" to have kids. Plus, my mother (the workaholic) no doubt had fewer resources to establish a work-life balance. My sister and I tended to see my mom as working all the time, even though she worked part time when we were little. 
7. Nothing I regret not asking them yet. They are pretty open when I have a question and (fingers crossed) they'll be around for a while.
   
8. Another split question. If I am telling my mom how she can help, it will be about helping with the twins and Ada. If Ada is telling me what she needs, I would guess that she'd ask for more of my undivided attention. And more dessert.
   
9. For Ada, I wish I was better at giving her my undivided attention and hiding my boredom with some toddler play. For my mother, I think we have a pretty good relationship. Maybe I wish I was less concerned about what she and my father think of me and my life. 
10. I probably thought I was not a child long before I really grew up. It's that first child syndrome - interact a lot with adults and you think you are one. 

 

In part because I know a couple of women who have recently lost their mothers, and also because my cousins just lost their father, I have been thinking a lot recently about my parents and my relationship with them as a child and an adult. I have a good an honest relationship with my parents, but often we don't talk about big things because we are so busy discussing the details of toddler conversations or what to have for dinner when they visit or a million other important details of daily life. These ten questions may not be the only ones I want to ask, but they are a start.

How would you answer these questions? Tell me in comments or post on your own blog. (If you do the latter, let me know so I can check in to see the answers!) What other questions should I ask my mother? What would you like to ask your own mother?

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

As someone else said, they are just like anybody else, but more so.

David Maysles

Quaker Maid My Day

Week 34 Pictures present: more forgotten hats from the archives:

This week's hat (made exclusively by Quaker Maid) is a red and white cap with some fun detailing. As a small hat meant to perch on the top of the head, it is a little hard to show off while simultaneously capturing the wonder that is my belly.

Getting my belly lined up within the frame is getting harder

Oh, and speaking of the wonder that is my belly, behold:

Thanks again Rachel, for the pants-by-mail!

I love the detailing on this hat, though I can't quite figure out what kind of Quaker would have made it. Certainly not this guy.

Yes, But...

Glipses at my ongoing efforts to gain some better perspective on things

Scene 1: Forgotten Hospital Tour

Me: CRAP! Crap crap crap! We forgot to go to the hospital tour last night.
Me, rationally: It's okay, we can reschedule. Look, we're rescheduled.
Me: Yes, but for two weeks from now. What if I have gone into labor by then?
MR: What's the worst that happens? We haven't seen the maternity wing ahead of time? So what? You have a general idea what it is going to look like from the other hospital.
Me: Yes, but what if we go in the wrong door?
MR: I am pretty sure the hospital staff deals with that fairly well. They'll help us get where we need to go.
Me: Yes, but I need to see the operating room ahead of time. What if we get there and it freaks me out?
MR: How likely is that, really? Remember last time, when you were fully dilated and trying not to push as we drove to the hospital? Do you remember making jokes on the drive?
Me: Yes, but this is different!
MR: Different how?
Me: I might need a cesarean!
MR: Let's not assume you will. Let's prepare for it but also let things go how they will.
Me: Yes, but...but I hate it when I forget things. Things I have written on my calendar and everything.
MR: I know you do. I'll help you remember to check your calendar more, ok?


(Now that I am in the "safe zone" of 34 weeks, I figure I could go into labor any time. If labor doesn't start before Tuesday night, I will waddle through the tour this week. Of course, if it starts while I am on the tour I am sure I will be complaining that I forgot to bring my hospital bag along.)

What Happens When I Listen To Sarah

The other day Sarah wrote about being tired of saying "no" to her children all the time, and working on saying "yes" more. It was with that on my mind that Ada and I took a trip to a local stationary and random stuff store so that I could buy some thank you cards. Within 30 seconds of entering, Ada declared it a "boring store" but gamely played along while I picked out some cards and took them to the counter.

Turns out the counter is right by a rack of containers filled with all manner of plastic crap small, inexpensive toys of the type Ada adores. As she swooned over this and that bit of plastic, I told her that she could pick out one to take home. Ever the clever negotiator, Ada responded with "how about these two?" pointing to a pig and a ninja. "Sure." Everyone went home happy - I had my cards and Ada had 70 cents worth of joy.

Open Letter to a Flower Thief

To the woman who plucked my tulips as she and a friend walked by my house,

I am sure that you are now telling your friend how wildly I overreacted when I came out to yell at you for picking my tulips. I am sure you have turned this whole thing into something about how crazy I am, how some people just can't chill out.

But you stole from me. You leaned over in my garden and plucked two tulips. Your apology? "Sorry. I wanted to put it in my hair. I love flowers."  You love flowers? Hey, so do I, that's why I PLANTED THEM.

Yes, I yelled and yes I didn't, as you suggested I should, "chill out" once you'd (pathetically) explained yourself. But I'm hugely pregnant, and at this point any annoyance causes me to lose it a bit.  And in any case, you stole from me.

