Nico is One

My baby boy turned one on September 22nd.

The births of my children punctuate the school year. Alexandra's birthday falls on one of my last days of work before summer break; Nico's birthday is nestled into the first three weeks of back to school/work insanity. I guess I could have planned that better, knowing that both of those times are professional moments when I'm pretty stressed out, but the one thing having kids has taught me is that while I am forming the most beautiful and best-laid plans in my head (and often, even in illustrated spreadsheets on paper) their little bodies have plans of their own that will, inevitably, overthrow my plans in a skinny minute. But that's not always a bad thing.

Nothing speaks more loudly to this than my accidental/surprise pregnancy that produced Nico. When I peed on the stick that told me I was pregnant, I wept. I was NOT happy. When I found out we were having a boy, I was NOT happy. For about half of my pregnancy with him I was feeling nothing in terms of bonding with the baby. Actually, that was probably more than half of my pregnancy. Even when I was in labor, I was wishing Nico would come out as a girl. And while I, of course, took exquisite care of myself and Nico internally while pregnant, I could not help but constantly think about how this child had derailed my plans for my doctorate work, my job, our finances, etc.

And then he came out, and none of that mattered.

As corny as it sounds, the minute I met Nico all those feelings instantly evaporated. I was so happy he was a boy, and I continue to feel that way every minute of every day. I love having a son; it's different than having a daughter in ways I can't even explain that are so beautiful and intense and powerful. Nico's radiant personality and easy going self and infectious smile have made our small hill of debt because of double daycare more than worthwhile. He has brought such a richness and balance to our family that he'd be worth any unforeseen challenge or change we'd have to make b/c of life with 2 kids 2 years apart. I look at him and just think of how lucky we are to have him in our lives.

I still have moments of maternal guilt over the lack of enthusiasm I had for his creation and gestation; I'm not sure I'll ever fully forgive myself for those feelings. But Nico is the best unplanned event in my life, and, in a lot of ways, his arrival showed me that planning isn't always the best way to go.

Brooklyn Tornado

In addition to the total stress of returning to work at a school with a new principal and a new job title for myself, there was a freakin' tornado the first week of work. Yes, you read that correctly--a TORNADO here in Brooklyn. Yep.

It was Thursday, September 9th. I decided to pick the kids up early b/c I had finished at work and was missing them big time. I walked to Alexandra's daycare, got her, and we noticed that the sky was getting stormy looking, but just gray, moving clouds and a breeze. We walked the 12 blocks to Nico's daycare, got a snack along the way, picked up Nico, and headed up our street. We stopped and chatted with Miss Gertrude, the old lady who lives on our block who loves Alexandra and Nico. After catching up for a bit, it started to thunder and lighting right on top of us. Thunder, then lightening, one after the other really fast. I said to Alexandra, "Let's run home so we don't get wet!" and we ran up the street. Me wearing Nico and my backpack, Alexandra and her backpack.

We made it into our apartment just as the rain started. I took Nico out of the Ergo carrier, got our shoes off and we were in the apartment when it really started looking strange out. Thing is, our windows were closed b/c our landlords were having work done on their deck and there had been a lot of dirt/dust blowing into our apt, so I couldn't hear the raging storm outside. But when I looked out the kitchen window upon entering our apartment from the hallway it was pitch black. I said to Alexandra, "Wow, it's really dark out there, let's go see!" (I love a good thunderstorm and so does she) and I picked Nico back up, we ran to her window which faces our backyard, she climbed her radiator to see outside better, and I stood there in shock by what I saw.

Outside was now a pea green color. I couldn't see the apartment building behind us (it's only 60 feet away). Everything was going SIDEWAYS and there were branches, leaves, and dirt just twisting around so fast you couldn't tell what was what. After looking at it transfixed for about half a second, my brain registered a huge "What the f*ck is that?!" and I grabbed Alexandra off the radiator, told her to go to the hallway, grabbed our transistor radio, and shut us out of our apartment into our windowless hallway. Alexandra said, "Mommy, I'm a little scary...."

I tuned the radio to 1010 Wins (the local news radio)--nothing. I tuned to NPR--nothing. WTH? I was pretty sure there was a tornado raging outside my window but nobody was saying anything. I felt like a crazy person. I kept waiting for someone to say something--nothing. After about 5 minutes the doors to the hallway stopped rattling and we ventured back into the apartment. Only then did the radio announce a tornado warning for Brooklyn and Queens. Duh. Thanks for the heads up.

