Quality of Light

Gabriel Haven

2008-03-21T16:20:00.006-04:00

Dear Gabriel,

My pregnancy with you was rough. When I reflect on how I felt, I have strong memories of nausea and heaviness, which wiped a smile clear off my face. For the most part I felt a dull form of depression, that left me worn and tired. I craved rest and solitude, away from the reasonable demands of your sister and daddy. In the brief moments when I could lay in my bed, still and at peace, I'd rub my ever-expanding belly and feel you safe in my womb. I imagined you contented and calm, well protected from the storm and turmoil I often felt. You were at the center of my inner sanctuary, my haven. This was how I came to your middle name, alone in the warmth of my bed, massaging my tummy, and cooing 'Haven' to you.

The day you were born, began with slight disappointment, as I had resigned myself to the fact that I would never experience the beginning of labor without a little kick from the outside world. You were due on February 26th, but here we were, on March 6th, and I had chosen to be induced again, as I had to do with your sister, 2 weeks past her due-date. It was 8AM, and my midwife examined me to find that I was 4 centimeters dilated and fully effaced (I'd been this close for almost 2 weeks, with only an occasional contraction). My waters were broken, in the hope that labor would begin without the necessity of drugs. By 12 noon, I had been experiencing erratic contractions, but nothing steady enough to truly get things rolling. Pitocin was begun, and in no time, the up and down of fast and furious contractions racked my body. Emotionally and physically, I was ill-prepared to cope with the pain. Weak and wimpy from the start, I was pleading with a higher spirit to time warp me to a different zone. Within 3 hours I'd reached the zenith of my tolerance and made the call for the anesthesiologist. "Epidural, take me away!"

As the numbness spread down my spine and legs, stripping away ALL traces of pain, the dark clouds lifted from my consciousness. My pessimism and depression did a 180 degree flip, and I felt genuine happiness and anticipation for your imminent arrival. The midwife checked my progress, and I was already at 8 centimeters. She figured that we would be meeting you within hours. I was now able to drift in and out of sleep, and although I could feel no pain, I did feel you gradually travel lower through my uterus, and slowly edge your way into the birth canal. By the next time my midwife checked me, she could see your head, and it was time to push. For a half hour I worked to deliver you into this world in relative quiet, calmly surrounded by your encouraging father, the nurse Cheri, and the midwife, Robi Quackenbush. Your father told jokes, and I was actually able to laugh between concentrated pushes. At 6:05 PM, you were born complete, and nestled atop my bosom. I felt instant and deep love for you, my precious. As John Lennon's 'Beautiful Boy' played in the background, your father and I wept tears of joy. I will never forget the pure bliss brought by your presence, your first gift to me.

Love,
Mama

Haiku Announcement

2008-03-16T19:36:00.007-04:00

After a long hibernation from my blog, self imposed by all the commotion, emotion and physical state of my final trimester of pregnancy. I am truly happy to announce the arrival of my sweet baby boy. He has already brought great joy and completion to my family.

The following email was written last week by my darling husband:

Last Thursday we finally welcomed our new addition to the Gamber Family.
What would a birth announcement be without some Haikus?

Mama
---
Enough Is Enough
Oh Thank You Epidural
My Beautiful Boy

=================
Son
---
No No No Not Yet
Cold, Bright, Loud, Hairy Man Bad Breath
Boobies Not So Bad

=================
Daughter
---
Not Too Sure Of This
A Cookie Competitor
"I Love My Bruh-Der"

=================
Dad
---
Have Amazing Wife
Three Cameras One Subject
No Sleep So Much Love

=================

Details:

Gabriel Haven Gamber
Born : March 6th 2008 6:05pm
8lbs 12oz
20.5 Inches

UPDATE:
Mama and Gabriel are healthy, happy and at home.
Stella is helpful and excited.
Dad is a zombie.

Best Wishes

2007-12-25T01:42:00.003-05:00

Merry Christmas!
From the Gambers...

My Mother-In-Law

2007-12-23T11:41:00.000-05:00

One year ago...

Even though the holidays can submerge one in the dark depths of stress, I am still managing to comfortably cling to a buoy, enjoying the sun glistening atop the deep waters. I don't know if it is the effects of watching the holidays through the eyes of a 2 year old, or earnestly enjoying the creation of new family traditions, but I feel surprisingly satisfied with this season and very blessed (my new and overly used descriptive term).

A big part of my joy comes from my family, both our own small nuclear unit and the extended relatives that create a comforting umbrella of protection around us. I am so lucky to have married a man who comes from a wonderful, generous and genuine family. Since day one they have welcomed me into their arms, and I cannot think of a moment of friction in our eight years of bonding. I feel especially thankful for my wonderful Mother-in-Law.

As usually happens when you first meet someone, there is much focus on your similarities and sometimes even more awareness of your differences. In a lot of ways, my Mother-in-Law and I are very different from one another. Much is generational, but even more is just the difference in our upbringings. She is from the Midwest, and grew up during a time when I think children were more innocent. Women played more traditionally defined family roles, church was a prominent part of each week, and patriotism ran deep. In contrast, I do not feel like I was sheltered from the darker realities of life. I grew up having honest discussions about sex and drugs, and questioning issues of equality, government policies and religion. As the oldest child, I craved independence and wanted to be an 'adult' before my time, moving out of my home at the age of 17. My MIL has described her young self as painfully shy, and a little fearful of the greater world. Yet, marriage to a Navy man, meant that the wider world was thrust upon her, forcing her to move across an ocean to a foreign country, Spain, as well as live in several states across the U.S. (all far from her own relatives). The military life, which meant long separations from her husband, and months of living as a 'single' mother strengthened her confidence as she rose to the challenges. My husband and his brother often talk about the immense respect that they have for their mother, especially now that they have grown and truly realize how much that she managed in the absence of their Father.

The more I learn about her, the more that I am amazed and the greater my respect grows. When it comes to work, I feel that I am a great multi-tasker. When it comes to parenting a child, cleaning house, getting dressed, shopping, arghhh! the list goes on, my capabilities tend to fall short. Perhaps, it is years of experience that make my MIL such a wonder at managing a household and simultaneously playing with her granddaughter, but I think it is more than that. She is gifted - a true organizational wizard when taking care of all things domestic, AND she did this with her own sons, while holding down a part-time job!

Beyond her honed abilities to prepare a 3 course meal, keep the kitchen clean, and deal with a toddler - all skills that have proven unbelievably helpful whenever she visits, my love for my MIL has grown due to our talks and a greater understanding of the good woman she is. Despite all of our different personality traits, views on politics, religion, etc., I have always felt acceptance and a lack of judgement. I would guess that my relationship with her son and all it's stages, living together before marriage, having a civil wedding ceremony, and some of our parenting decisions might not have been her first choice, but if this is the case, she never made a big deal out of it, and it never effected our connection negatively. Above all, I believe that both of my husband's parents have recognized that the good intentions behind any of our choices are all that really matters, and have thus never felt the need to exert their influence against our plans. This patience and acceptance has made for a very smooth and respectful relationship. I can only hope that I will be the same kind of Mother-in-Law to my own children's spouses.

Dear Gayle, I really love you and hope that today, your birthday, is a very special occasion and celebration of all that makes you wonderful. Stella, Dan and I wish that we could be with you now, and look forward to your visit in February.

Above photo from Mother's Day 2007

Above photo from October 2007

Lights, Lights, Lights

2007-12-21T10:58:00.001-05:00

Being that it's holiday time, and cold, and dark by five, and since we are often cooped up in our home - with a two year old (picture her running away in defiance from a waddling house of a pregnant woman)we are constantly trying to find nighttime activities of diversion.

On a personal level, I LOVE holiday decorations. I have been collecting Christmas tree ornaments since 1998, and get excited about unveiling each and every one of them weeks before we actually buy a tree. I like bluish noble trees that have elegant branches with spacing between, so that you can see the dangling ornaments and lights in its' depth. No fat fir trees for me. I usually ground my ornaments with white fairy lights and gold gossamer ribbon (hee, hee), although there have been a few years that I've brought out the tiny multi-colored lights for a more 'child-like' quality. This year, prepping the inside of our house with holiday cheer filled a few nights with arguments, I mean laughter. Dan and I usually waited until Stella was tucked into bed before beginning the task of trimming our mantel and arches with garlands and twinkling lights. We filled a couple of nights with tree shopping and decorating the home, and officially finished the task last week. Stella has been surprisingly good at not touching the tree, and the only broken ball was thanks to my clumsy fingers.

With our nights now free, we have gone out in search of holiday activities. Our first excursion was to the Grotto's "Festival of Lights", a Portland locale that has been lighting up their wooded glen and stone bluff with nativity themed images and lights for 20 years.

The Grotto is a very religious destination, with both cathedral singing and outdoor caroling, candle lighting, reenactments of the birth of Christ (both by actors and puppets), and wandering angels and St.Nick's, looking like popes, not Santa Claus. Being a more secular soul, I feel both moved and completely out of place in an environment like this. I wholeheartedly acknowledge that Christmas is primarily a Christian celebration, and often wonder what has drawn me to celebrate this holiday when I am not religious myself. My Father is an atheist, yet we always celebrated Xmas, and I feel that the 'spirit' of giving, initially represented by Santa Claus, was always present, if not the customary acknowledgement of Baby Jesus. Now, as an adult, still hanging on to these traditions, I question why, and feel like a poseur. Can we really base an entire holiday on stories of Santa Claus, trees and lights, baked goods, and lots of consumerism? I want Stella to understand both the pagan and christian beginnings of this holiday, as well as the made-up meaning that her Father and I put behind it. I am trying to focus on the spirit of giving, enjoyed time by the hearth with family, and hopefully a genuine thankfulness for the simpler gifts of life. I do want to encourage her own spiritual growth, introspection and exploration, as she matures, and will support her beliefs wherever they may lead her. For now, she has a play nativity scene and can walk around with baby Jesus in her pocket without needing to know much more.
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The above was a little bit of a tangent, because this entry is supposed to be all about surface decoration - lights, lights, and more lights, not a touchy probing of religion and its' holiday relevance, sooooo... back to the superficial!

We enjoyed the lights at the Grotto, but had much more fun at the Portland Zoo on Stella's birthday. Starting at 5PM, the Portland zoo changes from a venue that displays live animals, into a nighttime wonderland of lights arranged in animal forms, with trees and walkways wrapped tightly in an astonishing array of colorful lights. 'Zoo Lights' is all about dazzling color in the black of night, without a hint of religion. There is a choo-choo train ride through a landscape of moving animal images made entirely of LED lights, and vast stretches of park turned into psychedelic savannas, jungles and swampland. We all loved it. It was a great place to take Stella and watch her excitement and wonder at the panorama before her.

Now that we know how much Stella digs lights (I use her as an excuse for my own fascination), we have plans to visit another spot in Portland, Peacock Lane, which is a neighborhood known for it's gaudy devotion to all things brilliant and bright. They apparently have horse carriage rides up and down the street and give out free hot cocoa. I can't wait!

Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays, whichever makes more sense to you!

Feeling Blessed

2007-12-18T16:25:00.001-05:00

Today, December 18th, is my little girl's 2 year old birthday. It is hard to believe I was suffering/recovering from a long labor at this same time in 2005 (and even harder to believe it will not be long when I have to go through that hell again!).

In our efforts to give Stella both a complete and separate Birthday and Christmas experience, we hosted a party in her honor this past Sunday. I am resigned to the fact that the winter holidays will forever be a jam-packed and stressful time of year, due to all the celebrations we must pack into a short period, but both Dan and I are committed to doing whatever we can for Stella so that her special day is not overshadowed by the awesomeness of Santa's coming visit. My Mother-in-law's birthday is December 23rd - far closer to Christmas eve and Christmas day, so the Gambers are well-versed in making pointed efforts to appreciate all special days individually.

Since Stella is only 2, and lacks complete understanding of what her birthday is, we did also lump her party in with a house-warming/holiday theme, so perhaps I shouldn't claim a sole focus on the little princess.
We are loving Portland, and have been especially surprised by how many friends we have been able to make in a short period of time. In truth, we feel that we have more friends to socialize with here in Oregon, than we had after four-plus years in Brooklyn, New York. When we moved here, we only had ONE friend, a woman we have known since our San Francisco days, and one of the few single and childless friends that doesn't mind dealing with the distractions of our toddler, and our overall crappy ability to have a decent nighttime social life. Other than her, all of our other friends were introduced to us via emails from friends of friends. We share the common bond of acquaintances outside this city, and young children, and can thus easily relate. As we spend more time with these unique folk, we are finding more similarities other than the shared compassion and understanding of parenthood.
As I looked around our crowded home on Sunday, with kids running, climbing furniture, spills and crumbs everywhere, parents both nonchalant and slightly stressed out, and all I could think was.... how blessed we are.

None of the mess phased me, it was all to be expected. I was just happy to hear laughter, and have the opportunity to repay some of the hospitality that we had been treated to in the homes of our new friends. I can only hope that we all will continue to deepen our friendships, and look forward to developing bonds in our new, choice city. That is what a good life is all about - cultivated friendships and the history of time and created memories.

Some of the highlights of the day:
1) Having Stella kindly picked up, early in the morning, by another family with a young boy her age, and taken on a 40 minute historic train ride. Freedom to finish last minute prep is priceless.
2) The impromptu visit of some of our old neighbors from Brooklyn, who now live in Seattle, and always show up laden with gifts and extreme thoughtfulness.
3) The lucky meeting of two families 5 year old boys, who were expecting complete boredom at a 2 year old girls party, but had instant camaraderie.
4) Stella's absolute glee at the arrival of her partner in crime, Caleb, and their subsequent joy and mischief.
5) Daniel making a birthday cake for his daughter and singing to her as a group, as she played coy.
6) Going to bed with a clean house, which was relatively easy, even after a party!

Geography Snob

2007-12-06T18:41:00.000-05:00

Within the span of less than an hour, I have had my attention brought to two different websites. The first is a Youtube clip of Are you Smarter than a Fifth Grader, featuring C celebrity Kelly Pickler of American Idol Fame. I watched this video, and needed a forklift to scrape my jaw off the floor. Granted, I'm a travel consultant, so my knowledge of the world should be better than your average American (sad but true), but I think this woman might have actually graduated from high school (?). How can it be???

In my work email, I was then led to actually test my supposed "Atlas Smarts" with a speed test on locating world cities. I did score an expert rating, but never made it past the 11th round to the 12th and final level. How well do you know your world?

Ghost Images

2007-11-30T13:10:00.000-05:00

There has been an absence of photos on my blog lately, and being a visual person, I regret this. My husband and I also have a site at PBASE where we haven't posted a photo since June! This bothers me even more. The reason for our lack of updates has more to do with computer problems than procrastination (I think). We have an Apple laptop, which was greatly loved, but should now be chucked out the window for all the problems we've had. Dan's had to back-up all our data on a separate hard drive several times in an attempt to correct the inefficiency and downright failure to operate that has plagued our Mac. It has gotten to the point where the darn thing runs so slow, that we can't work on our photo collection without fear of losing everything. We do have two other 'work' computers, but this is not where we keep any personal information. If I insist on a photo or two to include on my blog, or email to a friend, my husband has to try and make a CD from our laptop for this sole purpose. What a freaking hassle! In fact, now that it is so complicated to store photos without fear of loss, we've been taking less and less shots, and have a memory card in our camera that is near empty. We went from taking about ten photos an hour of Stella's every nuanced expression to maybe ten a month. Our little girl has got to be more interesting now than when she was a blob of a newborn, lying on a blanket, but you wouldn't know that from our recent photo history.

I have a good friend in Buenos Aires who pointed out that she hasn't seen any photos of me pregnant, and is really curious to see how I look. I realized that even if I begged by husband to create another disc with a pregnant photo, so that I could email her an image of my progress, that there would be no photo to copy! IF there is a pregnant Sarah photo, this is most certainly not the focal point of the picture, and I am probably sitting down or blocked by Stella, looking the same as always.

With my first pregnancy, every day was spent marveling at the changes my body was going through. We documented the growth of my bump every few weeks, and obsessed over the physical differences. Stella will have a visual history of her gestation, and how she and her Mama commingled their blood, and an alien-like place in space.

Besides the images of my pregnancy that she will be able to peruse, we also have copious photos of her literal entrance into the world (photos and a video that I emphatically avoid looking at). In comparison, what legacy have I left for my son? I am at the beginning of my third trimester, with no baby book or photo journal in progress. This baby is being jipped before it is even born - already suffering the second child negligence so often discussed. I am guilty as charged, and need to make a conscious effort to pose soon, to carve out some private time to meditate about my little boy, and focus on his urgent kicks and pleas for recognition. I know you are there. I feel you all the time, doing somersaults in amniotic fluid. I touch my belly as if my hands are caressing your skin, sending you my love, deeply felt and desperate for your acknowledgement. Although there may not be a large photo trail to document our time as one, I can assure you that the bond between you and I is just as strong and unbreakable as it was with your sister. You are precious beyond words to me, and my heart aches to express this in fluttery kisses to your eyelids and cheek to cheek nuzzles. Forgive my lack of foresight and commitment to providing you with a tangible record of this period together, and let us console one another with the secret truth that memories and imagination are often more magical.

Sexy Vampires

2007-11-26T15:31:00.000-05:00

Okay - I guess our intitial name selection did not elicit the response I'd hoped for. Most people still seem hell bent on offering OTHER suggestions. Don't get me wrong - I'm waffling in indecision, and definitely want other peoples new ideas, but I also wanted some imput on my own list.

Well, my husband finally got a response from his best friend, who was having a good laugh with another friend, over the names. They concluded that they all sounded like sexy vampires from an Anne Rice novel. Damnit! They're right! I've been chuckling to myself ever since, as the description is quite apt.

Portland, The Rainy City

2007-11-16T17:15:00.000-05:00

Portland is long famous for being a green and "rosy" city, thanks in great parts to endless days of rain. Since our move here, only a month and a half ago, we have been blessed with dry days (for the most part). Today, I am wistfully looking out my office attic window, at grayish brown trees, bereft of most their golden leaves, covered in water pearls, gifts from the crying sky. Since our decision to move here, I made a deal with myself that I would do my utmost to embrace the gray. As opposed to lamenting an overcast day, I am trying to be positive about the cold and wet. Many Portlanders tell me that winter is a great time for introspection and creative projects. It is a time when the artists of the city, don't feel guilty about not taking a walk in the outdoors, and allow themselves to hibernate in their home, composing music, writing books, painting and sculpting. I like this idea that being forced indoors will allow me the time and focus to be more creative and imaginative with my time. I still feel like more of a dreamer than a doer, and maybe time is all I need to bring about actual action. It is only the end of November, which should mean that I have plenty of time for unknown projects, but this is what scares me.
It is only November.
Winter is just beginning, and I am already in a 'hidden-under-the-surface' panic about how I'm going to make it through the many dark months ahead. I'm TRYING to be positive, but will it REALLY rain until May??? How Vitamin D deprived will I be, when the sun is finally fully shining?
This decision to live in a climate like Portlands was all mine. I'm the wuss in my relationship when it comes to weather. The summer was glorious when we visited, and the season is said to be far superior to those pathetic Julys and Augusts in San Francisco, that had me clawing at my sweaters, eyes darting in search of an escape. I know the wait will be worthwhile, but my patience will certainly be tried.
With a wavering grin on my face, I boldly toast a cheers to cabin fever and the testing of both my optimism and pessimism.

Names

2007-11-09T15:40:00.000-05:00

A busy week passes, and a fine and dandy one at that. We have been transitioning Stella into part-time daycare (Monday - Wednesday - Friday), and it has gone very well. She loves playing with all the kids, and gives everyone lots of hugs and kisses. It has been very nice to actually be able to get work done on these days, that Tuesday and Thursday are a little shock to the system.
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The womb baby is hyper active, kicking me at all times of the night. I just keep rubbing my belly and thinking of the little boy, my son, so close to Mama now. I want to put a name to this being, and am having a difficult time determining the perfect fit. Dan and I had zero problems with girl names. When Stella was born, we had a long back-up of girl names, depending on our first impression upon sight, but just a short list of boys names - names that I felt we were merely settling on. It's a good thing we didn't have to use any of them. When we were convinced that a sister was on the way, I had already picked out her name, although Dan still needed a little convincing. I had chosen Tessa Ann, as a nod to the women in my family (mother - Theresa, sister - Anna Paloma, and Grandma Ann and Abuelita Anita). My back-up name was Greta, which almost made me want to have three little girls, just so I could have a Virgin Suicides-like trio of Stella, Tessa and Greta. Doesn't that just sound like an intriguing set of sisters?

Now with little boys names buzzing in my head, I am completely frustrated. Both Dan and I do not want a common, overly traditional name - no John, Chris, David, or Michael. Nor do we want one of the most trendy, popular names of our age, like Jacob or Ethan. In truth, we want something really unique, but not so crazy that our child can't eventually be perceived as a successful and strong man, or that he grows up being teased. If there can be a nod to my Spanish side, that is also great, but not a necessity. We also want a name that gels with our family and his last name - Gamber.

Everyone has such differing ideas about what names are cool, and which are absolutely inexcusable. In truth, the name Stella was poo pooed by a lot of people. We are not looking for the most LIKED name, but are curious about your opinions.

I have included an initial list below. Some of these names are really for the more obscure middle name, and not all of these names have been approved by my hubby, but it is a start. Let me know what you think, and feel free to add your own suggestions.

Arden
Bastian
Camden
Cayden
Diego
Ferdinand
Finn
Gabriel
Gage
Galen
Haven
Sage
Santiago
Tiago
Tomas
Tristan

Friday Destination Dreaming # 20

2007-11-02T15:36:00.000-04:00

Okay. I don't know what has gotten into me, but all of a sudden I have time, energy, and creativity to spare on this blog. It's happening all at once, sort of like vigorous house-cleaning right before you go into labor.
Today is my birthday, and also a holiday - All Soul's Day. Most people in the U.S. don't celebrate All Soul's Day, which is preceded by All Saint's Day, and is part of a collective "Day of the Dead" celebration. In the States, November 2nd is more often remembered as election day (every 4 years), which has brought me some grief in the recent past. 2004 sucked!
This time of year is usually so jam-packed, especially with Halloween celebration, that there is little time for me to participate in the "Day of the Dead" holiday, despite finding it extremely interesting.

November 1st and 2nd are important days in limited countries around-the-world, but especially in Mexico, where the origin of "Dia De Los Muertos" is credited. It is a time to honor the deceased, remembering those loved ones who have passed into a different 'sphere', and there are a series of rituals that are conducted to show respect. The preparation is elaborate with altars of food, flowers (usually marigolds), water, blowing tissue paper, incense and candles, representing the elements of earth, water, wind and fire, set up in people's homes and at burial sites. Families visit cemeteries to decorate the graves of loved ones and hold vigilance throughout the night. There are costumed parades that are held in city squares and small village streets, with lots of candles, skeleton costumes, dancing and theatrics mocking death. The most famous iconography are the skeletons, seen in miniature, on masks, as puppets, etc. dressed and performing activities like the living. There are also offerings of sugar skulls with icing details (calaveras) and whirled and rolled egg bread.

Although I am happy to be in Portland, I enjoy the fantasy of twitching my nose, and teleporting to Oaxaca, Mexico in this very instant. Vivan los muertos!

Photos Of Our New Home

2007-11-02T14:50:00.000-04:00

This is just a preview, as many rooms have not been included, but here is our new home in PDX!

Here's our dining area with a peek into the kitchen:

The beach painting was done by my Father, Pablo Campos.

This is a limited view of our living room which is unfinished. We've ordered a couch, which I am crossing my fingers will be here by Thanksgiving, but until then, we have a hodgepodge of chairs to sit on.

Here's the first set of stairs going up, but more photos of the bedrooms and office/attic will have to wait...

Except for this one - my new office view!

Last Minute Inspiration

2007-11-01T13:51:00.000-04:00

As I had posted over a year ago, here and here, we love Halloween.
This year, the pressures of our move, getting a new, used car (just this weekend!), and our overall topsy-turvy life of occasional flailing in a new environment, put plans for costumes FAR, FAR on the back burner. After such a stellar performance in 2006, that we knew in our guts would be hard to match, we waffled between trying to force out a creative diamond or just sit in the living room with a bowl full of candy, waiting for others to entertain.

By Halloween morning, all that we had were a couple bags of M&M's and mini Reese's Peanut Butter cups. Dan rushed out during his morning break to procure a pumpkin - Stella's new siting obsession on our neighborhood walks. I tried to offer encouragement for dressing up, at the same time that I equally tried to assuage any guilt about not getting it together this year. We were hopelessly indecisive and unmotivated.

By the afternoon, a light bulb suddenly lit, and we had a quick inspiration. Dan drove out to the local 'Spirits' store in search of accessories. He returned with 3 headbands, at a mere $12 total, and we slapped together our family costume idea, all envisioned thanks to Stella's brown furry jacket...

We were "The Three Bears", as in the Goldilocks story.

We tried to give clues as to the fact that we were bears from a story and not mice, by carrying props. Dan had his little chair, Stella had her dolly - Goldilocks, and I had a box of Cream of Wheat peeking out of my purse.

Happy, happy Halloween!!!

Old Wife's Tale

2007-10-31T14:44:00.000-04:00

As ALL of my friends and family know, this has been a very hard pregnancy for me. The first 4 months were completely miserable, and I have NEVER felt as consistently sick and unhappy as I did. I felt so very helpless that I had zero qualms about reaching out to my fellow Mama friends and soliciting free babysitting assistance, just to give me some alone time to wallow in self pity and discomfort. I wish the above was an exaggeration, but I am sure my husband can vouch for the fact that I turned into the frigid witch of the west, and was no joy to be around. Thankfully, those days have passed. Other than the usual back aches, and tiredness that I still grumble about, I finally feel like myself again, with a regained appetite and the ability to eat onions and garlic again. In the first few months I lost a whopping 14 pounds, but I am finally above my pre-pregnancy weight, and I'm sure that half a pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream I ate last night certainly helps.

Back in August, Dan, Stella and I spent a week at Portage Lake in Michigan, for a large family reunion. I drifted in and out of participation, and depended heavily on my Mother-in-law for breaks from Stella. I felt guilty about not being as social or as warm and friendly to everyone, during such a happy get together. I KNOW that many of my new relatives were sympathetic, as they had shared similar sick pregnancies, but I still felt bad about not being able to force a regular smile. Out of all the young children and teens in our midst, from 4 months to 18 years (about 16 in total), there were only two boys. The abundance of girls in the family was discussed often, especially with my new pregnancy and another cousins 8 week announcement. Would we break the cycle and bring some new testosterone into the mix? All the mother's began comparing their pregnancies, and there definitely seemed to be a link between extreme nausea and the birthing of females. Without exception, those few who had had boys seemed to have the easiest pregnancies and the least complaints of all. Over the course of the next few months, I began my own unofficial polling, and became even more convinced by the results that bad pregnancy = girl, and easy pregnancy = boy. Little by little, Dan's hope of a son was chiseled away. There was no doubt that I was suffering from excessive estrogen hormonal imbalance.

I have vowed that this pregnancy will be my last. I turn 35 on Friday, and feel the strains of my age. Not only does pregnancy not suit my temperament, but I believe that my energy is waning as the years progress, and I don't really want to be an old Mom. Of course, there are numerous financial and emotional reasons not to burden ourselves with a larger family. Thus, there has been some sadness in the last weeks, as both my husband and I have addressed the issue that this will likely be our last baby. In honesty, our hopes were to have a boy and balance out the sexes in our home, but we have been bolstering ourselves for the inevitable news that another little girl was blossoming in my womb. Part of the reasons that we decided to find out the sex of this new baby in advance, was to give us time to absorb the news and begin to picture what the future dynamics of our home life would be. We have grown to see that either way will be right and wonderful, but this has taken much thought and introspection. We definitely did not want the actual birthing day to be tarnished with any sadness about what could have been. I suppose that this might sound horrible to some, who feel strongly (and rightfully) that any child is an enormous blessing, and that the sex is irrelevant, but I'd be a smidgen dishonest to say that I was in complete mature agreement.