I am so annoyed. I can't even express rationally why you taking two measly flowers from my garden pisses me off so much. Except that I have had flowers stolen before, and I am a little sensitive about it now. I planted those flowers because I think they are beautiful, and what you did was selfish and feels like the opposite of my intent for my garden.

Nora

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

Well, the night is for vampires
Vampires and failures

Grandpa Boy
Vampires and Failures

Hats (minus the good title idea)

Again this week I set up the camera early, this time because (after a good yoga class on Sunday) my back is killing me. I basically can't get up from the couch unassisted, and knew that if I waited to long to get things set up, there would be no photos this week.  It worked out well; Ada really got into trying on different hats. Earlier in the day I pulled out a box of hats that I packed up in Rhode Island and have not looked at since. Most of the hats were ones I wore in college or just after, but a couple are vintage numbers that have been neglected for too long. I chose one of the vintage hats, and Ada started with a hat of her own before raiding a bunch of the other "new" hats.

This picture should put to rest any confusion about why the most common question strangers are asking me these days is "when are you due?"

When Ada insisted that Chris join us, he tried on a few hats (including this one that his mother knit and then felted for me years ago).

I have no information to offer about this hat, as it has no tags and I can't run my usual lazy-woman's internet search. I have a suspicion that this one (and maybe on other in my box) came from Ann (the friend who gave me this hat).

Tag-less hat

In order to best show my belly, I tend to stand sideways in these photos. I realized part way through taking this week's pictures that as far as the hat's best side, I needed to turn around. This silk and velvet (or at least velvety) hat has a great little ribbon that sits off to the right side of my face. So here is an attempt to show the ribbon while not completely turning my back on Ada.

Ada wanted Baby in the picture; I insisted she join us in hat-modeling.

Belly's Lament

Categories of clothes now in my possession:

• Regular (non-maternity) clothes, which except for underwear, socks and one sweater, are unwearable.  

• Maternity clothes, type 1: clothes that never fit me, despite being labeled "maternity" by devious retailers or loaned by friends with significantly shorter torsos and/or smaller pregnancy bellies. This includes any tops sold by Gap Maternity, which by the time I needed a maternity shirt to cover the belly, were already too short to perform this duty. This category also includes several pairs of maternity pants that are too big in the hips and fall down the moment I move around at all. I look like a teen-aged boy, circa 2000. This slippage is exacerbated by the prevalence of under-the-belly waistbands. I was fooled by this style during my first pregnancy, but realized (after walking all around Madrid with at least one hand in my pocket in order to keep my jeans up) that the less fashion-forward over-the-belly waistbands work a lot better for me.  Also, though my belly is size large, my hips remain medium.

• Maternity clothes, type 2: clothes that fit me for a while, and are now too small. A couple pairs of pants I borrowed from friends have been set aside as the waistband no longer stretches over my lower belly enough to simultaneously keep the pants up and not make me feel I am being hugged by a vice grip. (see: complaints about under-the-belly waistbands above) Other pants that worked well for a while are now pinching my lower belly, making sitting uncomfortable. Also, at least one shirt that I'd happily worn the past couple of months was put away, after a recent mid-day walk to the grocery store ended with my neighbor glancing at my lower belly (a region I can feel but not see these days) and asking if I minded the breeze. 

• Maternity clothes, type 3: seasonally inappropriate clothes. Just because they don't really fit the weather, I am still wearing them. Because they sort of fit. 

• Maternity clothes, type 4: perfect. I have a few pieces of clothes that fit and look decent, and I wear them all the time. This includes the black and white polka dot dress I wore all through my first pregnancy, a gray cashmere wrap sweater from my mom, and some maternity yoga pants I am too vain to wear outside except to yoga. Strangely, I am not too vain to wear droopy jeans, so go figure. By the time I can fit back in normal clothes, I will be ready to burn these precious pieces.
  

A Way of Blessing

I am almost afraid to open the envelope. I am afraid I have remembered it wrong, that it was not that thing I am determined to keep in my heart through the three a.m. feedings and the end-of-my-rope moments. 

But that is silly. What I remember is true, and what I remember is this: a room full of women from many corners of my life sitting on the floor in a circle, talking to me about the challenges and joys of parenting. Ellen organized a blessing way* for me on Saturday. This is the second one she has held for me. Though some of the same women were there for both, this felt very different from the one we held before Ada's arrival. Last time it was a ceremony marking a transition - from pregnancy into labor and delivery, from being childless to becoming a parent. This time almost everyone there was a mother (whether of young children or children long grown) and all the women knew about parenting through experience with their own and other children. This time was less "welcome to the club" than "we understand and are there with you." Each woman spoke honestly about her own challenges and about those she knew I would face in the coming months and years. Each brought me their joy as well, reminding me how amazing it is to be a parent and how important it is to pay attention to that, even as we all struggle with fatigue, boredom, loss of self, and did I mention fatigue?

One woman spoke of having moments in which she could see her children for who they are, and in which she could most clearly know their happiness as she responded to them fully, or see their fear when she showed anger.

