Done

Since March of 2006, I have either been pregnant or nursing with a three month break between pregnancy #1 (miscarriage) and Alexandra's pregnancy and a three month break between weaning Alexandra and getting pregnant with Nico.

As of this week, two major things have happened:

1. Nico is fully weaned (although my boobs are still readjusting)
2. Adam had a vasectomy yesterday (although he's still going to be shooting swimmers for about 20 more shots, according to the doctor)

These are monumental steps in my life. Not only am I physically done with childbearing and nursing, but we have also taken a serious step to ensure that we won't have any more kids. There is a teeny, tiny part of me that mourns this. Yesterday I was super emotional about it all. Although the logical me knows the million and one reasons we are stopping at two kids, the emotional side of me is feeling sad, a sick maternal longing for another baby in my belly, the flutters of first feeling it move, the massive kicks that make your skin undulate, the power of giving birth, those first precious moments of meeting your baby, the sweet sucking sounds a newborn makes on your breast....the list goes on.

But we are done. And, once the emotional side of me calms down (I'm also PMS-ing which is no help. God, having your period again SUCKS after being menstruation-free for 20 months), I'm sure I'll find immeasurable relief in knowing that we no longer have to worry about another* surprise pregnancy.

(* Two of our three pregnancies were surprises. We are not model condom users, that's for sure)

(Photo of my last day of pumping breastmilk in the gross teacher's lounge bathroom. I WON'T miss that.)

Spanking

I was spanked. Even writing that seems like an understatement. I was spanked A LOT. As the child of a born again Christian who firmly believed in "spare the rod, spoil the child" and as a willful, smart-mouthed little girl (whom karma has paid me back with an identical one), I got spanked a lot. Also, I had a lying snitch of a sister who framed me for everything. No joke. I got spanked so many times for her lies that it's no wonder we're not really friends today, even just based on years 3-10 of my life. But...

...here I am with children, and I don't spank. I don't believe in it. I feel that hitting a child is a reckless use of power. I'm the adult. I should have control. It's a philosophy that I carry into teaching, too. Sure, call me a "F*cking white b*tch, blah blah blah" but I'm not going to curse at you because I'm the adult.

Right? Great in theory, harder in practice.

I hit Alexandra last week.

She had hit Nico in the face. I was carrying her to timeout in her bedroom, holding her by the arms with her face facing my chest. She was screaming like a banshee and then she lunged at my chest (braless, as it was 7:30 am) and chomped down and bit my left breast. Hard. I was stunned, let go of her, and wollopped her on the right arm. Then I threw her into timeout, shut her door, and ignored her screaming.

Not my best parenting moment.

Yes, it hurt. It hurt a lot as last week I weaned Nico off his morning nursing and my boobs were adjusting back to their normal milkless selves and were particularly tender. But I still should not have hit her. Literally, there was not a second between action and reaction. I felt bad.

When I went into her room after her 3 minutes of timeout, I immediately apologized for hitting her. I said I was sorry, that when she bit me it hurt so bad that I hit her without thinking, but that hitting was not right, which is why she was in timeout in the first place (for hitting Nico). Believe me, the irony of the whole situation was not lost on me.

A friend Denise Galang, who is an amazing poet and teacher, wrote this sonnet about hitting on her blog. I love it.

Friday, May 7, 2010
Striking Sonnet 1

To hit or not to; is there a question?
When she scratches her baby brother’s skull
with her sharpest nail while I breastfeed him?
Spits in my face when I give her a time-out?
Smacks my cheek in the backseat of the car?
Bites my arm at the end of music class?
Throws a magnet at me when I say “Please,
be gentle. Pulling his arm is not nice.”
Don’t know how else to bear this insolence.
A lightning pulse commands my arms to strike:
I drag her off the baby to her room.
I smack her in the face and say, “Don’t hit.”
Then my quake dies down. In the aftermath,
wails, quivering words: “No! You no hitting.”

R.I.P. Miriam Perez

While I loathe all the teaching metaphors that relate to war (the trenches, the battleground, educational ground zero, the troops, etc.), there is something about teaching together that makes people close. The emotional job of teaching is exhausting. We literally raise these students while trying to get them to learn to read, write, and become life long learners; we encourage them to say please/thank you, not to scream "F*ck you" whenever they feel like it, and to have positive and respectful relationships with one another. Anyone who is a parent knows how difficult these goals are with your own children. Now multiply that by 150, subtract the fact that you do have some parental power & unconditional love with your own children, and that equals teaching.