Yesterday, at almost 23 weeks (a little late for scheduling our ultrasound), my family finally found ourselves in the doctor's office. I was laid out on the exam table, copious gel on my belly, as the ultrasound technician began her study of the healthy looking baby in my uterus. I knew that Dan was nervous, and thankfully distracted by our twittering daughter. After initial examination of the body, skull measurements, umbilical cord, placenta placement and vital organs, our t.v. view drifted to the nether regions.

"Well, it definitely looks like we have a little boy here."
Dan was in shock, "No. Are you serious? No. Are you sure?" I could hear the elation in his voice and tears easily sprung from my eyes.
It was a definite, unless ours was a little girl with a penis.

My initial feeling was one of relief, like my job was done. I felt that Dan had a sense of manhood restored, no matter how silly that sounds. There was also a slight sadness, as I realized that Stella would not have a little sister, something I had so deeply wanted when my own little brother was born. This information also somehow made my daughter even more precious, as I realized this was "it". She was going to be my ONLY little girl. Would she have to be my everything? How could I expect her to embody all of my little girl dreams? How could I dare put such pressure on her? It would be wrong, and something my conscience will have to fight with my unconscious, as those types of expectations are completely unrealistic.

So, here we are - a little boy on the way, and we are happy. The old wife's tale has officially been busted.

The Move

2007-10-25T17:10:00.000-04:00

You would think that moving cross-country with an unruly toddler, and a nauseous pregnancy would be great fodder for blog material, and you'd be correct. However, the stress, and near financial ruin (I exaggerate) of this experience has sapped the energy and creativity out of my limbs. I FINALLY feel caught up enough with the unpacking and life organizing to NOT feel guilty about dedicating a few stolen minutes to my writing.

Today is a gorgeous, unrainy fall day. I have a view out of our attic office of an old craftsman home and the peaks of maple trees in shades of gold, green and orange. The sky is a clear unsmoggy baby blue, and I am extremely smitten with this change of scenery. In Brooklyn, I always worked facing a wall or room interior, without the opportunity to wistfully look outside and daydream about outdoor freedom. Our new space does not go unappreciated as we finally have the opportunity to spread out our meagre possessions in an uncluttered fashion.

For the past month, all of our free time has been spent doing repetitive treks to Target, Bed, Bath & Beyond, Home Depot, IKEA, and a multitude of grocery stores. We still have no real concept of the Pearl District and the famous Powell bookstore, nor have we allowed ourself leisurely strolls in Mt.Tabor or Laurelhurst Park. I do feel that the times are-a-changin', and enjoyment of our surrounds is on the horizon. We look forward to our coming adventures in the Pacific Northwest, and weekends spent exploring new horizons instead of being great consumers of household crap.

Our move hinged on the affordability of Portland in relation to New York. We were enticed by low rental prices and an escape from the material pressures of stylish Manhattan. We imagined a simpler life, where our square footage would expand without a mutual expansion in income.
We were fooled.
Yes, our home is now triple the size, and much needed with baby 2 on the way, but our rent has also increased. We are buying a used car, and aren't splashing out on this luxury item, but have added the extra monthly headache of gas and insurance. Finally, the imminent 2 year birth date of Miss Stella Mar, and the early onset of the 'Terrible Two's' has brought along a necessity for outside childcare. Even at part-time care prices, we are shocked by daycare fees and the deep hole this expense will leave in our pockets. We have officially entered the middle class struggle of living paycheck to paycheck, and it ain't pretty. If I allow myself to block out our new economic woes, there is no doubt that we made the right decision. In truth, these costs are all inevitable wherever we would choose to live. It is the nature of having a family. Kids aren't cheap. I console myself with the fact that we've only got childcare costs until Kindergarten - about 6 years to go! Then, we can start saving again for those exotic family vacations, because school aged children are cheaper, right?
Lie to me.

Back on the train,
Sarah

Formal Announcement

2007-09-07T09:45:00.000-04:00

There are big changes here, which will also explain my disappearing act. As I had last divulged, I am pregnant again, now at 15 weeks. This fact has provided the impetus to finally leave our one and a half bedroom apartment, our home in Brooklyn for the past 4.5 years. Our spacing issues with raising a toddler AND working out of our living room had already reached boiling point, but laziness, cheapness, and indecision kept us from finding a new place. With thoughts of carrying groceries, a near 2 year old, and a bowling ball in my belly all up a 4 story walk-up, I was freaked into action.

Daniel and I just returned from a scouting trip to the Pacific Northwest (sans Stella), and have officially decided to move to Portland, Oregon. We gave our notice to our landlords, and are in the process of signing a lease for a Craftsman duplex (3 plus rooms, plus basement, plus laundry, plus large outdoor patio, plus fireplace, plus parking!!!!). Now, we literally have two weeks to pack up our belongings and ship them cross country. With all this crazy moving and upheaval, I imagine my writing will be scant, but just think of the future chapters to come! I am very, very excited about the changes, and our coming proximity and accessibility to the great outdoors.

A Lifting

2007-08-10T15:08:00.000-04:00

Now that I've semi-sneakily let out the big news, that yes, I am pregnant, I will be able to enumerate all the pressure that this has placed on our household (in the future).

When I rag on and on about how miserable I am, please don't ever think that I am not thoroughly excited about our growing family, and don't ever doubt that I wholeheartedly want this precious baby, despite the fact that 'it' is doing a number on my health. I am just not a fan of pregnancy, only the end result. I do find that I am more depressed this time around, purely because I feel rotten, and that really takes the glow and joy out of what should be a wonderful thing. I've always been willing to imagine a family with 3 children, especially if another daughter makes Daniel want to gamble a third time in hopes for a son, but I don't think that pregnant Sarah brings any good to this world. I also don't think I'm enough of a masochist to go through this again, and frankly, that makes me sad.

Those days of amnesia about nausea, acid reflux and a painful labor seem far, far away. This blog will record the truth of the moment, for me to reread if I ever get broody. Right now, I do think there is an ever slight change. It is definitely not a complete recovery, but I have just done something shocking and tell-tale... I ordered a curry take-away from a Thai restaurant! I'm a little scared, because this is my first venture into a world of flavor in over 4 weeks, and I might be barfing it all out in an hour. I'm just surprised to think that I could even contemplate spicy food after weeks of a toast,crackers, peanut butter and wedges of cheddar diet. Cross your fingers for me.

Misery

2007-08-07T14:50:00.000-04:00

This past month has been one of the worst in my life.
Nothing tragic has happened - I have just been incredibly sick, and still am.
I have thought about writing many, many times, but besides not feeling well, and not wanting to spend any more time in front of the computer than I have to, I thought, "who the hell is going to want to read about my misery?".

This all started around the beginning of July, when I began suffering all day headaches, that originate at the back of my neck and the base of my skull, and radiate around my head like Jesus' thorny crown, throbbing fiercely across my forehead. This ache is C O N S T A N T, and is coupled with ALL-day nausea.

For weeks, I have been useless, often lying prone in my bed, and not doing a lick of housework or cooking. Daniel has had to step-up big time, which he has never failed to do, and take care of both me, Stella, work, and living. About the only thing I have managed to do is croak out my day's worth of labor, and thank the stars that I work out of my home, where I can go from night to day in the same pajamas, not brush my teeth or hair, and poop out at odd times.

Seriously, this is no joke. I have felt this rotten. My parents have been visiting for almost two weeks, and I feel like my Mom is holding my life together. She is cooking, cleaning, and entertaining Stella non-stop. Before their arrival, I called on the help of some of my Mommy friends to have Stella over for a playdate, without my attendance. Thanks to all these people, I have managed.

If there has been anything to learn from this experience (which is yet to be over), it is a new compassion for those who are very sick and in pain, sometimes terminally, and a heartfelt conviction that I never - ever - want to be pregnant again.

Eleven weeks and counting...

Happy Anniversary!

2007-08-07T10:03:00.000-04:00

To my love, who I have shared 3 wonderful years with.
I love you.

Dawg Love

2007-07-12T13:58:00.000-04:00

Stella really loves dogs. In fact, I think her little toddler brain is dominated by thoughts of dogs (even above Elmo!). We don't own a dog, but that didn't stop "dawg" from being her first word. Whenever we hear a dog barking outside, she gets a look of surprise on her face - a little 'o' mouth, and then gleefully nods with knowing, "dawg". Out on the street, she shrieks with excitement whenever she spots a canine, pointing and flapping, drawn off her path. Thankfully, our neighborhood gives her ample opportunity to meet dogs of varying size and color, and we have often gone on walks for the sole purpose of dog spotting.

Yesterday, after finishing a light shop at the coop, we paused outside of the front door to admire a dog who looked like a mutt version of Lassie. His owner was seated beside him on a bench, leash in hand, and smiled welcoming at Stella. Both my husband and I have done our best to teach Stella how to be gentle when she pets and not to hit or tug. We always try to calm down her explosive energy when she sees other animals, and to be slow in approaching them. She did all of this perfectly when she saw the dog, smiling and waving as she stood in front of him, a safe distance away. Frankly, she was being adorable, and all of the passersby were ahhing, 'how cute'. She then stepped up closer to the dog, squatted down and planted a big mwaaah kiss on his snout. Exactly as her lips smacked, I saw the glint in the dog's eye change.
He charged at my baby. The dog snapped at Stella's face, pushing her away. She flew backward, slamming her head on the concrete sidewalk. The owner was completely shocked and immediately yanked his dog's leash with worry. I ran to Stella who was flat on her back, screaming. She had a very faint welt on her cheek, where the dogs tooth had grazed her, but not cut through the skin. AS I lifted her into my arms and tried to comfort her and ease her fear, I was also telling the dog's owner that she was alright, and not to worry. Logically, how could I be mad at the dog? He had acted as any animal would act when their territory felt threatened, BUT what would I have done if she had been seriously injured? I remember hearing about a toddler in Manhattan who had her face bitten off by a dog, and thinking that I could not imagine a more horrendous thing. If an animal had maimed my child like that, I don't know if I could control my rage. I'd want that dog dead, and yet it wouldn't solve anything.

With barely a scratch, we were able to walk away from the incident, shaken up, but undamaged. At least, that is what I hoped. I knew it was inevitable that Stella would have to learn more caution, and that not all animals are nice. I was just hoping that her great love would not have to be questioned so soon.

Friday Destination Dreaming # 19

2007-06-29T11:07:00.000-04:00

This is a post that I have been wanting to write for several months. My intention was to suggest this destination over the Easter week, as there are lots of colorful pageants, dances, religious processions, and creative decorations to behold, comprised of cereals and fresh vegetables. Holy week is arguably more important than Christmas as deduced by the natives whole-hearted involvement in celebration. Many businesses close, and hours of operation are shortened so that the locals have more time to spend with family and to enjoy their holiday. This might make it a LESS ideal time to visit, without a genuine interest in Easter traditions.
Months later, and I still find myself dreaming of this destination. The summers are brutally hot, so I am squeezing this spot in before the hordes of tourists arrive for July and August, and the extreme heat reduces one to an oily meat patty.

I bring you a little early summer spice...in Sicily!

Visiting Sicily is all about culture, history, natural beauty, and Italian cuisine. I'd suggest flying into Palermo, to begin your trip with the excitement of a big city and all its' varied entertainment. You will have many archaeological sites to visit, beaches to swim at, and boutique shops to browse through. Sicily is an island of vineyards, orchards, rocky coastline and mountains, such as the famous volcanic Mt. Etna. You can tour through Ancient and Medieval cities like Agrigento, Siracusa, Monreale, and Cefalu, spending much longer in lovely Taormina. Do as the locals do, and spend your evenings strolling arm in arm through piazzas and down stone lanes, stopping for coffee, gelatto, and granita (flavored ice), all the while watching the beautiful and well-dressed around you. Food will be the real treat, and provides the clearest insight into both the land and the people. Dine alfresco, indulging in fresh caught seafood and Sicilian wine. You should detect hints of orange, lemon, olives and almonds - all locally grown, in the flavor of your food. Sicily is surrounded by water - three different seas - the Ionian, Tyrrhenian, and Mediterranean, so when the heat finally becomes unbearable, you can stretch your body out on a sandy beach, or go snorkeling in one of the many coves. Scintillating!

Siblings

2007-06-26T12:50:00.000-04:00

I'm ready. I want another baby. I hope this isn't like telling people what your birthday wish is, when blowing out the candles, and forever ruining your chance of that dream coming true. I am just excited to think about a new being, magically concocted from Dan and my genes, that I can't help sharing my anticipation.
I love Stella so very much, that I am mesmerized by her every expression and burgeoning understanding of our world and the function of all minutiae in our life. Knowing how much better being a parent gets, from the stress of trying to get a newborn to stop crying, to the brief moments when your eyes lock and recognition is achieved, to the now frequent "I lub you"s and the leg hugs, I can't wait to start all over again. I like to think of Stella with a sibling, and imagine how a new and different personality would balance the energy in our household. I also have crazy dreams of three children, which makes my nearly 35 year old body feel the pressure to get a move on it. Dan wants a son, as do I, but having a little girl has been a great deal of fun... something I'd like to repeat. I love to think of Stella having a little sister, near in age, destined to be her dearest friend. Then, just as quickly, I counter that image with imagining her kindly shepherding a little brother along a shared path. I'm sure that both my brother and sister would agree that I fulfilled neither of the above roles, something I have had some lingering guilt about. I hope I don't place some unrealistic pressure on Stella (or myself) to have the idyllic sibling relationship that I failed at as the eldest child. As an adult, I am so very thankful for my family, and grateful for time and maturity, which have strengthened and deepened my relationships with my siblings. It is never too late!

Anyhow, I do like the idea of a family that is more than a trinity, and hope that we can experience this. I have lots of ideas for girls names. Now, all that I need is a stellar choice for a boy, and I'm sure that I'll be ready!

Read It! Read It!

2007-06-22T11:46:00.001-04:00

Stella loves books. She drags then all around the house, back and forth between her bedroom and the living room, asks to have them in her crib when she sleeps, and even has designated bath books. Every day, she approaches her Father or I with a book in one hand, big pleading eyes, and says, "Read it. Read it." Then shakes her head in a vehement yes, as if she is willing the only acceptable response. She often makes her request when I am typing away at my desk, trying to work, and she is on tip toe, peering over the top of my desk top. I feel bad that at least half of the time, I have to deny her, and tell her to ask her Daddy or read it to herself. For the most part she is fine with this, and never whines too long. Our new problem stems not from her constant desire to read and share her books with us, but from her recent obsession with her absolutely favorite book.

Since Stella was little, and just beginning to crawl and use furniture to pull herself up, her favorite place to do so was at a book shelf full of travel guides, cookbooks and Gourmet magazines. She could spend hours entertaining herself by pulling all the books off the shelves, and flipping through the usually picture-less pages. This was a great clean-up game on our part, as you can imagine. As she grew, and got bored with black and white pages, we thought that she might have finally lost interest in our bookcase, but her break was short lived. When you live in a dinky, closet-size home, one is bound to return to the same haunts. Eventually, Stella found the book of her dreams, a cookbook from the early 90's, entitled "The Surreal Gourmet - Real Food for Pretend Chefs."

This book is full of surrealist food images, like eggplants in a nest, an avocado guitar, and a Mr. Potato Head spud. However, what really seems to rock Stella's world, are all the images of fish, like goldfish with a martini glass or a paintbrush tail, fish bones, and a fish shaped grill. She is constantly forcing this book upon us with shouts of, "Fish! Fish!". After initially finding her fascination with this book humorous, we now find it exacerbating. There is nothing for us to "read", and all Stella wants to do is scream "FISH!" at the appropriate pages. Dan and I have now grown to hate this book, and we keep putting it away, thinking that she will forget about it. Stella is not stupid, and this hasn't worked, so now we have become truly mean parents and have hid it.

Yes, that is right. Cue the evil Dracula laughter - "Mmwahahahaaahhhh!!!!"

Love At First Sit

2007-06-21T11:44:00.000-04:00

OK. My heart is beating fast, and I am trying to calm myself down by typing more slowly and with purpose. My unreal excitement stems from one vision - spotting my dream couch on a website. I know, I know - a sofa? Yes, this is what I fantasize about. I have had the same futon couch in my living room since 1998. It was initially purchased out of frugality, and has not been let go out of necessity. When we moved to Brooklyn, the intention was always to replace our futon with a real live grown-up couch, but this did not happen for valid reasons. First, our apartment has acted as a hotel for surfing friends and families and thus the futon has served us well as a queen size bed for visiting guests. Second, we live in an old brownstone on the 4th floor. Although we could get a couch up to our apartment, it would never fit through our doorway which is only about 27 inches wide. Besides the fact that I have never been able to find a couch with these dimensions, we also felt that it was necessary to get a sofa bed (for overnight guests), and this type of furniture is even larger. We never thought that we would be here for over four years. Otherwise, we might have considered paying to have a couch disassembled or at least lifted and brought through a window. Now, it is really too late. Instead, I think about our future move and the dream couch that we will own sometime down the line.
With nesting obsessions, I have become quite fanatic about design magazines and blogs. I love Domino, and take a daily gander at Design Sponge. This blog has lead me to many other great sites like Apartment Therapy and sfgirlbybay, which have in turn directed me to a little slice of perfection...

Seriously, I was very excited when I saw this.
I. LOVE. THIS. COUCH.
I do not care that it costs $2000.
This is a worthy splurge, and one that I hope I can make when we leave our tiny home. My face is flushed and I have heart palpitations thanks to my heavenly state of love at first sight. Possession is the only cure.

My Daddy(s)

2007-06-19T21:41:00.000-04:00

Father's Day has come and gone, but it is never too late to appreciate the wonderful men in my life. I'm not always good about organizing special plans or gifts for holidays. Months in advance, I have the best intentions to find the perfect present or surprise the people I love with some memorable celebration, but procrastination usually gets the better of me. I manage to get my cards out in the nick of time, but I really meant to do so much more. This past weekend was a particular challenge, as Father's Day also marked my Dad's 60th birthday - a major and important milestone. My mother was at work planning an intimate party, one that a whole continent kept me from attending. I'm the missing daughter. The one who lives far away on the opposite coast. I talk frequently with my parents, but it will never be a substitute for seeing each other in the flesh, especially when the grandparents crave the presence of their only grandchild. Ever since Stella was born, my Father and I seem to talk to one another more often, and I really appreciate his impromptu calls to see how Stellita is doing, make movie and book suggestions, and let me know how his art classes are going. I wish our connections didn't have to be brief calls over a cellphone, and that instead we could share a meal with both conversation and comfortable silence. I might be wrong, but I think that becoming a Mother was my most joyous achievement in the eyes of my Father. He becomes all soft and wistful when he watches Stella, emotionally expressing how perfect she is. Becoming a parent marked the beginning of all cliches, as I truly began to understand how much my own Father and Mother had done for me, and how much they love me. Apparently, I wasn't a very affectionate little girl, preferring my own physical independence to my Dad's warm embrace. He wanted to cuddle and be adoring, and I pushed him away with shouts of 'no' in an earnest desire to run and explore. Dear Dad, I may be a grown woman now, but I would be happy to hug and rest my head on your shoulder whenever you want. Love, Sarah.

Daniel, you are my partner in life, my best friend, my husband, and the Father of our baby. I knew you were the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with for all the ways in which you (and nobody else) can make me laugh, for your strong character and tender kindness, and your faith and commitment to marriage, as defined by us. I always knew, from our early days as friends, that you would be a great Father - a great family man. You have proven my intuition a hundred fold since Stella's birth, and even before that with my whining pregnancy. You are my very equal partner with raising Stella, and I don't think I could do this without you. I rely on you so very much to get me through the difficult and stressful times, when my patience has worn much too thin, and I lack both the energy and clear-headedness to be an adult with a toddler. You are my rock, and my water, steady and stable, yet going with the flow. I don't need to tell you this, but Stella adores you. You bring out her guffaws (as you do mine), and you are clearly her first choice when she wants to play. I know that I push bath time off on you, but it really is because you do it better. I'll sit in the living room, listening to you laugh and splash, and know how much this time with you pleases her. She loves your voices and playing pretend, and is destined to have a goofy side with lots of making faces, thanks to you.

When you get nostalgic, you share stories from your own childhood about how your Father used to play jokes on you and your brother, always making you laugh and keeping you on your toes. I can't possibly not mention your Dad, now MY Dad too, in a tribute to Fathers. It is thanks to his strong morals and dedication to family that I have ended up with his more than perfect son. I am truly blessed and grateful for the wonderful men in my life, the great Fathers and the wonderful grandfathers, that fill my life with meaning and happiness. With all my love and appreciation, I thank you.

No Sugarcoating

2007-06-15T11:55:00.000-04:00

Damn. It is hard being a parent.
Yesterday, EARLY in the morning, around 5AM (O! MI! GAWD!), Stella decided it was time to wake-up... for good. Dan and I are both very bad morning people. I have donkey breath, and Dan resembles a Tenderloin street person. You would think our mere appearance would frighten Stella into submission, but no, us two crazy people are her everything, her playmates, and with excited screams of "Up, up, boobie, boobie, read it, read it, Bird, Bird (the big one of Sesame Street fame)!!!" we are faced with an explosion of requests.
We have DVR, a version of TIVO, and automatically record Sesame Street every morning, so that we can have an hour of free babysitting. Bad, bad parents.
At 5AM it is too early for the new episode, and I feel guilty about repeats. After zombie nursing, I found some bad cartoon to flash on the screen and tried to curl up on the couch, one eye open, the other shut in a false attempt at snoozing. Thankfully, Dan took over, recognizing my complete ineptitude at engaging our daughter at this hour.
This was only the start to a long day of tears and struggles. Eating time is a big drama-filled hassle. Dan, usually the patient one, cannot maintain his cool as Stella topples every thoughtfully prepared meal onto the floor, and refuses to try anything. She pushes spoonfuls of veggies away, as an annoying whine begins to emanate from her throat. "No. No. No. No. No. No. No." spews forth from Stella with the precise rhythm of a metronome. This girl is a nightmare to feed. One day she likes corn, the next day she drops each kernel onto the floor, INDIVIDUALLY. She asks for juice, then hocks her sippy cup onto the floor without taking a drink. She loves rice and beans, but than screams when you mix the two. Her impatience for cooking is exacerbating, and her unwillingness to try anything is a challenge we are failing to cope with. Here I am, trying to wean, but feeling like our girl is a string bean without my nourishment. Yesterday, it seemed our frustration was too much to bear and our failure tantamount.
To top off her mealtime shenanigans, we cannot seem to control the girlie screams that Stella seems to love making. This and her crying tantrums seem to always occur right when one of us thinks it is finally safe to make a phone call for work. The end result is that Daniel and I take our anger out on each other, and bicker like two little, immature brats. Having children does wonders for a marriage!

Night time comes with the rituals of bath time, p-js and 'nigh-nigh'(tucking our hopefully tired baby girl into her crib). Last night's bath ritual started off with Dan and I arguing over whose turn it was, trading off mid shift. I got the easy start, with Dan getting the gawd-awful end. Being the proud farter that my husband is, he and Stella amused themselves with a little bath-time bubble-making fart game, which was all fun and laughs until Stella pushed a little too hard. With a poop explosion in the bath water, I was urgently called to help deal with the mess. This is by no means the first time that we have been faced with a poop disaster in the tub. It is like Dan and I are performing a slapstick routine as we try to figure out which one of us is going to hold Stella out of the water, without touching our body, who is going to dump the tub of the offensive soup, who gets to rinse her dirty bum, and who gets to clean and disinfect all of the surroundings, including numerous toys and water books.
Less than 30 minutes later, with temporary order resumed, and a clean toddler in my favorite pair of pajamas, I heard a ripping fart emanate from her corner...and then another one, sounding juicy. Oh no. A tell tale yellow stain started to appear on her leg. We both whisked her up and away to the diaper station to check out the damage - stinky, wet diarrhea all up her front and back. This is so NOT fun, and this is our reality. I love Stella, immeasurably so, and I wouldn't change our family for all the fortunes in the world, but I also do not sugarcoat the truth. It is hard, very hard, to be a parent.

Day By Day

2007-06-13T12:49:00.000-04:00

"I don't want to live day by day." said my husband about a week ago. I know that there was something deep that was puzzling his mind, but I didn't have the effort at the time to go spelunking through the caverns of his brain. I think I literally begged off the discussion citing my usual exhaustion and inability to focus before imminent sleep.

A couple days later, I tried to engage him in a conversation about whatever he could have possibly meant by that statement, and timing was not working for us again, as work stress dominated his thoughts.

I do know that the gist of what he was trying to express had something to do with the fact that we cannot figure out where we want to live and what we want to do with our lives. It's sad and further frustrating to be in our mid-30's with dead-end careers, no property, and no clue on how to change our situation.

On our trip to California, we were bombarded with the usual questions about if we were going to have another baby, how long we were planning to stay in New York, and where did we want to move. Yes, we want another baby, and are 'practicing'. No, we do not see an endless future in New York, as we are sick of living in a one and a half bedroom, dinky flat, 4th floor walk-up, and can't even fathom paying the kind of rent required for bigger digs. Now, IF we knew where else we wanted to live, life would be soooo much easier. With our pregnancy hopes, we know that our decision-making time is limited, as I think I will turn into the BIGGEST Witchiest Bitch of the East if I have to climb our stairs with a bowling bowl in my belly and a toddler on my hip. Really. This CANNOT happen.
Of course, moving is no easy feat. Even IF we knew where to move, we would still have to pack up our apartment, find movers to ship our stuff, and be prepared for a whole lot of headaches and expense. We feel that we have to be very sure before we embark on this stressful journey. BUT, we also like the idea of NOT deciding, and instead, putting all of our crap in storage (more expense), and subletting our way around some interesting cities in the U.S.. Our neighbors are renting a summer house On Shelter Island on Long Island for two months, working from their temporary home. There is no reason that we couldn't do something similar. I also like the idea of going places where we don't have to spend a lot of money, like our parents houses in Naples, FL. or Los Angeles, for a month stretch. The plan would be to work during these times - it's not a vacation, but maybe give ourselves some more perspective with the stimulation of a new environment.
Am I stoned? Is this a truly cock-a-mamie idea with an under 2 year old, and a possible pregnancy? Could we really live out of a suitcase as a family? If we are subletting furnished homes, will this be affordable, comfortable, or enjoyable? Will I go nuts without my stuff and Stella's toys? I think we'd have to buy a car, and lug more belongings around. What about a regular doctor/midwife (and no, I am not pregnant yet)? How much would it cost to store all of our furniture, etc. in the new York area? There is so much to consider, and some very exciting ideas, that my head is spinning. In the end, everything will boil down to money.

Anyway, my point, hijacked from my husband, is that it is time to start making plans. We can't keep on pushing off decision making. It is time to de-fog and clearly assess/analyze our situation and options. We must be proactive in moving toward change and a new and hopefully bright future.

Breast Feeding Stella 101

2007-06-07T17:40:00.000-04:00

Another long absence from my computer...
We returned from a 9 day trip to California (Los Angeles and San Francisco), part pleasure, part business. It was an exhausting week, in which every minute was scheduled with visits or work. Besides not really having access to a computer for much personal use, I really didn't have a spare minute. Since our late Sunday return, I am still catching up on crap, which involves reading dozens of my favorite blogs and watching all of my favorite shows which were recorded during the interim.

One particular blog entry from MOM101 has lingered on my mind so much so, that I have to elaborate here. Her story is a basic one of grappling with her negative reaction to the extended breast-feeding of a fellow mom/friend. She specifically states that she is all for breastfeeding, and that "This is just me, trying to figure out why I was so freaked out (entirely) by a two year-old running up to his mom at snack time and ordering a boobie with a side of absolutely nothing."
There are many more complexities to her essay, which I won't go into here, and last I looked, 92 comments on the topic, which support the gamut of opinions.
I didn't post a response myself, due to general inertia, but the whole subject has been bugging me so very much, that it is time for me to sort through my feelings.

