So we were on our way

to May Street Market for the first-ever Kid’s Restaurant Week in Chicago (modeled after the one for adults in Manhattan) and who would have guessed, the bus actually got us there on time. Early, actually. That almost never happens. Being carless often provides us little unexpected adventures, especially related to public transportation, and most especially related to being delayed. Instead, we had one as a result of being early.

We went wandering around the far West Loopish area, enjoying the many characters and sights on the street. We found our way into a local artisan shop and what do I find but these grand things: Story People. So simple, so fabulous. Made me happy that someone took the time to create them. The food at May Street made me happy, too. Some (not all!) of the other restaurants’ pre fixe menus for their KRW events were kinda meh but May Street did it up right. No corners were cut for the sake of expedience. They had about 60 high chairs and booster seats on hand for the occasion and the host shook each child’s hand and seated them. The dining room was nuts with kids doing kid stuff and parents having wine together and laughing. Delightful. I would love for them to hold this event every month. Next year we’re calling earlier to get into Frontera Grill. The thought of having to wait outside for a table there this year didn’t attract me. I have little tolerance for lines. I’d rather go to a less celebrated place and sit right away, you know?

After getting to the West Loop early and having such a great time at dinner, we were up for taking the looooooong walk home, meandering our way through neighborhoods we’d never seen (Chicago is full of surprises, no matter how long you live here) because Bean is so chilled out right now and we can do that sort of thing on a whim. Give him some food and a paci just in case and keep his body cool and you can go just about anywhere with him.  He just waves at people and takes it all in, and is now so calm about the people and traffic and overlapping smells and noise.

I always used to look at city babies on my way to work and wonder what was going through their minds as they were strolled through the all of the action downtown. I suppose I will be finding out what one of them thinks, just as soon as he decides to tell me.

I love the spirit of this exercise

Here’s a short article about sharing yoga through chainlink fencing.

You just can’t knock some people down, or keep them there, anyway. They simply come up with stuff like this. I want to follow the example in all things.

Co-parenting

I already tooted every horn in the universe with my Father’s Day post about my fella, but I do want to celebrate by writing this down. Since I have shared so many frustrations regarding this issue here, it feels right to share some happiness. We have undergone an evolution as a family over these last 21 months. I could cite a million little ways in which we’ve progressed, and another billion big and small mistakes we’ve made along the way, but dammit, we got here. We were such a cliche for a while. Totally freaked me out. Who the hell are we? I wondered. Where did we go? We are supposed to be Us, what the hell happened to Us? Over time, I learned to back off more and he learned to take over more. I won’t bother to get too specific, but I can now say that Huz and I are o-fficially co-parenting our little boy.

I feel proud and so very happy. We’re not perfect: I still take over sometimes and he still quite happily lets me, but MOST of the time our home and parenting responsibilities are now equally shared. The money thing, not right now, but I used to be the primary earner before we swapped that role. We’ll get back to that. It will be ideal if we can both work part-time, but with the way benefits operate in this country, that may have to wait until next lifetime. Still, the goal is that when Bean starts pre-school, I will start part-time work again and build up to full. When Bean is in Jr. High, Huz will work part-time, doing private parties a couple nights a week after I am home from my full-time work, wherever that work takes place. I can tell you that it won’t be in an office, not unless I own the building.

I want to say it again. I co-parent with my husband.

What a relief.

Genius quote o’ the day

Somebody said this to me today:

“What others think is none of my business and what others expect is not my responsibility”.

I don’t know if it’s paraphrased from something else that is widely known, but it’s new to me and I like it lots.