With this in mind, teaching brings people together. I have cried, laughed, listened, talked, whined, worried, and gotten pissed (as in mad and drunk!)with my coworkers. We laugh when our principal says we're family, but we are. I have worked there for NINE years. My coworkers have guided me through engagement, marriage, miscarriage, masters work, doctorate work, the pregnancies and births of my two children, the death of a very close friend, marital conflicts, family issues, and many an existential crisis. I love them dearly--they truly are my family on so many levels.


(my coworkers: (L to R) Causha Vann-Innis, Miriam Perez, Mr. Cuthbert our principal, Akua Henderson-Brown--all these ladies are kick ass English teachers at Cobble Hill)

Which is why I couldn't catch my breath when Thai (whom I have worked with since she was a wee student teacher at our school) called me yesterday afternoon to tell me of the passing of Miriam Perez. Literally. My heart was racing--it was as if my brain could not process the information. I stood in front of Nico's daycare stunned.

Miriam and I have worked together for a long time; I can't remember my life at school without her. She had a dazzling smile, a love for poetry and poetry slams, documentary films (and made awesome Brooklyn tshirts!) and a hearty laugh that could warm a room. Over the years we had gotten closer and my gregarious self began to understand Miriam's more reserved personality. We began to laugh together, share stories of kids and our students, and be friends. I'll miss her presence in 212, our Humanities Teacher's Lounge. I can picture her there so clearly: at the end of the table, eating her healthy lunch and wearing her copper hoop earrings, maybe with her ipod on, trying to catch a moment of peace before teaching again.

I'll never forget the first time I saw Miriam outside of school--eight years ago?--at Prospect Park with a beautiful little girl at her side. Being me, I ran up to them and introduced myself and met her daughter, Afiya. She must have been 8 or 9 years old. She was lanky, had big, curious eyes, and a shy smile. Afiya has come to school many days with Miriam, and we have all be lucky to watch her grow into an amazing, grounded, confident, and intelligent similar-but-of-course-unique version of Miriam. I know Miriam's greatest love and focus in life was Afiya. I can't stop thinking of her and aching for her.

One of the things that has been touching about Miriam's passing is the response from her old students on Facebook. Teaching is such a thankless job; you never really know how the students feel about you until maybe--years later--you get a random email or friend request from a student who tells you how much you changed their lives. Those moments are rare and beautiful. Reading the students' comments about Miriam this morning demonstrated the love they had for her and the importance of her role as their teacher. Some have changed their profile pictures to her face. They are spreading the word and they, too, are shocked, sad, and aching.

Miriam--we all loved you at Cobble Hill, students and teachers alike. Thank you for staying at the school, year after year, amid many upheavals of teachers and administration; thank you for being so constant and consistent in your demeanor amid the craziness of our building; and thank you for being our friend and part of our family. We will all miss you deeply.

(my lovely coworkers at another coworker's wedding: (L to R) my Assistant Principal; Causha Vann-Innis, the bride; Miriam Perez; Katika Moore (we're still waiting for you to come back, Tika!); Thai Sanders; Akua Henderson-Brown. I was 2 weeks post-partum from Alexandra and not sadly there, but I got many texts from all of them during it!)

Happy?

I love both the simplicity and the message of this poster.
Food for thought today!

Sam & Maddy

I have got to post about our vacation before my mind decomposes into all dissertation and work talk.

Our vacation! It was lovely! I was in shock that we did it, made it, and enjoyed it after our first attempt at a vacation in early July, but it worked and restored my faith that we CAN do things with two kids and actually have a good time. In fact, while the idea of vacation has totally changed, in some ways it was even more wonderful to experience all these things with Alexandra, who remembers so much and has a constant running dialogue about all we do. I'm going to start at the end of our vacation and move backwards:

Our last leg of vacation was in New Paltz, New York. I had never been there, but it was gorgeous. Soft mountains, green lush surroundings, the smells....yum. We had an epic 11 hour car ride from Cape Cod to New Paltz which was a challenge, and we arrived in New Paltz in the dark, me driving like a grandma on the windy mountain roads to our rented cabin, but we made it. We walked into the red cabin, got the kids in bed, and I immediately passed out. It was chilly! You can't imagine how wonderful it felt to be a little cold at night.

We were in New Paltz for Sam & Maddy's wedding celebration. Well, they didn't officially get married, but it was a joining of the souls in ways that I found touching, genuine, and simply beautiful in its intentions. They had transformed a retreat center into a wedding venue; it was nestled in the mountainous terrain, fields and woods around it. So beautiful. I never realize how much I am practically starving for nature due to our urban existence until I am plopped in the middle of it.