As my handful of readers know, I am an advocate for breastfeeding, despite painful bouts of near mastitis. Stella is officially 18 months, and she is STILL nursing. It was never my intention to go this long, not because I think there is anything wrong with doing so, but probably because I thought at one, she'd be done, and I had definitely bought into the idea of 12 months as being the generic cut-off date. My Mother breast fed me and my two siblings until we were somewhere between the age of 2-3 (9 years of being a milk bar!). I have zero recollection of any nursing. All I know now, is that none of us have allergies, I hate milk, and I have a great relationship with my Mom. Whether those three facts have anything to do with nursing, who knows?
So, why am I still breast feeding? I'm not entirely sure, although I think the biggest reason is that Stella still wants to. If it weren't for her continual pleas, and the comfort I know that I can give her, weaning may have started earlier. I do think that the fact that I work out of my home, and have thus never had to deal with the hassle of pumping on the job, has made it a WHOLE lot easier. Stella never took to a bottle, and has always relied on me for these feedings. Nursing has been the ultimate soother through months of sleepless nights, and has been a very special time to bond one-on-one, in complete quiet and privacy, with my baby. It is also no doubt that nursing has insured that I can be confident that Stella is getting some required nutrients (leached from my bones!), when her picky eating habits have led to failed meals. When she turned 14 months, I began the very slow process of weaning her, which was fought with temper tantrum meltdowns. I had the intentions of sticking to my plan, and letting her 'cry it out', when she got sick and we spent that miserable week in the hospital. It took me a while to be ready to try again, and there always seemed to be another excuse.

This all brings me to today, and a time when I have started to feel embarrassed about my extended breast feeding. I feel horrible about this, because I know that is it all perfectly normal to Stella, and there is nothing 'weird' about it, but I also know that many others are not so understanding, and I don't know why I even give a shit. I am getting sick of trying to defend myself from the shocked responses I get from people when they hear that Stella isn't weaned. I'm not a nurse-anywhere, flash your tits kind of person, outside of my personal comfort zone, and have become more discreet with time. It seems that my own insecurities are pushing me into the closet and this really pisses me off... at myself.

One of the things that really irked me about the responses to MOM 101's story, were all of the "if they can ask for it, then they are too old" comments. The sad thing is, I think I said the same thing before I had my own baby. What a fool was I. What does the ability to express your wants have anything to do with weaning time??? Another mother was more eloquent than I, when she reminded us that there are many non verbal forms of "asking for it" and what makes a newborn's cries more acceptable than a 10 month old's sign language, or a one year old's "boobie" mantra? My husband and I worked hard to teach Stella some key baby sign language, so that she would not have to be frustrated about not being understood. She was pumping her fists (the sign for milk)at 10 months, and saying 'boobie' around 1 year (I think?). What was I supposed to do? - The minute she finally had a grasp on how to communicate with us and let us know what she wants, was I supposed to say NO??? That, my dear, is ridiculous.

Sadly, despite all of my anger at other people's judgement and personal conviction that there is nothing wrong with nursing my one and half year old, I have been weakened by peer pressure. Upon arrival back to New York, I have refused to answer Stella's cries in the middle of the night, and am only nursing her 3 times a day (morning, afternoon, and before bed). Believe me, this is a big reduction. Obviously, I also have good reasons for wanting to wean Stella, such as, hope for improved sleeping through the night, freedom to wear dresses (only other Mom's will understand this one!), getting my body back, and taking a much needed vacation with my husband - sans Stella. So far, the crying it out at night is REALLY starting to work. I'm going on 4 nights without leaving my bed. She still wakes up at least once in the night, but cries for a shorter period and eventually has found her way back to sleep. The reduced breast feeding during the day is harder, and involves a lot of purposeful distraction, some tears, and some giving in. It's hard to end those moments of having Stella curled in my lap looking up at me, and touching my face with her hand ... complete and utter baby worship.

July 2006

Crib Cliff

2007-05-22T22:18:00.000-04:00

It finally happened.

Stella crawled out of her crib.
Scratch that.
Stella FELL out of her crib.

I heard the crash as she hit the floor, followed by her piercing scream. This happened seconds after buzzing the takeout delivery guy into our brownstone. I ran into Stella's room to find her sprawled on her back, thankfully not hurt, but definitely shocked to find herself in that position. I'm sure the wind was knocked out of her (but not enough to keep her lungs from wailing). I simultaneously clutched her to my heart and doled out dollars for my dinner, hoping that she really was okay, and that I wasn't missing a more serious injury.

Dan and I have often whispered our fears about this happening, hoping that she'd never find her way over the crib's edge, but guessing that her toddler instincts would eventually lead her to find an escape route. It's only one day later, with several naps behind us, and I can't help but cock an ear when I hear any suspicious sound come from her room. Has she frightened herself enough to resist another jail break, or is one leg stretched over the lip of her bed frame in persistent determination? Should I be putting her to bed with a moat of foam and pillows on the hardwood below her? Am I jinxing myself by writing about this? As if I don't have enough to worry about as the mother of a one year old. My morbidity tauntingly leads me to many a dark imagining about the dangers that lurk behind every bend. Now I have to lie in my bed, turning the monitor on and off to make sure that she's really sleeping and not climbing any mountains. I'm exhausted, yet suffering "mama insomnia". This, my friends, is what parenthood does. It turns you into a worry wart with more grey hair.

Friday Destination Dreaming # 18

2007-05-18T13:06:00.000-04:00

In continuation of the previous entry, my thoughts are dwelling on future homes. With this meditation, I bring you smoky-blue Asheville, North Carolina.

It's funny how these random cities that I have never visited begin to take precedence in my mind. Thoughts of Asheville began several months ago, when we were told of the future move of an uber-cool couple with San Francisco/San Diego roots. They were selling their art gallery/vintage clothing store in SD for more affordable living in the great South with their little girl (same age as Stella). Apparently, Asheville is beginning to have that same edge/notoriety as like sister cities, Portland, OR. and Austin. While the grandparents were in town, helping us with our awesome load of dirty clothes at the local Laundromat, they ended up meeting a young Brooklyn couple, who were also headed to a new home in Asheville with their two-year old son. They spoke of big homes, a vibrant art scene, and easy access to nature. They were also making this life change without knowing a single soul out there.

How does Asheville live up to my list of requirements?

1)Somewhat liberal - no place dominated by ultra conservatism (both political and religious).
* Asheville itself is considered very liberal, with a large hippy and gay demographic(not that we're a part of either of these groups), but it is surrounded by a dense Republican/church-going population.
2)A place where buying a modest home for around $300,000 seems possible.
* This is possible, and the arts & crafts style homes look adorable.
3)A city with good public transportation, and no heavy reliance on a car.
* There is limited bus and trolley service, but a car would be needed to truly enjoy the area and all it has to offer. There seem to be mixed opinions as to whether the traffic is truly horrible or if this is just a small town perspective on the situation.
4)An edgy cultural scene - art, music venues, museums, and ethnic variety.
* Downtown Asheville is 'funky' and all about the art and art galleries. The town itself has more Art Deco architecture than anywhere else but South Beach, Miami, and features several museums, grand homes and the famous Biltmore Estate. There are over two dozen music venues, with a surprising amount of alternative bands scheduled to tour (i.e. The Smashing Pumpkins).
5)A great farmer's market.
* Absolutely. This is a city with lots of great restaurants, including many that cater to vegetarians (not that I am one, but I always think this is a good sign of healthy produce), and there are several huge grocery emporiums with organic foods.
6)Good schools.
* Hmmm - don't know.
7)Proximity to a decent airport with international connections.
* this is the biggest negative. I was researching flights from New York and they were well over $400, involving a connection unless I want to fly out of Newark. This would not be an easy destination for family that wants to visit, and forget about the random friends that come blowing through town like they often do in New York. Greensboro is an alternate airport that is about 3.5 hours away. This is grim.
8)A REAL summer (none of that San Francisco crap!).
* Well, sorta - It looks like a mild climate that features all four seasons, which is great, but I don't think it's a place of hot, hot summers.
9)Nature in our backyard - lush parks, and places to hike or swim that are near enough.
* Wow! The Blue Ridge and Great Smoky Mountains, the Appalachian trail, rivers, hiking, hallelujah!

Fantasy Home

2007-05-17T12:35:00.000-04:00

Dan and I are back to our old wandering ways, having multiple conversations about whether we should leave New York, and if so, to where. We have been hanging on to Brooklyn, not only because we really do think this city is great, and Park Slope especially, but also because of my business plan aspirations, which would definitely require a minimum two year commitment. With all of my new doubts about whether the business idea is solid, or rather if we can ever honestly find the right location at the right price to open shop, I'm questioning our reasons for staying somewhere so pricey, a place that we are unable to afford buying even the most basic of apartment units.

We just passed a wonderful week with my visiting in-laws. Stella LOVED the constant adoring attention, and we were equally spoiled with the freedom to work and several nights out on our own. Stella became immediately attached to Grammy and Poppy, waking in the morning, and calling out to "Gammy" first thing, no longer interested in a snuggle from Mama or Daddy. I felt a little out of place, but in the best possible way, and was more impressed by the sudden and strong new bond. I've thought it a thousand times - WHY are we so far from family????... And, I've thought it a thousand more times - WHY do our parents have to live in Florida and Los Angeles???

So, we find ourselves back to the game of tossing around place names that just might suit our style... Seattle, Portland (Oregon and Maine), Asheville, Albuquerque, Buenos Aires, CANADA, Philadelphia, Washington D.C., Southern Cal, Austin, etc...
Does anyone out there in cyber space have any thoughts on this issue?

Here is our criteria:
1)Somewhat liberal - no place dominated by ultra conservatism (both political and religious).
2)A place where buying a modest home for around $300,000 seems possible.
3)A city with good public transportation, and no heavy reliance on a car.
4)An edgy cultural scene - art, music venues, museums, and ethnic variety.
5)A great farmer's market.
6)Good schools.
7)Proximity to a decent airport with international connections.
8)A REAL summer (none of that San Francisco crap!).
9)Nature in our backyard - lush parks, and places to hike or swim that are near enough.

I'm sure I'll think of more deal breakers, but that's a good start. All opinions are appreciated.

MindWeb

2007-05-15T12:06:00.000-04:00

I'm embarrassed.
I've taken almost an entire month to allot some time to this blog, and yet I've thought about it almost every day. I've started numerous entries in my head, most of them at the wee hours of the night, when I've just finished another early AM nursing (the never-ending curse), and can't find my way back to dreamland despite my obvious exhaustion. Lately, I have felt like my brain is a web of superficial obsessions. Instead of reflecting on what is important in this world - my family, I seem to use precious free time to zone out in front of a fill-in-the-blank reality show, stress about work and finances, and think about all the ways I could lead a more creative lifestyle without accomplishing anything.

A diagram of Sarah's mind in written form - Focus, focus, focus - food... what can I cook? I have multiple cookbooks, which I love, and a Gourmet subscription, but all that is in the fridge is wilted cilantro, olives, and beets. Do I have the energy for a Coop shop? No. Thai take-out it is - again. Clothes ... I need new 'cool' clothes, but I have an issue with buying things that I don't REALLY need, yet my Lucky magazines inspire me to dress my outside like the 'artist' inside. I'm having difficulties with meshing my anti-materialistic side with the sucker for capitalism. Then I obsess and worry about the state of my home (usually a mess),and all the spring cleaning projects I can't complete that involve putting away winter clothes, weeding out my wardrobe, organizing closets, and doing something about the Sanford & Sons entry to our apartment. This is not even to mention how I want to improve the look and style of my home, finally graduating away from a futon couch (can you believe it? - I'm almost 35 and I've never owned a proper couch). I've got an unfinished scrapbook for Stella that sits in a box on my desk, a glaring reminder of my inadequacies at finishing projects. Speaking of - remember that business plan of mine? It's still going, but at a snail's pace and I'm losing steam and confidence in my ability to pull it off. I can't even go there now, because I feel so bad about my lack of perseverance. I don't understand why it is so very hard for me to complete what seem to be the simplest of errands that I do nothing - Almost 3 years have passed and I still have my wedding dress hanging in the closet, when it should be neatly packed in an acid-free and moth repellent box. What about my cell phone that hasn't had an address book for 8 months since it was mysteriously erased?
I think I spend far too much time day-dreaming about traveling and winning the lottery. I really just want to be a wandering hobo. That is my aspiration!
Of course, my zig-zagging brain isn't always creeping through futile alleys of superficiality. I also spend a lot of time pondering what I am doing with my life, going on nine years of being a travel agent, not owning a home, or even a car, living in New York, one of the most expensive cities in the U.S., and questioning the impact of my parenting choices.

I started this blog after falling in love with the writing of so many others, and wanting an outlet for my inner thoughts and opinions. I really want this to be a place to reflect and comment on life, without turning into a laundry list of mundane events. My desire is for this blog to speak for what I feel to be most important and to be a place of meaningful insight, which has ultimately crippled me. I feel that if I can't write anything of substance than I just shouldn't write at all, and this has led to a month of hiatus. I need to get back on that bike, and realize that there is merit to the most simple of entries and not put so much pressure on myself to conjure up pearls of wisdom every few days.

All of the above is my way of saying sorry for the absence, and I really want to be a part of this community and share.

Spring Is Here

2007-04-20T14:18:00.000-04:00

Today the weather is glorious, with soft blue skies, spring warmth, and blossoming flowers on the cherry and magnolia trees that line my street. I went for a walk around the block with Stella, a slow process of stopping to pick up sticks, watch the birds searching for nesting materials, and ooh and aah at the colorful tulips and daffodils.

Today is the first day in a week that my spirits have felt a lifting, and I am sure that it has everything to do with the shining sun.

Monday left me cold and numb.

It took me several days to realize that the Virginia Tech massacre had had a deeper impact on my heart than I knew at first. With the senseless Iraq war still barreling forward, we Americans are used to hearing about death everyday. Newsmen tally up the daily fatalities which reduce the deaths of so many soldiers and Iraqi citizens to a faceless number. We, as a society, have become numb to violence, and are rarely effected by any suffering that occurs far from our shores. I admit that I do not know anyone who is in Iraq or has a love one stationed there. I also do not know anyone who goes to Virginia Tech. For these reasons, I can only feel compassion for the people who are directly affected by these tragedies, but I will never truly know the pain and emotional anguish that the many families and survivors must suffer.

The Friday before, my husband had just sold an around-the-world trip to one of the faculty who was murdered on Monday. Even though he did not 'know' this client, the story of his life and heroics had a stronger impression on our psyche, if only for it's six-degrees-of-separation quality. I found myself obsessed by all the personal stories of those who had both died and survived Cho's brutal attack. It takes me digging through stories in search of personal antidotes to 'feel' a deeper empathy for the victims. I feel that it is my duty to match a face to the name, and not allow myself to be numb.

What I did find myself thinking about the most, was how this could happen to any of us. We are no more immune to acts of random violence than those poor language students at class on Monday morning were. 9-11 was the first time in my life that I think our country as a whole watched our bubble of false security burst and realized that we were no safer from the fall-out of terrorism than anyone else in this world. The thing is, we all try to go on with our 'normal' lives, doing the best not to live our days in fear. That is just what all of those teachers and students were doing in Virginia. People were planning their lives, worrying about term papers and tests, running errands, making dates and booking travel flights. Not one of those murdered souls, other than the twisted murderer himself, was thinking that they would not be here today...not live to see another sunny day.

When I walk with Stella, I stay close to her side, and guide her away from the street and the moving cars. One day, she left the sidewalk and ran into a vacant patch in the road where a car had once been parked. This is not a bad story that involves tragedy or even a near miss. There never was an 'Ohmigawd' moment where I grabbed her in the nick of time, as I was RIGHT by her side, BUT, it could have been different. Perhaps, I am too morbid in my thoughts, but I always think about worse-case scenarios, and am too much of a realist not to admit that horrible things can happen - even to me. Life is full of surprises, hopefully good ones, and we continue to live with faith for our tomorrows. What the Virginia Tech tragedy had reminded me of, is that we do not know when we will draw our last breath, and for this very fact, I will be patient on my strolls with my little girl, and do my best to remember to always stop, and smell the roses.

What I Love About You

2007-04-15T19:40:00.000-04:00

Before I forget, I must make a note of what a little wonder you are, at almost 16 months old.

When Grandma was visiting several weeks ago she told me that she didn't understand what had made me choose this particular 'unappealing' photo of you, with green gunk on your face, to head a blog post. I had to explain to her that for several months you have made this very strange squinty eyed face at me and your father, and we had no idea where you had learned such an expression. It wasn't until recently that I realized you were copying a face that you have seen from me, late at night when I pick you up for a night nursing (if it's not too dark?), and definitely in the early morning when Dad brings you in for boobie and a cuddle. You see, I have the most horrible vision. I normally wear contact lenses and am truly handicapped without them or my glasses. I squint my eyes to make out the fuzzy outline of your body and to slowly let in the bright morning light.

You have become an incredibly affectionate and loving little girl. Your Father and I cannot express enough how much your open arm requests for 'hucks' (hugs) melt our hearts. When we lift you into our arms to squeeze you tight, you wrap your little arms around us, rest your head on our shoulders and administer a gentle pat to our backs. This is pure heaven. You also have been known to stop mid cuddle, look up at me with your little chin tilted to the ceiling and slightly pursed lips, and wait for a kiss. 'Kiss' is now a new word in your ever-expanding vocabulary, and a definite favorite of mine.

You still have a passion for music, and have joined me in several ridiculous dances while watching American Idol. Your rhythmic moves are punctuated with a shoulder shrug and lots of spinning in circles until you fall dizzily onto your bum.

I love listening to you and your Father read your favorite picture books. The two of you have developed a game of speed reading, where you shout out the image on each page as fast as you can, and Daddy retorts with words of congrats, encouragement, and very few corrections.

Apparently, you have already started to turn into your Mother whether you realize/want it or not. Your favorite toy is one of our cell phones. Although this requires constant monitoring from us, as you've been known to accidentally dial an actual number, and we have to make sure that we know exactly where you will finally leave our mobile phone (*It took us a night to find the remote control in the corner of our kitchen behind the trash can), I get a kick out of your playtime. I'm not a phone person, and must have some nervous anxiety when I get on the phone that makes it impossible for me to stay still. I literally pace the length of our apartment whenever I am talking on my cell, and you do the exact same thing! Back and forth you go, walking the length of our living room, talking baby gibberish into the phone.

These days you are full of words, many nonsensical. You communicate with emphatic oohs, aahs, wows and sharp squeals of glee. It seems that there is much in this great big new world that can excite you. As you grow and societal pressures make you slowly learn to suppress your vocal joy, and stifle your honest enthusiasm, I will remember this period of awe and naivete with much longing. You remind me on a daily basis to pay attention to the forgotten beauty and wonders of our surroundings. My Stella, it is you who brings me youth and a deeper love for life. Your presence is my blessing.

Trauma

2007-04-09T00:30:00.000-04:00

Time is slipping away... I've certainly done a lot more 'living' than 'writing about living' during the past two plus weeks. The biggest thing that has happened while I've been on blogger hiatus, is my little girl got sick.

She woke up on Friday, March 23rd, with a high fever. We gave her Motrin, fed her a little breakfast and put her back to bed. When she next got up, she was still a little low energy, but happy to greet my brother, who had flown in from L.A. that same day, and walked around and played. By lunch, she seemed out of it again, and the fever had returned. This time it was a very high 104.5 degrees. While I nursed and comforted her, Dan called the pediatrician. My baby was burning up, and suddenly pulled off my breast and stared off into space with unfocused eyes. She seemed completely out of it and wouldn't respond to me. Her lips started to turn blue, and her face was completely pale. Dan immediately recognized her appearance as cyanotic and rushed to grab her out of my arms. "Call 911 now!" My hands were shaking as I tried to act quick. We grabbed jackets and ran downstairs and out onto the stoop to wait for the ambulance. Stella's color was back, but she was still listless and unusually still and quiet. We were actually picked up by two officers in a police car who rushed us to the ER.
By the time we arrived, her fever was down to around 102.5, and the emergency tests began. Our little baby was subjected to several failed blood draws which took two attempts in both arms, before finding final success on the top of her tiny hand. She also had to endure a catheter insert in order to get a clean urine sample. Each test was a hysteria-inducing challenge that required the strength of four adults to hold Stella still. Her screams and tears were heartbreaking.
After several hours of waiting, and a gradual return to 'normal' of Stella's behavior, the blood results showed that she had a high whitel blood cell count - something that indicated a definite problem. The doctors were most concerned by our descriptions of Stella going blue in the face and almost going catatonic. For a split second, it had felt like we were losing her. She had experienced what they called an atypical febrile seizure (most febrile seizures involve tremors, shakes and eyes rolling back, but are known to have different manifestations). They felt that it was important that she be monitored for the next 24 hours in case she had another febrile seizure, and to await further lab results.

So began our stay in the pediatric ward...

Most of the next 24 hours were a complete jumble of constant temperature/body checks by the nurses, exams and discussions with the resident doctors, and painful, tearful IV needling for fluids and antibiotics. The initial blood cultures came back with moderate to aggressive growth, meaning that Stella had a bacteria infection in her blood. Deep red circles under her eyes were the only sign of sickness. The doctors wanted to rule out meningitis by doing a spinal tap, despite the fact that she did not display some of the common symptoms, had been previously vaccinated, and was playful and friendly to the staff. Dan and I had watched our daughter suffer so much with all the needles and discomfort that the last thing we wanted to do was put her through anymore unnecessary testing. We resisted putting Stella through this final painful exam for as long as we could, until we were faced with an ultimatum. Since the physicians could not rule out meningitis without the spinal fluid lab, they would have to treat her as if she had it, and keep her in the hospital for two weeks. At the very least, we were going to be at the hospital for a minimum of four days while waiting for more blood culture results. We finally caved to the pressure, as we realized we were saying 'no' based on our own fear of putting our baby through pain. I was unable to stay in the room as she went through multiple IV insertions, and knew that there was no way I could watch her strong-held in a fetal position as a needle was inserted into the soft space along her spine, and a slow draw was taken. She was too young to be sedated through this procedure, and I knew she would put up a fight... something that was too painful to picture. As she was taken to the room that she had already grown to dread, Dan and I had to be out of earshot, where we held each other tight, and released all of our stress from this ordeal through heaving sobs.

Within 24 hours of the spinal tap, the news was good, as she was cleared of meningitis. We also now knew that the infection she had was streptococcus pneumonia - something she could have caught ANYWHERE. It seemed that Stella was on the mend, and now the only thing that was needed was the final confirmation on the best oral antibiotics for at-home treatment. It looked like we were going to be released on Tuesday (Day 5), but high fevers struck again early that morning. This was bad, as it might mean that the infection was stronger than the current IV antibiotics could cure. Another blood culture (a 3 day test) had to be taken to study if this was the problem or if she had a completely new illness. After several more days, clear results, and the beginning of a cough, it was determined that she had caught a virus in the pediatric ward, which was separate of her infection. Friday afternoon, a full week later, we were allowed to remove Stella's final IV from her little foot, and return to our home, and the comfort of our beds. We had missed a week of work, and had canceled a planned departure that very night for a 12-day holiday in California. We decided that our time-off was much needed, and continued with our bittersweet vacation plans for the next week, albeit in our Brooklyn apartment. Thankfully, my Mom had flown out the day before to help us take care of Stella, run errands, spring clean, and provide us with support and the chance to rest. My thanks are huge.

It has been over a week since our hospital stay, and Stella had her last dose of antibiotics this evening. I question if she will remember this brief period in her life. For the most part, she was happy at the hospital, getting lots of attention from the adoring staff who introduced her to cookies, playing in the children's room while watching Elmo videos, and enthusiastically enjoying a visit with a 'hospital' dog.

However, I do wonder if future encounters with people in white coats will trigger trepidation, or if the pain associated with her memory will eventually fade away. Is she now destined to forever fear doctors and needles? Could all trust and innocence be lost?

Tomorrow marks a return to work and the realities of a coming monster bill (small change when it comes to our daughter's health). Hopefully, I will find the time and energy to reconnect with the blogosphere. Happy Spring (?).

The Impossible

2007-03-19T22:15:00.000-04:00

I am trying to do something that is proving to be extremely difficult. I am trying to wean my daughter of nursing.

Over the past few months, Stella's obsession with 'boobie' has reached near frenetic proportions. I don't know if her constant pleas were due to actual hunger/thirst, boredom, or a deep need for my undivided attention and comforting. Whatever the case, I was beginning to feel convinced of the latter. Despite feeling touched by her attachment to me, I was also feeling suffocated by her clingyness. It was getting to the stage where I couldn't go an hour of work without her at my desk, peering at me with her big brown eyes, repeating the word 'boobie' like a mantra. It would be Dan's shift to entertain Stella, but I would somehow get suckered into multiple feedings on the futon, disrupting my work flow. Right around the same time that my exasperation was peaking, Daniel had successfully taught our little girl her first polite exchange - using the word, please. Now I had to listen to even more earnest and urgent entreaties for milk with the recitaion of 'pwease. pwease. pwease.' Stella turns into a broken record until she gets what she is asking for. If she finally exhausts herself of verbal repetition, she eventually crumples into a tantrum of epic proportions. Her back arches, her eyes squeeze out tears, and her little mouth widens to a rectangle with curved corners as she screams a cry that is the sister to fingernails on a chalkboard. Her fits have been truly spectacular and awe-inspiring. I find my own reaction shifting from fascination, to laughter, to commiseration, to fear. The hardest part is that I actually believe that she was feeling the serious pangs of rejection, and that is the LAST thing I want my baby to feel.

After only a few days of slowly trying to limit Stella's intake, and being met with the most pathetic sobbing, I feel like I am losing the battle. This girl is NOT ready. She does not want to give up this time cradled in my arms, satisfying her oral fixation. Both Dan and I will continue to try and distract her from multiple breast-feeding sessions, and I do try to give her lap time and loads of affection and tenderness that don't involve lifting my shirt, but I think this is going to take much longer than I originally thought. We are also concerned that she make the transition to drinking cow's milk soon, to replace the calcium she will lose from me (the calcium she is draining from her Mother's own bones), but she turns her nose up in disgust. That's my Father and my genes to blame. Despite all this sturm und drang, I will persevere. My goal is to be able to have either set of grandparents watch Stella for a long weekend, so that Dan and I can rekindle our romance on an exotic getaway. We need to feel like independent adults again, who actually schedule activities past eight at night, and have a good morning lie-in (oh jayzus, the mere thought makes me tremble with excitement and yearning).

Wish us luck.

Friday Destination Dreaming # 17

2007-03-08T21:57:00.000-05:00

Madagascar

I'm a travel consultant, for those of you who didn't know. For the past decade I have been working in this service industry, living vicariously through other people's trips. I fell into this business after circumnavigating the globe in 1996 and then living abroad in Ireland, where I literally begged American Express Travel to let me work there for free in exchange for 'training'. I'm desperate to escape this job, but not because I've lost any interest in travel. I'm just tired of my income being based on sales and putting up with abusive clients. They make up a small part of my customer interaction, but just enough to really screw up a day.

Therefore, my travel inspiration comes from the places that people choose to visit, rarely the people that visit them! Lately, Madagascar seems to be a popular destination, despite the expense of getting there (over $2000 from the U.S.). The most I've known of this country is that it is home to the largest Lemur population(?), and there's a silly movie about a community of animals on this island, or something like that.

80% of Madagascar's flora and fauna are only found on this Indian Ocean island. Of course, this destination has more than forests and furry animals to attract its' many visitors. This is the 4th largest island in the world and was originally settled by both Africans and Asians. It has seen the usual mix of outside influence and colonization from the Arabs, Portuguese and French. The capital, Antanarivo, actually looks like a city in Eastern Europe...

In Summary, this seems to be the perfect destination to encourage you to do overland exploration, discover new fruits in the open markets, go bird-watching and lemur spotting in rainforests, hike through deciduous woods, swim in many a sandy beach cove, and never forget to stop and smell the orchids.

MIA

2007-03-06T22:46:00.000-05:00

Missing in action...
I know it's been a long time, over two weeks. Strangely enough, the longer I go without blogging the easier it becomes, and I don't want to just fade off into the distance. This website 'matters' to me, and is an even more important link to Stella for the grandparents.