Another talked about the touch of her child, and others could not help but agree that their love for their children was so strong and visceral that it caused them to need that child's touch. The women described repeatedly falling in love with their children as they grew and changed every day.

One woman offered her belief that I will be able to manage my new life, even or especially on the days I feel most overwhelmed. Another brought me a painted print of Ada's once tiny hand, one that I can't look at without crying. A writer friend gave me a cherished photograph of her crying child, while another friend made three linked paper hearts. And each woman gave me a bead, which symbolized something she wanted for me, or was something she loved, or was what she could lay her hands on at 10 p.m. last night. All will go on my little shrine, and will join the beads I received before Ada's birth and still keep close.

As each woman spoke, I found myself wishing for a way to change their words into something I could put in a bottle or wrap like a scarf around me. I was so touched by what these women said, and the honesty and emotion with which they said it. Several of the women who cried expressed a surprise that they were so touched by what everyone said. I was not surprised, but I was so happy that this moment meant something to the other participants too. I also knew that as much as the blessingway meant to me in the moment, that I will need the memory of these women's words when I get to the hard places ahead. I have been so afraid of what is next that I have not been very open to the fact that what is coming is assuredly both joy and pain. My heart opened up a bit more this weekend, and I want the cushion of these women's words to protect that openness. I will fill my pockets with their words and remind myself that I can pull them out whenever I need them.






*From my limited experience, each blessingway is unique. For some of the things a blessingway can be, look here.

The Family that Wears Hats Together...

Instead of following my usual pregnant-with-hat photo process (get Ada to bed, collapse on couch, eat dinner, then drag out the tripod), this week I got started on the hat pictures early. I asked Ada if she wanted to join in, which of course she did. She also wanted Chris to get involved, giving you a glimpse back at last week's hat and a contender for next week's:

Chris, Ada, Hats and a Carrot

And once I stopped fiddling with the camera, the three of us squeezed in for a picture or two:

Week 32 of Pregnancy, Week 5 of Hat Pictures

Thanks to my pal Stephanie for the shirt. Stephanie is a tall woman, which means that her long maternity clothes actually still (mostly) manage to cover my belly. Plus, this shirt matches the hat pretty well. Speaking of the hat, does it look like a bathing cap to anyone else? Especially when worn, it reminds me of those flowered caps popular with ladies of a certain age and synchronized swimmers. This hat would certainly not survive a dunking, but the green mesh covered with gaudy flowers...

Hat . . . in space!

This hat was "made to order" by Mr. Arnold. The whole made to order thing confirms one thing for me: my grandmother had a smaller head that I do. Wearing this hat was a little uncomfortable due to its size, and mine (for once I mean my head, not my belly).

In searching the web I found a couple of other hats made by Mr. Arnold, including this mink number for sale on ebay. Randomly, when I was looking for information on Mr. Arnold, I ran across a web site for a hat exhibit at the James A. Michener Museum. Who knew Michener (king of the one word title) had a museum named for him?

My favorite part about this week's pictures was Ada's excitement. In the above photos you can see Ada showing solidarity by baring her belly. After Chris got tired of holding Ada (and of standing in front of the camera) Ada started dancing around before the camera. In the first photo below she was bopping so enthusiastically that she jumped out of the way right before the timer went off. I got her back in the next one, but given the overall attempt to get hat and belly in the photo, she barely appears in the frame.

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

Practically the only thing that doesn't rock these days is music itself. And, if music did in fact rock, to actually say that it did would have very little meaning. Because you'd have to ask, "This music rocks compared to what? Beer? Hawaii? Grandpa?"

Carrie Brownstein
I Rock! You Rock! We All Rock!

A Death in the Family

Last week my cousin called to say that his father had just passed away. He called me because my parents were out of the country and pretty hard to reach. My uncle had pancreatic cancer, an agressive cancer with very low survival rates. As a measure of the relationship between my family and my uncle, my mother did not know her brother had cancer. So while I feel sad that he died young, I feel not so much sad for myself as for my cousins and my uncle's partner.

According to Jewish custom, burial follows death in quick succession. I am sure that this was very useful at a time when rotting bodies were a real health risk to the living. In our present world - one in which families live thousands of miles apart and are often not in close touch with one another - hearing about a death three days before the funeral can make it hard for people to gather for the event. As my parents are away, before we could even consider attendance I had to work on getting the news to my mother.  I felt weird about interrupting her vacation with the news, given that (even if I had been able to reach her immediately, which was not the case) she was unlikely to be able to get back in time for the memorial service. Then again, I thought it would be wrong to just not mention it until she got back. This felt like the kind of news she should know about, unpleasant though it may be.

This past weekend my sister and I were talking about the fact that we do not know our uncle's children and in fact have only met them a handful of times. I told Karen that I would hate for this to be the case for our children, and once again expressed my hope that she and her husband would eventually settle in Portland. Karen agreed that it would be nice, but then added that there was one difference between our limited relationship with our cousins and our own future children's likely connection: "we like each other."