They officiated their own ceremony with help from their families. The love they had for each other and that their families demonstrated for them was moving. The evening was full of group gatherings--the ceremony, a blessing before dinner, eating, dancing--all orchestrated by Sam & Maddy to bring together everyone they loved. Unlike any wedding I had ever attended, but perfect.

My favorite parts of the night were when Maddy's cousins toasted them and explained how Maddy was the type of person who constantly encouraged you to have a "critical pedagogy." So perfectly on spot! And Maddy's sister then did an interpretative dance/performance toast which was hilarious and heart-warming. I want to marry into Maddy's family!

Alexandra asked about a dozen times, "When are we going to dance?" We have been practicing our dancing each night after dinner for the two weddings we're attending this year. When the band came on she went BONKERS. Too cute. And she loved watching the old hippies (the parent generation) get down in the dance floor. Sometimes she'd stop dancing and just stare. I don't think she'd ever seen adults dance or seen men and women dance closely...You could see her mind taking it all in.

We stayed in colorful little cabins with some friends and the kids ran around wild, eating cherry tomatoes, visiting the two llamas the cabin owners used to mow the grass, and hiking on woodsy trails. Had me wishing we lived in a cabin commune where the kids could just run free and the parents could pop over to each others' houses at will.

We snuck back into the city before the Sunday traffic hit. It was great to get home, mainly for all the baby accoutrements that we enjoy in our apartment, but for about a week I found myself thinking Brooklyn was gross and craving a quieter, greener environment. But now I'm back into my city grind and happy. Although my mind is curious about life outside of New York...Maybe one day.

Congrats and love to you, Sam & Maddy. We look forward to sharing all the next phases of partnership with you both! Bring on those babies (wink, wink)!

(ps: Adam wore an ironic moustache to the wedding in cahoots with Brian. That's why, if you click on the kissing both photo, he looks like a child molester.)

Teenage Dream

My high school boyfriend, Trey, used to make fun of my propensity to determine a successful pop song. Give me any newly released album and I'll inevitably be drawn to the most unoriginal, peppy song that will be loved by the masses. It was true then, and I still love me a good pop song.

Which was why I wasn't surprised but still kinda embarassed when I caught Katy Perry's new song "Teenage Dream" and the video while watching VH1 on the elliptical machine yesterday morning. I watched the video longingly, like it was my past life (Ha--I wish!), but there is something about it that draws me back to my younger years that I tend to over-romanticize in my head.

Maybe it's just me trying to ignore the fact that I have spent another summer mostly staring at my computer (3rd in a row), writing a dissertation, wearing my underwear inside out half the time, and am currently wearing two different flip flops b/c I am too lazy to find the mate to either one. Wishful dreaming of a mythical youth long past...Don't know. But I felt justified when New York Magazine's Approval Matrix (I freakin' love the Approval Matrix) referenced the Katy Perry video as "nostalgic, oddly moving." See! I'm not alone here.

Can't embed the video, so click here to watch it.

Experience Necessary

Blah blah blah money blah blah blah.

I feel like that's been my life lately.

But last Sunday, in our cute little cabin in New Paltz, we listened to a NPR show about how money can make you happy, but it depends on WHAT and HOW you spend it as to how much happiness you experience. Fascinating story, and the same woman from the NPR show is featured in this article in the Times that my friend Julia posted on Facebook last night.

The main point I took away from this article is that you should spend you money on planned experiences and things that bolster human relationships rather than material items (a new couch, for example) because those things foster long term happiness mainly through memories. Such simple words, but so true. Some things you can't put a price on.

For example: The undergraduate debt that I am so close to paying off (I think I have about $3000 left) is mainly from my year abroad in France. That year cost triple or more than a regular year at UNC, but it formed me into the person I am today on so many levels I can and cannot measure. It birthed my love for travel, alone and with others and my love for cities, which led me to NYC and my life today. The friends and memories I have from that year pretty much define my adult life. I'd probably pay $200/month the rest of my life if I had to to have had that experience.

See also Kat & Eric's wedding in Mexico, my solo trip to India post-miscarriage, my summer in West Africa, and even last week's vacation--all of which I/we couldn't really afford to take but did anyways.

For some reason that article provided me with a moment of peace about our life. I'd rather live in an 800 square foot 1 bedroom apartment and have these city experiences and mini-vacations than live in a huge house with a gigantic mortgage and two name-brand cars, even if that means we have no solid long term investments. I hope to look back on my life and see a richness of people and places; I feel we're doing a good job at that right now.