Just what the frack is it

I think I am supposed to be doing? We were all set to go to the food store this morning (when you usually get groceries delivered, food shopping is a novel outing) but were waylaid by tornado-ish windstorms. On the walk toward home, I took us through a sheltered street and ta-dah, there was a petting zoo. The winds died down enough for us to enjoy Bean’s first in-person roosters, goats, and rabbits. We ran around a park for a while, had a lovely walk home, then played inside before nap. Afterward, we walked to the bookstore, picked out a couple of supercuties I so should have written myself (Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus! and Baby Loves Jazz) and meandered our way through the neighborhood, stopping to chat with strangers, look at dogs, climb some things we shouldn’t have, and take a peek at a new art installation. We came inside, ate dinner together, read our new books, listened to CDs and danced, and Bean had his puttering around alone time before his bedtime routine.

Doesn’t this sound grand? I mean it, doesn’t this sound phenomenally grand? And it was. It IS. It’s a gorgeous privilege. So why do I feel like I am supposed to be doing more?

Am I a person with such an overactive mind and body so accustomed to the worrying and hurrying and scurrying around I did pre-bambino (as well as for the 8 months or so of insanity that followed his birth) that I cannot just be satisfied with now providing my kiddo the calm days I wish I had as a child? By the way, my time is not all about Bean, I don’t want to give that impression so don’t give me the whole pitfalls of sahmhood schpiel. I write, I move, I create, I read, I live in a kickass neighborhood, I talk with grownups…I am deeply happy. So wtf is it I am seeking, other than compulsively acting like the trained monkey that I clearly am? What more am I expecting of myself right now?

Hrrrrmmmmmmmm.

One of the Beavers would say it’s “blue-collar guilt”. She wasn’t raised with much in the way of money or stability, either, and her current contentedness and ability to be so autonomous, rather than constricted by financial and familial circumstances, freaks her right out sometimes. Maaaaybe…I dunno. Of course, it is a textbook response of an acoa to panic when things are too calm (hullo, #6). 

I wonder how I can expect others to value my contribution to society during this phase of my life when I can’t even seem to entirely do so.

Motherhood is quite an education, far beyond actually taking care of the Bean.

All the freaky people make the beauty of the world

Do you know Michael Franti? I do. He doesn’t know me back but his music and lyrics are a very good thing in the life o’ me. Says he: every soul is a poem that’s written on the back of god’s hand. I’m not much for a god but I do like that lots.

Some good stuff is coming up around here, namely: the Book Fair, the World Naked Bike Ride, the Dyke March, and Pride.  I’m only doing the book fair this year. None of the Beavers are available for the other events (they are international jetsetters sans child, you see) and I just don’t feel quite ready to ask any of my mom friends to go. Solo is alright, but I did a recent war protest that way and it left me feeling a little exposed. Of course, my sign was rather inflammatory haaaaaaaaaa. Lots of people took pictures of me and it. I was glad to be so popular but a little nervous to be alone at the time. I’ll get there with the moms eventually, where I can go to events that represent more parts of me. Who knows, though, mebbe never, and that’s alright. I value their friendship for what it is. It has gotten me through some seriously difficult shit. We disagree on quite alot but we do so respectfully and with the shared knowledge that we are all coming from different places and doing the very best we can for our individual children.

The book fair will be grand as always, I’m gonna get some old printing press letters and hang them on some walls around my place, all willy-nilly. Little pieces of hard-worked history. Have I mentioned lately how much I love my place? Crumbling brick, special assessments, non-stop construction and all. I have lived through the growing pains of this area. I’ve earned this place, warts and whatnot, day by day over the last 2.5 years. My binoculars show me worlds across the way: nude models, art hung, um, artfully on blood orange walls, indoor hanging gardens, stairs where there should be none, people laughing loudly while drinking terrifically good beer, middle eastern theatre groups, people smoking on fire escapes, and lots of golden, yes it is quite golden, light pouring in for my fledgling indoor garden. Yay for this place, yay for this time, yay for us for finding our way here and sticking it out no matter what. We’re staying. Huz says so. The fella doesn’t say much, and usually I control all things, but he never was overly enthused about the prospect of Philly, and I now have to say he was right. Philly is not an emotionally healthy place for us to be at this time. Maybe it will be at another. I hope so. Until then, I will regard our time here as precious, as I should, as it has been all along, despite its very real difficulties.

