Wish me luck and cross your fingers for me

I'm going to look at an apartment tonight. Well, Jude and I are going to look at an apartment. It's only a block from our place now and it's got a brand new kitchen! It has a dishwasher! A dishwasher, people. Theoretically I could have a dishwasher that's not named Matthew.

It's $200 more per month than our current place, but the kitchen is totally renovated and it's a 2 bedroom. We're in a 1 bedroom now and it works, but how much longer will it work with all 3 of us in the same room? TMI Alert: I love being that close to Jude, but Mommy & Daddy are adults in an adult relationship. It's kind of hard to get into things when you know there's a baby in that crib 5 feet from your bed... if you catch my drift. This kidlet has been around for almost 10 weeks now. Mommy needs some lovin' and the day shift hasn't been working lately.

Another bonus: the bldg has 4 units and each tenant has a dog! The owner was super nice on the phone, so I am really hoping this is the place for us. It would be a HUGE weight off my mind.

So, send some love my way and cross those fingers for me.

Operation: Mind Off Labor

(disclaimer: those are not my feet, although I wish they were)

I slept for an ungodly 11 hours last night. Apparently I needed the rest. It was a good thing since I haven't been sleeping well the past couple of weeks. I'd get comfortable and start to nod off, but then have to shift my hips because I had sciatica pain or the baby's position was making it hard for me to get a full breath of air. Just super fun late term pregnancy stuff. But last night? Last night I slept like I was going for the gold. Snoozed like a log. Pretty awesome stuff.

Today my mission is to occupy my time with things that don't have anything to do with babies or being pregnant. I'm trying to keep my mind off of my mounting frustration with labor starting and stopping, so I'm going to get some loose ends tied up and slip a little pampering into the schedule, too.

First on the list was to find out how to finalize my short term disability claim once the baby is born (Yes, that's how my employer does maternity leave, folks... it's a short term disability claim for a fraction of my pay - makes new moms feel awesome! I can't wait to be disabled. Groan.) I got my claim # and filed all that stuff away, so that's one thing checked off the list.

Next was to make an appointment to get a pedicure. Oh, the life! I got a gift certificate for my birthday back in September and have been saving it for a rainy day. Well, it's grey and kinda rainy out there and my feet could use some beautifying. So, in a couple of hours I'll hop on the subway and head to one of my favorite parts of Brooklyn to get my feet "all cuted up" for free at an adorable little salon.

On the way home, if I'm not totally wiped out in the energy department I'll stop by the library and return a DVD (woefully overdue - I've become that person!) and maybe check out a book or two.

Later on tonight I'll patch a pair of Matthew's jeans (yes, we're jeans patchers... he has his favorite pairs and they tend to wear out in choice spots - prime patching opportunities abound in this household), maybe check out online what exhibits are coming up at the Brooklyn Library, then have some friends over for dinner. That sounds like a pretty full day. A full day of stuff not having to do with fixating on labor and delivery.

We'll see how it all goes.

Get it?

Matthew took this photo yesterday. We've been saying how funny it would be to get a pic of the bump under the BUMP sign for months now. Good thing we finally took one. No clue how much longer there will be a bump instead of a baby. Been having contractions on and off since last week. Really looking forward to actual labor. Since Thursday I've been 1 centimeter dilated and in a holding pattern. I've been trying to keep my mind off of things as much as possible, but it's hard. Being calm and letting go of anxiety when every move you make is uncomfortable is not easy.

Orange you glad I didn't say "banana"?

This was taped in my neighborhood this week. Not just in my 'hood, on my block. Too funny. This is the kind of zany thing that makes me love Brooklyn even more.



By the way, I totally missed my 4 year blogiversary last month. So yeah, been spewing my own brand of nonsense across cyberspace for 4 years now.

I know you didn't just toss that.

Lyn reminded me of something I meant to write about here last week and then life got in my way. Let's hop in the way-back machine and go to last Wednesday. I'll set the scene...

