Meat in your Mouth

One of the best things about having Alexandra was befriending Amy & James. I'm not even sure of the chronology of our meeting, but Amy and I did pre-natal yoga together, then we met them again at a breastfeeding class at RealBirth, and then we ran into them at a baby store in the 'hood, and then at the now extinct Virgin Megastore at Union Squre...Soon it became obvious we should be friends.

Our first year as parents we spent a lot of time at their apt, Amy & I nursing, eventually the kids kinda playing, and James cooking. James' cooking is like a gift from God--it's better than any restaurant I have ever eaten in and his specialty is meat. Everything he makes is good, but whenever James roasts or grills a piece of meat it is unbelievable.

This weekend was no exception. We took the train up to Rhinebeck and to hang out and catch up. Somehow, with the advent of our kids turning 2, we haven't found much time this summer to get together.

Dinner last night...amazing. James made lamb on the grill with some sort of mint pesto rubbed into it, along with grilled figs, squash, corn...It was all delicious, but the lamb...Heaven. For someone who hasn't liked meat this pregnancy, I certainly put away a lot of lamb last night.

This post is a shout out to James-the-meat-roaster. We joked that if I were to write a eulogy for him, I'd quote the BBQ caterer's truck from my friends Brenda and Evan's rehearsal dinner in Baltimore (photo above): "James Luria--his meat tastes good in your mouth."

John Hughes: the man, not the movie

I wanted to write something about John Hughes today, about how seeing boobs in "Sixteen Candles" made me excited to have some one day, how I have shown "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" on many a field trip to urban kids who have never seen the movie but then ADORE it (who doesn't love a story of skipping school, dysfunctional families, and overzealous school administrators?), etc....

But then my friend Mary posted this girl's blog post on Facebook and I read it and got teary.

Quite a glimpse of John Hughes the man instead of John Hughes the brilliant movie-making machine that defined my generation. This post is additionally a tribute to the now somewhat lost art of letter writing and how letters simply resonate in a way emails/tweets/blogs just can't. Beautiful.

Thanks for sharing your story with us, Alison.

Park Slopers! Give these folks your business!

Being the size of a small whale in the summer greatly limits my ability to get around much. I went into Manhattan about four weeks ago with a list of places to hit, got to Babies R Us and Whole Foods for lunch, and then gave up from exhaustion and went home. That said, I have been around Park Slope a lot.

In addition to being preggers, we moved, which creates a list of needs that range from an expensive portable AC for the whale-mama to those little mirror clips so that the mirror doesn't bow out and make me look even fatter than I am. I have been hunting and gathering in this 'hood for weeks, and I wanted to share with you the little tidbits of joy I have found at various establishments. Give these folks your business--they are golden.

1. Leopoldi's Hardware, 5th Ave between 7th and 8th Streets: This place looks insane inside; they literally have stuff stacked floor to ceiling but their peeps know exactly where everything is. The two Leopoldi brothers run it, their mom works there, and I know of at least one Leopoldi son who works there. They are Brooklyn-y (love the accents), helpful, and will get what you want if they don't have it. And the place has that glorious smell of hardware stores that I remember from growing up--like fertilizer and dirt and manliness. They rock.

2. J&R Appliances, 7th Ave near Union Street: A small space that pales in comparison to Best Buy and Lowes and those other mega-stores, but they are awesome. Has been open since the 40's and the guys there will get anything for you that those big stores have and they'll match the price, provide free delivery, and walk your shiz up to your apartment. We bought a mac daddy portable AC from them and it was a dud. They sent a repair guy within two days of our call, he confirmed it was a dud, and they called Friedrich and argued with them for a new one b/c they knew I was pregnant, irritable, and would probably go on a killing rampage if I didn't have an AC. If it hadn't been for them, we'd be out $600 and be waiting around for an eternity for a new AC via those Friedrich guys. I heart those guys at J&R. For real.