So how many posts am I going to write about the personal peace I am finding? How boring, right? Ha!

P.S. My girl M.I.A. is still bringing it in a major way. I want you to dance your ass off every time you hear her and please do think of me. I would go see her in concert but I might die of exertion. I’m gettin’ a little old, you know :) I’ve picked out my jazz lounge, and before I know it, it’ll be time to find a farm.

P.P.S. Besides her deeply socially relevant messages about violence, disenfranchisment, global responsibilty, etc, one of my favorite lyrics by M.I.A. is “I’ll let you be superior”. You could easily miss it if you weren’t paying attention, but to me, this is a message to an attractive man that says “you are not superior to me, but I know you feel pressure to be, and I will indulge that need in you for now, as it serves my needs”. Interesting shit for such a young woman. Catchy as hell, too.

Happy stuff I am doing for myself

Growing an indoor herb garden - hullo, Yum, so good to meet you. The dried stuff is an expensive insult to my tongue in comparison.

tmi: Making sex dates with Huz. No, not regularly scheduled “it’s business time” stuff; we have to ask ahead and plan just as if we would if we had never been together and were trying to seduce each other, albeit quickly, for the first time. It’s the hotness.

Decorating, decorating, decorating, (does that sound too Martha? should I say beautifying? art-ifying? whatevs, you get me) with both found and self-created objects. A living environment is an evolving organism as far as I am concerned. I adjust it accordingly, in small ways, as needed depending on my mood.

Daily dance parties with Bean. The kid is a nut for “party favorites” on our cable music thingermawhatsit. His moves absolutely KILL me.

Doing the T-Tapp Basic Workout (the production is cheesy, but dammit, it works) and using About.com’s Calorie Counter (it’s free and way better than WW) so I can get a handle on my recent post-weaning weight gain. Now listen, skinny is not the goal. Skinny is NEVER the goal. I eat, baby. I am married to a classically trained chef. Fat is flavor, salt is life!!! Voluptuousness, sway, and zaftig-iosity are what I am all about. Besides, serious curves throw the very best shadows on the walls in candlelight. Sure, my boobs fell down a bit with pregnancy and my stomach pooches out more than ever, but to a good man like Huz, that just means I housed and fed his beautiful baby. I do like to look and feel healthy, though (which to me is roughly 20-30 lbs heavier than what a typical magazine tells me I should be) and I haven’t since Bean weaned 6 weeks ago. T-Tapp and CC are just helping me keep me looking like ME.

Taking care of a crazy ass fish named Fred who is only a “simple, great first fish” in opposite world. He is a loony mofo. He’s my kind of feesh.

Reading/watching art, craft and travel books/shows at every single opportunity. World and your wonky, curious inhabitants, I love you lots.

Staying informed of rampant injustice. It hurts to do so, and yep I am merely a drop in the bucket but together, baby, we can create a downpour. Signing petitions, writing letters, marching and yelling is what I was born to do. I used to feel pressure to shush, to be less angry, less loud. I don’t acknowledge that pressure anymore.

Re-reading my acoa stuff and joining a virtual support group for it because dammit, you just cannot run away from that shit, no matter how far you go or how many fathers you stop having contact with. 

Actively declining offers of high-paid work that takes place in an office cubicle. I know from experience that it sucks my soul dry and I am now just saying no, no matter what the pay. I will find work elsewhere (elsehow?). I realize this choice is a major luxury even with the discomfort it causes us financially. I am grateful daily.

Going to the park with Bean and talking to strangers even when I don’t feel like it, which I usually don’t. I have met some truly kind and funny people. I love the humbling, unifying moments of parenthood they help me stumble upon. They are gorgeous: the moments and the people.

Enjoying the hell out of the view from my windows.

And finally…oversharing about my life with you all. Ha!