I was walking to the subway around 4PM to go into Manhattan to get a massage. Have I mentioned that my massage therapist is also my doula? It's such a sweet deal. Anyway, back to the matter at hand. I was walking to the train and it was broad daylight. For some reason, that strikes me as a very important part of the story. Broad daylight, folks. I was headed down the block and a teenager approaching from the opposite direction took the last sip from his Snapple bottle, put the cap back on, and when he was about 10' from me he tossed it on the ground.

He. Tossed. It. On. The. Ground.

This goes back to the broad daylight comment - it was not dark, it was not in a bad part of town, the kid was not the only person on the block at the time. In fact, there was a middle aged man walking right behind him who said nothing. The man said not a word. So, if you know anything about me at all, you know that I 1) cry at the drop of a hat, 2) really hate puking, and 3) believe wholeheartedly that it is up to each of us as individuals to stand up and speak up when we see things happening that are not OK by our societal standards. If we don't do #3 we (the royal WE) are destined to let bad crap happen over and over until we decay into the kind of people none of us want to be.

Again, back to the matter at hand. The young man tossed his bottle on the ground and I look to the older man to say something. I wasn't looking for an out, I just happen to think that perhaps a few guiding words from an older black man would have more of an affect on a black teenaged male than those same words from a 31 yr old me. The man said nothing, so I realized quickly that it was my responsibility to speak up.

"I'm sure you accidentally dropped that bottle, my friend. I'm sure you didn't just toss that."

Silence, the kid kept walking but glanced back at me.

"You really think it's OK to toss your trash around this neighborhood? We both live here and I'll tell you right now that's not OK."

At this point people are looking at me, but no one is looking at the kid and no one is joining in what should be a chorus of sane voices speaking up against ridiculous behavior.

"Alright, I see how you want to play this one. I'll pick this up for you this time since your mother clearly isn't here to clean up after you and I refuse to live in a neighborhood covered in trash. I'm bending down now (getting louder at this point to make sure he can hear me halfway down the block) to pick up your trash. All 9 months pregnant of me, cleaning up after your sorry self. I really hope your mother doesn't know you act this way. Have a great day!"

I picked up the bottle, carried it to the corner, deposited it into someone's recycling bin and that's when I heard the laughter. There was a teenaged couple walking behind me laughing and I heard the boy say to the girl, "Yo, she picked up that fucking bottle, yo! She fucking picked that shit up! Hahahahaha!"

"It's funny to you? It's not funny to me, and it wasn't hard, either. I picked up someone else's mess because I live here. Did you grow up here? Do you want this place where you grew up to look like shit because someone else is too selfish and lazy to take care of his own business? I bet you don't. I'm sure you don't want that."

Another important note in this story is that I didn't get heated. My tone of voice was calm and assertive, but not aggressive. No use in acting like a crazy person just because I'm pissed off. You do far more good when you're calm than you do when you're irate and just screaming at folks. It's like when I need a seat on the subway because I'm hugely pregnant and people are acting like they don't notice or acting like they're sleeping (mmm hmm, both of those happen all the time). I don't get all huffy. Instead, I calmly go to the largest, strongest man sitting down and ask politely if he would mind giving me his seat. "Excuse me, sir? Would you mind if I took your seat? I hate to ask, but I'm 9 months pregnant and my balance is pretty awful." It works every time. No yelling, no crazy antics. That man (and everyone else on the train) is far more likely to notice the next pregnant woman and give her a seat instead of remembering the loony pregnant chick they saw on the train yelling at some dude.

Moral of the story? Do good, be good. When you see something that doesn't fall into either category, calmly encourage the person doing it to reconsider. You just might make a real difference. It's not as gratifying as screaming in outrage in the exact moment it's happening, but 30 seconds later you'll feel so good you might surprise yourself.

We got dumped on!

We have 9 inches and It's still coming down!

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groan

I woke up this morning feeling pretty lousy. It felt like I hadn't slept much, even though I got a good night's sleep. I threw up in the sink while I was brushing my teeth, but felt like it was just a fluke, just a one time thing. I muddled through the rest of my getting ready routine and had some water and some juice, planned on getting breakfast at the office, and walked out the door.