I really just wanted to let anyone, who still frequents my site, know that I have not disappeared, nor have I given up. I have just been incredibly busy (and still am). The big news on this end, and my excuse for not posting, is that I am in the process of writing a business plan. Another local mother and I have partnered up and are trying to open up our own small business. We want to establish a drop-in play center for children five and under. We are hoping to offer a variety of classes to babies and toddlers, as well as night classes geared toward parents and parents-to-be. There is so much more to this plan, but I simply don't have the time to fully outline the details here.
All I can say is that it is incredibly hard to work full-time, raise a one year old, cook dinner, do laundry, and clean the house (ha!) while trying to do research and writing for a new company. I currently feel like an octopus with all my simultaneous multi-tasking. We just hired a house cleaner for every other week, and I feel like a little steam has been released from the pressure cooker. Perhaps, this is what finally allowed me the mental time to get back to Quality-of-Light. However, I still feel the guilt as I divert my attention from my new priority, so this entry will have to suffice.
In place of words, I will leave you with some choice photos of Stella Bella, who has only recently learned to say 'love you' in response to my 'I love you's.

When She Knows What She Wants

2007-02-21T20:52:00.000-05:00

Lately, with the true cold realities of winter upon us, we've all been going a little stir crazy in our typically small New York apartment. Poor Stella has had to entertain herself with going back and forth, back and forth between one and a half rooms, dragging books and toys to and fro. The clutter has built up, been blasted away in a cleaning frenzy, and returned again with a vengeance. In an effort to try and entertain Stella and give ourselves a break from the monotony, we have visited several indoor play spaces over the past few weeks. It is amazing how a new environment can put the sparkle in her eyes and bounce in her waddle. It doesn't matter how grubby the environment, how broken the toys, if there are rockers to ride, structures to climb, and kids to ogle, our baby is just fine. In fact, we have found that the most difficult part of these visits is the moment when her bored parent(s) insist that it is finally time to return to the indoor prison of our own familiar walls. This inevitably results in a tantrum, as Stella's body goes slack, and we try to chain her to the McClaren stroller with her safety straps. Back out into the cold we go, with a sniffling, teary baby.

On President's Day, we decided to check out the Brooklyn Children's Museum. Our entertainment now revolves around the interests of our baby, as we have officially morphed into obsessive parents. As Stella toddled around, we acted as looming guardians, occasionally redirecting her attention, or gently guiding her to points of (our) interest. After traveling down a metal tunnel passage, veering off to visit various exhibits, we finally made it to the holy grail... Totally Tots. We parked our stroller in front of the cute little white picket fence that surrounded the play space, and started to take off our shoes in preparation to play. As soon as Stella was stripped to her socks and saw what lay behind the fence, she was filled with passionate eagerness. So intense was her desire to be where the fun was, that she literally got down on her hands and knees, flattened her body to the floor and slid herself right UNDER the fence. Daniel and I were slack jawed with surprise. No words can do the vision justice. THIS is what it is all about.

Friday Destination Dreaming # 16

2007-02-15T21:29:00.000-05:00

Mardi Gras! Forget about Rio De Janeiro and New Orleans, and head to Port of Spain, the capital of Trinidad and Tobago. This southern most Caribbean island is home to a celebration of over 40,000 masqueraders. Carnival was originally introduced by the french colonizers as a more genteel affair. After emancipation in 1938, the ex-slaves continued carnival, but the celebration shifted from balls and carriage rides to a frenzied street party - now considered the biggest in the world! Music is a highlight and consists of the unique sounds of calypso and the steel band. The celebration begins after Boxing Day with fetes (parties) and continues up to Ash Wednesday and until Lent on Friday, but especially climaxes over this weekend through Fat Tuesday. There are many special events, including the Kings and Queens Costume Competitions, Panorama, Jou'vert (literally translated to 'the opening of day'), and the Masquerade Band of the year.

Do You Remember?

2007-02-14T17:16:00.000-05:00

Do you remember how we fell in love?

We always talk about our love as being easy. Since the moment that we committed to each other we have never broken up, nor been apart. We have avoided so much of the unnecessary drama that seems to plague many a relationship. Our connection is one based on true friendship, and you are unquestionably my best friend, the man who I want to share everything with. We live together, work together, and have traveled together, rarely complaining about the need for space. This is not to say that we don't crave time on our own, but rather that we are truly comfortable with one another, and actually prefer to experience life together.

When we first began dating and were trying to keep our relationship light and non-committal, I feel like we purposely avoided doing anything too romantic. It seemed that we actually approached our courtship first as 'buddies', then later as lovers. I clearly remember the first time you did something 'romantic' and I was completely flustered. We had spent our usual weekend day together casually exploring San Francisco, and having a lot of fun. Somehow, we had decided to drive your VW van to Treasure Island (an ex military base/naval station). We snuck down to an empty beach, and strolled quietly around. I don't remember doing a lot of talking (we've never felt that pressure and have been comfortable with silence), but I do remember a lot of hand holding and silly giggling. You ended up taking off down the sandy beach, while I rested in the warmth of the sun. When you returned, you had picked a bunch of yellow, wild flowers and held them out for me. I think I laughed. It was so sweet, and I was a little taken aback, and confused. I think there was a little embarrassment on both our parts at how we had both arrived to this point, after trying to be casual about our feelings, and actually suppress any romantic hopes.

It wasn't until much later in our dating game that we decided to give up our charade and admit that our feelings for one another had grown deep roots and were much more serious than we had ever intended. We were at the end of the plank, and had decided to jump into the deep end, hand in hand. It was shortly after becoming "boyfriend and girlfriend" that you invited me to San Jose to meet your parents. I think we stayed for the weekend, sleeping in the back of your van. Could that be right? One of those afternoons, your Father took us for a walk through some pretty trails in the neighborhood. I have no recollection of the conversation, but will never forget that you held my hand the whole way. You made me immediately feel comfortable with your parents, as you had no qualms about physically showing that I was your girlfriend, and not just some random girl, in their presence. I was incredibly happy, smelling that familiar California sage, feeling the dry heat on my shoulders, and the warmth of your palm. This memory has a movie-like quality, where I can see the dappled shadows of trees and shrubbery in our path, and realized that I loved you. It was the simple truth. Just recognizing something that had been slowly buiding inside of me was a wonderful feeling. Several days later, we spent a slow-paced morning together, in and out of each other's embrace, and I finally told you, "I love you". It was easy, and I was not consumed with any fears that this emotion might not be reciprocated by you. You either would feel the same or not, and that wouldn't change my own realization. You were quiet, but not in a bad way. While you were making us brunch, I busied myself in the bathroom. All of a sudden you called out to me, "I don't know what I'm waiting for. I have wanted to say 'I love you' to you, but kept waiting for the 'right' moment... I love you." It was said, and it was soooo simple.

Daniel, I love you very much. You make it easy. Happy Valentine's Day!

Our Sweetheart

2007-02-14T14:04:00.000-05:00

Happy Valentine's Day!

A special thanks to Rein for sending Stella this adorable dress!

My Obsession

2007-02-12T19:51:00.000-05:00

So much of my life is now focused on my daughter. She is both my waking and sleeping obsession. At night, when her Father and I finally make our way to bed and the rest that we so desperately need, we often find ourselves still awake and whispering stories to each other about all the noteworthy 'Stellaisms' that have taken place since that morning. It is particularly at this quiet time in the final hours of the day that I feel an overwhelming love for my baby, and can't help but smile in the darkness. "I love that little girl so much."

What interests me is how it is that this all consuming love can coexist with utter frustration. It is no lie that several times a day, Stella drives me completely crazy, and there is nothing more that I want than time to myself, away from her whining pleas for attention. Carving time out for work, the computer, and what I see as my "recharging time" plugged into the couch and the t.v., is hard to do. I know that at times I am neglectful. I'm not really paying attention to Stella in any deep and meaningful way as I try to distract her with any number of toys or books. On one level, I feel bad about this, but on another, I know myself enough to understand that my constant attention would be no good for her. She would tire of me as quickly as she tires of her blocks, and isn't quality better then quantity? I must admit that it is easy for me not to be concerned about quantity issues because we are always together. Since I work in our home, my presence is constant, and I have no doubt that she derives a certain amount of security from this. However, without breaks from baby overload, I am unable to patiently play with any focus and calm. I NEED time for myself. This is the only way that the two of us can have what I believe to be more meaningful interaction.

This got me thinking about the special kind of intense love that the majority of parents feel for their children. Why is it that the feelings we have for our offspring are deeper than anything known before? I think it is akin to a form of self love. Although there is no doubt that being a parent involves a lot of sacrifice and a placing of our child's best interests often above our own, there is something self centered about loving our children, even while being selfless. Our babies are new creations from the seeds of our love, nurtured in our wombs, and we hope that they will manifest all of the best parts about ourselves. I believe we easily love our children because we see so much of us reflected in them, for better or worse. Our intense feelings of unconditional love can be emotionally overwhelming, as we personally experience pride in their every growth (learning words and walking), and deep concern for all that is less than perfect (like sleeping habits). There is an intensity to our dreams and aspirations for our children that can make for an obsessive love. None of us wants to smother our children or impose our own desires above their own future wishes and yearnings. Thus, there comes a point when we have to completely recognize that these little beings are not mere extensions of ourselves but that they are their own rightful beings.

I already see my little Stella trying to prove this point to her Father and I. She is communicating her independence and likes and dislikes on a daily basis. She refuses to eat all that we place before us, disdainfully throwing her food on the floor, she runs away when we call her name, or continues to smack the stereo when we tell her not to, and cries and goes boneless when it is time to leave a play center and she is not ready. We refer to her tantrums as mini-rebellions, and recognize her frustration as she tries to communicate with us. She is doing all that she can to express herself. We are learning that we can't always make Stella do what we want. We may be bigger and stronger, but that doesn't mean that we win our battles. She has her own mind, drive and feelings that direct her emotions. All that we can do is guide her with our love and experience, and have faith in her instincts. We MUST respect her independence, because she is not a little me or a little Dan. She is something new and unique, and someone very, very special.

Friday Destination Dreaming # 15

2007-02-09T08:43:00.000-05:00

Because I'm a glutton for punishment, I'm continuing on my winter theme, and I HATE the cold. If I'm going to suggest the arctic circle, how can I not balance that with...

Antarctica!!!

Oddly enough, this IS the season for an epic tour to Antarctica, because it is summer there, and tourist boats only operate between November and March. You can expect about 20 hours of sunshine a day at the peak of summer, and may actually be able to set foot on the southern-most continent (weather permitting). Laws limit any landing to a maximum of 100 people. Therefore, your chances are increased if you are traveling on a vessel with limited travelers, as opposed to a large cruise-ship. This is a quiet world of icebergs, whales, seals, and penguins - a special destination that is visited by the very few.

Some fast facts:

- 98% of Antarctica (the 3rd smallest continent) is covered in ice.
- Summer temperatures are usually between 20-50 degrees Fahrenheit.
- Most trips to Antarctica depart from Ushuaia, Argentina.
- You can expect to pay $7000-10,000 per person for a 2-week cruise. There are only around 20 vessels that service this destination with 45-280 passengers.
- No visas or documents are required for visiting this continent.
- There are no indigenous people in Antarctica. The population of scientists that live there is less than 1000 during the winter. In the summer this blossoms to over 30,000 people, which amounts to around 5000 scientists with the rest being tourists!

Life with Hope

2007-02-07T13:50:00.000-05:00

I have found it hard to focus on my blog lately. This is the result of a combination of distracting things, from a hyper-demanding one year old, to the irresistible lure of bad t.v., and my new consuming focus on a possible venture.
My husband and I are always trying to find ways to increase our standard of living despite the monotony of our less then stellar incomes. We don't believe in buying luxury goods on credit and having the temporary facade of wealth that is merely backed by a piece of plastic. Happily, we are debt free. This also means that we don't own a home or a car (it is New York), and our furnishings are only a notch above a recent college graduate's. We do dream of more ownership, but don't want to be so tightly strapped to a mortgage that we can't afford a foreign getaway or two. So, the question is, how does one generate enough income to afford one's wants, without those desires becoming financial liabilities? On the recommendation of an economically, savvy friend, I just read "Rich Dad, Poor Dad", by Robert T. Kiyosaki, a simplistic effort to elucidate the differences in how the wealthy vs. lower to middle class parents teach their children about money. The most valuable thing I took away from the book was a clearer understanding about the difference between assets and liabilities. An asset puts your money to work for you and increases your bottom line with cash flow in. A liability is something that does not generate income, but instead is a money drain, a steady bill. An example of an asset is stocks and funds - you put your money in, do nothing, and hopefully watch the pot grow with dividends. Your money is working to make more money for you without any effort on your part. Another example is owned rental property. Yes, you have your mortgage and maintenance fees, but in theory, your rent should cover these expenses and also line your pocket with some extra profit. Here is the difference with home ownership - there is no profit. Your money is tied up with paying your house bills and has no chance to grow (unless the value of your home increases and you sell!). Most people with home mortgages find themselves living paycheck to paycheck, without additional money to invest in anything outside their living expenses. This notion made me second guess a quest for my first home, in the romantic, live-in-it sense, and instead start to think about buying property in order to generate income via rental money. The theory is that the more assets you own, and the more income that they generate, the more cash you have to outright buy the luxuries you crave.

Anyhow, this is not necessarily the direction that I want to follow, it's just that I know I have to do SOMETHING. I don't want to continue working for the man and a paycheck that merely supports my expenses, but never my fantasies. I've decided that it is time to plan my way out, to be my own boss, and set up my own business. This weekend has seen a lot of brain-storming and I've done a lot of research. It looks like I have a partner, and the serious work must now begin. I don't want to reveal the details yet, but they will one day come! In the meanwhile, this will have to suffice as my excuse for infrequent posts.

Friday Destination Dreaming # 14

2007-02-02T22:05:00.000-05:00

Luminous Lapland

You may have noticed that I have avoided posting any European destinations. This is mainly due to my own preference for ideal weather conditions. It is winter in New York, and I live in my pajamas, sometimes going a few days in a row without stepping outside. This is all because I am a wuss. When I fantasize about trips to foreign lands, I almost never picture myself in long-johns, teeth-a-chattering, or strolling around in the late, dark afternoon with an umbrella.
I've decided to change my outlook, and embrace winter. Snow is beautiful - and fluffy! Hot cocoa steaming your ruddy cheeks and warming your hands is mmmm-wonderful, and winter sports, like skiing are energizing, graceful, and butt-enhancing. Who doesn't like a cozy night with fondue, a warm fire in the hearth, or a hot tub dip under the stars?

For these reasons, I feel up for the challenge of an arctic Scandinavian adventure! Lapland is a region comprised of Northern parts of Finland, Sweden, Norway and Russia. A trip here could require physical athleticism and most definitely outdoor endurance in the elements. Some fun activities would be cross country skiing, sled rides by huskies or reindeer, and snow mobiling. You can also drink vodka in ice bars and sleep in furry swags on ice block beds in ice hotels. If you take your children, your vacation would not be complete without a visit to Santa's Village. If you are really lucky, and blessed with a clear winter night, you could be treated to nature's most magnificent light show, the aurora borealis...

Espana

2007-01-31T21:45:00.000-05:00

Despite living in the New York area for almost four years, we still have a long list of places to visit on our to-do list. One of the last museums that we have wanted to take in was the Guggenheim. With a free weekend, and the kind of low temperatures that make you keep your entertainment indoors, we finally made it. It helped our motivation that we were actually interested in seeing the current exhibition on five centuries of Spanish Art, from El Greco to Picasso.

Both Daniel and I have a special love for Spain. My husband was actually born on a Navy Base in Rota, Spain, where he lived for the first two years of his life. It wasn't until he was a young adult that he was able to return and see the places that his memory had not retained. My father is from Chile, and somehow, this makes me attracted to all things Spanish, regardless of how different or similar Spain is from South America. After looking at the abstract art of Pablo Picasso, Juan Gris, and Joan Niro in comparison to the surrealism of Salvador Dali, and in contrast to the realism of Diego Velazquez, Francisco de Goya, and el Greco, I was in my head and in the past.

In the summer of 1994, I embarked on my first solo trip to Europe. After an initial week in Paris, I headed toward Spain, a country that represents many firsts to me. Like most Southern Californians, I had studied the Spanish language in junior high, high school and college. Although I was in no way fluent, I was not prepared for my near complete inability to communicate. What limited Spanish I had retained bore little resemblance to the words of the locals that I was trying to decipher, and anything I said was met with equally confused ears. It took a while to tune myself to the different dialects and get the nerve to push forward with my own questions, requests and comments. This began the slow development of my own personal confidence. Being surrounded by people I could not understand forced me to find ways to connect, and also brought me out of my shell when I met other travelers who spoke English. Since I was by myself, and hungry for companionship, I found myself being more extroverted and friendly. This was an awakening of sorts, and will forever be tied to my memories of Spain.

Feeling nostalgic, I pulled out some old letters that I had written to my parents about my travels. I was 21 years old, and it is clear that I was feeling simultaneously like an independent adult and a newborn baby. I think this correspondence truly displays my youthful excitement about Spain, and therefore I am including them here in their complete and long-winded entirety.
(All comments in italics are my current insertions):

August 22nd
I am in a beautiful city on the North-western coast of Spain, San Sebastian. It's a rich, resort-like area with beautiful beaches, and lush green hills. The youth hostel is heavenly: laundry facilities, fully equipped kitchen, new bedroom furniture, very clean and practically a block from the beach. All this for 1500 pesetas, equivalent to $11.70. I've been told that this is expensive for Spain. My god!, that's half the cost of a hostel in Paris. I took a train here 2 nights ago. I slept in a couchette. Of course, there had to be a baby in the same room, so you can only imagine my sleep.
Oh no! - A baby? How far I've come.
Arrival in San Sebastian was trying, putting my rusty Spanish to use, and searching for anything that might be open on a Sunday. By the afternoon I was settled. I went to a restaurant/bar in search of food. Nothing was open in the way of "real" food, other than tapas. While sitting at the bar, I met an English man, probably older than Mom and Dad. He's married with children and lives in Valencia. He is in San Sebastian performing in a quartet, singing some form of classical music, I think baroque. He invited me to join him and his associates for dinner. We had an absolutely amazing meal in an expensive restaurant, and they treated. This man's name was David, and his friend's were Robin, another Brit, and David, a flamboyant gay man from the U.S., who now lives in Austria. As happened, I arrived in San Sebastian the last day of a week long festival, and they had a spectacular, twenty minute long firework display. It was quite a wonderful night. David offered me a free ticket to see his group perform tonight, but I feel a little uncomfortable. All night he kept telling me about his wonderful relationship with his wife, and how much I reminded him of her when she was young. When he walked me back to the hostel at night, I was concerned that I may have missed the closing curfew, but I hadn't. He then said, "Don't take this the wrong way, but I was hoping it would be closed." Gross! No way, Jose! Besides being ancient and married, I am not the slightest bit attracted. Why do men have to fuck-up a perfectly good evening?!
Ignore my naivete, can you believe I used the F-word in a letter to my parents??

Aug. 23 '94
Next Day. I'm headed for Madrid tonight. My stay in San Sebastian was very peaceful. Yesterday and today I went to the beach. My buns are burned. I actually went topless.
Blush.
(Oh yes, I never went to the concert that the British man invited me to.) I met 2 other Californians and decided to hang low with them. Today I took a hike through the vegetation with an Asian guy from Hermosa. This traveling is great. I want to keep going and going.

Aug. 25
In Madrid. Kevin (the Asian guy) and I went to Madrid together. We spent the day following mapped-out 'walks through Madrid". We were not impressed - just another big dirty city.
What a fool was I.
While following our map, we met a couple from New York, Bob and Tania. We went to the Palacio Royal together and then lunch. Our Spanish waiter was extremely rude, screaming "Vamanos! Vamanos!" as we tried to order. In the evening, I called Julio, Josephina's brother, and the four of us met him for drinks and dinner. First we went to a bar, where Julio's friends were hanging out, and had about 3 rounds of drinks. We had great conversation, despite the fact that only poor Spanish or English was spoken. Momo, Julio's Moroccan friend, joined us when we left for dinner. The six of us ate an incredible Catalonian dinner and drank more vino. We had salad, bread, jamon, chorizo, tuna omelet and pate, then dessert, coffee and some extremely strong alcohol. I had a great time. When we left the restaurant, it was 1:30 or 2. We proceeded to the next bar where we drank mas cerveza. Along the way, another of Julio's friends, Tom, joined us. The bar was very cool. It was entirely decorated in painted tiles. At 2:30, Julio and his friends informed us that the night was just beginning. We walked to a disco/bar. This place was a 'trip'. The hallway to the servicios was painted with pornographic pictures. We danced all night long. The music was all in English. It was so funny, because we were probably the only people in the place who knew the words, and we sung them out loud. Madrid's night life is insane. We didn't leave the disco until past 6 in the morning, and this was considered early. There were people still packing in at this time! It's the day after and I'm definitely not recovered. The Spaniards in Madrid could definitely out party any American.
I'm staying in a hotel, where for the first time, I have my own room. Privacy at last! Daniella, another Californian I met in San Sebastian, joined Kevin and I this morning. We went to the Prado, which was very intense, and now I'm resting in the Parque del retiro. Tomorrow, I think I'm going to head for Sevilla. I might catch
up with Bob and Tania, who are heading in the same direction.

Aug. 30th
I called you from Sevilla, absolutely miserable. Nobody spoke English and I was bored and lonely. Sevilla is perhaps the prettiest Spanish city, but the heat and bugs are unbearable. While in Sevilla I stayed in a bungalow (part of university housing). The room was very clean with a bath and air-conditioning all to myself. The day before, which was in Madrid, I spent with Daniella. We spent the latter part of the day drinking sangria and getting quite silly. All of a sudden, I looked at my watch, and realized that I had 40 minutes to get back to the hotel, grab my stuff, and run to the train station. I barely made it! The day after I spoke with you, I got in contact with Bob and Tania. Our day together in Sevilla was much more enjoyable. They were renting a car, and we decided to head for Granada that evening. In between meeting Bob and Tania, and being reunited with them in Sevilla, Bob proposed to Tania in a castle. They've been dating for four years, and are finally ready to tie the knot. Tania now wears a rather large rock on her ring finger. Yesterday, the three of us went to the Alhambra and Generalife gardens. Beautiful! It's also possible to beat the heat amidst all that vegetation. The hostel we stayed in has a pool, which has been lovely. They took off mid-afternoon, yesterday, but I wasn't lonely for long. There are tons of Australians, British, Canadians and Americans in this hostel, all young and ready to party. A large group of us hung out drinking cheap red wine, and then headed into the city at 11PM. My first romantic encounter! One of the Brits and I hit it off. We ended up kissing in an Arab bar, with a lovely view of the city. He plays guitar, and is studying the flamenco. He has actually made some extra money by playing in the streets. His name is Nick, and he is a true nomad. He travels constantly, and has been just about everywhere. I believe his family is rather affluent, but Nick has the heart of a gypsy (an easy feat when the parents help you along $). Actually, he does work and pay for almost his entire traveling.
All this nonsense for a busker? - Wow.
Anyway, I have decided to stay another evening in Granada, with this fun crew of people. Then I'm off to Barcelona!

P.S. I evaluated my funds, and if I keep spending as thus, I might be home on my birthday. I'm trying to learn to cut back. You know how much I love good food!

Sept. 4 '94
First of all, "Happy Anniversary!" I wish I were with you guys. Last I wrote, I was in Granada, having fun with a guy from England, and partying day and night. My friends were trying to teach me how to cut back on expense. They had me eating cold lentils and chorizo out of a can. Everyday, we journeyed to the market to buy bread, tuna, tomatoes, and a carton of wine. The whole day was spent drinking by the pool, and trying to master the many uses of a Swiss army knife. The evening I finally headed off for Barcelona, I realized one of the major differences in myself. I'm much friendlier and open to making friends. Meeting someone and deciding to spend the entire day with them in five minutes is the norm. I think that this is a good thing. Everyone is so accommodating. No one is excluded and everyone is invited.

I love Barcelona. It is one of my favorite cities yet. There is such an incredibly happy energy here. My first day I was charmed. Many unbelievable things have been happening. On my first day, I was admiring a catedral when I heard someone say, "Sarah?!" I turned around and saw a girl who I had worked with at Gaucho Grill. Her name is Stacee, and she was with her best friend, Jennifer, doing Europe in a month. I think that is was pretty amazing that we were in the same plaza, at the same time, in Spain! We spent the day together and went to the Park Urgell. That evening I met Joel, a guy from CA. who has been traveling for about 6-7 months. We decided to cook an incredible mussel, vegetable pasta the following evening. It ended up quite delicious. Earlier that day, I took a tourist bus around Barcelona, stopping at the major sites, such as the Gaudi buildings, Poble Espanol, shopping areas, Olympic stadiums, and the Pablo Picasso museum. After shopping in an open market and cooking our grand dinner, we joined two Australian guys, and 2 Canadian girls for a night out on the town. We went dancing to a club called Karma, where we were stuffed like sardines with a group of extremely drunk Spaniards. Our hostel had a 3AM curfew (extremely lame in Barcelona), so we could not stay out very late.
The following day (Saturday Sept.3) I got a hold of Will (a friend of a friend from L.A.) and made plans to go to the beach. Will's friend Steve joined us. All of a sudden, Steve, who is a model/commercial actor started to wave over one of his friends. I look up and who the hell is it, but Monte!! "Oh my god!" I gasped.
Monte was an old ex-boyfriend from college.
It turns out, he's living in Barcelona for a couple of months, trying to get some modeling work. It's a very small world. He joined us, and then in a couple of minutes, recognized another friend who had gone to UCLA!! By the end of the afternoon, 4 or 5 more people had joined our beach party. Steve offered to let me stay at his apartment. That evening we went to 2 bars (Cafe del Sol and ZigZag - a model hangout) and a disco called Ottozutz. Monte and another English model were supposed to join us, but their gay booker/agent was showing them off around town. Today I slept til 1PM, and then headed to the beach with Steve. The English model (also named Steven) joined us. Later that night, I turned on the tube to see the Diagnosis Murder episode that I was on, being dubbed in Spanish.
I played a nun!
It was absolutely hilarious to watch myself, but to hear a different voice and language....
blah, blah, blah...
P.S. Remind me to tell you about these two American girls who went to the disco with us, and did the most disgusting porn-like dirty dancing with two other American guys. An unbelievable show!
Dirty dancing - the horror!

Sept.7
Hey Family! Last I wrote I was loving Barcelona (and still do!). My last day in Spain, was once again spent on the beach. While tanning, I met a very nice Canadian boy - blonde, buff, intelligent, compassionate, he works with mentally and physically handicapped children (ahh, a sensitive heart!). Anyway, he invited me to stay with him and his friends in Cannes. I'm looking forward to hooking up with him.
slut.

After rereading the above, I realized a few things. First, I have diarrhea of the written word. I lied, the above is actually edited! Second, I was a lush. Third, talk about too much information, can you believe how much I told my parents?

Friday Destination Dreaming # 13

2007-01-26T18:50:00.000-05:00

Namibia

I almost hesitated choosing this country as my dream getaway. My trepidation was not because this is a destination that doesn't merit exploration and isn't worthy of the long, far journey by flight, but because our obsession with celebrity means that this country will be long tied to the memory of Brangelina's offspring. This made me feel like I was falling into a trap of trendiness. Truth be told, I have wanted to visit the undulating sands of the Kalahari desert long before Shiloh's conception. Of course, the media, including last Monday's t.v. show "No Reservations" with Anthony Bourdain, have put this country at the forefront of my mind.

Namibia is largely vacant of humans, with long stretches of open uninhabited land. Other than the capital, Windhoek, a town heavily influenced by it's Germanic colonial history, and Walvis Bay, the recently incorporated fishing village, there really aren't many densely populated cities. This is a destination for those interested in wildlife and landscapes. Sossusvlei in the Namib desert is famous for having the tallest ochre sand dunes, reaching 325 meters. Fish River Canyon is reputed to be one of the largest gorges in the world, second only to the Grand Canyon. There are petrified forests and miles of chilly, desolate coastline, like the bleak Skeleton Coast, which is littered with shipwrecks. Etosha National Park has a great game reserve which attracts a variety of African animals with its' saltpans, and is home to over 20,000 springboks. With an abundance of natural attractions and a friendly populace, Namibia is rightfully this weeks pick.

One final note - it's the peak of summer there and VERY hot in some places. Somehow, that sounds strangely great. It was 25 degrees Fahrenheit in New York today, and I've got cabin fever.