3. Park Slope Yoga Center, Union Street b/t 6th and 7th: I have been doing yoga pretty regularly since I was 22 (13 years!) and have been in a lot of studios. PSYC is not pretty--I'll admit that--but after practicing at OM and Jivamutki in the city the lack of commercialization at PSYC is a breath of fresh air = I can go in there w/o feeling the need to buy a pair of $100 yoga pants. Their props are only okay, but their teachers are great. Also, if you buy a class pass they aren't yoga nazis about it--if you don't finish the pass in the allotted amount of time they're generous (unlike OM, where you couldn't use a class past the expiration date to save your life). Also, if you buy a class card while preggers they give you two years (!) to use it up b/c they know your life and your free time are about to be flushed down the toilet upon the birth of your child. Beautiful.

Just had to give some shout-outs. These little things have meant a big deal to me lately.

Birthing Fears

In an effort not to read academic articles last night I pulled out my big ol' file of materials from the birthing classes we took when pregnant with Alexandra. As I have mentioned, we have done nothing to prepare for this birth--no class, no hospital visit, no reading, nada. I started thinking it was time.

The material wasn't new to me--I remember the phases: early labor, active labor, transition; I remember the positions: walking stairs, leaning over bed, on birthball, the "slow dance" (which doesn't work for us b/c husband is too tall), etc. I read through all the packets of information from RealBirth (the best place ever to take birth classes in NYC, if anyone needs some) and laid in bed TERRIFIED.

Why is it that having done this before is bringing me so little solace? I know I can do it, but I am scared to do it all again. I vividly remember how much it hurt, how my poo-cat looked and felt afterwards, and how much I screamed my head off. And I know that eventually, things go back to a new normal of sorts, but the body is never really the same (esp the girl parts). I also remember the incredible joy of holding Alexandra for the first time, the instant stoppage of pain once she was out, and the surge of oxytocin that was like no high I had ever experienced. So why am I freaking out?

I guess this is a case of ignorance is bliss.

Photo of Alexandra right after birth, June 25th, 2007

Mommy's Penis

My belly button didn't pop out with Alexandra and I was kinda bummed about it. I thought that it was a routine part of pregnancy, and I certainly wasn't small when fully pregnant with her, but it just stayed fairly tucked in and that was that.

Not this time. The belly button has been acting suspiciously for a couple weeks now (see this post) and I noticed last night (after a day of feeling icky and sore and definitely growing) that it was officially all the way out now.

And it's not as cute as I thought it would be. When wearing a thin shirt, it looks like I have a Bermuda Triangle of nipples (my boobs and my belly button). When my shirt is off, it's curious looking.

So curious that this morning, when changing Alexandra's diaper and getting her dressed, my tank top (which is pretty much a half shirt) was up and my belly hanging out and she pointed to my belly button and said, "Mommy's penis." Yeah, that's how far out it is. It took me a while to figure out what she was saying, but then it was clear as day. My belly button is so far out that to her it looks like a little penis.

I quickly corrected her and said that mommy has a poo-cat like her and that only boys have penises but she pointed at it and plucked it a bit and repeated "Mommy's penis."

Well, chalk that up to another adventure in pregnancy. I now have a minuscule penis.

Let me sell you my used crap for retail value!

Since I am home "writing my dissertation" and have a 2 year old and am pregnant with #2, I spend a decent amount of time trolling the classifieds of Park Slope Parents, the listserv that serves my neighborhood and a large swath of Bklyn. On this listserv, folks post things that they are ISO or trying to unload, name a price, and oftentimes are successful in selling the baby/kids/home-related products they are done using. It's quite beautiful when it works--it saves items from going into a landfill, you get to make a few bucks, and the stuff that was taking up so much space in your tiny apartment is magically removed and usually given to another sweet family. I have genuinely enjoyed meeting all the folks who have come to pick up our stuff.

But lately the classifieds have been killing me. Folks just don't get the concept of "used" and/or they're greedy, broke, or just plain stupid. Let me give you some examples:

Phil & Teds doubles stroller for sale: new price $900 (with all accoutrements), selling for $750. What's wrong with this post? Well, duh, your stroller is USED. That means there's Cheerio dust, baby barf, drool, possibly poop, and general wear and tear on it. I don't care if you "only" used it 10 months. Ten months of stroller use must be multiplied by ten in Brooklyn, where most of us depend on our strollers for everyday survival. Why on earth would I buy your used stroller for only $150 less than a brand spanking new stroller? Seriously, guys. Get over yourself.