We do, and I can not really imagine having a sibling who was not my close friend. My uncle has not been close to his family for decades. I don't really understand all the details, but the core issues seemed to be more about my uncle and grandfather than about sibling issues. My grandfather died twenty years ago. My mom had hopes that after my grandmother passed away several years ago that she and my uncle might reconcile a bit. Or maybe not reconcile, but gain some closeness. That had not happened, but when someone is alive there is always that hope. My mother's response to the news of her brother's death was sadness and shock, tinged by the additional disappointment that she would not be able to work things out with him. I feel terrible for her for this loss that I can not quite fathom, and feel even worse that she did not enjoy even a measure of the relationship I have with my sister.

I can't even look at these

...without giggling to myself.

Twins! (But Not Mine)

For the better part of a year I have been reading about Rebecca's life; her efforts to get pregnant and her experience with a twin pregnancy. I have really connected with Rebecca's posts, both because we have been on what turned out to be parallel paths, and because she writes with honesty and humor about her experiences.

I stopped by Facebook this evening, and to my surprise saw that Rebecca had posted photos of some "new additions" - turns out that her twins arrived on Saturday, a bit early but from the look of things healthy.

Congratulations Rebecca! I wish you and your family much happiness!

Derby Hat, A Bit Small

As promised, a return to flowery hats. This hat would have been appropriate to wear to the Kentucky Derby. I might have if I'd owned it the year I went to the derby with Chris and friends. As my grandmother was still alive at the time and thus in possession of her hats, I wore a much less fancy but still serviceable straw hat of my own. After that one Derby trip I decided that unless I get Derby tickets that include actual seats, I will not go back. It was fun enough as a one-time thing, but cheap seats without seats gets old quick. I did win money on the Derby, which helped make the day more worthwhile.

But back to the topic at hand - it is weird that depending on the angle at which I stand, my belly looks monstrous or actually kind of reasonable. It certainly does not feel reasonable these days. I am feeling very sluggy. In addition to being tired much of the time, moving is a big annoyance. This means I try to minimize movement, which in turn makes me feel like a soggy potato. Yes, a soggy potato. If you don't like the metaphor, get your own blog. Ditto if you think I should have ironed the ribbon. It was 9 pm, you are lucky I am smiling at all.

Feeling a little silly about tipping my head in order to get more of the hat into the picture.

Here is a better view of the hat:

The flowers are actually pretty impressive, both for their exuberance and for the fact that I can identify several of them as real types of flowers.

In addition to these flowers, there are a couple bunches of impatiens, a rose and several other types of flowers I'd have to think hard about but could probably identify. It impresses me that the haberdasher didn't just make up flowers, but recreated real ones for this spring beauty.

Ok, I should have ironed the ribbon. Maybe I will later, but more likely I will just think about it for a while and then decide against it.

The hat bears two labels, one from Adolfo (probably this Adolfo) and the other from Chester Weinberg. I know Adolfo had a shop in New York (and according to the label, also one in Paris), so this could have been a hat sold at his NYC shop but made by Weinberg. On the other hand, I know Adolfo made hats, and I can't find much about Chester Weinberg as a milliner. Weinberg was apparently a Parsons graduate who was active in the '70s. (I found this post and photo about a cool dress he designed.)

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

To those of you in Quality Control: As indicated by the new sign in your rest room, employees must wash their hands before not returning to work.

Patricia Marx
Memo from the C.E.O.

What do people do all day?

 

Melissa's post on talking to her daughter about work and trying to help her understand what she does (and that she she has a job) reminded me of a conversation I had with Ada the other day. Out of nowhere she declared that she wants to be a mama when she grows up. I'm fine with that as a goal, but maybe not as her only goal. So I suggested: "Lots of people do more than one thing. You can be a mama and have another job too." I reminded her that I have a job, though explaining just exactly what "Senior Policy Analyst" means is not an easy task. Then again, it isn't so easy to explain to a 35 year old, much less to a 3.5 year old.

We talked about Chris, who is a papa and a math teacher. We talked about Ellen (mama and midwife), and Stephanie (mama and math teacher). Our neighbor Mark builds things and is a papa.

After considering what she must have seen as her options, Ada decided that she'd like to be a mama and a math teacher. "Like Stephanie," I said.

"Yes. But I would need my own office. Her office isn't big enough for both of us."

I guess it is good to plan ahead.

I Hate Naps

As necessary as naps are these days, I am annoyed that I am losing so much time to sleep. The desire to be productive is strong, but the flesh is weak.

The process of getting ready to leave the house this morning knocked me out. Considering standing up to put on my shoes had me in tears, and Chris suggested I stay home to rest (instead of going to a young friend's first birthday party). I wanted to go but could not drag myself out the door. I knew that the problem would be keeping myself from "doing" while home resting. Chris sternly reminded me that resting and not getting things done was exactly what I should be doing.

Instead of getting things done, I engaged in my second favorite past-time: list-making. Even though making lists highlights all the things that remain undone, I find it soothing to organize the work. It helps me feel I am not forgetting anything, and that once ordered the tasks can be tackled somehow. Priorities can be assigned. List-making is practically action, or at least its necessary precursor.