I hope you are doing many good things for yourselves, peeps.

 

There are certain small events

that feel like major milestones to me. Events that have made me go, yep, I’m a mom.

I guess the first one was slinging Bean without dropping him while I was standing up and then nursing him in public, staring down questioning gazes and smiling at understanding ones.

Wanting to have sex again was a big one, too. No, my child was not actually involved. It was just remarkable to feel calm and comfortable in my body again, to assimilate my new mothering self with my individual physical self after riding out the storm.

Painting and dancing at 6 months postpartum were huge. Wanting to do these things showed me that I was getting back to me after a while away. The mental and physical cracks were healing and Bean loved being integrated into these activities.

The next standout was flying with Bean and dealing with airplane fussiness and all that. I had to do everything but stand on my head to avoid a screamfest that first time, but we did it. Not only did we get there and back, we got through security and a maze of airport tunnels in order to find stroller-accessible elevators, and we only lost one or two items along the way.

Recently, there was this:

Huz thought it was hilarious that I took a picture. It felt momentous. Still does.

Readiness to go back to work feels like something momentous, too. I am finally able to say, oh yeah, we’ve got a good sleeping/eating/playing routine going, I’m no longer depressed and freaking out (much), I can handle the bullshit that goes along with work again and I think I finally may be able to trust someone to look after Bean here and there.

I guess I can also consider my recent dressing down as a mother to be a milestone as well. When women gang up on another woman, it’s certainly not pretty, but when the picked upon one can keep her chin up during and after the experience and maintain her own identity throughout, that is very important stuff to me.

And now, the latest mothering milestone in my mind is drumroooooooollllllll pleeeeeeeese:

choosing my child’s first pet. Behold, Fred:

(a.ka. Frederic Thelonius Amadeus E. Feesh)

He’s beautiful and strange and we talk to him alot. Fish in bowls always hold a certain sadness for me, but Fred seems to like it just fine. He’s an aggressive little bugger, a loner through and through. Bean thinks he is extraordinary. I can see his point.

An important public service announcement

from the WNBR:

We are just two and a half weeks away from the beginning of the World Naked Bike Ride. The time has come to dust off your wings, wigs, feathers and crazy flying dangly things. The dress code of the event is bare as you dare. Nudity is not enforced.

A common question that we are getting is “Will the police throw my naked ass in prison” The answer is “they might”. It is indeed very rare that the police interfere with this event but it has happened a few times in the past.

If you are worried about the police, here are a few tips that might help:
1) You do not really need all that much strategically placed fabric to technically not be naked.
2) Even though the media can be somewhat annoying they are really good at getting the police to behave. The last thing the police want to be seen doing is arresting happy, peaceful naked people on the six o-clock news. It makes them look incredibly silly. So invite the media; they are just a press release away.

A last word of colourful wisdom:

WNBR is about having fun and unleashing a streak of creativity upon our cities. Music, songs, colourful bikes and silly things are all part of this great flood of creative merry-making. WNBR belongs to its participants so feel free to allow your creativity to take ownership.

For more info, please visit
http://www.worldnakedbikeride.org

I wonder what the shelf-life of my liquid latex is?

Huz is in the kitchen

being gorgeous and cooking up some venison stew with the leftovers from Christmas dinner. I’m at the table reading A Leaky Tent is a Piece of Paradise between tastes, drinking a big, fat, sockarooney cabernet (just a little bit!) with candied brie on crackers, and yelling half-in-jest, “The stew is perfect, don’t fuck it up!” Bean is comfortably asleep for the first time in one hundred and fifty years after finally (finally!) breaking in that last. freaking. one year. molar. and looking beautiful beyond compare (are footie pajamas a gift of pure delight from the Heavens or what?) and let me tell you, peeps, I am just having the best time.

I seem to be settling in. Like sediment. Ha! But really. Maybe I am calming down. Maybe I am finding a place to be me, in my entirety. Maybe even for good this time.