The walk to the train was pretty uneventful. I took it slow and eventually joined the ranks of the Brooklyn straphangers waiting on the platform for the subway. Typically the trains come minutes apart, so when the wait got past the 25 minute mark I was getting antsy and really wishing I could sit down. The platform was more and more packed by the minute. I leaned forward to see if I could see the light of a train coming...

And then I puked into the tracks. Ugh. It was horrible. Loads of people around. A young mom with her baby in a stroller gave me a tissue and told me to drink lots of water very slowly so I wouldn't get dehydrated. I walked home, crying the whole way (combination of my typical reaction when I throw up and the pregnancy hormones, I'm sure), called my boss and told him I had just gotten sick on the subway platform. I've been taking it easy since then and I just ate an English muffin. Hopefully that will stay down and everything will be fine.

Just a lousy day. No big deal. 4 & 1/2 weeks left until the baby's due date predicted by my sonogram. I want those weeks to fly by!

He's got an ego now

This morning Duke and I were out for a walk. We turned the corner right near our house and saw a small group of people standing about halfway down the block. As we got closer I noticed that one of them had a clipboard, one was wearing headphones, and one was holding a video camera. They were obviously some sort of film crew.

Then it dawned on me - This Old House is shooting right around the corner from our house and this must be their crew. They were standing across the street from the brownstone townhouse they're renovating for the show. It's the first time they've come to NYC and they chose Brooklyn... in our neighborhood... right around the corner! Just as I realized who they were they turned and saw Duke. Hilarity ensued.

Duke isn't one to blend into a crowd and there was no crowd, so he was bound to be noticed. The cameraman and another crew member immediately started talking to him and asking me what kind of dog he is and how old he is, etc, etc. Both are obvious "dog people" and Duke sensed it right away. There was much petting and rubbing and tail wagging in return. Before we knew it they were asking us if we had a few minutes to help them out with their opening shot for the show.

Watch This Old House on your local PBS station 5 weeks from now (episode 6 in this NYC series) and you'll see the Duke and I walk past the host as he gives the opening blurb about the house and what you'll see in the episode. I'm the blond wearing the black coat (which covered my PJs!!), waddling down the street. Duke is the big, orange dog.

He got so much praise just for walking a few times (several takes) that he pranced home all puffed up and proud of himself. He's been sleeping like a rock ever since, but for a brief moment, his celebrity ego was stroked and he was very lively.

le sigh

This makes me sad.

For 100 years the USPS has run a program called Operation Santa. Children from all over the country send their letters to Santa to the North Pole. Post offices collect these letters, sort through them to find the most compelling (usually from needy kids), and for the past 100 years in one form or another have made them available to the public so you could respond to a child's letter if you wished.

This week, without explanation or warning, the USPS suspended the program. People showed up to New York's post offices expecting to sift through the cardboard boxes of kids' letters to find the one they'd play Santa with... only to find no boxes, no letters. Apparently there was some sort of privacy issue (a registered sex offender responded to a child's letter) and now the entire program is gone.

I understand that pedophiles should be kept away from our children, it's obvious that should be the case. However, have we reached the point in our society where we are truly willing to make everyone pay for the crimes of a few? The answer, my friends, is yes. We've been there for a long time now. Look at the precautions we all need to take at airports these days. When is the last time you personally brought liquid explosives on your travels? Oh, you haven't done that? Well, someone did so now you can't take your favorite shampoo with you on that flight to Tahiti.

There are children in my neighborhood who have probably written letters to Santa asking him for a warm coat for Christmas this year because their parents had to choose between a new coat or a week's groceries. Who is going to answer those letters now? This "one bad apple" theory really stinks.

I'm trying not to get too bogged down by this negativity, so instead let me end this post on a light note. I support a wonderful charity called the Pajama Program here in NYC. Did you know that most children in the foster care/shelter system don't have pajamas? They have no bedtime routine that includes snuggly sleepy clothes and comforting fabrics. This year I contributed PJs in teenage girl sizes. Often, the babies and small kids are thought of first and the teenagers are an afterthought. Some girl will receive a great flannel set of PJs and a robe from me this year. I feel really good about it. If you're looking for something charitable to do this season you can contribute pajamas to the Pajama Program.