As busy as a 3.5 year old can be, I think I can take a lesson from Ada and her friends. Ada loves to play pretend sleep. Yesterday she and Lila spent a long time making nest-like beds on the floor, arranging blankets, books and toys, and then pretending to go to sleep and wake up. I do not understand why this particular aspect of daily life is so fascinating to them, but maybe I can use it to remind myself that a little extra (real or pretend) sleep might be a good thing for me too.

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

They were kind of serious about this, but they were kind of kidding. Or they were completely serious, but they knew it was funny. (They were radical but silly.)

Ariel Levy
American Chronicles: Lesbian Nation

Thankfully there is a hat in the picture

Week 3 of Pregnant with Hats (30 Weeks Gestation)

This week, I am sporting a disappointing haircut, but not an afro. You can't see the actual haircut due to the hat (thank goodness for small favors) but thanks to my tendency to take these pictures at night with a flash, the hat kind of looks like an extension of my hair.  The color is not totally off between the two.

After starting to shoot, I realized that pictures taken on a day that I have not showered and am wearing no make up might not look that great to me. And don't tell me that I look nice, it will just depress me that you think I look the same whether or not I am having what I consider to be a good face day.

Note to self: try not to take pictures wearing a shirt that makes you choose 

between revealing your bra and your belly.

As the hat is a little hard to distinguish from my hair in the above picture, here is a picture of the hat itself. There is no tag in the hat, so I know neither what kind of fur it is nor who made it. I know nothing about fur, so I can't offer any information on that score from the (lovely, soft) feel of the hat.

It looks a bit like a jockey's cap, if jockey caps were covered in soft, dark brown fur. 

Next week will feature a return to floral hats. 

Roll and Tumble

Now, I'm no Bliss, and not usually led to blog about the lovely stuff I see, but I am making an exception. The other day I ran across the Roll & Tumble etsy shop and was impressed enough by this fantastic poster that I bought one immediately. (Those who know my usual shopping habits know that this is a rare event. Usually I have to consider, go away, come back, consider some more...)

Photo credit: Roll & Tumble Press

I was happy with this purchase on its own, but a couple of hours later I checked my email and found a nice note from Roll & Tumble's Christie and Caleb. Turns out I was their 100th sale, and to celebrate, they let me choose another item for free. I knew exactly what I wanted - these fantastic bird prints. To tell the truth, I'd considered buying them anyway. 

Photo credit: Roll & Tumble Press

Yay for cool etsy sellers, yay for free, yay for Roll & Tumble's awesome hand illustrated, hand carved, hand set, hand fed letterpress prints!


If you'd like to see some photos documenting the process Roll & Tumble Press uses (from sketches to wood cuts to printing), check out the R&T flickr stream.

Inquisitive

Ada, while drawing and watching basketball with Chris: "I know you don't like the ads. Why you don't like the ads? I like the ads."

and later: "I know, you can watch the game and I'll watch the ads."

* ** *

Ada's recent most-asked question is "Who are you?" She asks this at least a half-dozen times a day. Sometimes I just answer simply: "I'm mama." Other times I offer more: "I am a mama, a wife, a reader, a writer..." 

While any answer I give seems to satisfy Ada in the moment, nothing seems to quench her desire to ask again.

* ** *

While not a question, certainly inquisitive:

Driving home from picking up veggies from our CSA, Ada piped up from the back seat.

"I want to count all the books."

"All your books, or all the books in our house?"

"All the books in our whole house."

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

Reynolds loves obscure genre labels. He has coined at least one ("postrock") and in this book he embraces countless others with a straight face, among them "funk punk," "punk funk," "folk punk," anarcho-punk," "Hi-NRG," "psychobilly," "angst rock," "death disco," "mutant disco," "Teutonica," "Goth," "proto-Goth," "post-Goth," "Oi!" "New Romanticism," "New Rock," "New Americana," "New Pop," "electropop," "synthpop," "synthpop noir," "synthfunk," "avant-funk," and, deep breath, "neopostpunk." Will there be a quiz?

-Jim Windole
reviewing Rip It Up And Start Again by Simon Reynolds

Pregnant With Hats (Week 29)

As promised, more pictures of me, pregnant and wearing a hat.

This week's hat was my grandmother's. It strikes me as a classically "easter" hat, which is weird since my family isn't Christian. So then maybe I don't really know what an easter bonnet should look like.

29 weeks, with hat

In any case, this is the hat that I once wore to pick my sister up from the airport. The hat is so imposing that Karen walked right past me without recognizing me. Just to be clear, this is not the kind of thing she does normally. Until that day we had a 100% mutual recognition rate.