I called my next door neighbor and coworker Jess and she confirmed that she thought it was a tornado. It wasn't until a day later that official weather folks declared, based on their data, that there had been two separate tornados--one in Brooklyn, one in Queens. Brooklyn winds around 95 mph, Queens around 115.

We went for a walk after dinner to see the destroyed neighborhood. Huge beautiful trees (why I love Park Slope) laid all over like corpses. Branches had been ripped off and thrown 30 feet from the tree. Cars smashed. Store windows blown out. One block from our house a Saab was left in the middle of the road after a tree fell both behind it and in front of it--abandoned by the terrified driver. It was like a movie set here.

But the strange thing is that the tornado didn't really touch the ground. Heavy pots still stood on stoops, our yard toys got pushed around by the wind but weren't hanging from the trees. The tornado seemed to dance over the rooftops and treetops, ripping trees and roofs off, but thankfully leaving the ground fairly unscathed all things considered.

While I have a more than shaky relationship with my belief in God, I'm so thankful that for some unknown reason I decided to grab my kids early that day. We walked in the door less than 5 minutes before the tornado hit. Stuff like that just gets you thinking...

First Day. Dammit.

Back to work this week. Got up on Tuesday and Alexandra was particularly peeved with my sense of purpose to the morning, especially that I didn't have time read to her or put her baby's diaper on, or dance with her to Michael Jackson. The world knows I am not, nor have I EVER been, a morning person. My mom says that I used to sleep so late as a baby that she'd come in to make sure I was still breathing (why neither of my children inherited that gene is plain sad). Therefore, when I have to wake early, I am not to be bothered. I am cranky, focused, and my mind is already in the classroom.

So, this week was hard for her As much as I tried to pull myself out of my myopic "Must get to work on time" mode, it wasn't enough for her. And the fact that I leave between 7:15-7:30 (they leave right before 8) got her all upset. Each day I left to her crying for me. As all mothers know--NOT the best way to start a day.

I have been trying to spend more time with her in the evenings to compensate. Nico just stopped his morning nap and only takes an afternoon nap, therefore he's exhausted and in bed by 7, leaving Alexandra to me & daddy for an hour. That's good for her. She's not happy with our new schedule in the morning, as evidenced by this conversation:

Setting: me tucking her into bed.

Alexandra: I missed you this morning, Mommy.
Me: I missed you, too, honey. But Mommy has to go to work now. School started and mommy's a teacher, so I have to go teach.

Pause.

Alexandra: Dammit.
Me: What?
Alexandra: Dammit.
Me: You mean, slam it?
Alexandra: No, I said "dammit" and I mean "dammit."
Me: Goodnight, honey.

Dammit pretty much summarizes how I feel about the summer being over, too, but sheesh. I guess a mommy with a salty mouth = a baby girl with one, too. Crazy thing is, I don't really say "dammit." Go figure.

My Hour of Bliss

This summer has been both lovely and hell. I am so excited to return to work to simply get away from this freakin' computer that I have been glued to all day, every day. I am tired of sitting in a chair all day and look forward to running around rabid at school. This is why teachers need summers, folks.

Of course, not going to work is wonderful in so many ways. I can work out in the morning instead of at night, I can poop in my own bathroom, I can grab small amounts of groceries easily, I can fold laundry without Alexandra around to destroy my piles...They are small things, but they really do improve my quality of life.

But my favorite part of the whole summer has been this routine Adam and I have going. The kids have been waking at 5:50/6am, so I'll get up, get Nico's bottle, chat with Alexandra and then, when Adam gets up at 6:15 I hand the kids over, go back into our air conditioned room, turn on the white noise machine, and sleep for one hour.

I don't know why, but that one hour is sleep is pure bliss. It's deep, I dream crazy dreams, and often I have a hard time waking from it. I have been wondering why I sleep so soundly for that hour when I sleep lightly and fitfully most of the night. Is it because I know the kids are up with Adam? Is it pure exhaustion that knocks me out? Who knows....but it's heavenly.

I'll miss that hour when I go back to work next Tuesday. In fact, tomorrow will be my last hour of bliss of the summer b/c our weekends have a different schedule to them. Next week, when I wake at 6am with the kids I'll hop in the shower, have a new aura of stress around me, and will have teaching on my mind.

Goodbye summer and your tiny, beautiful surprises.

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!)