Brooklyn is Obama country

Another great video from my neighbor - footage of the celebrations in the street last night. This was one block over from my house. It was amazing! My friend and I ran out into the street as soon as NBC called the election for Obama and people were flooding out of their homes, dancing, cheering, banging pots and pans. Cars driving by honked their horns and we could hear cheers all across the neighborhood.

Welcome to my neighborhood

This is a video taken by my neighbor this morning at 6:30. He walked the length of the line to get into our polling place (only 2 blocks from my house). It was so cool to see so many people I recognize from the neighborhood all waiting together so early in the morning.

Matthew and I lucked out - we went at 6:10PM and there was no line at all. We walked in and walked right out. Pretty amazing! We would have been glad to wait this morning, but he had to get to work and we knew it would take more than an hour. We rolled the dice and took our chances with an evening vote instead. It paid off!

I love this video because even that early in the morning and with a line that long no one seemed upset or peeved, everyone just seemed happy to be voting.

We can see Russia from here. Wonder if they like cookies.

I came across this article today while doing my routine browse of the online New York Times version. We get home delivery on weekends, but I still can't break away from going to the online version after I read the tree-based one. Old habits die hard.

This op-ed piece so clearly demonstrates my views on the S. Palin fervor that there's not much need to do more than post the link. Bob Herbert speaks right to me.

Appropriately enough, I found this article right after Hubs and I came back from a walk. A walk on which we bought some homemade oatmeal raisin cookies from 2 little girls who were having a Bake Sale For Obama around the corner from our house. They set up a chalkboard easel with "Cookies for Obama" written on it, they covered 2 milk crates with tea towels and they sat on their stoop with their mom selling cookies so they could send the money to Obama's campaign. If that's not grassroots activism I don't know what is.

As for the cookies, moist and chewy and delicious. Obamalicious, one might say.

Complacency

It’s a word that drives me nuts. Complacency. I despise it. To me, it’s the worst trait we have developed as Americans. As citizens of the world, actually. Complacency makes us decide that the path of least resistance is the best course. Complacency makes it easy for us to do nothing. We don’t speak up. We don’t react well. Proactivity? What’s that?

I am tired of complacency. I want people to speak up. I want people to stop thinking they can’t change anything, so it’s not worth it to even try. As a kid, if I was doing something wrong I expected adults to reprimand me. For the record, as a kid, the worst thing I did was chase a neighbor boy down the street and occasionally cut through someone’s yard when I shouldn’t have. Those minor infractions got me a scolding by adult neighbors. I deserved it. That was everyone’s neighborhood and everyone had a stake in it. You can’t have kids running through peoples’ yards and trampling flower beds. They were right to speak up.

So why is it so rare for people to speak up nowadays? Is it our general fear of a lawsuit? We are an insanely litigious society that sues for the most ridiculous things. I can understand someone not wanting to get involved in a situation because they don’t want to deal with the ramifications of engagement. But I still think that’s bogus logic. Is it our media-fueled fear of violence that makes us hang back? Whatever it is, it’s absurd.

People don’t speak up when they see something wrong happening. This past weekend Matthew was waiting outside the grocery with Duke while I picked up a few things. A kid of about 7 or 8 walked over and shoved Duke. He just walked up to the dog, grabbed his hips, and shoved him. Matthew saw this kid’s father standing about 20’ away talking on his cell phone. He grabbed the kid by the arm and marched him over to his dad. The guy wouldn’t acknowledge that Matthew was standing there. He had to tell the guy to get off the phone and pay attention. If a stranger had my kid by the arm you better believe I’d be paying attention! He told the guy he needed to explain to his son that it is dangerous to antagonize a dog, especially one you don’t know, and that if his kid had done that to another dog he very well could have been bitten. They guy acted like he didn’t speak English (he was speaking English a little later when I saw him) and turned his back on Matthew to continue his phone call. Matthew told the kid’s sister, who was also there being ignored by their father, that her brother could get seriously hurt and that she should keep an eye on him until their dad got off the phone.