I realize that the angle of the picture does not show off the hat to its fullest. To rectify that, I took this:

The hat, on a stand, on the couch

One other note, about the stand: I have half a dozen of these vintage bent-metal stands. Most of them are in less than pristine shape, but I still love them. Even better, a dance teacher gave them to me for nothing. Chris and I got into swing dance when we lived in Chicago, and the studio was a big converted warehouse space. The owner had gotten a bunch of hat stands from a shop that was closing and clearing out all its stuff. I complimented the teacher on the hat stands she had on display in the studio, wishing aloud that I had something on which to display my collection. The teacher pulled out a huge trash bag filled with a jumble of stands and told me to grab some.

Hmm, that was unexpected. Just thinking about the stands and that dance studio made me really miss Chicago and the days when Chris and I braved the midwestern winters to do things like go out dancing. These days we mostly dance in our kitchen, trying out a quick lindy in between stirring sauce or browning meat. Even that is fun, however. I'm already looking forward to the day when we can pick that back up, to the accompaniment of 2 infants and a toddler yelling for our attention.

Remembering and forgetting to remember

I am dogged by the suspicion that I am forgetting to do something important. Something that needs doing, either today or before the babies arrive. What that is, I don't know, and it is driving me to distraction.

Distraction, as if I need more of that. Preparing the twins' room for painting, I pulled a frame off the wall, then slid the nail and hook out too. Five minutes later I had no idea where I'd left the nail and hook. I searched for a half hour, wandering up and down the stairs, scanning and re-scanning every room I'd walked through, touching surfaces as if I could make the nail jump to my magnetic fingers. After I gave up, my father-in-law found it hiding in plain sight on Ada's place-mat.

When people ask whether we are ready for the babies, I ignore the larger question of whether we are psychologically/emotionally/financially ready, responding that we have three big things on our to do list: sell our car and buy a min-van, paint the room we are readying for the twins, and settle on names. So far we've looked at Toyotas in order to get a sense of what a minivan will be, mostly painted the babies' room, and had one ten minute conversation about names. After seeing his list, I finally admitted to Chris that I had been counting on him coming up with perfect names, as he did last time. "Ada" was the first item on Chris' list last time, and I immediately loved it. After years of considering names in the abstract, faced with a real list of names for actual (if future) children is daunting. My brain goes blank, leaving me with a vague but persistent feeling that there is something I am supposed to be doing, some task I am forgetting.

I know there are a few things I need to do. When I had more energy earlier in the pregnancy, I sewed a diaper bag big enough to carry both babies and a few extra diapers. The final step in the project was edge stitching around the bag's openings. Without going into the dull details, I will note that I made a few errors and have been meaning (for months) to undo certain sections and resew them. So here's one thing to do, but staring at the bag daily has not motivated me to deal with this task. Surely there is something more pressing to do than re-sewing a finishing seam? (and less annoying, I hope silently)

Pregnancy-brain is sneaky. Although I remember suffering other hormonal effects, I don't remember feeling quite this way last time. Maybe the years have erased this as surely as it has muffled the horror of life during Ada's first few months. Maybe this disconnected concern that I am forgetting something is a way of thwarting my brain's efforts to remember that time. Maybe my mind is protecting me from the memory out of fear that should I remember what it was like, I would decide to leave my babies at the hospital if I could access those harsh weeks and months.

Still, there's that nagging feeling.

Glamorous

I failed a couple of last week's blood tests. Besides being a bit anemic (hey, could this explain feeling tired all the time?), my glucose test showed a level high enough to warrant the dreaded 3 hour glucose test. While he was drawing blood for the first test, the nice young Russian tech sympathized about how gross the glucose drink is. "And that one only has 50 milligrams of sugar. For the three hour test, the drink has 100 milligrams." Great.

 

Oh joy, this again. Same yucky taste, now with twice the sugar.*

I'll go back next week for the three hour "we don't trust you to leave the building where you might fill up on sugary treats before we can tell you not to" test. Good thing I have a laptop, or I might have to take sick time for this. 

In the mean time, I am on a self-imposed sugar black out. Well, except for inch of OJ in the morning, to wash down the iron pill. If I fail the second test and am on a real no-sugar diet, it may be at the expense of my overall mental health. Chocolate, or huge babies? What kind of a choice is that? Once again I am reminded of Ellen's line: isn't pregnancy glamorous? 

*It may amuse no one else, but it cracks me up that I even took this picture. How classically navel-gazing blogger-y is this? I am put in a room and told I have 5 minutes to drink. So I drink a bit, then stop for a photo shoot, then drink the rest.  

Belly Shots, Twin-Style

I am in my 28th week, muddled enough that I needed to look up where exactly I am. I have been meaning to take more pictures of my belly, but have not gotten around to it. Last pregnancy I made Chris take the pictures, but most of those shots are not ones to share on the internet. No good could come of posting those images taken late at night of a no make-up, tired face pregnant woman, sometimes in her underwear. No good can come of thinking about them, for that matter.

After puttering around for 2 trimesters, I am taking the reins, or at least the auto-timer, into my own hands.  But because I can't just take pictures of my belly (and because I love a theme), I have decided to take each picture wearing a fancy hat. Most of these hats were my grandmother's, though the first one came from my friend Ann in Chicago. I think it might have originally been her grandmother's. She can remind me if I am right about that.