Walk, Walk

2007-01-26T10:14:00.000-05:00

My creativity has dried up a little this week. However, Stella's energy and new skills more than makes up for what would have been a rather unremarkable week. She keeps her Father and I constantly amused. Enjoy.

She Walks

2007-01-23T22:56:00.000-05:00

This is a very special day. Our little Stella Mar is officially a walker! After weeks of a tentative step or two, she has finally begun to waddle long distances through our living quarters. Recently, I think she has been inspired by other walking toddlers, and therefore began to earnestly test her own coordination with determination and excitement. The output should have exhausted her, but instead ruined her naptime. She's been a highstrung little bundle of energy (that is now thankfully in bed!).

Hooray for our little bean!

Friday Destination Dreaming # 12

2007-01-19T11:30:00.000-05:00

The Brazilian Amazon

There is urgency to visit this region, as it is changing fast and will not be the same paradise tomorrow that it is today. In the January 2007 issue of National Geographic there is an article titled 'Forest to Farms/ Battle to stop the land grab' that illustrates this current situation. Pristine forest is being eradicated by loggers, soy farmers, and cattle ranchers at an alarming rate, and the Amazon's fragile ecosystem is in peril. This tropical rainforest produces half of it's own rainfall, but as trees are felled and burned, emitting high levels of greenhouse gases, there is fear that more trees will dry out and die. Despite the fact that 16,000 acres of land are supposedly under protection by the Brazilian government, corrupt officials and a limited policing of the region has not stopped the continuing decline of the basin.

Visiting the Amazon is often about visiting the river, its' tributaries, and the people who call this habitat home. Manaus, Brazil, is the main gateway to Amazon exploration. There are so many options for a journey on this calm green water world, from transatlantic cruisers between Belem and Manaus, tourist riverboats, and regular vessels for goods and locals. Of course, there are also tours that are all about the jungle, home to 70% of the worlds' plant and animal species.

I am particularly intrigued by any eco-friendly tours, which seem to focus not only on peaceful cruising along the Rio Negro, but also give you the opportunity to go on guided treks through the forest to observe wildlife and meet local settlers. Go now, when the trees are producing flowers and fruit, but the truth is that this destinations' climate is agreeable at any time of the year...just don't wait too long.

Thirteen Months old

2007-01-18T23:25:00.000-05:00

Dear Stella,

One day, you will be a young woman, the same size as I. Or, if your Father's genes have anything to do with it, even taller. Our affection will consist of hearty hugs and occasional kisses on the cheek. If I am lucky, there might be moments that I can scratch your scalp and run my fingers through tendrils of your hair, or give you a shoulder rub. You will look at me with no memory of the baby you once were, and find it hard to imagine that I once cradled your whole body in my arms, and used to repeatedly kiss the soft pillows that are your cheeks. I am more familiar with your body now than I'll ever be - bathing you, changing your diapers, slathering your skin with lotion, brushing your teeth, picking boogers out of your nose, hand feeding you small morsels of food, trimming your nails, cleaning your ears, and combing your fine hair. It won't be long before your bedroom door is locked, and your modesty prevents me from seeing you in your underwear.

For these reasons, and so many more, I am extra grateful for what we currently have. We have an intimacy, made stronger by my breastfeeding you, that is very special.

I often complain of your night wakings and my clogged ducts, but if I draw my focus to the positive, I must admit that my moments of nursing you in the calm quiet of the dark night are not only beautiful, but radiate love. Because you will not remember, and will find it hard to imagine your little self being nurtured by Mama's milk, I will record our bonding here:

I wake to your cries, and try to get to you before they escalate. I know that you can hear the floorboards creaking, because you have quieted when I open your bedroom door. Your cries are now replaced with the sound of the hissing friction of your pumping fists, signing your plea for milky. I can barely see you, but know that you are standing in your crib, and feel my way to reach for your body, with a shhhh and a press of my cheek against yours.
"Ma-ma."
"Yes, Stella."
I lift you into my arms and blindly take you to the living room couch. Despite the fact that we do this every night, and you should know what is coming, you are impatient as I lift up my shirt and undo my bra strap, as if this time I might deny you (?).
"Uh, uh, uh!"
You begin to nurse as I cradle you. We are usually quiet, but sometimes I hum. Lately, I find myself running my fingers through your hair, tucking it behind your ear, and tracing your soft cheek and jawline. With your free hand you squeeze my breast, pat my body, or reach for my face and ear. Sometimes, you will allow me to lightly hold your hand still. We switch sides, and it is not until you pull away and arch your back in a stretch that I know you are done. We go back to your crib where I lie you gently on your back and wrap your body with your favorite soft blanket, the one you like to suck and rub on your face. Then, I top it with the coverlet for extra warmth. Finally, I do a quick feel-around search for your binky, your sleeping aid, which I pop into your mouth. Once again, my hand, which is compelled to touch you, tenderly finds your brow and I brush back your bangs.
"I love you, Stella."

I dedicate this to my dear mother, my best friend, for what I know to be true... even if I can't remember.

Informal Seven Year Anniversary

2007-01-16T13:06:00.000-05:00

It took me a while to write about New Year's Eve because I didn't have a list of pithy resolutions, and we didn't celebrate the holiday with a crazy all-nighter, highly inebriated and in costume at a gala event. We actually realized that very night, that we hadn't done anything but stay at home since NYE 2003. In fact, we don't even remember what we did in 2004 - so memorable the date. This New Year's Eve I wanted to be different. In truth, this date is very special to Dan and I, as it represents our 'commitment' anniversary.

We first began to date under awkward circumstances. We were both single, but recently separated from very serious relationships. Dan had been living with his ex-girlfriend, his high-school sweetheart, and the on and off object of his affection for a decade. I had just ended an engagement to a strangely magnetic man who I never really liked. These relationships were over, but anything that would quickly follow seemed likely to be suspect of rebound. The reality was that both Daniel and I were trigger shy, and really wanted nothing more than companionship, no strings attached. In fact, we were not interested in romance with one another for one key reason - we worked together. VERY AWKWARD. The first time we socialized outside of work was at a music concert. Our mutual loneliness and appreciation of live music initialized our friendship. I suppose we would have continued to get together as buddies if it were not for the gear loosening effects of alcohol, and an honest enjoyment of each other's company. What started as an easy friendship for all the things we had in common, slowly blossomed into a real relationship for all the right reasons. We took our time, still healing from previous wounds, and tried to keep our connection light. We even dated other people, and were open and honest about this fact. Eventually, my feelings were deepening, and I was no longer comfortable with this level of freedom. In a very logical way, I explained to Daniel that the laissez-faire quality of our relationship was no longer possible. I certainly understood if he didn't want to take it to the next level, but needed to know if that was the case and cut my losses short. I guess I was giving him a bit of an ultimatum, but really felt that I was being honest and upright. Lucky for me, Dan also believed that we had something special, and since we had so much fun together, he couldn't let 'us' go, and watch our chance at something meaningful just slip away. He admitted that our natural bond deserved focus and special attention - true commitment. New Year's Eve 1999 officially marked the night that we decided to open our hearts to the possibility of love between one another and shut the door to all other unknowns.

Our new roles as parents have often lead us away from each other. In the sense that so much of our time and affection is directed toward our daughter. I have suffered the effects of a shrinking libido, and therefore Dan has suffered the effects of my shrinking libido. I'm sure I don't have to go far in explaining how caring for a little baby who is regularly attached to your body takes the sexy out of your life and leaves exhaustion and dreams of Calgon baths in it's wake. Anyhow, I readily admit that a little effort goes a long way, and if there is anytime to appreciate the wonderful man I share my life with, December 31st couldn't be better.

Daniel is better at romance than I am, and is known to surprise me with flowers and spend a lot of time coming up with thoughtful gifts for celebratory occasions. I'm not so good at this and tend to scramble at the last minute, sometimes ashamedly empty-handed. This New Year's Eve would be different. Despite the fact that we had no plans, other than to try and get Stella down at a reasonable hour (a continual struggle), and watch some T.V., I wanted this year to be special. My plan began small. First, I made early bird reservations at a local rustic Italian restaurant for the three of us. Then, I got a card and some goofy New Year's hats to wear in privacy, while we watched the ball drop on our 19-inch Zenith. Then, I went big and splurged on some French champagne, caviar, and petite fours for dessert. Both Dan and I had never had caviar, and I felt that it was high time we treated ourselves to something luxurious and moment-defining. I prepared all the essentials for a caviar spread - toast points, chopped chives, finely cut red onions, hard boiled eggs, minced and separated into tiny bowls of white and yolk, creme fraiche, and sliced meyer lemons, all served in small dishes of Chinese porcelain. The end result was actually quite good, and rich!

Right before midnight, Stella woke up and joined us in the living room for a group hug as we listened to firecrackers and noisemakers in the streets of Brooklyn. We managed to get her back in bed without too much difficulty, and resumed our night alone. Let's be frank, I was treating my man, and the only way to truly accomplish this was by getting our groove on. Goodbye 2006! You were wonderful, but I think that 2007 might just outdo you.

Friday Destination Dreaming # 11

2007-01-12T10:51:00.000-05:00

Tasmania, Australia

On January 1st, 1996, I took off on a ten month trip around-the-world. Three of those months were devoted to a slow crawl through much of Australia. I flew into Cairns and spent over a month working my way down the coast, south To Sydney. From there, I crossed through Canberra and the Snowy River area to Melbourne and Adelaide, and then headed North through Coober Pedy to Alice Springs and Ayers Rock. From here I flew to Perth, and took off for Bali a day before my tourist visa expired. I do feel like I have a good understanding of this country, but there is still so much more to see. When I return (not if), my focus will be on the regions I missed, starting with Tasmania.

While researching the web for more information about this large Southern Isle, I happened upon the following website: http://www.photoseek.com/Australia-Tasmania.html
The photos by Tom Dempsey blew my mind. I insist that you take a look, as it will serve as far better inspiration than my writing.

What has drawn me to this destination is a strong desire to be in the outdoors, breathing fresh air, smelling moist earth and snow gum trees, hearing the rush of a waterfall, touching the lacy leaves of a fern, and watching the sun both rise and set in relative solitude. I think that people love hiking and camping for both the physical and mental exercise - those quiet moments of self reflection, far from all things manmade and lacking harmony. It seems like the Overland Track from Lake St Clair to Cradle Mountain would provide the perfect respite from civilization, and endless vistas to rekindle a love for life and appreciation for this incredibly beautiful world that we live in.

With summer downunder, it is the best time to visit Tasmania and enjoy it's temperate climate. I like the idea of renting a campervan and moving at my own pace to explore all the nooks and crannies. Satisfy the animal lover's curiosity with sightings of wombats and tasmanian devils. Fulfill the culture vulture with trips to Hobart, Launceton and Devonport for museums, fine food, art and music. And finally, wear out the most hardy adventure seeker with all the endless possibilities - backpacking, boating, camping, cycling, diving, fishing, kayaking, horseriding, rock climbing/abseiling, surfing, trekking, white water rafting, and yachting.

Boats as Beds

2007-01-11T16:43:00.000-05:00

In Panama, we often had the opportunity to explore our surroundings via boat. Our first trip was from the Gamboa Rainforest Resort, where we were staying, to a part of the Panama Canal via the Chagres River. While on the Canal, we sped alongside giant freighters and looked toward the lush riversides, home to many birds, sloths and monkeys. Some of the coast was littered with the rusty carcasses of mammoth pipes and old dredging equipment, camouflaged against the soil in identical shades of brick red and terracotta. We could also spot the occasional thatch roof, representing a meeting hut for the local Indian population. Besides our own desire to be on the famed Panama Canal, we also signed up for these excursions in the hope that the wildlife would interest Stella. She has always shown an enthusiastic interest in dogs, what will her reaction be to monkeys?? With anticipation and a curious interest in Stella's take on the adventure, we forced her to don a too-big life jacket, and boarded our little vessel. Within minutes of bouncing along the Chagres, the motor humming in our ears, Stella was in a deep slumber. Here we had hoped to tease shrieks of glee out of our little one, at the sight of wild animals, and I could not even shake her awake.

White-faced monkeys literally leaped from the trees onto our boat, and grabbed bananas and apples right out of our hands. They were chattering above us, unafraid and playful, while Stella lay oblivious in my arms, mouth agape.
Turtles swam by in the green waters, and lazy sloths hung from the highest tree branches, and she missed it all.

A couple of days later we were in Bocas Del Toro, an Island on the far North, Caribbean side, near the Costa Rican border. Here, the small brightly colored township fringed the waters edge with wooden buildings built on stilts. Most of the roads were not paved, and motor traffic was minimal. Much of the transportation was via the sea, on water taxis from small islas to white sand beaches to tourist hotels to private abodes. Each sunny afternoon, we would find a local boatman to take us to our desired location, and Stella would inevitably curl up in our arms and nod off.
On one day, we planned an all day trip to the stunning Cayo Zapatillos, a white sand tropical island that is part of a National Marine park reserve, that had provided B footage for the Survivor Panama show. Along the way we visited a bay that was full of dolphins (and tourboats!) leaping along side our small but sturdy craft. Stella once again missed the whole spectacle as she slept in my tired arms. A combination of water and beaches lent itself to some blissed out naps (for us all), but boats were most definitely one of the best sleeping aids we have ever encountered.

To see all our trip photos, you can go to: http://www.pbase.com/dgsc/december_trip

Quack! I've got a clogged duct

2007-01-10T13:10:00.000-05:00

Monday, I was in a foul mood. My husband commented that we hadn't hugged or kissed the entire day, which didn't have the desired effect (Oh honey, hug, hug, kiss, kiss), but only added to my ire. I had a nasty stomach ache (source unknown), but even worse, I was suffering the most painful clogged duct in my left breast. Men can't even begin to relate to this. It was excruciating to pick up a wriggly infant, who would inevitably elbow me in the tit, let alone think about a cuddly hug with Dan. This marked probably my 10th bout with a rock hard breast, that literally feels like someone punched you, and then grabbed your nipple and twisted it completely around for extra effect. I have never had the mother of all pains - mastitis, but have to believe that this is a close second, without the fever and puking.

This problem has become a more frequent ailment within the last 3 months, and I am at a loss as to why this keeps happening. On our December trip, I got it twice. I spent one night in Argentina taking hot showers, putting boiling hot washcloth compresses on my breast and kneading myself like dough until 2AM. In addition, I did my damnedest to entice Stella to nurse, a sight that would be horrific to anyone that did not know what was going on. I swear that I exposed my breast, hung it all out, and chased her around the room with my barely swaying pendulum, literally trying to stuff my nipple in her face. I was nearly sobbing as I begged, "Please, please, suck!" Of course, one of the reasons that a person supposedly gets a clogged duct is because the milk is not emptying out of their boob, and it just pools up, swells, and eventually starts to thicken and dry out, lodging itself in your duct and preventing flow. Obviously, Stella was not hungry enough for 'milkie' and I was over producing. My friend lent me her antique glass pump that probably looks a lot like a gimmicky penis enlarger, and I went to town. Nada. Not a drop.
I have found that the only thing that seems to work for alleviating my pain is a slightly scary ritual with a needle. During one of my previous duct afflictions, I searched frantically on the Internet for advise. I ended up finding a chat thread where all the mom's were talking about a mysterious white dot. It seems that if none of the above works, all the massage and manipulation of your breast eventually yields a tiny white dot on your nipple. This is apparently the duct that is clogged, and if you squeeze hard enough, the dam could break and burst through this opening. Squeeze really hard? Mother of god! - you have got to be kidding. Many of the mother's suggested just taking a needle to the spot and poking your own hole of freedom. Believe me, when you get to the point of sticking a needle in your nipple, the pain and frustration is so advanced that it does not hurt at all. Voila! This usually does the trick, and a breast that wouldn't release any milk before starts to gush, or drip... and it's tinged pink...with blood.

My problem is I'm really sick of this cycle (duh), and would like to prevent the duct from becoming clogged in the first place. I don't know what to think of this all. Should I see this as a sign that my daughter wants to wean herself? Or, does she just need a lot less milk now that she eats a lot, and does my body need to figure out the correct supply required? These experiences make me very fearful about the pain that comes with an end to breast-feeding, and I don't think I'm ready. I know that I am already a bit of an anomaly, since I have nursed Stella exclusively (no formula) since birth, and she is almost 13 months. I used to claim it is so easy, but with these past episodes it really isn't. If there are any mothers out there who have like stories or suggestions, I'd greatly appreciate the input. I'm feeling a little desperate.

Photo at Red Frog Beach in Bocas Del Toro, Panama

Friday Destination Dreaming # 10

2007-01-05T08:45:00.000-05:00

Egypt - This country needs no introduction. The Great Pyramids of Giza are the most recognized manmade landmark in the whole world. No visit to Egypt would be complete without visiting these awe-inspiring tombs.

Here is my suggested itinerary:

-Fly to Cairo for at least 3 days to take in the sights and smells of the bazaars and mosques, spend hours exploring the Egyptian Museum of Antiquities, jam packed with National artifacts, and spend a day gawking at the Pyramids and the Sphinx.
-Fly to Aswan, see the Tombs of the Nobles and the High Dam at Lake Nasser, the world's largest artificial lake.
-Take a day trip from Aswan to see Abu Simbel.
-Return to Aswan where you will board a felucca on the Nile and have a slow and languorous river journey to Luxor, seeing the temples at Edfu and Esna along the way.
-Visit the Temples of Luxor and Karnak.
-Go to Hurghada on the coast (a once small fishing village, now turned aquatic tourist resort).
-Take a boat accross the Red Sea to luxurious Sharm El Sheikh, for some more diving adventures.
-Visit Mount Sinai, where Moses supposedly waited to receive the Ten Commandments.
-Evoke you hippy spirit and end the trip in Bedouin Dahab, lounging on the beach or windsurfing in the gulf.

Pure Happiness

2007-01-03T12:38:00.000-05:00

I'm asked on a daily basis, "How did your trip go?" This question always stumps me as I choke up with the most bland and boring response, "It was great."

You see, it really was great, and there were so many poignant and interesting moments during the trip, when I thought, "Ahh - here's the story." However, now that we are back, the whole trip, every minute, has blended and blurred, only made distinct by 3 parts - Panama, Buenos Aires and Florida. I don't know where to begin when it comes to extracting one story from my muddled brain that encapsulates the whole experience. With Herculean effort, I have finally retrieved a memory of pure happiness:

Our last night in Panama was spent in the capital, Panama City. We used our travel agent status to our advantage and booked a discounted night at the very nice Marriott Hotel. This is so unlike our usual travel history, as we have held our noses up in disdain and backpacker snobbery toward the people who regularly hole themselves up in a big chain hotel. These types of accommodation are generally far removed from the local character of a place. You can transplant yourself to a Hilton hotel anywhere in the world and still feel like you never left your home city. Doesn't this kind of defeat the purpose of traveling? I can only rationalize our reason for caving in to the Heavenly-like beds, and antiseptic bathrooms, to the over-used and pathetic excuse that we are now parents. It seems we no longer have the patience for traipsing thru the 'red light' neighborhoods, seeking out the perfect (perfectly bearable) guesthouse, haggling about price, brushing away random hairs in the bed with one hand, and putting in earplugs with the other. Now, we rely on carpeting and thick walls to muffle the night wakings of Stella and the morning anonymity of a big hotel. It is also great to have a crib waiting in your room, as opposed to a makeshift mattress on the floor.

Anyhow, I am getting away from the heart of the story. After checking in to our luxury digs, we all were hungry and asked the concierge if he had a recommendation for a nearby, affordable restaurant that served Panamanian food. To our initial disappointment, we learned that the only places in our neighborhood where we could savor the local cuisine, we're also going to be frequented by large tour groups. Apparently, Thursday night is Panama night, and the only two restaurants where we could feast on sancocho and tamales were featuring traditional music and dance shows. These pre-packaged forms of tourist entertainment are REALLY not our style. What to do? Our stomachs were grumbling and it was getting late. Taking a cab to somewhere else, far and 'authentic', sounded like more pain than pleasure, and eating Italian or Japanese food in Panama would be such a shame. "Let's do it. At the very least, Stella will enjoy the music," I convinced an exasperated Dan.

We strolled off to Trapiche, where we were seated at the far back of the room. The tables closest to the entertainment were already reserved with large parties. We were actually happily surprised to see that gringos were the minority, and that almost everyone around us was speaking spanish and in a festive mood. The place didn't seem to be as much of a tourist trap as we initially suspected and more of a special occasion restaurant. Our meal began with $2 beer and rum and cokes - a great start, and continued uphill from there. With perfect timing, the performance began toward the end of our dinner. The minute the dancers appeared on the stage in their beautiful and exquisite costumes (big flowing skirts with rich embroidery and floral headpieces), I was entranced, but it was the beating of the drums that snapped Stella to attention. She was in a high chair with her back to the stage, and she whipped her head around so fast I thought she'd flip out of her chair. We quickly faced her toward the stage and saw that she was completely mesmerized by the spectacle. We have NEVER, EVER seen her as excited and as unabashedly happy as she was as that moment. Stella was truly ecstatic, and little sounds of glee kept shrieking from her enormous smile. She was bouncing to the beat, eyes wide open, and clapped her tiny hands harder than anyone else in the audience. I was riveted by her expressions of joy, and found my own eyes wet with happiness. After a thrilling show, Daniel and I were so proud of our little baby, and so very happy that she had gotten such immense pleasure from all the singing and dancing. In a state of bliss, surely accentuated by the alcohol, we floated out of the restaurant, in a warm and fuzzy glow of satisfaction. Pure happiness indeed.

A Taste of Americana

2006-12-31T15:57:00.000-05:00

We first met Lola and Gato in Trevelin while simultaneously visiting its' small town museums, cottages and tea houses. They were on holiday in their country, more familiar with their own land than we are with the United States. Our Spanish was adequate enough for traveling, but seriously lacking if we wanted to discuss anything but directions or prices. Lola and Gato had studied english for several years, with Lola actually retaining her memory of vocabulary and ability to conjugate verbs. She was our 'translator' and the bridge between spanglish which allowed us to communicate on a deeper level. I give her all the credit for extending herself and the offer of friendship to two virtual strangers. We shared a brief afternoon of tea and cookies with the exchange of emails and the promise to get together again once we arrived in Buenos Aires. The rest is history.

Despite our struggles with each others language, there has been no shortage of words between us. We always have something to share, and have learned invaluable lessons about each other's cultures. One time, Lola and Gato were inviting us to a party. They seemed concerned that their idea of a party would not meet our expectations. Together they tried to stress that this fiesta would not be like the kind we have in North America. Alas, there would not be any poon-chay. Poon-chay? What is poon-chay. You know - poon-chay, the red drink you have in big bowls. Punch? Yes, punch.
Needless to say, Dan and I were rolling. We assured them that we never have any punch at our parties. They looked at each other with shock, and perhaps disappointment - "But all the movies show people in America drinking punch at parties." Ah, cinema. Film never fails to portray a type of American and his or her culture in that less than accurate way. This was only further evidence of how the world at large has come to their sad conclusions about the U.S. through 'excellent' movie and television examples, like Baywatch.

So, with this memory strong in our minds, we knew what the perfect gift for our friends would be. In a suitcase full of presents, we carried a heavy glass punch bowl and platform, with 12 cups, hooks, and a ladle, through a week of Panama travel, all the way to Buenos Aires. The look on Lola's face when she opened the box was priceless:

In panama, we stocked up on Abuelo rum, and made up a huge batch of citrus pirate punch for Stella's 1 year birthday party. Lola and her family treated Stellita to a perfect cumpleanos, with colorful balloons, a homemade cake decorated with fresh gardenias, baked empanadas, and lots of presents.

Our brief visit was filled with family get togethers, where we were made to feel as distant relatives. Stella was passed from arm to arm, spoiled with warmth and attention, which was the greatest gift of independence to us, her parents.

We shared many meals together, most notably a Sunday parilla (an Argentine BBQ) at Lola's parents house. We knew that Luis, the great asador, would be treating us to an epic meal of grilled meats, and had planned in advance for the occasion. Another memory I had had of our first visit to Lola's family's home, was of her sister Jimenez trying to make marshmallows and questioning me about their authenticity. In that same suitcase of gifts that we had dragged through central America, I had a bag of Graham crackers, Hershey chocolate bars and puffed marshmallows. I wanted to introduce her and her kin to a traditional s'mores treat, something I was sure they had seen on some movie or t.v. series. We may not have had skewered the marshmallows on twigs and had a cozy bonfire to toast them on, but I managed to produce some tasty sweet sandwiches over the stove's flames. Our simple gift was a taste of Americana, in exchange for the hospitality of people we have grown to love.

Viva Argentina!

Friday Destination Dreaming # 9 (On Saturday!)

2006-12-30T14:44:00.000-05:00

This post is most honorably dedicated to one of my favorite cities in the world -
BUENOS AIRES, Argentina.

After our 7 days in Panama (with stories to come), we flew to Buenos Aires, arguably one of the most enjoyable and fascinating places I have ever had the pleasure to explore. Back in 2002, Daniel (my now husband, then boyfriend)and I spent 11 months traveling through South America. We were in Argentina during the height of their economic crisis, which meant that the dollar had a ridiculous amount of buying power against the floundering peso. Inflation was nowhere near to catching up with the collapse of the economy, and we lived a high life in a country rich in culture, style, fine food and wine, and stunning natural wonders. Once we realized just how far our dollar would go, we decided that Buenos Aires was the perfect stop, midway through our trip, where we could settle down for a few months, rent an apartment, take Spanish language classes, do some volunteer work, join a gym, and satiate our hunger for the finer things in life. We had lots of time to freely wander through the many varied neighborhoods (San Telmo, Boca, Recoleta, Palermo Viejo, etc.), read the english Buenos Aires Herald paper while sipping cappuccinos and eating medialunas, go to Tango or Opera shows, see live music, dance in nightclubs until the morning sun appeared, sip Malbec with steak dinners, shop for slick leather boots, and enjoy the company of new friends. I could go on and on about our two months of bliss, and all the wonderful memories that brought us to our present visit.

Above photo - Last supper, circa 2002

While living there, we became friends for life with a wonderful couple - Lola and Gato. It was through their invitations to spend time together, that we learned the true Argentine way, and were welcomed from the heart by both their family and friends. We went on Mate sipping excursions in the province, played and watched soccer, and feasted on parilla. Our email correspondence continued through the years, as we both were married, and eventually became parents. Daniel and I are not the sort of travelers who visit the same places twice. We tend to believe that our vacation time is too valuable to be spent anywhere but somewhere new and challenging. Despite this inclination, our thoughts have often focused on our fond memories of Bs.As., so it was inevitable that we would break our own rule and someday return. This past visit was for a mere 5 days, but was packed full of joy and doing, seeing and eating all the things that we hankered for. In truth, our journey was a bit of a scouting mission. Besides dearly missing our friends and wanting to meet their 4-month old son, Joaquin, we also needed to see if we would feel the same passion for this city, and actually consider a relocation, and serious move far, far south. It was immediately apparent that we were under the same spell.

Above photo - Four years later

To Be Continued...

I'm Back

2006-12-28T22:00:00.000-05:00

O.K. I am absolutely forcing the words out of my fingertips and on to the keyboard. My family and I arrived back to our cozy (tiny) Brooklyn apartment, late on December 26th. Two nights later, and my suitcase is still packed. I am suffering major procrastination and can't seem to wrap my head around all the 'to-do'lists rotating in my mind. Writing on this blog is feeling very much like that awesome senior thesis that relentlessly stalks your psyche, feeding your anxiety, and making you feel guilty about every moment NOT spent worrying and obsessing about your project (the one you can barely remember now).
Tomorrow will mark three long weeks without writing some wannabe witty summary about my life's happening, and SO MUCH has happened! We went traveling, and visited 3 countries, including Florida (DEFINITELY it's own country). We went traveling with a baby, and endured seven flights. Stella turned one year old on December 18th. We celebrated Xmas. How can I possibly begin to cover all the interesting and amazing experiences that we had? I have fodder for months. To those two or three people out there who actually read my blog, and haven't said sayonara, thank you for your patience - you still need it - the patience, that is. I'll slowly eke out some stories, but I've got a 3-day weekend ahead of me, and this vacation isn't over yet!

I hope the holidays went well for all, and that 2007 exceeds all expectations. Until I can get my life in order (Ha!), or at least the surface, Quality of Light might be a little dark and quiet. I'll be back...