Later that same day we were in the city and a handicapped access bus was parked on 8th Ave. The doors opened and trash started flying out onto the street. The doors closed. Not being one to see something wrong happen and say nothing about it, I marched up to the bus doors and knocked with a big smile on my face. “Why did you do that?” Bus driver responded, “What are you talking about?” I explained that I saw him toss trash onto the street and I was wondering when he was going to pick it up. He said he didn’t do it, even though he was holding the empty plastic bag he had just dumped out. An exchange followed, in which I told him that no one is so entitled that they can litter… I said I live here, too, and I don’t want to have trashy streets… he said if I was so concerned that I should pick it up... he called me a bitch and told me to fuck off… I said my husband had written down his plate # and that we were going to call and complain, just as soon as I picked up his mess because even though it was his responsibility it would be wrong for me to just leave his garbage on the street. He drove away screaming obscenities at me and flipping me off. I’m calling today to make a formal complaint. I picked up all his trash because even though I didn’t put it there, this city and this planet are everyone’s responsibility. There happened to be an empty vodka bottle in the same pile. I don’t know if it was his or not, but you can be damn sure I’ll mention that I picked it up when I talk to the company. If I don’t get an acceptably concerned response from the company, I’ll call the police. Littering is illegal. I have the license plate #.

People cannot keep watching others do things that are wrong and say nothing about it. Get involved. Nothing will change if we all stand idly by. What’s that saying? Democracy fails when good men do nothing. Well, society in general suffers when we all get complacent. The problems are big, but that doesn’t mean that individual actions have no effect. Take the chance. Even if it makes no difference at least you’ll know you tried.

Yes, those are radishes and strawberries and bok choy and... garlic scapes! The star of the show. Google them. Then find a local place that sells them where you are. What a flavor!

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Basil makes me happy. Little baby potted basil from Farmer Ted is quite a treat! I'm going to try to keep it going in the window and pinch some leaves every now and then for caprese salad. Yum!

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'Tis the season

The season for fresh fruits and veg here in the States. Cukes, squashes, tomatoes, citrus, beans, all sorts of tasty treats await us in our gardens and at the grocery. This is the season of bounty because so many crops are ready for harvest in the Spring/Summer.

In my constant effort to live/eat/shop consciously I'm reminding myself to enjoy these foods now, when they're in season, because when the weather turns cold again and I start to see pale, mealy, watery tomatoes in the grocery I need to steer clear. In terms of carbon footprint "hothouse-grown" foods at your local grocery are a big no-no. The non-renewable energry spent on growing those foods, in addition to fuels burned in the transport, all add up to make those very bad choices at the market.

So go out and visit your greenmarket this weekend (you can find one by looking here), buy those local fruits & veg, support your regional farmers. Take a peek at www.eatlowcarbon.org to see how you can cut down on your food's carbon footprint. Check out www.sustainabletable.com to find restaraunts/shops/markets/bakers/butchers in your area that are committed to sustainable food practices.

We did it

(image courtesy of Beautiful Union Portraits)


We're married. I'm a wife. He's a husband. It's the best.

I was told by more guests than I can count that it was the best wedding they'd ever been to and I couldn't agree more. Every aspect of our night was perfect. I want to document many of those things here, but it will need to wait until I am a little more coherent and awake. It's been an absolute whirlwind for 36 hours and I need a nap more than anything else at this point.

What I can tell you, despite my state of partial consciousness, is that I would not have changed a single thing. It was my perfect wedding. He is my perfect husband. I'm going to do my best to be his perfect wife from here on out. I couldn't ask for more.

I will share so much more a little later. Here's a preview: Matthew told me he had a surprise for me. He refused to give me a clue further than "it has something to do with a fat guy named David". I had no idea what he was cooking up. Halfway through our reception our band gave him the mic, handed him a guitar, and he surprised me with the most beautiful rendition of "Our House" by CSN&Y with 2 of our best friends singing harmony and playing 2nd guitar. To say there wasn't a dry house in the place would be an understatement.