I started a set on flickr. Though I will probably weekly upload several photos to the set, I will probably not post 4 pictures to the blog each week. However, as this was my first week I am indulging myself as I work out a few kinks. To wit:

Take 1: Smiling pregnant woman, but pulling my shirt down creates one long line from breast to belly. To avoid what I have come to see as a "brelly" I'll fix the shirt. Also, the hat on the mantle is a little distracting, placed as it is exactly behind my head.

Take 2: Better, but what else have you got? And man, I know you are carrying around a basketball  but could you try to stand up straight? Who's going to want to marry a hunchback?

Take 3: I took off the cut-off tee I wear to deal with the gap between the bottom of my shirts and the top of my pants. Without it - wow, what a belly! That is a little obscene, and this is only week 28. Can we do something about that?

Take 4: That's a bit better. I pulled the pants up a bit and the shirt down a little. Despite the return of the brelly, hopefully this shot gives you a sense of my girth without scaring young children.

Wait, who am I kidding? Young children may be the only ones not scared. Ada (who loves me anyway, I know) routinely comes up and hugs my waist while giving the babies a kiss. Really, what could be more endearing?

Recently other kids seem intrigued now that my belly is "hard to ignore" size. Last week a kid at Monkey Boy's school ran up and asked excitedly "is there a baby in there?" When I said yes, she seemed a bit at a loss about what to do next, and I moved on before she asked for my autograph. Mrs. French's son, who sees me fairly regularly and until now must have just thought I was getting fat, today noticed that I have a baby belly.

Note on the hat: As I mentioned, this hat came from a friend. I always want to wear it backwards, to better show off the pink ribbon that is correctly worn at the nape of the neck. The hat is a lovely gray velvet that feels so good to wear.

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

If there had been such a thing as a Dada monk he would have wanted to become that. But Zen it was, so he went to Asia.

Jonathan Lethem
Planet Big Zero

The Enchantress of Numbers

Back in January Jiro sent me a link to someone who committed to write a blog post about Ada Lovelace, but only if 1,000 other people would do it too. Kind of silly, and I might have (ok, WOULD have) ignored this, except that one of the reasons Chris and I liked the name Ada was the association with Ada Lovelace.

Who was Ada Lovelace? I'm glad you asked that question.

Ada Lovelace was a 19th century woman with a talent for mathematics. Often called the first computer programmer, she worked with the mathematician and inventor Charles Babbage. Babbage is credited with coming up with the idea for what we now know as a computer. Lovelace translated Luigi Menabrea's memoir on Babbage's writing on an "analytical engine", and in the process added some notes of her own on how the machine could calculate Bernoulli numbers. In essence, she wrote a computer program. Babbage is the one who called Lovelace "the enchantress of numbers." (Incidentally, she was also a countess and the daughter of the poet Lord Byron, though the two were never close.)

A blogger, angry that women in technology are often mistreated, decided to take action. Suw Charman-Anderson decided that one way to deal with this is to talk about female role models by highlighting women in technology. Suw made a pledge to write about Ada Lovelace on March 24, noting that "Ada Lovelace Day is an international day of blogging to draw attention to women excelling in technology." As I am not usually a tech writer, this is a bit of a stretch for me, but I do know several women in math and science that I respect and hope my daughter will see as role models as she grows up. In honor of Ada Lovelace Day, I want to express my appreciation for my economist mother.

My mother got into economics in the 60s, when a female economics PhD candidate was a rare thing. She focuses on micro-economics (vs the "big idea" theory stuff many people think of when they hear economics) and has always been a fan of hard data. She is an accomplished researcher who is not afraid of numbers and has long dug into data to prove a theory or investigate an idea. As a kid I colored on the back sides of her old-style green-bar paper, barely registering the flow of numbers on the other side. My mother encouraged me to believe I could do math and science, and while I did not always believe her, I got a lot from her attitude. She influenced my decision to go to a quantitatively focused graduate program, and that choice affected my career (positively). She is an influential economist, not only as a woman but among all economists studying health care and related fields. I am very proud of her. I should probably tell her that more. In fact, I think I will go call her right now. Thanks Mom!

(As I am likely to have two young babies when my mom has her birthday next June, I figure I should deal with all this mom-love stuff early.  In that vein, I also sent her an early birthday gift a couple of weeks ago - a book call Parentonomics by an economist dad. From reading his blog, I know he gets google updates when people use the phrase parentonomics online. So: Hi Joshua Gans! Thanks for writing a book that is perfect for my mom.)

Well THAT Was Uncalled For

We interrupt our regularly-scheduled anger and fear to bring you a new segment we're calling: Well, THAT Was Uncalled For.

Today's contestant is the stranger in line behind me at the sandwich shop by my office. The woman who runs the place remembers that I am pregnant but, having forgotten I am having twins, asked if I am due in a month or so. I say, "no, I have a few more months, I am just ahead in size because I am having twins."  This elicits a loud gasp from the woman behind me. A gasp that would have been appropriate had she heard me say, "actually, I am not pregnant, this is a large malignant tumor that will kill me within six months."