Friday Destination Dreaming # 8

2006-12-08T09:50:00.000-05:00

I am very excited to let you know that today's destination dreaming is no figment of my imagination, and will actually be reality in about 24 hours.

My famdam and I are going to the airport at the gawd awful hour of 2AM to board a morning flight to Panama!!!!!!!!!!!

Winter can kiss my ass, I'm headed for heat and sunshine (hopefully).
We'll be traveling until December 26th, so my entries, if there are any, will be sporadic. Here's our Panama itinerary:

Day 1: Arrive in Panama and head to the Gamboa Rainforest Resort, where we plan to take an aerial tram through and over the rainforest canopy, and take a boatride on the Chagres River or Gatun Lake (baby permitting)
Day 2: More nature walking and lounging at the resort.
Day 3: Fly to Bocas del Toro, a small island on the Caribbean side of Panama.
Day 4: Water adventures - surfing for Papa?
Day 5: Build sand castles with Stella and encourage sloth-like behavior.
Day 6: Fly to Panama City, and explore the historic neighborhoods of La Vieja and Casco Viejo.
Day 7: Visit the Panama Canal and the visitor center at the Miraflores Locks.
Board a night flight to... (to be continued).

P.S. The Panama hat is actually Ecuadorian. However, this hat became popular by the men who wore it during the building of the Panama Canal, and thus the name.

Our Little Star of the Sea

2006-12-06T18:10:00.000-05:00

Happy Holidays!

Stella Mar is dressed in her father's baby clothes, sitting in a wicker chair from his infancy.

With Cream and Sugar

2006-12-03T10:31:00.000-05:00

I love coffee, always have. My parents were not big coffee drinkers in my childhood. That is not to say that they didn't like it, but just that coffee was not a part of their daily morning ritual. I would say that they were more tea drinkers, although they very much appreciated the occasional coffee brew. Whenever we did have coffee in the house, I LOVED the smell. The aroma alone would make me crave a taste. My Mother or Father would pour me a small cup, heavily diluted with milk and sugar, and I'd feel special and included in big people things. Of course, for those old enough to remember, coffee pretty much sucked in the 70's, and only started to become a more 'gourmet' brew in the second part of the 80's. Before then, I think coffee was largely associated with diners like Big Bob's, Denny's, and IHOP. American coffee was hot, weak, roasted (burned!) bean water. Forget about cappuccinos, lattes, and espresso drips. Any European, specifically Italian or French person, who chose to drink our watered down version of coffee would undoubtedly complain about the quality. Who could blame then? I don't know exactly when a strong coffee culture of lounges and experienced baristas began to have prominence in the U.S., but I do remember my own introduction to these types of cafes started when I was 15, back in 1988.
I was bused to Hollywood High School, where I attended a magnet school for the performing Arts. Every morning I found myself on a yellow school bus before 7AM, leaving Tujunga, a small L.A. county that I associated with rednecks, Hell's Angels, speed dens, and River's Edge type characters (yes, that is exactly where the Keanu Reeves, Crispin Glover, Dennis Hopper movie was filmed!). I was headed for further craziness at Hollywood High, situated on Highland Avenue, smack dab between Hollywood Blvd and Sunset. This was a strange place to go to school, with a bunch of random kids, dreaming of fame, and craving attention and adoration on the stage. My afterschool (and sometimes during!) forays down the neighboring boulevards, involved running into junkies and prostitutes (My english classes windows actually faced a motel, where we would watch the hookers enter and exit with their various johns), playing hide and seek in the Roosevelt Hotel, sneaking into matinee movies at the Mann's Chinese Theatre, visiting the Max Factor museum, eating beef and cheddar sandwiches at Arby's, checking out the sidewalk stars on Sunset, and hanging out at Highland Grounds.

This is where the coffee part of the story returns. My friends and I were growing up fast, feeling our independence at being so far from home, and wanting to be as individual and unique as our imagination and insecurities permitted. We weren't a part of the nighttime bar scene (and that's another tale), so coffee houses were the only place we could go and socialize, spending our handful of dollars, and hoping to be chatted up by cute boys. Where else could you meet recovering alcoholics, wannabe screenwriters, and folksy guitarists hoping for critical exposure?

When I finally was on my own, a student a UCLA, coffeehouses took on a new purpose. They were the place to go for midterm cramming and paper writing. We were pumped up on caffeine, thinking that a cafe full of people would provide less distraction then our roommates at home. Now I recognize that we were all just so young and curious, wanting to see and be seen, and that any place where we could rub shoulders with potentially interesting strangers would draw a crowd. The coffee was irrelevant.

Once I was truly an 'adult' and holding down a 9-6 job (does 9-5 really exist?), coffee had new meaning. As part of 'water cooler' socializing, grabbing a cup of joe was an excuse to take a break with fellow employees. In addition, the energizing effects of caffeine now had true purpose, and stopped me from showing up at work glassy-eyed, and unfocused, from a late-night out. In SF, I'd grab a cup early in the morning, trying not to spill a drop on the lurching Muni ride downtown, and chug my way to a brighter face. Coffee saved my ass. However, even then, I did not NEED a cup of coffee EVERY morning. It really depended on how difficult it had been to drag myself out of bed, and probably also on how much I drank the night before. Flash forward to the present, and I am absolutely addicted. I simply do NOT feel right without my home-brewed Ethiopian or Breakfast blend. Parenthood has turned me into a cripple in the morning. I can't function without a caffeine injection, and one cup is now not enough. I've increased to two cups a day, and generally don't shower or get out of my pajamas until I've had a double mug full. When I was pregnant, it actually wasn't hard to give it up. I suffered from so much nausea during my first trimester, that the smell was actually unbearable. After those initial three months, my olfactory sense returned to normal, and my ultimate pregnancy craving was coffee flavored icecream. Today, my obsession has peaked (I certainly hope). Coffee is more than just a pleasurable beverage, it is a buoy in a stormy ocean. I think I would begin to panic if it were taken away, like a drug user with an actual physical addiction. How would I stay awake enough to watch a baby, after my bleak 7 hours of continually interrupted sleep? How would I answer the phone at work, in any other speed but slow and indecipherable? How, oh how, would I make it through a long day that requires quick reflexes and mental capability? Quite simply, I wouldn't. Coffee, you are my saviour. With gratitude, this is my ode to you.

Go Chargers!

2006-12-01T10:09:00.000-05:00

For all the SanDogs:

Football jersey, courtesy of Matt R. Many thanks!

Friday Destination Dreaming # 7

2006-12-01T08:04:00.000-05:00

It's the first day of December, and the time when I finally think it is O.K. to start thinking about Christmas. Frankly, it annoys the hell out of me and probably 99% of the U.S. population, that we are bombarded with Holiday shopping advertisements and decorations well before Thanksgiving. PLEASE, let us take one holiday at a time!

Now that I'm ready to start thinking about all things green and red, and quite literally 'buy' into the belief that life isn't complete without amassing more things, it's time to go shopping! In search of handmade ponchos, turquoise jewelry, textiles, and all things arty and crafty, let's head to North Central New Mexico!!!

Loose Itinerary:

1) We'll Fly to Albuquerque, stroll the old town plaza, and eat enchiladas at Duran Central Cafe or Sadies.
2) Day 2 will find us on Route 66 after a ride on the Sandia Peak Tramway, the longest tram line in the world, with stunning views of the canyon below.
3) The Drive will continue along the Turquoise Trail to Santa Fe, where there is so much to do and see! - Loretto Chapel and San Miguel Mission, Georgia O'Keefe Museum, Museum of International Folk Art, and the Palace of the Governors. We'll compare green and red chiles at The Shed, Guadalupe Cafe, and La Choza Restaurant.

I hear Santa Fe is the place to be on Xmas Eve. Farolitos (candles in brown paper bags) are lit and lined along sidewalks, outlining buildings, and perched in trees. There are carols and holiday performances in various plazas and free warm cider to drink. Alas, I will be elsewhere on December 24-25th, but I'll be satisfied with shopping, and admiring the Southwest twist on Christmas decorations, with the smell of Pinon wood burning in the fireplaces.

4) Next on the list is the Bandelier National Monument, where we can spend a day exploring ruins of Anasazi cliff houses and pueblo-style dwellings.
5) Our final destination is Taos, an artists' colony made most famous by Georgia O'Keefe, with legendary galleries and museums. We would also visit Pueblo, an actual living Indian village.

The above water color painting of Georgia O'Keefe is by Theresa Campos (my mother).

*With more time and a lot of driving, here are some bonus New Mexico attractions well worth visiting:
- Carlsbad Caverns
- White Sands National Monument
- Chaco Canyon Historic Park

Favorite Flicks

2006-11-29T12:48:00.000-05:00

The lethargy that comes with a 4 day weekend is still hanging on, and it's Wednesday. I'm not in the mood for work, and am counting the days until vacation time. As a result, I'm inert when it comes to cleaning the house, cooking, and checking off errands from the to-do list. Instead, I have been sitting on the futon, not going to the gym, and watching more than my fair share of t.v.. DVR is both a glorious blessing and an evil addiction.
Last weekend, during a marathon of eyeball-drying, boob-tube viewing, I saw 'The Family Man' on Cable. This was my second time seeing this movie and it confirmed my memory of what a great and under-rated film this is. It stars Tea Leoni and Nicholas Cage, and is a kind of modern-day twist on 'It's a Wonderful Life'. Basically, Cage's character, Jack, is a very successful and not unhappy, single, investment banker, who gets a glimpse of what his life would have been like if he had followed the girl as opposed to the job. He gets plopped into his alter life, where he would have married his college sweetheart (Leoni) and fathered two children in a small New Jersey town. At first, he wants nothing more than to escape a life of poopy diapers, a sales job at his Father-in-laws' tire store, and the reality of a middle America income. Of course, it is predictable that his character begins to the see the light, and comes to value the intangible riches associated with family life, like the indescribable happiness that comes from the unconditional love of your children and an adoring wife. No doubt, it's a sensitive, sometimes schmaltzy story, but the performances are very believable, and the script is well written. It was done RIGHT. Even my husband got teary-eyed, and still doesn't think of it as a chick flick. After watching this romantic comedy, I wanted more. It's akin to reading a great book, and leaving the last page still hankering to know the characters, and dwelling on memories of their lives, long after shelving a novel. Parenthood, marriage, and age have changed my taste in movies. I no longer want to waste a moment of my time cringing through screen violence, and hunger for a happy ending. Make me cry, but make me laugh too! I want to walk away from a film feeling happy, enlightened, inspired, or thoughtful.
This made me reflect on the some of the movies I've loved in my life. This is by no means a complete list, and I'm sure I've left something out that absolutely belongs in this entry. I know I'm risking embarrassment, judgment, and a possible loss of credibility in the taste department, but hear goes....

Favorite Movies from Childhood/Teenage years:(this list is really random)
Pollyanna - Great inspiration for little girls to be positive and share the art of being 'glad'. This fits right up there with the ideals of 'Little House on the Prairie' and 'Anne of Green Gables'
Grease
E.T.
Star Wars
Valley Girl
Wizard of Oz
The Breakfast Club
Pretty in Pink
Terms of Endearment - Debra Winger made me want to be an actress. I had never bawled so fiercely in a movie theater before seeing this.

Classics:
Gone With The Wind - despite being almost 4 hours long, I watched this movie three times IN A ROW, when I first rented it. I know you should love Melanie, but Scarlet had my heart the whole time.
Sir Lawrence of Arabia - this epic is the source of all my wanderlust. If it doesn't make you want to see the world, then it is just not in you.

Foreign Films:
L'Auberge Espagnole - Barcelona is amazing, and being in your 20's meeting people from different countries is the best experience ever.
Motorcycle Diaries - my love of travel continues...
Run Lola Run
Seven Samurai
Antonia's Line
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon - girl power!
An Affair of Love - fantastically complex look at sex without love
Dersu Uzala - a moving story about friendship between 2 men from different backgrounds.

Romances:
A Room With The View - has the best sweep-me-off-my-feet kiss on a hillside of flowers
Henry & June - stunning sets and costumes, and incredibly sensual. I saw this movie in college and it made me look at sexuality in a new, more freeing way. I became obsessed with reading Anais Nin and Henry Miller.
Before Sunset (and After Sunrise, too!) - another great travel movie
The Family Man - my new, more adult entry

Comedies:
Office Space - this epitomizes my memories of working in a cubicle, the dot.com culture, AND waiting tables. It's a classic.
40 Year Old Virgin - It is soooo good to laugh this hard.
Sideways

Overall Good movies:
Lost In Translation - Bill Murray at his all-time best
Being John Malkovich
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Good Will Hunting
Baraka

A final place for Violence:
James Bond, James Bond, James Bond - need I say more? The ultimate man. My love affair began with Roger Moore, who featured in my first 'sexual' dream. I was in 5th or 6th grade - maybe, and we danced...close. That was super x-rated to my young mind
The Godfather series
Pulp Fiction - I watched this right when it came out, in a smoky movie house in Prague, for $1. The audience LOVED it, myself included.
Trainspotting
Full Metal Jacket
Crash - this kept me thinking, and lingered for days.

What do you think? Do you have any favorites you'd add to this list? Agreements? Disagreements?

Thanksgiving

2006-11-24T12:57:00.000-05:00

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. It always has been. Truly, there are many, many reasons to love this special Thursday, and I will try to list a few that stand out in my mind. First, I LOVE the comfort food that dominates the table - roast turkey smothered in gravy and cranberry sauce, honey-baked ham, mashed potatoes, stuffing, green beans and brussel sprouts prepared a variety of ways, sweet potatoes or yams, pecan and pumpkin pies, and so much more! My favorite way to celebrate is as a big potluck party, where each guest can focus on preparing their own special recipe. The end result is a fantastic smorgasbord of the most delicious dishes, prepared with the utmost care and pride. This also takes the pressure off the host as all participants contribute to the end result, and more time and energy can be spent on the reunion aspect of this get together. I also prefer when there is less formality and the kitchen is full of helpers adding the last minute touch to their platter and the wonderful smell of food wafts through the house. This is a perfect occasion to stop and enjoy the company of those you love, share nourishment, and toast all the wonderful things that life has to offer. It doesn't always have to be a time to recite the many things we are thankful about out loud, but there is a underlying deeper gratitude for the simple pleasures of life that cannot be ignored. Just by virtue of taking a 4-day weekend, three days after Thanksgiving to rest and reflect, I have found this holiday leaves me rejuvenated in a way that New Years Eve/Day and my many resolutions never has. There is simply no pressure with Thanksgiving. It is the lack of commercialism that makes this holiday enjoyable. There are no gifts to buy, and thus the financial and emotional stress that can come with Christmas is avoided.

Our Thanksgiving culture is rooted in the idea of pilgrims and Indians coming together to break bread, set aside their differences and share the bounty of our land. This image may be a rose-colored exaggeration, but that is O.K. with me. What is wrong with focusing only on the positive side of an American story (or myth)? I believe that we, as a culture, need to nurture and cultivate more time for warm and heartfelt traditions. I am one of those people who doesn't understand the hype about how hard it is to get along at the holidays, all that sad discussion about feuding family members and complete disfunction in the face of a group dinner. That is NOT to say that my family all get along so perfectly that we never annoy each other, but there has never been any pent-up anger that seems to only force it's way out at Thanksgiving. We all know each other and our foibles and have been coping with our differences for years. One holiday, focused around a big bird is not going to be any different than any other day of the year, in regards to arguments. I feel genuinely sorry for those who probably maintain some much needed distance from their family, only to have old resentments blow up in their face with the tension of finally being in close quarters. It's a shame that this pain has to come to the surface at a time that should be all about appreciation and thankfulness.

Yesterday, my husband and I spent our first Thanksgiving alone, with our baby. This was not intentional. I would have preferred seeing our much missed families, and getting together with a gaggle of friends, but for whatever reason, we were not organized enough for this to happen. By the time it really sunk in that we had no festive plans, we decided to accept our lone holiday as our first, and hopefully last celebration as a threesome. This did not mean that we would forego a traditional feast, but with only two adults, I was not going to slave over a turkey or an elaborate spread. I went to our local gourmet market and bought already prepared turkey breasts, gravy, cornmeal and sweet sausage stuffing, and a mini-pecan pie. Dan and I cooked several sides to accompany our meal (fresh cranberry sauce, green beans with toasted pine-nuts and lemon zest, buttery mashed potatoes and New Orleans baked sweet potatoes).

We had a fine, although quiet meal. Stella was not interested in anything we placed in front of her (still asking for Pirate's Booty), and dropped every shred of turkey on the floor. It may have not been the celebration of my dreams, but it was still Thanksgiving, and I was happy. Today is Friday, and I couldn't be more thankful for my life. I am married to a wonderful man, who has my utmost respect, and complete love. Together we have created a family, and get to share the unbelievable, indescribable joy that Stella has brought to our lives. I feel only harmony with my family, and want to genuinely wish the same joy and blessings upon all in the world. Happy (VERY happy), day-after Thanksgiving!

Friday Destination Dreaming # 6

2006-11-24T08:20:00.000-05:00

This weekend I want to be somewhere easy, some place that mandates a certain amount of lounging around. I want to ditch my shoes, purposely not wear a watch, and move very slowly. Take me to the Caribbean coast of Mexico's Yucatan Peninsula, where my toes will crunch through powder white sand, and I can sit on a lounge chair with a book in one hand and a margarita in the other. My uniform of choice will be a wide-brimmed straw hat, sunglasses, bathing suit and sarong. Stella will be my side, slathered in sunscreen, playing with a bucket and shovel under a bright umbrella. My husband will be flexing his long lovely muscles out at sea, letting all stress glide off his back like the water and becoming one with his true salty dog nature.

When we have a little more energy we will go to Tulum and visit the Mayan Pyramid ruins, shrouded by tropical vegetation and overlooking the Caribbean, or explore the jungle south of Rio Bec, home to howler monkeys and colorful parrots. For the most part, our time will be spent in and by the turquoise waters, snorkeling, swimming, beach combing and soaking up the sun. Thanksgiving turkey will be a distant memory when I gorge myself on fish tacos and fresh guacamole and chips....

Baby Loves Booty

2006-11-22T18:46:00.000-05:00

Stella's current favorite "food" is a cliche. She is absolutely obsessed with Pirate's Booty. I heard through the mommy grapevine that this was a perfect snack for babies, and soon was spotting ziplock bags full of booty all around the neighborhood. Stella's first form of snack food was a healthy version of cheerios and teddy puffs. Both Daniel and I always found these options to be high in sugar and on the hard side for relatively toothless gums. Pirate's Booty (melt-in-your-mouth puffs), flavored with kale and spinach or aged white cheddar, seemed like the perfect alternative to sweet dry cereal. At first, Stella seemed indifferent to this snack, but her hesitancy to try anything new was soon replaced with a ravenous hunger for all things puffed.

Yesterday, we ran out of Pirate's Booty and had to listen to Stella plead for "Boo-ee! Boo-ee!" ALL day long. We struggled with getting her to eat anything else, as her onetrack mind was on a Pirates' treasure hunt. With incessant whines and Booty calls, she pointed to every location that she thought the snack might be hiding - on top of the fridge, on the counter, in Mommy's purse (smart girl), only to be met with our emphatic cries of "NO BOOTY". Dog may have been her first word, but within the last couple of days, Stella has surpassed her usage frequency of 'dog' with 'booty'.

During a late night shop, I made sure to stock up. However, both my husband and I are now concerned about how to limit Stella's consumption, as we think she would happily replace every meal of sustenance with this fluff. We take responsibilty, as our prior use of booty to calm or pacify her has bordered on bribery. Pirate's Booty's main ingredients are listed as cornmeal and rice (plus natural ingredients for flavor, i.e. cheese or spinach). What nutritional value could possibly be gained by eating this snack? There is a new book by Michael Pollan, called 'The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals', which adresses America's eating habits, by taking a trip through our food chain. One of the main focuses of the book is corn, and it's prevalence in our diet. Here is an exerpt from a review in The Washington Post's Book World/washingtonpost.com :

"Oil underlines Pollan's story about agribusiness, but corn is its focus. American cattle fatten on corn. Corn also feeds poultry, pigs and sheep, even farmed fish. But that's just the beginning. In addition to dairy products from corn-fed cows and eggs from corn-fed chickens, corn starch, corn oil and corn syrup make up key ingredients in prepared foods. High-fructose corn syrup sweetens everything from juice to toothpaste. Even the alcohol in beer is corn-based. Corn is in everything from frozen yogurt to ketchup, from mayonnaise and mustard to hot dogs and bologna, from salad dressings to vitamin pills. "Tell me what you eat," said the French gastronomist Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, "and I will tell you what you are." We're corn."

I haven't read the book yet, and I'm not sure it really answers the question - "Is all this corn bad for us?", but I can't help but be a little more sensitive and aware of what I feed my daughter. I find I care more about her diet than my own. Could I already be polluting such a pure new body? No doubt the answer is yes, and thus a Mother's guilt begins.

Baby Loves Disco

2006-11-20T18:12:00.000-05:00

This weekend Stella turned 11 months old. We celebrated by going to Baby Loves Disco at Southpaw, our local Brooklyn concert venue. Our little baby truly loves to dance, and she has some eye-catching moves that prove she is darn good at it! Besides having impeccable rhythm (if I might say so), she has her own signature flair. With one hand she will hold on to something so that she can safely stand and bounce, then she'll position the other hand very elegantly out to her side to swish it to the beat, and cock her head up, chin high, eyes squinty, punctuated with a toothy grin. In addition to this applaud generating stance, she has an 'oil pump dance ' where she gets on to her hands and knees and emphatically rocks back and forth to the groove.

Baby Loves Disco is a daytime club event held nationally in many big cities (San Francisco, Chicago, Philadelphia, Los Angeles, etc.). It is an opportunity for parents and children between the age of 6 Months and 7 years, to come together and dance to 70's music in a nightclub atmosphere. They provide lots of healthy snacks, juice and coffee, scarves and egg-shakers to play with, a bubble machine, diaper change stations, free stroller parking, chill-out spaces with tents and toys, and a full bar!(at extra expense). Your ticket buys you the license to be a total goofball with your child and maintain some anonymity in the dimly lit environment. Trust me, some of the parents behave just as crazily as their uninhibited children. It's like we've all been suffering cabin fever, and finally feel like 'Yes! We still have a life beyond parks and playgroups, that actually involves entering those night dens of our boozy pasts!" However,the coolness factor is way low when you are sharing the dance floor with a bunch of hyper toddlers, shaking your rusty ass to "(Shake, Shake, Shake) Shake Your Booty" by KC & The Sunshine Band . This brings me to my actual critique of the event - the music. 70's disco seems to be the universal music guaranteed to get everyone enthusiastically on to the dance floor, but isn't this painfully passe'? I was born in the 70's, and therefore never actually danced to any of this music when it was freshly released. I'd be a parent in my early 50's if that were the case. Looking around the room, I don't think there were too many parents of this age swinging with their babies. Isn't it time to start changing the music up? Couldn't we dance just as excitedly to some 80's new wave tunes or better yet, britpop? While were at it, why can't the music actually be contemporary? O.K. - scratch that idea, as contemporary dance music is poor pop in my opinion, and I don't really want to spend my afternoon dancing to Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake - but that's just me. I've certainly noticed that kids can dance to just about anything. Stella even starts bouncing to t.v. commercial jingles. With this in mind, I'm sure that the music could be improved upon, upping the hip factor, and making the whole occasion even more appealing to the type of parent who really is desperate to feel like they have actually gotten out for a DAY of partying. It was a little strange to be in a room filled with kids and helium balloons, that was the same place we had seen American Analog Set and Clinic, so very long ago... This fact reminded me of how distant our concert-going days are. In fact, we haven't been to see live music since I was pregnant in summer 2005, when we saw Arcade Fire put on an awesome show in Central Park, and were surprised by a guest performance by David Bowie.
Despite my general complaint about the music, there were a few gems in the mix, that sent me straight back to those 7th grade dances of awkward grinding and what we used to call 'disco biscuit' music. It was specifically while nursing Stella in a creepy dark corner of the club that "Let the Music play" by Shannon, sent me into a very early teenage reverie. I was also left with the priceless memory of watching the back of Daniel, as he held Stella bouncing on his hip, and rocked side to side, up and down, big head, little head, the two most important people in the world to me, backlit with red and green dance lights. Dance, baby, dance.

Friday Destination Dreaming # 5

2006-11-17T09:00:00.000-05:00

Mythical Mali

Traveling to West Africa would not be a light and easy trip. Choosing Mali as a vacation destination is more about adventure than relaxation. This is the type of trip I should have taken before having a baby, or at least save for when Stella is old enough to be left with the grandparents, or better yet, old enough to be truly interested in experiencing the challenge that adapting to a new culture and environment creates. I do really look forward to exposing her to the rest of the world so that she can have a very real understanding of how different people live their lives and learn that this should not necessarily be defined as better or worse. When you are a North American in a third world country, you learn how easy your life is and how 'lucky' you are to have been born in the Western world. I think this focus on how hard life is without modern conveniences and the amenities we so often take for granted is a mistake. When I travel, I try to always be flexible and to concentrate on the natural beauty of both the surroundings and the people that I meet, and not on the luxuries that are missing. I know it to be true that some forms of poverty do not necessarily equate to unhappiness. I especially appreciate the following entry on Saga Tours website about Culture Shock.

A trip to Mali conjures up romantic ideas of Timbuktu and the original explorers who went on long, arduous and often dangerous expeditions to reach this legendary destination. Even today, a visit would require a stripping away of any preconceived ideas of comfort and accepting the hardships of overland travel in a country that's infrastructure is under developed. I would allow myself to become swept away by the music, like that of Ali Farka Toure, the traditional dances of the Tuareg, and exotic smells in the colorful marketplaces (especially in Djenne), and become entranced and absorbed by a new culture and ancient tribal history. If I chose to explore this country with the help of a tour, it would be one that emphasized exchanges with local people, treks through the Dogon Country and the dunes of the Sahara, long riverboat sailing down the Niger, and simple lodgings, including camping. I particularly like the following Timbuktu Odyssey that can be arranged through Ecotour Africa.

Mantra of the day: Let go, live, learn, and love.

Many Miles

2006-11-14T10:46:00.000-05:00

We've had visitors come and go, and it's always sad to have friends and family say goodbye, knowing that it could be several months, maybe even years before we see each other again. However, when my Mother and Sister left yesterday for their flight back to California, it was particularly heartbreaking. The goodbye was neither melodramatic nor tearful, the surface hiding a belly full of turmoil and mixed emotions. It left me feeling incredibly sad and empty. I was still in my pj's when the taxi showed up at 2:30PM, so I couldn't carry Stella down the stairs and out on the stoop to wave goodbye - "bye-bye". It's just as well, as something tells me my Mother did not need to drag it out either. Instead, I held Stella close to my breast as we peered out the window from our 4th floor walk-up and pointed at Grandma and Auntie Paloma getting into the gypsy cab. We were all alone, back to our isolated little lives, in our tiny, little apartment, on opposite coasts, so very, very far from a family member's helping hand and open heart.

Stella is the first Grandchild for both my parents and in-laws. My husband and I have seen tremendous love and adoration fill our parents hearts with her arrival into our lives. Since day one, watching them take intense joy in her every little move and murmur has taught me how truly special the role of Grandparent is. We were blessed with wonderful parents who are very important and close to us, yet we have chosen to live in a different state, far from their regular attention and involvement in our life. Not for the first time, I have found myself questioning why we live so far, and feeling guilt that I might be a bad parent for keeping Stella so far from my and Dan's family.

I so want her to have a rich relationship with our Mothers and Fathers, one that I didn't get to experience with my own Grandparents who were in Washington State and Chile or Argentina. I have a handful of childhood memories but unfortunately no deep understanding of who these people were, due to the fact that our lives were not fully integrated. I don't want to rob my daughter of this valuable opportunity to bond with her family and have a link to older generations. I want her to grow up nourished by more than just her Mommy and Daddy's love and support, but also the instruction, insight, and positive values that can only be imparted by her much more experienced elders.

Our Moms and Dads deserve her love and respect and youthful (very youthful) companionship. How can I dare keep them from each other and how strong do I think I am, to not realize how much I need their help, too?