(Photo of fishing net in cochi, india--where I was four years ago this month. How awesome is that?)

Manscaping

We're back from vacay and I'll post about it throughout this week, but I wanted to sneak in a quick post today about manscaping which was bought up hilariously on last week's "Entourage" in a conversation between Vince, Johnny Drama, and Turtle.

FYI: Manscaping is the act of keeping male body hair under control. It could mean a back wax or it could mean trimming/waxing/shaving/maintaining the hair down there. There are various degrees of manscaping, from those who get the BBB wax (balls/back/butt) to those who just go for a trimmy-trim to the various regions of male hair growth. Regardless, as Johnny Drama said, "It's 2010--you've got to manscape."

There are so many male:female double standards in this world, but I stand firm on the belief that men need to manscape. Why must I subject myself to getting my nether-regions waxed by my monosyllabic Russian lady when my partner can grow a chia pet? Why is an errant hair growing out of my armpit disgusting when he can have three inches of armpit hair caked with deodorant clumps? Seriously, world. I may still make 80 something cents to every dollar my husband makes (and that's pretty much true as we compared Social Security statements last night), but if I'm going to groom so is he.

And my opinions were justified by the brief but illuminating discussion on "Entourage" (August 8th episode). I have never really had a fondness for the LA area and its obsession with celebrity, cars, and plastic surgery, but if LA is where it's at for the manscaping movement, then LA, I love you.

Vacation?

In July we went to Black Point, the beach on the Long Island Sound that Adam grew up going to, with Adam's parents. It was a far cry from a vacation.

Alexandra threw about three tantrums a day. The beach was way too hot to go down to during any regular human being hours, there was NO shade, and it was 100 degrees even at the water. The beach house had no AC. Nico would wake at 5am and we couldn't let him cry until 6am b/c it would have woken up the whole house, so we were up at 5am. We had to eat out every night b/c it was too hot to cook, and, for any of you with a tantrum-y toddler and a 10 month old with ninja arms, you know that eating out isn't really much fun. As much as my in-laws were overly gracious, it just was not a good time.

We were thrown. Was THAT a vacation? We called our daycare to see if the kids could come back early, drove home during the night to sleep in our ACed apt, and eagerly tossed them in daycare the next morning. Then we went to brunch, came home and napped, and looked at each other with that, "What the eff have we done to our lives?!" look of parental desperation. Never again, we vowed.

And then our dear friends Brian and Susannah invited us to join them at the Cape this coming week. We honestly thought we'd just say no and staycation: keep the kids in daycare, hit some museums, nap, make out, drink beer with lunch, etc. But then we got sucked back into the idea of leaving town, a geographical shift from the melting city streets, and next thing you know we're going.

Our whirlwind vacation starts in CT, onto Cape Cod, and finishes with a wedding in New Paltz. Wish us luck. I must admit, my expectations aren't too high. If I can have a drink with Susla each night and shoot the sh*t for an hour before we all pass out at 10 (b/c Nico will inevitably wake at 5am, esp w/o his darkening shades) I'm going to call it a good trip.

Back August 15th. I'm sure I'll have much to write about.
(Photo of Alexandra & I at the Cape, 2008)

Mama's Speedball

I'll admit, that I have never done heavy drugs. Some light dabbling in college and in my twenties, but that's about the extent of my drug use. Goody goody two shoes for the most part.

Lately Alexandra has started offering me beer. No, I'm not like Betty Draper on Mad Men with my 3 year old daughter running to the fridge, grabbing a brewski and our pink parrot beer opener (a mother's day present from my friend/coworker/neighbor Jess who must have known of my need for a bottle opener that would be attractive to children), and handing me a cold one as I lounge on our crappy barf-stained couch eating bonbons. Unfortunately we're not at that literal level of play yet.

But whenever she's making pretend drinks at the beach, in the tub, in her kitchen, or with Nico she always runs over to me and either offers me a pretend coffee or a pretend beer. Obviously, that's all she thinks I drink.

And, you know, besides one cup of juice with breakfast and copious amounts of water, that is pretty much all a drink. It's mama's speedball. I get my high off my cup of coffee in the morning and another around 3pm and come down with a beer at night (usually only on weekends and I can barely finish one for those of you about to send me a link to AA). Some folks opt for the original speedball (cocaine then heroin), but I am fully addicted to the mama interpretation of one.

I'm sure I'm not alone in this one.

Alexandra has also said, "When I'm a grown up, I can drink coffee and beer!" Yeah, sweetie--you can. But until then, mama's speedball is only for mama.