I turned around to see this woman looking at me with a look of complete horror. I was actually more shocked by her expression than by the gasp, as I had assumed the noise she'd made was a (pitiful, inappropriate) attempt at a joke. But no, she's really just horrified at the thought that a stranger is carrying twins and doesn't mind expressing that in a completely rude and unthoughtful manner.

"You really shouldn't do that to a stranger," I said. "You can do that kind of thing to friends, but not to people you do not know." The rest of the brief interaction is kind of a blur, and I move away to grab some salad. A minute later, maybe to fill the now quiet space in the cafe, the woman making my sandwich kindly tells me that she wishes she could have had twins. (I am a bit surprised how much I have heard this, even if people only mean it in the most fleeting way.)

So there, my first utterly inappropriate pregnancy comment. (if you can call a gasp a comment, which I guess I will) While several people have asked me if twins run in my family, which is maybe a step from asking if twins are "naturally occuring" or due to intervention, until now no one did anything to suggest that a twin pregnancy is so horrible or pitiable that it would make someone lose control of their good sense and social graces. Most people seem to have a bit more control, thankfully.

3:45pm (before I can relax in the soft cafe chair and read my book)


I am so angry. I am angry at Ada, sure, but it is bigger than that. My anger sometimes feels uncontainable. It flows out, or maybe more accurately seeps. That feels apt - it seeps under the door, through cracks in the foundation, around century-old windows. I am angry at everyone, irrationally annoyed. At the substitute yoga instructor for running an overly restorative class. Angry at myself for not having a fantastic plan for the time Chris has generously placed in front of me. Angry that the cafe I have escaped to has a baby in it who keeps smiling and trying to catch my eye.

I keep saying that I want to get stuff done, but I am not sure what that is really. What do I want to get done? I want the space and energy to get things done, yes. But what ACTUALLY do I want to do? I am angry at myself for not knowing.

When it flares up, it is like a burning hole in me, in my head and my heart. Ha - psychic heartburn.

That's all we have time for today. Next time let's look into that fear we've been harboring.

** * **

Two hours later

There is no way to know what is in a stranger's heart. After putting the groceries in my car I looked up to see an older couple on the corner, maybe discussing how to carry home their groceries, when one of the man's paper bag handles broke and groceries spilled on the sidewalk. The woman makes a face I have felt myself make a thousand time, and walked off, leaving him to manage the collection and transport of two brimming bags.

I immediately felt critical of the woman for leaving the man to deal with the mess. But who knows; maybe she had just told him the bag was breaking, maybe she had offered to bear more of their shared burden, maybe she really had to pee. Why should I judge her when my own heart and actions have certainly not lived up to the heretofore unexplored standard of "blameless if viewed from half a block away by strangers."

I would like to cut myself and others a little break. Others being both strangers and my loved ones.  I want to be open to more love, want to be embraced by it. Instead I push it away and embrace my anger.

 * ** * 

Rereading this I just want to hit delete. I feel anything but angry now, at 10:!5 on Sunday evening. But it is part of my experience right now, so I won't delete it. I will just let it stand with the hope that it can remind me to let the anger slip a little to make more room for love. 

Cut Corner Calculus

As the wife of a mathematician, I am always on the look out for fun math songs. Stop laughing, math is fun. (and cool too, haven't you heard of the math prof rock star?)  This was on the radio today - apparently the band - the Saturday Knights - is playing at sxsw. "Count it Off" features the random quote-worthy lyrics "street mathematician scientists, learn that cut-corner calculus".

You can thank me later.

The Saturday Knights - "Count It Off" from Lincoln Leopard Films on Vimeo.

Oh yeah, and - happy spring!

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

Mountain Man is in the 1st floor lobby until 11:45 03/11/09

full text of mass email I received from someone I don't know who works in another department of state government.

Delicious Dinner, Awesome Ending

We had "taco night" with our neighbors. Chris made pulled pork roast, the neighbor husband made a yummy Mexican-y chicken soup. The wives helped prep fixings. The girls ate a little and then ran around eventually (and probably inevitably) shedding clothes in the process.

When it was time to leave, Ada was convinced to put her boots on, so we left it at that for the half-block walk home. As often happens when it is time to leave, Ada had a melt-down about a non-issue. This time, she saw her friend eating a tortilla and demanded a tortilla. Of course this was the last one, of course dinner was over, of course this was just a ruse, a vain attempt to stall our departure. Chris and I held firm and Ada followed me out the door. The whole (thankfully short) walk home, Ada screamed at the top of her lungs "I WANT A BIG TORTILLA!" over and over. If only I'd had the video camera, I could have captured this classic toddler insanity. Wearing only her purple rain boots, screaming about tortillas, really feeling it, but still walking back home because that is where her family was going.

I think this is the real reason I have a blog. How else would I remember this perfect moment of the toddler experience?