My Mother always said I was her free spirit, full of confident independence, lacking worldly fear. I have prized my freedom and the trust my parents always gave me. With their support, I have felt free to travel and plant temporary roots without having misgivings about our physical distance. There were no guilt trips, and usually just praise for my adventurous roaming.

It was often during my travels, when all my life's belongings could be carried on my back, and my vanity would fade and slowly disintegrate (like that staple black t-shirt that seemed to be worn and washed as frequently as I showered), that I would mentally peel my life down to a golden kernel of understanding. That was a moment when all that mattered was love, family and friends, and that deep realization, finally felt in my core, made me crave 'home'. I would come to envy all those who grew up and lived life under the umbrella of an extended family, and surrounded by the same friends from early childhood. Instead of viewing this type of tightly knit history as oppressive, I would finally come to see it as warm and comforting, as opposed to smothering.

I don't know what the solution is. I know that every minute shared with loved ones is a gift to be cherished. My weekend with my Mom and Sis was a lot of fun, and a lot of help. Stella was spoiled in the best possible way. Daniel and I know that being far from family is a sacrifice. We could change this by making a big move, BUT we can't seem to conquer our lack of desire to live in Naples, Florida or Los Angeles, California. Our back and forth, flip-flopping discussions on that topic are best saved for another story. Until we can decide where we are meant to be, I must come to terms with the path we've chosen. I will continue to question whether we are doing right by Stella, and remind myself that we are all connected by a deep love, no matter how many miles might divide us.

Friday Destination Dreaming # 4

2006-11-10T08:00:00.000-05:00

Kerala, India

In the depths of my imagination, I am heading to the region of Kerala in Southern India, which is famous for palm trees, rivers and backwater lagoons. Now is the best time to visit - between October to April, also monsoon.

You can fly into either Kochi (former colonial name Cochin) or Thiruvanathapuram (former colonial name Trivandrum), the two biggest cities, with the latter being famous for the Sri. Padmanabhaswami Temple dedicted to Lord Vishnu. Another popular destination is Kovalam which is reputed to have the most beautiful beach in the state. While in Kerala you will dine on incredibly delicious and varied vegetarian cuisine, can treat yourself to an Ayurvedic spa treatment, and can watch a Kathakali dancing performance about stories from the epics.

However, the true highlight to your trip is a slow and peaceful journey through the backwaters on your own private houseboat with a dedicated chef and captain/guide.

Pink Puff

2006-11-07T20:03:00.000-05:00

Whatever makes you comfortable :)

Turn Back Time

2006-11-07T08:16:00.000-05:00

Today is election day, and many people in this lovely Blue State that is New York, are hoping that the democrats will take over the congress. I am aligned with this sentiment, but NOT because I am impassioned by politics, and actually believe that the democrats can turn back time, and truly improve on our current situation. On the contrary, my hope, faith, and expectations are very low. Presidential Election 2004 left me in such a depression, after actively trying to insure that Bush would not be reelected, that I actually shut down my political involvement. I will vote - I always do, but I have become a cynic about our electoral system, and don't want to put too much energy into potential disappointment. I have become apathetic, and I am a little sad about it.

This subject segue ways into a different topic. Presidential Election 2004 actually fell on my birthday - November 2nd (what a fantastic day that was). Today is the 7th, and you might note that it has taken me 5 days to mention this fact. I am 34 years old, and have gotten to the age when I do still care about my birthday, but feel a little silly for it. This was truthfully the first year in awhile that I actually decided that I did want at least one small gathering to commemorate another digit change. Eager to please, my husband organized a brunch get together over the past weekend. At least half of the people we invited already had plans. Of course, these days I am so apathetic that I didn't get disappointed. OK, that is a little bit of a lie. I think I am finally mourning the fact that I will most likely, never ever again have a birthday like those from my childhood. For those long past celebrations, I got dressed in a party dress, was surrounded by cheery friends, the sugar was flowing, and the presents were numerous. Who doesn't like receiving a gift, and being the center of attention? Isn't it a shame that we have to become 'adult-like' and nonchalant about our birthdays? Now that we can actually imbibe alcohol, and afford much cooler gifts, couldn't birthdays be even more fun? My younger sister definitely comes from this school of thought. Her birthday is the most important day of the year, and it is crucial to her emotional well-being that she has a big bash with a very large group of friends to mark this momentous occasion. She has even been known to hold a grudge or two, if you are someone near and dear, yet you forget to honor her on this day. In her defense, she has a photographic memory for other people's birthdays and is the first to call and wish you a very special day. Being that siblings tend to do the opposite of one another in an attempt to further accentuate their differences, I suppose I swung to the flipside of this equation, and have purposely NOT told anyone that it was my birthday on THE VERY DAY. Secretly, I admit that I was wishing that this fact would somehow pop out of thin air - as if some person would just magically turn to me and say, "Could today be your birthday, because your aura is surely emanating pure birthday vibes?".

So, now that I've given myself up, and the big day is almost one week past, I want to drag it back and shout to you all, "November 2nd was my birthday! Isn't it great?! Happy Birthday to me!".

P.S. I have just returned from a birthday party for 5 scrumptiously delicious 1 year olds. I am being reminded that I have a little girl who will soon reach this benchmark herself, and I have at least a decade of living vicariously through her birthday joy.

Sleeping Standoff

2006-11-05T12:22:00.000-05:00

Since the day Stella was born I have not had one single night of solid sleep. My nights of nocturnal bliss actually ended well before her arrival with my third trimester. I suffered frequent wakings to flush my bladder, and a lot of tossing and turning with back pains and the insomnia of 'what-if'.
Today, we are still dog paddling through nights of interrupted sleep, and although this can be brutal, we have also learned how to manage and somehow drink enough coffee every morning to function through the day. Clearly, my husband does have it easier since he often wakes up, and obliviously looks at me like we've had a great night's sleep, only to discover the dark bags under my eyes and realize that actually no, I got out of bed three times to nurse our little milk monster. Of course, this is when I get my revenge, and insist that he's the first to get out of bed and go play with Stella well before sunrise.

Somehow, we survive. I know that this stage of poor sleep will pass. I also understand that some day, far, far into the future we'll be fighting a teenager who doesn't want to get out of bed before noon, and complaining about the fact that she sleeps too much. However, this scenario seems very, very, far away. Every night, I still crawl into bed with hope flickering in the back of my brain that tonight will be the night...who knows? maybe tonight.

This is a time when I wish I'd started blogging earlier, as there is much we have already experienced with the raising of Stella, and it is easy to forget how quickly things change. She is not even eleven months old, and her 2 month self feels like a decade ago. If I had kept a detailed record of the shit we went through with our colicky little nugget, it would only help to remind me of how we have conquered prior difficulties and adapted to each parenting challenge.

For posterity, I'm going to log the craziness that Ms. Stella has caused us to endure. I have specifically been inspired to do so, by some recently visiting friends. It seems that they have been pleasantly surprised by how good-natured and happy Stella is, as their memories of their first introduction were of a little baby who never stopped crying. Daniel and I were a little taken aback, as we knew, (believe me, we knew) that she cried a lot, but we had no idea that she had made such a strong impression on outsiders. Don't all babies cry a lot? Don't all babies cry? Come on! Apparently not.

I now think that Stella was inflicted with acid reflux. As a baby she simply could NOT sleep flat on her back, she was a major spitter-upper, and flailed whenever someone would try to hold her in a customary, cradling position. She was only comfortable sitting up. So began the days of using our co sleeper as a place to store dirty laundry and coats that needed hanging up. Stella couldn't sleep in her little bed, and would only nod off in her swing or car seat. Within 2 months, we must have gone through a grocery bag full of double A batteries. We moved her take-along swing from room to room, in an effort to appease the beast, and the electric sound of her mechanically rocking back and forth will forever be ingrained in my mind. We were trying all of the methods to ward off hysteria, suggested by Harvey Karp in the 'Happiest Baby on the Block', with what seemed to be limited success. On second reflection I realize that we did use all of his advice and it worked, we just had to execute his suggestions at the most extreme level. Swaddling? Not so great beyond the first few blob-like weeks, but lots of movements and white noise were spot on. No basic rocking for our baby, she needed a vigorous swing at level 8. No shhhushing to calm her screams, we had to whip out the hair dryer. No joke. I thought we might cause hearing impairment, because we had to turn the blowdryer onto HIGH and position it right near her head in order to stop her crying. The problem was that all of these tricks eventually became crutches that were required every night to get her to go down. There was a good month or two where we had a crazy night time ritual of putting Stella in her Bundle Me sleeping bag inside of her carseat, locked into her Graco stroller frame, and we'd push that bugger back and forth, back and forth, very hard and over the carpet edge that met our hardwood floor, because the bumpier the ride the better to sedate (?), and the hair dryer would be on at full blast until she gradually fell asleep and we could slowly change the speed from high to low and eventually off. We'd position the stroller by the side of our bed, and every time she woke up, one of us would have to stand in the dark like an idiot doing a monotonous push and pull.

I don't actually remember how we transitioned out of this phase, and finally got Stella to sleep in a crib, on her back, without being rocked and without any mind numbing soundtrack. We're certainly not out of the clear, as nursing seems to be the last barrier from a solid night's sleep. Breast feeding is my final trick, and the only way to sooth our baby back to dreamland. I loathe dragging myself out of my warm bed to go and attend to her cries, but I also love knowing that I can hold her tight and calm her down with my warmth and sustenance. It's a standoff. Frankly, I'm not ready to withstand any less sleep than I already have and begin the process of weaning her of these nighttime feedings. I guess it is just not bad enough - yet.

Hallelujah for caffeine!

Friday Destination Dreaming # 3

2006-11-03T07:52:00.000-05:00

Magical Morocco!

On my dream trip to exotic Morocco, with unlimited funds and endless time, I would...

1) shop for gorgeous hand-crafted tiles in shades of blue to decorate my future Moroccan-themed bathroom.
2) sip mint tea in the colorful souqs inbetween selecting rugs, choosing spices, and buying jewelry.
3) dine on bstilla, kebabs, tajine (meat in a spicy stew), fresh-baked flat bread, couscous, eggplant salad, and honey pastries.
4) get lost in the medieval maze that is Fez.
5) go on a long trek in the Atlas Mountains and Dades gorge, staying overnight in a local Berber village.
6) take a camel ride into the Sahara desert and camp out under the stars.
7) treat myself to a luxurious stay in a riad in Marrakesh, like this one...
8) lounge on the beaches of Essaouira and consume large quantities of fresh seafood.

Stella Was Golden

2006-10-31T21:13:00.000-05:00

Since Saturday, we've had Daniel's best friend, Todd, visiting us from San Diego, and he has been a genuinely welcome guest. Not only has Dan enjoyed having his buddy around to talk "guy" stuff, but Stella and I have wholeheartedly enjoyed his company. Todd is now, most certainly, an honorary Uncle to Stella. She adores him, and he has been happy to play with her, and make her laugh. She has flowered under his sincere attention, and in turn has been a delight to us all. I can't believe how much easier it has been to take care of her with one more extra set of hands. We do not have a nanny or even a babysitter, and have gotten used to the never-ending job of entertaining our little bean 24/7, all on our own. We live very far from our relatives in Florida and Southern California, and are frankly bereft of the intimate support network that is invaluable and vital to most young families. The majority of our dear friends are scattered across this globe, and I regret that we have a very real physical distance that separates us from those most dear. I honestly don't know if we have made the right choice by living somewhere that requires a commercial flight in order to be with family and friends.
This Sunday, Dan and I simultaneously came down with a serious stomach bug. We were both suffering big time, shuffling around our pad in pajamas, and making frequent runs to the toilet, to puke or purge. I HAVE NO IDEA how we would have survived if it wasn't for Todd playing surrogate parent to Stella. He was our savior.

I am especially glad that he planned his visit to coincide with Halloween, and was game to dressing up in a costume that matched our theme. Park Slope's celebration of October 31st has to be seen to understand, and is a true mark of what a wonderful neighborhood this is. Halloween in our part of Brooklyn is pure happiness, as everybody floats around on a sugar high, and the sidewalks fill with adorable little children and their even more adoring parents. Everyone is part of a mutual appreciation society as we all compliment each other on our creative costumes and festive stoop decorations.

This year was no exception, and we once again had a wonderfully happy Halloween.
The day was jam-packed with me trying to work, attend Stella's Music Together class, dress myself, go to Baby's First Halloween party hosted by a neighborhood Mother, dole out almost $100 of chocolate in a neighborhood overrun by miniature masqueraders, and participate in the Park Slope Costume Parade. We all pulled together to perfect our outfits, carve a pumpkin, take turns with Stella, and make it down to our stoop in time for the first round of trick-or-treaters. After over an hour of passing out candy, which seemed like mere minutes, I realized that I had a permanent grin, that was not for a moment forced. I was loving the positive energy and pure cuteness that was pulsing down our block.

Our family costume was a huge hit, and I give all the credit to Stella. She was golden - literally.

Daniel and Todd dressed up like leprechauns. I was a rainbow and Stella was our pot of gold. It was fun to watch people look at Daniel and Todd in their green suits, and Stella in her gold and sparkly sequins, perched inside of a large black cauldron, and register exactly what they were - "Oh my gawd! It's leprechauns with their pot of gold!" I was off to the side, dressed in a multi-colored curly wig and a tie-dyed shirt. Some ragamuffin would eventually turn to me and ask, "Hey lady! Are you a hippy clown?" The rainbow costume required some extra explanation, that would eventually result in a lightbulb of understanding - "Ahhh, I get it! The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow!", but Stella stole the show, as babies do, and we couldn't have been prouder (or more thankful!).

A Prelude to Tomorrow...

2006-10-30T23:45:00.000-05:00

Daniel looooves costumes. We both enjoy putting together crazy get-ups and getting into the spirit of Halloween, but for all my love of dressing up, I think that his enjoyment is even greater. During our courtship we attended a surprising amount of costume affairs (70's fondue get-togethers, Gemini parties, and New Year's Eve bashes), not all related to October 31st. I was always impressed by how enthusiastic Daniel was about the thrift store hunt for the wackiest garb and accessories, and this inspired my own creativity. He never dreaded trying to figure out what to wear and got excited just thinking about all the possibilities. His youthful approach to masquerading was influenced by positive family memories of spooking out the neighbors, while mine began in early childhood with creating make-believe worlds in the backyard. Together we have had a lot of fun planning up disguises, and now have many positive memories linked to dressing in costume. In fact, our rich history begins with how I wooed Dan on one of our first dates, by getting drunk, going into my closet while he waited outside, and popping out in a Pocahontas costume - just for the fun of it.

Our costumes have run the gamut from sleazy and predatory, during our SF seduction phase, to more wacky and creative. I think that the longer you are in a committed relationship, the less desire you have to flaunt your fading assets. Therefore, costumes become more humorous and cerebral.

Stella has already been initiated into a world of dress-up, without even knowing it. Our birth announcements featured her dressed as our little sweet pea, freshly harvested from the Gamber Farm.

Tomorrow, will be our first Halloween as a family, and my excitement and anticipation of the day's events might have finally equaled my husbands'. Let the traditions begin!

Stella Gets Her Groove

2006-10-28T10:50:00.000-04:00

THIS is Rhythm.

Friday Destination Dreaming # 2

2006-10-26T22:06:00.000-04:00

The Galapagos Islands

The Galapagos are an archipelago of 13 main volcanic islands, approximately 600 miles off the coast of Ecuador, and home to a variety of species that are specifically adapted to their unique environments. Made famous by Charles Darwin's 'discovery' and subsequent theories of evolution, present day Galapagos is an exotic destination for adventure and nature enthusiasts. One can cruise between the islands with opportunities to snorkel, dive, and explore varied habitats that are home to seagoing lizards, seals, giant tortoises, and a variety of rare birds, from cormorant and penguins to clownish boobies and finches.

My personal reason for wanting to be swept away to the Galapagos has little to do with the cruising (I get horribly seasick), and everything to do with the desire to see any bit of this world that is still pristinely 'natural'. I have friends who have gone, and the first thing they always say is 'hurry up'. Humanity is encroaching on the land of the reptile and this place will not remain untouched for long. In a sense, this is funny, because this is what EVERYONE says about any popular destination that already has a solid tourist infrastructure. If people are telling you to 'hurry up', you are already too late. No matter. I know I will get joy from walking right up to an endemic specie like the boobie or patriarchal tortoise, and have them stand their ground without fear of a human. The clean air and clear waters will refresh and rejuvenate my soul, cleansing me of city stress. What could be better?

Sick Baby

2006-10-26T21:07:00.000-04:00

I have written this entry in my head several times, and in a few drafts. Thankfully, I've reread my words before posting, and stopped myself from publishing the last version which sounded like it had been written by a petulant teenager bemoaning the fact that her life is governed by her parents. In reality, I am trying to write about how hard it is to be a parent whose life is now dictated by a baby!

The last couple of nights (and days) have been rough in Gamberland. Our little Stella has been fighting her first cold, which has translated into misery for all. It is really hard to be a parent watching a little one suffer and struggle with unfamiliar aches and pains, and not be able to make things better. In the past, my breasts have been a source of comfort. Whenever Stella was particularly upset, nursing was the perfect bandaid, and the end of tears. This ability to sooth with milkie is now a source of frustration, as Stella can hardly breathe as she tries to feed and has ended up arching her back and crying out. I'm sure she was having problems breathing through her nose, and who knows what kind of throat pain she might have had, or achy feelings in her little body. This discomfort only seemed to intensify at bedtime. She was utterly exhausted, but kept waking EVERY hour throughout the night. I found myself getting so frustrated with my own lack of sleep, that I would temporarily forget that she was helpless and innocent in her suffering. I'd lay in bed, listening to her scream and trying to shut out her cries, just praying she'd eventually find a way to sooth herself back to sleep. Oh the guilt - She needed us, even if it was just to hover above her crib and watch as she rocked herself to and fro.

During the day, Stella's stuffiness has not been much better, and nap time has been seriously disrupted. Dan and I both work out of our home for the same Internet travel company. Our jobs are very flexible about our hours, as long as Dan works 8 hours and I work 6 hours a day. It is up to us to figure out how to fit 14 hours of work into an 11 hour period, while simultaneously taking care of Stella. Let's just say that we rely heavily on her naps, and her ability to independently play and entertain herself. With her being sick, this has been a struggle, and our job related stress has most certainly increased. Our ears have been ringing with Stella's incessant whining, and our arms are aching from cradling a very clingy baby. The worst part about this whole experience has been my own struggle with what it means to be a responsible parent. Just the act of writing down my complaints makes me feel mean and unsympathetic. This is the dilemma. It's like I'm a Dr. Jeckll and Mr. Hyde. One minute I feel nothing but empathy and tenderness toward my baby, and just want to rock her in my arms, and the next minute I am so irritated by her moaning and dependence that I want to lock myself in the bathroom. Obviously, this is not an option. I can't be the teenager who screams vitriol at her mother and storms off to slam her bedroom door. I have to take a deep breath, let go of work, let go of 'I', turn to my helpless baby, lift her into my arms, and smother her with all the immense love that I feel. I must commiserate with this little being and take care of her needs, afterall, I am Mother.

Is this how she got sick?!

Why Quality of Light?

2006-10-23T18:53:00.000-04:00

Ten years ago, I took off on a solo adventure around-the-world. By the end of 1996, I found myself living in Dublin, Ireland. By the time I moved to Europe I had traveled a fair amount, but this was my first experience living outside of California.

During my year in Eire, I entertained romantic notions of writing a book about my impressions. My imagination was most active during my commute to American Express Travel, where I interned and later worked for less than $3 an hour. I'd ride the double-decker bus to Grafton St., staring out of the wet and fogged up window, seeing my life as a low budget indie film. I'd think about the way I felt, and make a mental notation of my 5 senses:

smell - wet wool coats that reeked of goat and cigarettes.
touch - nubbly everything - nubbly cold-weather clothes, giant nubbly cobble-stoned lanes, nubbly rod iron fences with layers and layers of textured and peeling paint.
taste - toasted grainy fresh bread with melting butter and a chunky slice of Irish cheddar, black tea with milk and sugar, Heinz baked beans, white or cheese sauce on any and every vegetable - steamed broccoli, steamed cauliflower, boiled potatoes - you name it, and meats stewed with dried fruit, like pork and apricots.
Hearing - sound was oddly different. My focus was rarely on the unique twang of the 236 different dialects in Dublin alone, or the Irish pub music that is ubiquitous in this country. Although I have a very specific soundtrack of music that I associate with my time in Dublin (The Stone Roses, Spiritualized, Sleeper, Oasis, Blur, Prodigy, and pervasive pop music like Boyzone and the Spice Girls), it is rarely featured in the background when I screen a movie of memory in my head. Instead, I hear the incessant sound of rain, hard and faint, which is more like white noise - almost like starring in a silent film.
Sight - Finally, there are the visuals. From the window of a moving vehicle, the streets are a blur of the varied grays of cement, stone, and Georgian homes. This almost dull expanse is patched with the deep green of grass and leaves, and dotted with highly-lacquered doors in marigold yellow, fire-engine red, midnight black and racing car green. Bits of blue sky and streaky clouds create another quilt overhead, and the white gold sun fights to make a welcome appearance.

When I try to express what was truly different about living in Ireland, it is honestly not the culture that comes first to mind, but rather the quality of light. I am (or was) a Southern California girl, not only used to heat, but also accustomed to the bright light of sunny days, with a golden sun high above my head. In Ireland it never felt like the sun was directly above me, warming my shoulders. It always felt like the sun was shining from an angle, off to the side, off-kilter. Even in the summer, I don't recall any blinding sunshine that required sunglasses. It was as if there was a filter surrounding the Emerald island, that softened the strength of the suns' rays. This different 'quality' of light had a subtle effect on my psyche, making me more introverted and pensive. I have since noticed that a change in the way I visually look at my life is often accompanied by a literal change in the light. Perhaps, this is why sunrise and sunset are such thoughtful times in most humans' lives? If we take the time to actually watch the sun rise or set, it usually renders us silent, and this is as close to a 'spiritual' or meditative moment that many of us will know. My limited experimentation with drugs had a similar cerebral effect, and when you consider how much a person's 'trip' is shaped by how the world visually appears (especially on hallucinogens) this makes perfect sense. Being high or being drunk effects your eyesight, the quality of light, and makes you look at things in just that slightly twisted way. When I delivered Stella, the euphoria I felt as she exited my body, also changed the way my environment looked. In my birthing story, I wrote, "What I remember the most is a change in the quality of light. As she was laid on my belly, the room took on a golden and fuzzy glow."

Those moments when I have become acutely aware of my environment and have taken the time to notice and evaluate my present state and surroundings, have led to growth and sometimes even epiphanies. I chose 'Quality of Light' as my blog's name, hoping that the title will act as inspiration (or at least occasionally represent) my efforts to closely observe and write about some of life's' more golden nuggets.

Friday Destination Dreaming

2006-10-20T13:18:00.000-04:00

You will soon learn that my 3 biggest obsessions are my family, traveling, and eating good food. Combining all three is a sensational orgy of bliss. Since international travel is my one top obsession that is unfortunately an infrequent part of my life, I tend to spend a good deal of time day-dreaming about where I want to go next (this is only second to how much I fantasize about what I will do with my money WHEN I win the lottery - which simply HAS to happen).

Every minute during the first part of Friday is a count down to the end of the work week, and a good time to imagine where my life would take me if I just chucked the whole work thing. I've decided to make a weekly blog entry about all the destinations that I dream about visiting, and hopefully transport myself there in thought and word.

Today is a rainy day in New York (and a sad one for Mets fans). My husband is insistent that there is no place he'd rather be this week than on an island in the South Pacific, lounging on a sandy beach, listening to the surf. Since there is no where in the world that I'd want to be without him, I bring you to TONGA !!... Compliments of Daniel.

Fun Facts:
- Tonga is ONLY 22 hours away from New York by airplane!
- The temperature tends to be between 68 and 86 degrees Fahrenheit at any time of the year at anytime of the day.
- Tonga has a king - Siaosi Tupou V.
- Tonga had a court jester (am American ex-banker) who was accused of losing (mainly embezzling) the equivalent of 26000000 from the state.

My Darling Baby

2006-10-18T14:11:00.000-04:00

My darling baby girl, you are 10 months old today, and I am absolutely in love with you. I have these moments when I can't stop myself from squeezing you in my lap and repetitively kissing your unbelievably round cheeks. Sometimes you fight my adoration and squirm to get on the floor and begin your madcap crawl to any toy littered across our floor, or off to the gate that separates the living room from the kitchen. You love to pull yourself up to standing with this gate and bounce up and down or literally bang your head like a heavy metal rocker (or rather an inmate trying to shake her way out of the cell).

You are so much fun to watch these days, that I am deeply thankful that I work out of my home, and can be there to see you grow. You are strangely obsessed with dogs, despite the fact that we don't have one, and you don't get much opportunity to be around animals. This was your first word less than one month ago, and you continually shout and point, "Dawh!" at any canine that passes, or any bark you hear outside our brownstone. You occasionally point at a cat or even at your Dad and shout "Dawh!" too, but we choose to ignore these infrequent errors. After all, you love your D sounds, and Dawh and Da sound awfully alike. You have truly amazed us with your adaptation of a few key signs (finally!). You have absolutely mastered the universal milking sign, of squeezing your hands into little fists, and I am under your spell when you look me earnestly in the eyes requesting 'milky'. Despite the fact that you now have some very sharp teeth, and have found it funny on occasion to take a nibble (NOT funny), I love cradling you in my arms as you nurse.

It took some time, but you are also able to sign 'more' and 'all done/finished' at mealtime. Feeding solids... Wow, that is a whole other story. For the most part, you are an incredible eater, and we are trying to instill a passion for food in you, by having you taste a variety of different things. We LOVE good food, and want you to have a healthy appetite for all kinds of vegetables and a variety of spices. You are unbelievably curious about everything we eat, and have become a little beggar. This is actually one of your more annoying habits, as I can't seem to enjoy a meal without you trying to claw at my plate and uh-uh!ing with impatience around my legs. Is this why you like dogs? Were you a dog in a past life, who would circle the legs of a family at the dinner table, begging for scraps? We have to hand feed you pieces of our meal in order to calm the beast, and this has turned you into a snob about your bland baby food. One time I had had enough of your persistent pleading and refused to give you my angel hair pomodoro pasta. You had a meltdown - a true boneless, on-the-floor tantrum. Your father and I stared wide-eyed, thinking "We're screwed". Daddy tried to placate you and asked, "Stella, do you want more?" In your frustration and with a sad little pout, you sign-languaged "more" for the first time, and I HAD to give in. Since then, you can not only let us know when you are enjoying your food and definitely want more, but also when you are "all done", and ready to be released from your high chair. Nothing pleases me more than finally being able to communicate with you, even on this limited level. I want to make you happy, and to feel understood. If only we could figure out a way to make sleep-time easier... At night and sometimes at nap time, I feel like we are playing a game of yo-yo, with putting you in your crib, having you cry woefully, taking you guiltily out of your bed, getting frustrated with your continued cries, assuming once again that you MUST be tired, putting you back in your crib, and listening to you scream some more. This is heartbreaking, exhausting, unfair, and truly the worst part about being a parent. You are NOT one of those babies who sleeps through the night. You are not even one of those wonders who wakes once for a nighttime feeding. Instead, you are a truly bad sleeper, who seems to awake almost every two hours. I can't even begin to remember my last night of full sleep, and have learned to operate in a zombie state of minimum efficiency through your frequent nighttime feedings.

Magically, all my weariness fades with each new day, and your 5-toothed smile and scrunchy nose. Lifting you into my arms in the morning and smelling your lavender scent, I feel your excitement at my presence, different from the dark night. It's a new beginning.

Most of all, I love it when you LET me love you. - When you sweetly sit in my lap and I slowly scratch your back, your neck, your arms and your scalp. Your hair is so silky and baby fine and this is the only time you sit perfectly still, in a trance. I remember my mother doing the same to me, and I would always ask her to brush my hair or rub my back, because it felt so damn good. I tell you I love you a hundred times a day, and I don't think you can begin to comprehend what this means. However, I also know that when you quietly allow yourself to be cuddled and kissed, that this is the best way that you can show your love for me. If I'm lucky, I'll even get a big open mouthed kiss on the cheek, that leaves a slobbery trace of my darling love, my baby Stella.