Cross your fingers for me

Tomorrow morning we're buying a friend's couch. It's a much nicer couch than ours (read: not broken and falling apart), plus it's a sleeper sofa which means that overnight guests won't have to be on an air mattress or army cot when they come to visit.

I have the measurements, and I *think* it will make it in the door... but just in case, cross your fingers for me. We live in a classic Brooklyn brownstone. That means interesting entry angles and non-standard door widths.

Stand in this line, then stand in that line, then go back to this line...

Government is hilarious. And by hilarious I mean frustrating, inefficient, infuriating, and backward.

We went to the City Clerk this morning to get our marriage license. We were there before the building opened and we were the first in line. Theoretically we should have been in and out in 20 mins. I even remarked as we waited for 8:30 to roll around that it was looking good for us to be out of there quickly. Which, of course, made Matthew smack his forehead and grimace. "No! No, you can't say that! Now we're screwed."

Apparently the acknowledgement of good chances of having a positive experience in a municipal building is the equivalent of requesting your own doom. We had our forms filled out, our money order stamped, everything was in order. We were walking up to the window, beaming with pride and smiling from ear to ear... when we were told that no one could get onto the network and they had no clue how long it would take to fix it.

Network. Down. Crap. This is when a manual system seems like a welcome switch. Matthew kept remarking that if someone had a typewriter we'd be done by now.

On the bright side this unexpected speedbump allowed lots of time to people watch. Take my word for it, the people watching opportunities in Brooklyn Borough Hall are on par with the greatest freak shows in the world. People of all creeds, all walks of life were waiting there with us. And they were all getting married. Wowzers. Humanity is fabulously funny. My favorites were the odd couples. The people who seemed like polar opposites who had chosen to spend their lives together. Mad props to those folks.

When the network came back online we got our forms processed and we thought we were done. Oh no, silly us! We had to wait in the cashier line - the line we waited in when we first got to the office to get our forms. By this time there were 40 people ahead of us because it was 11:00, not 8:30 like when we got there.

3 lines, 1 money order, 3 hours, and countless amusements later we have our marriage license and a handful of funny stories to boot. 9 days to go and we're legally allowed to get married now. Whew!

A Good Day

Today is Matthew's birthday. He's 31. He says it feels remarkably like 30. We met 2 years ago today. We will be married in less than 3 weeks. I'm so proud of him and I'm grateful that we get to spend our lives together.

We went to the Brooklyn Museum of Art (a whopping 3 blocks from our apartment and one of the best museums in the world). They have an exhibit of Takashi Murakami's work that we were planning to see, but when the 7 of us got there we found out there was a $10 admission fee for the exhibit and half of the group are starving artists... so $10 to see some Japanese pop art wasn't in the cards. Instead, we made modest donations to the museum and visited portions of the main collection.

My favorite was the current exhibits in the Sackler Gallery for Feminist Art. Normally, I'm not a contemporary art fan. Moreover, I'm never a fan of labels other than nationality or time period. Labeling something as "feminist art" makes me crazy and I shy away from galleries that promote that kind of categorization. It seems to counter intuitive to me. Anyway, I was very pleasantly surprised to have found not only 2 contemporary artists I can stand behind 100%, but one in particular that really spoke to me in ways I didn't expect. The Judy Chicago installation of The Dinner Party is amazing, and you should see it if you can. But, it was Ghada Amer who really stopped me in my tracks today.

She's an Egyptian-born, French-raised, New York-living artist who uses fabric, embroidery, text, and paint to create pieces that speak to marginalization of women and themes of typical gender roles. Pretty amazing stuff. If you're near Brooklyn you should check out her work. My favorite piece was a series of 4 panels, each painted a muted shade of CMYK, arranged in a grid, with intricate embroidery of the definitions of 4 words in Arabic - including freedom and fear, I believe.