Boob nursing top: new price $60, and let me quote here, "will accept $50." Oh, really? You "will accept" $50? Claims never to have worn it. STILL! Even if you're not lying, you effed up, bought a way expensive nursing top, and then you didn't wear it. And now you want close to retail value for it? HA. Again, get over yourself. I just posted a Boob nursing dress, retail $80, worn twice, for $20. SOLD in a skinny minute.

Design Within Reach couch: new price $1800, for sale for $1200. Again, dudes, you bought a wildly expensive couch BEFORE you had kids and now you can't fit it into your apartment? What were you thinking? Sell that shizz as fast as possible, give yourself a slap on the wrist, and go get that baby swing and bouncy seat that will suck up space in your apartment like a black hole.

So lately, instead of reading Park Slope Parents for actual shopping, I just read it to make fun of people. I know we're in a recession and everyone needs an extra buck, but pawning off your used items for anything more than 50% of original retail value is just plain ridiculous.

Goodbye 335

Our last box is unpacked and we have officially moved from 335 8th Street, a brownstone in which we lived in three of the four apartments for the past 7 1/2 years.


first bath, 2007

We were laying in bed the other night recounting the memories we have of 335. We actually have a file in our file cabinet labeled 335--full of hateful notes between us and the crazy dog lady who lives upstairs, cards, receipts, sketches of the wall Adam built for Alexandra's room when we moved into the garden apartment, random/funny mail, and a whole separate file within the 335 file of memories of our friend and neighbor, Eric, who abruptly passed away while we were all living at 335.


good-bye party for lisa when she moved to london, 2003

Some monumental 335 moments:
--when the Tower of Lights at the WTC footprint was lit, we could see it from our bed in the 3rd floor apartment at 335
--beginning of War in Iraq one month after we moved into 335
--we both completed our Master's degrees while at 335
--got engaged at 335
--Kat & Eric, our downstairs neighbors, drove us to the train station to get to our wedding the weekend of the Blackout after drinking lots of beer and eating lots of ice cream in the dark the night before at 335
--lost our first pregnancy at 335
--lost Eric while living at 335
--found out Kat was pregnant 2 weeks after Eric died at 335
--water broke in kitchen at 335
--brought Alexandra home to 335
--many a drunken party at 335 (many hosted with Kat & Eric)
--cat boy's existence (the building's ghost) at 335
--the secret hidden grow room behind the sauna at 335
--kitty communication between the apartments at 335
--the paper thin floors at 335
--our gigantic party bathroom (now contradicted by the smallest bathroom ever in this apt!) at 335
--Adam almost getting shot by the crazy dog lady neighbor for looking at the lunar eclipse at 335
--Obama was elected and we watched it with Jen & Mary at 335
--all of our babies conceived at 335
--met biological mom and half-sister, found biological dad while living at 335
--traveled to: Israel, Japan, England, Serbia, Costa Rica, Mexico (twice), Puerto Rico, & India while living at 335 and always so happy to come home
--"Puppy, NO!" "Want some meat cookies?" "Shake, Jack, shake!" and trash rummaging

God, the list goes on.


Christmas Tree, 2005

And even before I moved into 335, it was one of the first places where I hung out when moving to NYC. Kat & Eric were close friends with Virgil, my first friend here, and we'd go to their house to watch the X-Files, eat dinner, and drink beer on rotation every third week. With this in mind, I had been hanging out at 335 for 2 years before I moved into the building. My entire NYC existence revolves around 335.

But it was time to say goodbye to 335, our crazy landlord Gordo, the quirky stained glass/columns and functioning sauna and the history of the building. We have handed over each apartment as we moved out to good friends who will undoubtedly form their own sweet and bittersweet memories there. And, we didn't go far--we moved next door (!)--but our time there was done.

Goodbye 335. We love you and all you added to our lives.


Backyard, 2008