A Tribute to Bloggers

2006-10-17T09:48:00.000-04:00

This is my first foray into the blogging world. It has taken a year of slow and gradual obsession with a variety of blogs to make me realize that I too, wanted to be a part of this party. It all began with my pregnancy, back in the summer of 2005. Babycenter was "the" place to go for a week-by-week developmental description of the wee little bean that was growing inside of me. I found myself reading Mommy discussions on the chat room,(without ever joining), and learned of the most awesome hilarious must-be-read labor and delivery story. This linked me to Dooce and her archives of the before and after of parenthood. I became addicted to her wit, laughing hysterically at my screen and forcing my husband, Daniel, to listen to me read entry after entry. Heather, you and your family have become a part of my almost daily ritual. I sooooo look forward to reading your monthly newsletters to your daughter, Leta, that never fail to choke me up. I now have my own sweet little girl, and am in constant awe at this little being who has wreaked havoc in my life, but undoubtedly for the better. Through your website, I found myself linked to a whole world of parenting blogs that allow me to commiserate, laughing and crying about poop, no sleep, no sex, and how RAD we all are. (Did I actually just use the word rad? - circa 1984, THE Valley)
Anyhow, I have to give props to the following blog addictions, which were preceded by Dooce, but equally relevant:
Laid-Off-Dad - I first found your blog when you described your apartment and the decision to give up your big room for Robert and TwoBert. My husband and I had come to a similar conclusion about our living space. We had decided that our office, barely the size of a walk-in closet, could no longer be. The effects of having Stella in our bedroom were debilitating. We needed her out of our room, and fast, if we were ever going to sleep again, let alone recognize our hibernating genitalia. We work from home, so giving up what little private office space we had, and moving our computers into the living room so that Stella could have a nursery, was a hard pill to swallow. We were in the midst of apartment chaos, simultaneous with your move, which was utterly relateable. In fact, months later and our living room is still littered with bags of crap and clothes that couldn't possible fit in a New York apartment. Thank you for encapsulating the experience of shifting space. Your account really exemplified the various levels of discomfort we are willing to withstand for the happiness of our children, and thus our own mental health!
Mr.Nice Guy - I'm in Park Slope Brookyn, just like you, and the dreaded Amy Sohn. Wow! When you socked that literary punch to that yappy chihuahua of a woman who bemoaned the so-called sorry set of stay-at-home moms I was cheering right behind you. How dare she suggest that any child, who has a Mother taking full-time care of her/him, will be irreparably damaged? How dare she suggest that a woman who takes on this full-time caregiver role is somehow shortchanging herself and destined to be as boring as a brick in the wall? You are a Brooklyn god for taking her repeatedly to task in your very public blog. I hope to one day meet you in the totlot, as I am sure we will have more to discuss than how many teeth our babes have and how quickly they learned to crawl or walk. I give you many bended-back bows.
Finslippy - Your love of Brooklyn reminds me again and again how wonderful this place is. I don't know if it will always be home to me,(I'm originally from California) but I love it here. Daniel and I have weekly, if not daily discussions about where we should move in order to have a real house, a lawn unto our own, more than 2 dinky bedrooms, a ground level dwelling (as opposed to being on the top floor of a 4-level walk-up brownstone), our own washer and dryer, a fireplace, and lots of closets! When I read about how hard the adjustment to Suburbia can be it scares me. If we moved to a less metropolitan city = anywhere else, would we end up lost and broken, clawing and crawling our way back to urban culture?

My final blog ode, and the sweetest of them all, is to Sweet Juniper! I LOVE YOU GUYS! Daniel's family is from Detroit, and Dutch and Wood make me want to move there and sit on a back porch on a balmy night, sipping beer and watching the fireflies. Our little girls are a year apart, but I feel sure in my heart that Juniper would take Stella under her wing, and might even let her gum Addie. Is it creepy how much I know about you all? - I hope not. I think this can be what is beautiful about blog intimacy - this sense of family and 'knowing each other' that is much richer than reading celebrity gossip in US or Hello! I honestly feel a kinship with you both on many levels. First, Daniel and I used to live in San Francisco; it is where we met and fell in love. Of course, those days of singledom were very different with our social life revolving around bars, restaurants and live music. Having a baby makes concert-going infrequent, but something tells me we might have run into each at the Great American Music Hall, Bottom of the Hill, or Bimbo's, because our eclectic music tastes are very similar. I am flooded by memories when I read your apt descriptions of 'Frisco', and it's shitty weather, lurching and vomit-inducing MUNI rides, the homeless trustfund kids and feral drummers in Golden Gate Park and the dot.com hipsters with their messenger bags. Daniel and I are obsessed with traveling, so I definitely appreciate your worldly experience. It is not only our job, we work for an internet travel company, but it is most definitely our passion. It seems that the both of you have a real respect for other cultures, as evidenced by your time living abroad. Dutch, I too, lived in Dublin, Ireland for a year, and can hear that Irish twang you so aptly captured in your Doolin story. Wood, you are an awesome mother. I am nursing my baby, Stella, and have been holding her just that little bit tighter since reading your blog about the denouement of the booboob. Thank you for inviting us to take a peek into your life - it has been an utter joy.
That sentiment goes out to all the people who write a public diary and touch me with their words and feeling. I can only hope to have the same effect. I'm sure this will be an evolving experiment. The blog before you is no indication of what will come...only the seed.

Hudson Valley Weekend

2006-10-17T09:45:00.000-04:00

Almost two weeks ago, my husband and I decided that we couldn't waste another 3-day weekend sitting around Brooklyn, where we would inevitably be stuck doing the same monotonous chores of house-cleaning, laundry, and grocery shopping. I also find that boredom leads me to spend a lot more money than I should, just for the momentary excitement of owning something new. We end up subwaying it to 'the mall' (Manhattan), forgetting the walk-out-your-door tax that we ALWAYS get slapped with.

This Columbus Holiday would be different, we'd go farther afield, and spend a whole lot more, but have the rich memories that come with a new adventure. We've been living on the East coast for over 3 years, and always have had the goal to take as many weekend trips as possible to explore all points of interest between Washington D.C. to who-knows-where in Maine. This is a tall list, my friends, that only gets longer the more places we see. So far, we have managed to get quick tastes of D.C, Philadephia, Princeton, Ithaca, Newport, and Boston, with longer road trips thru New Hampshire, Maine and Vermont. We still have not spent anytime in some nearer locales, like the Hamptons or Hudson Valley. With a baby, and with my pregnancy before it, our get up and go style has been hampered, but not reigned in. We do however, get a little nervous about long car rides, so the Hudson Valley seemed like the perfect last minute, destination choice. It is Fall, after all, and we really couldn't pick a better time to see the Autumn foliage and pick apples.

With the lightbulb of thought, our budget was immediately blown with the price-gauging car rental (almost $100 a day). We packed that little Ford with every baby gadget you could imagine - a car seat, a bjorn, a Maclaren stroller, a bag of toys, books and bath fun, Baby clothes, baby food and paraphernalia, our clothes, hiking shoes, rainjackets, camera, binos, videocamera, road food, road cd's (including the Music Together CD that puts Stella into a musical trance of body bouncing and humming), and camping equipment - yep, that's right. We were obviously on a suicidal mission.
I took responsibility for Saturday - Day one, and came up with our East coast route along the Hudson river. I listed all the possible sites in route, hours of operation, possible lunch and dinner stops, and reserved our first nights hotel in Hudson. Dan was responsible for Day 2. When I say this was a spur of the moment trip, we'll go with the flow, and see where the day takes us, Dan applied the loosest definition...I'll leave it at that.

Our first stop was Kyekut, a Rockefeller estate and gardens as evidence of the endless possibilities that unlimited wealth can create. This really was not a tour for babies, and the fact that they charged our 10 month old a child fare of $12 should have been proof enough that we were meant to be discouraged. No strollers, just a baby bjorn and a squirming eighteen and a half pounder. Stella has recently mastered one baby sign language word - the squeezing of both fists to signify milk. She now knows how to look me in the eye and demand it as if she could squeeze it out with her tiny hands. 15 minutes into the tour and she was pumping her fists and squeaking with impatience. I wasn't in the position to deny and had to hover in the back of our group, holding her sideways, barely under my shirt, belly flab and nipple flashing. The tour guide kept beckoning me to the front so that I could get a better look. Umm, it's ok, no really. Did I mention that the tour was 2 hours?

On to Cold Springs and a German/Irish lunch of Bratwurst and Guinness stew, while listening to bluegrass and short commuter trains go whizzing by the depot. Despite the endless need to entertain, we were still determined to do 'adult' things, and had DIA beacon, a modern art museum, next on our agenda. This was an absolute highlight, and a fantastic place for a baby. The exhibits are in a massive transformed warehouse with shiny hardwood and cement floors that are expansive and uncrowded - perfect for the speedy crawler and the mama who can't resist racing in circles with the stroller. The art installations are large and primarily sculptural - perfect for oohing and aahing with a baby.

Thankfully, our road-stops were just long enough to tire out Stella, and she was able to sleep during our drive, sometimes mellowed by the type of baby tunes we though we'd NEVER succumb to. Dinner in Rhinebeck was late and high pressured as our nerves were set for a potential meltdown in a crowded bistro. Stella was allowed too many sugary cheerios in an effort to appease her, and keep the tables next to us smiley as opposed to scornful.

We stayed in Hudson, and day 2 awoke to a very likeable town. Baby hours meant that we were up and strolling Warren St. before any shops were open. The street was foggy, draping the historic buildings in a mist reminiscent of old times past, harking back to the whaling industry that this town was founded on. None of the stores were open, and I was drooling as I window shopped the art galleries, hip eateries, and antique & boutique shops. This is definitely a town to return to with lots of cash, and a big van. We however, had plans to hike in the Catskills, so off we were. Let me correct that last sentence by omitting the word 'plans', as the truth is that Dan had not a clue where we might hike, hoping instead that some trailhead would beckon from the roadside or some local in Tannersville might be able to give us the heads up. By nearly 2PM, a road diversion and inability to make any decision meant that we had been primarily cooped up in a car, and finally decided to just go to the North/South lake in East Catskills and at least enjoy the view, if not get any exercise. I was short on patience, as we still did not have any 'plan' for where we were going to lay our heads. My husband had a much looser list for campsites down south, and expressed the sudden urgency to get settled before it was too dark to set up camp. Duh! Bitchy, cranky, sullen Sarah began to metamorphose as we missed the exit for our first option and ended up in the New Paltz area instead, limited to Yogi Beara - "kiddie circus" camp or KOA. We tried Yogi Beara only to find that they were charging the utterly ridiculous fee of $65 for a patch of dirt! These were holiday weekend prices, and so ludicrous that I was actually angered. Off to KOA, where they were charging the slightly less ridiculous price of $46, and we were offered a further discount of $10.

Note to self: Never, ever go camping with a baby, ever again. Needless to say, my mood was soured before we even arrived, so maybe this whole camping experiment would not have been half as bad, but still- !@$?%!!!
Arghh - it is a little hard to set up camp as a team, when you have a squirming 9 month old who can crawl, but can't walk. I wasn't going to just set her down in the dirt, so that she could become a dusty, dirty mess. We spread out a blanket, but that was hopeless, as she just wanted to crawl off it and pop acorns and rocks in her mouth. This poor little baby who had been confined to a car seat or high chair for nearly the entire day, was now strapped into a stroller to forlornly watch her father set up a dinky 2-man tent and try repeatedly and unsuccessfully to coax flames out of damp logs. The smoke never failed to blow in Stella's face, and we had to continue adjusting her position, yet keep her near enough for warmth. I was so frustrated that there was no where we could put her, as the tent freaked her out, and the stroller prison made me feel guilty. I glumly kept her in my arms as I just sat on my ass watching Dan do all the work. We barely had enough daylight to get situated and heat up some cans of chili. The fire was pathetic and we gave up on s'mores and sitting around a barely smoldering campfire. At about 8PM, with absolutely nothing to do we decided to go to bed. Stella's bedtime ritual was blown - no bath, and no space to do her ritualistic crawl around her bed, a winding down pattern of burying her face into her blankets and rocking herself to sleep. I don't even know where to begin when describing what it was like inside our tent with a baby. First, this tent requires some cuddling for 2 people, and we were trying to squeeze Stella between us. We had two thermarests - one long one that kept deflating and one short torso length one that is frankly unsuitable for a 6 foot plus man. Nonetheless, I am a wuss when it comes to comfort, and always have backaches, so I made Dan use it. It was my sad little way of expressing anger and making sure that he suffered too. Stella was thus stuck in the crack. She didn't fit in either of our sleeping bags, so we had to make a makeshift bed for her out of several blankets. All this for a baby who can never stay still when sleeping and always has managed to crawl out from under any blanket. I think we must have been awakened to her howls every 2 hours. I could hardly nurse her back to sleep as I could barely sit up in the tent, and she wouldn't stay still when I tried to nestle her between us. Dan had to play bunny flash light games with her throughout the night in order to keep her from waking up the entire campsite. I had to avoid emptying my bladder in the night - a very uncomfortable task, so that she wasn't rustled and disturbed. It was not fun.

Day 3 was glorious. We had summer weather with a fall foliage backdrop, and crystal clear blue skies. Our friends Leyla and Eric were also on a city getaway and joined us for a beautiful day of Ulster County exploration. Breathing deeply the clean country air, we treasured the bounty of an autumn harvest. With a brown bag full of heirloom tomatoes and a bundle of basil, plucked from Eric's brothers garden, we were off to a healthy start. We continued our food foraging in an organic 'minimally treated' apple orchard, making sure to sample the different varietals. Stella was ecstatic and full of energy, crawling through the tall grass at warp speed. I felt like we had plopped ourselves in the center of some idyllic pastoral painting. We also went to a nearby pumpkin patch and picked out our future jack o' lantern, assuming it can hold up for several weeks.

When living in a city like New York it is too easy to forget how much open space still exists outside of the congestion. I found our trip really rejuvenating. It affirmed in me a desire for openness and spacial freedom. I'm looking forward to many happy returns, and a taste of different seasons.

Labor and Delivery

2006-01-20T13:14:00.000-05:00

It is now about one month after my delivery and I have finally finished my labor story. This is long, as it will also act as my own record of the experience.
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Waiting for your body to begin labor is an excruciating process. Despite knowing that most first time mothers go into labor AFTER their duedate, I was convinced that I would be the exception. I was thoroughly sick of being pregnant, and lacked the patience to wait and meet our little G. My technical duedate was December 3-4, but I was sure that a big, fattening Thanksgiving dinner would force my baby out.

No luck. In an effort to induce labor, I tried every known method/old wives tale. I tried accupuncture, long walks, huffing and puffing up and down stairs (sometimes skipping steps), sex (of course), massaging specific pressure points, eating spicy food, drinking Rasberry leaf tea and finally downing a bottle of castor oil. This was the last attempt I made, and it makes me gag just to think about it. I was unable to kickstart labor, but guaranteed myself a nasty case of diarrhea and my first introduction to hemmorhoids.

Finally, I ran out of time. 2 weeks was the given deadline by my midwives. I had passed all ultrasound and stress checks with flying colors - both the baby and I were in perfect health with an abundance of amniotic fluid. Despite this, the panic sets in at 42 weeks, and induction becomes a must.

Friday morning, December 16th, I checked into Long Island College Hospital with my husband, Daniel, and my mother, to begin a pitocin drip. I was fearful of this potent drug which mimics a hormone that begins contractions, as I had heard that it could be extremely painful, rushing you into very strong contractions, very fast. Ha! My body laughed at pitocin. After at least 8 hours of being on the drip, my body was steadily having contractions, but no pain. I was playing cards and computer games. This was obviously not the game plan. At 6PM, my midwive, Beverly, decided that this method was not going to work (- no kidding!) and I was taken off pitocin. The next plan was to administer cervidil ( a drug that helps soften and efface your cervix), to see if this might get things started. I had to stay overnight with this medication, and we would wait and see what the morning would bring.

Come 11AM I was put back on pitocin. This time, after a successful prepping of my cervix, it looks like it will work! My contractions start, and it hurts. Yahoo! I felt like I did have the pain under control with the support of Dan and my mother. Catherine, my midwive decided that my body still needed a little more help, and my water was broken around 2PM. It was a literal flood! With no shortage of amniotic fluid, I was swimming in my bed. Yowzee. Now begins the serious pain. I was working any possible position that my IV, and fetal monitoring wires would permit - sitting on a birthing ball, squatting, bending over the bed, hanging by a sheet tether. I felt good - like I was working through the pain, and thought my progress was steady. However, it still seemed slow to my midwive and nurses. I was around 4 centimeters dilated, and they suggested that it might be time to consider pain medication in order to let my body relax.

Right before 7PM, I was given Stadol - a disgustingly odd drug that made me feel paralyzed and woozy. It also knocked me out. By 8:30 I was back up and shaking. I was given a valerian herb to try and calm me, and the pain REALLY intensified. I was screaming for more relief, and NOT Stadol!!!!

By 9:30 I had a resident in training administer my epidural. He wasn't doing the best job and had to jab me a couple of times. I was still feeling intense pain down the right side of my body. Agghhh. Finally, relief kicked in, and I was out again. During my snooze, my blood pressure went up with more pitocin, and there was a bloody show - a good sign. Right before midnight, I was finally awakened to discover that it was time to push, as the head was showing. Catherine told me to reach down and feel my baby's head, which felt soft and gooey - it freaked me out!

As the epidural wore out, I could feel the contractions and pushed for about one hour and 45 minutes. This stage was not as bad as I thought, and the time went by surprisingly fast. By 1:46AM, December 18th, I had pushed out our 7 lb. 15oz. baby girl. What I remember the most is a change in the quality of light. As she was laid on my belly, the room took on a golden and fuzzy glow. Dan and I had tears of happiness, and both sets of grandparents were in the room to welcome Stella Mar. She was shiny and pink, and not funny looking at all....she was beautiful.

There was such happiness and relief at this stage, but unfortunately my labor/delivery experience was not over. It seemed that nothing wanted to leave my uterus, including the placenta. After an hour of massaging my belly, and tugging at the umbilical cord, it was determined that my placenta was still partially attached and would have to be manually removed. I was losing a lot of blood, and my uterus was contracting and cervical opening shrinking. They brought in a doctor, 'Helga' with the man hands, who attempted to reach inside of me. This was the ultimate, most painful part of my entire birthing experience. I felt like I was going spring out of my body and claw the ceiling. I let out a bloodcurdling 'Pleaaasssseee STOP!!!'. At about 3AM, I was given demerol and my epidural was topped off. At this stage I have no further recollection of a new doctor who was brought in and finally able to extract my placenta. I had barely avoided both the operating room, and a blood transfusion.

Stella's birth was nothing like I expected, and tested all of my preconceived ideas about what labor and delivery would be like. I may have avoided a c-section, my biggest fear, but the rest of my birthing plan flew out the window. Letting go and expecting the unexpected is definitely sage advice.

Now, we have a lovely, precious little 1 month old girl, who has changed our lives for eternity.
Best wishes for a fantastic 2006!

Sarah and Daniel Gamber

'Twas a baby in Brooklyn

2005-12-18T01:46:00.000-05:00

'Twas 2 weeks after due date in a Brooklyn Brownstone
A stubborn little baby refused to be born

The bags were all packed and ready were we
Day after day and yet still no baby

With in-laws in town anticipating the day
The baby inside simply saying "Hey No Way!"

We tried all the tricks, advice it did flow
from spicy foods in the tummy to some crazy BIG O!!

Nothing could do it... the bugger wouldn't budge
with a deadline before us it needed a nudge

So off to the hospital on Friday we went
but not even Pitocin could induce a descent

Then overnight in the hospital with me in a chair
while our neighbors became parents we thought it unfair

But wait - Saturday morning we arose to a clatter
Induction again but this time a patter

She felt the contractions and yes there's some pain!
Was this really happening or just bad Chow Mein?

The harder it got Sarah strained on a tether
especially as they got stronger, longer and closer together.

With 9 hours passing and the dilation just slow
some drugs were in order and then a nice glow

A three hour nap and some dinner for me
When the Midwife came back the head she could see!!

Away to the bedside I flew like a flash
to await the arrival of our precious cache

When what to my wonderous eyes did appear
a black curly head, beautiful face and 2 ears

Sarah huffed and she puffed and she pushed with all strength
and low and behold out popped the whole length

and then in a twinkling the room all a whirl
we looked down to discover we now have a GIRL!!

With the whole famlily delighted with our sweet little gnome
36 hrs later mommy & bundle were home

So back up the stairs we all did a clamber
to swaddle and love our STELLA MAR GAMBER

Details:
Born Dec 18th 2005
7 lbs 15 oz
21 inches long
A cry that breaks your heart and a look that will melt it.

- from a VERY proud papa

Little news from the Gambers

2005-09-25T21:21:00.000-04:00

Dear friends and family,

It has been a looongg time since our last group email (not that anyone
missed them!). We have realized that we have been shamefully out of touch
with so many of you. In fact, I don't think we have sent out an update
since our return from our honeymoon, over one year ago.

Well, we made it to our wedding anniversary on August 7th with smiles and
satisfaction over a great first year. We've been working like crazy since
the bliss of our Africa trip, but have managed to fit in some short and
sweet domestic trips to California (of course!), Washington D.C., and New
England - New Hampshire, Maine and Vermont. We still love New York, but are
nomads at heart, so 2006 could find us just about anywhere. Suggestions are
welcome. Keep in mind that free credit at the Gamber hotel may be limited.

Our biggest news is that we are expecting a little Gamber come December
3rd!!!!!
Yes, I am already over 6 months pregnant, and am probably announcing this
news to many of you on the very late side. We are ecstatic, anxious,
nervous, and impatient to meet our little bugger. The baby never lets me
forget its' presence with kicks to my ribs and bladder. I feel huge, yet
know the belly has much more expanding to do (my legs haven't swelled quite
enough, and my lower back hasn't yet reached that perfect painful arch). I
know we'll get lots of pregnancy questions, so I'll try and guess them in
advance -

- No, we do not know the sex of our baby. We want it to be one of the last
great surprises.
- We've thought of some names, but Dan wants me to stop shouting them out.
If you have some favorites that you would like to share, we are all ears,
and are really stuck on trying to find a boys name. We don't want anything
too common or traditional.
- Yes, I had a really crappy first trimester,and was convinced that
pregnancy 'sucked' based on that nauseous hell. It did get better - like
everyone said it would.
- We are going to have this baby delivered in Brooklyn, New York, at a
birthing center. I have been seeing a group of midwives, and we are going
to try and have a natural childbirth. If the pain is too much, an epidural
is an option, and I am not so stubborn as to deny one, BUT I don't want to
hear any 'I told you so's' from anybody!

I think that covers it for now. Hopefully, we will be quicker to update
ourwebsite of photos in the future, and you will be able to bore yourself
with belly shots and goo-goo baby faces. It's the same ole' place...

Much love and best wishes to all of you,
Sarah, Daniel and ?

We're back!

2004-09-25T14:30:00.000-04:00

We're back! So far, this has been a truly wonderful year with lots of momentous occasions to celebrate. Daniel and I were wed at my parent's home in Los Angeles on August 7th. This was the perfect culmination to almost 5 years together and months of wedding planning. Our intimate ceremony was officiated by our friend, John Gatsis, and was a chance to unite the extended Gamber family with the Campos clan and some of our closest friends. The gathering was a whirlwind to us - we've labeled the whole experience - 'the circus'. This is an affectionate nickname! We've definitely gained a whole new level of respect for all of our friends who are familiar with the drama that comes with planning a wedding.

Of course, we didn't waste anytime before hopping on a jet to enjoy a fabulous honeymoon. It was the first time that Dan truly flew around-the-world (the 3rd time for me, but who's bragging?). Our first night was in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. I wish we could say we spent those brief 24 hours soaking up the culture, but the Shangri-La hotel was pure luxury...we barely left our room. This was a quick layover on our way to Mauritius, an island gem in the Indian Ocean. The local population is about 50% Hindu Indian, with the rest being a mix of native Mauritian (part of Africa), Chinese, and lots of European expats, mainly from France. We were there during their winter, which means the weather was VERY comfortable, although not the kind of hot that inspires you to jump in the ocean every 5 minutes. We did spend a lot of time strolling on powdery white beaches, if not tons of time in the water itself, and explored old tea plantations, botanical gardens and the interesting port town and capital, Port Louis. After 5 days we were on our way to Tanzania. This was really what our honeymoon was all about. I had been fantasizing about an African safari for years. This world is changing with spreading development and increased populations that I felt this pressing desire to get to the wild before the wild is tamed. Although the safari experience is very organized and 'safe', I never lost the feeling that we were outsiders visiting the homes of animals. The land was theirs, and we were just passing thru. It is kind of like scuba diving in the ocean. You are surviving under water, getting around, thinking, seeing things, sharing an environment with ocean-life, but how can you forget that this is not your home, that this landscape belongs to the fish, the sharks, the whales, the tortoises, the seals, the jellyfish, etc. etc.. Our 7 days in Tarangire, Lake Manyara, Ngorongoro Crater and the Serengeti were unforgettable. We did a mix of camping with a guide/driver and cook, and staying at luxury lodges. It was the perfect combination. Just when I thought I'd never get a brush through my dusty dreadlocks ever again, I had a hot shower to look forward to. Of course, where we slept always played second fiddle to our forays into the bush, spying on great animals in their natural habitat. We saw herds of elephants, zebras and wildebeest, all kinds of Gazelles and impalas, cape buffalos, hippos, ostriches, warthogs and hyenas, and the near extinct black rhinos. We spent hours watching lion prides, even watching a hunt and a failed kill, and the bloody feeding on a young gazelle, and seeing cheetahs camouflaged in the tall grass, and leopards eyeing us wearily as we watched them and their precarious kill, hanging high in the trees. Giraffes were my favorite, as their whole design just seems like an impossible fantasy. We (especially Dan) became enraptured with birds. Here are some brief impressions I was able to put to words while on the road:

Daniel is a newborn bird fanatic, teased by color, flight and song. Abdul's binos have become an elongated eye extension, and his brain is muddled with names and pictures from the 'field guide'. My husband is hopping from leg to leg, and chirping like his fellow fowl as he scans the Tanzanian sky.

Elephant impressions:

Memories of mammoth African elephants - they like the mud. The baby elephant follows his elders into a mud pit, where he sinks to his belly. After insuring a thorough chocolate covering, the baby struggles to suck himself from the hole, and onto dry land.

A great male bull scrapes his dry hide back and forth against the rough bark of a tree. The sound is richer than nails on an emery board or coarse sandpaper on wood. The elephant is in ecstasy with his auto-massage. He lets rip a long warbling fart.

We turn a bend in the road of Tarangire Park to find ourselves too close to an aggressive young bull. He trumpets angrily and raises his trunk. We have interrupted his feeding (which consists of ripping branches from a tree - turning it leper). We cautiously wait in our rover until he seems sufficiently calm and we are able to pass. As soon as we pull by, foot on the pedal, he makes to charge, eyes wild and ears spread wide and flapping.
--------------------------------

Our next stop was more like a traditional honeymoon - 9 days on Zanzibar, lazing it on the coast. What an amazing place. Known as the 'Spice Island', it has a fascinating history of sultans, slavery, sea-faring, and exotic spices. Ever since an island revolution in the 60's the local make-up of the residents has been predominantly Muslim, black Africans, but there are still minority populations of Arabs and Indians. The architecture reflects this legacy of Arabic culture, especially from Oman, and a short period of British colonialism. Stonetown is a maze of a city with labyrinth-like alleys, too narrow and winding for cars. Century old, intricately carved wood and brass-studded doors still barricade the entry to homes and businesses in the old town of Zanzibar. The beaches are stunning. The sand is bleached white, and the water is clear and azure. During low tide the sea is pulled beyond the reef, revealing cultivated seaweed farms and is the perfect time for fishermen to hunt for octopus', a local delicacy. This was the time for our vacation within a vacation, and we languished in bed, on the beach, played Bao, enjoyed our alcohol, and looked forward to every meal.

The return home to New York was not smooth. We had problems with our 'industry' tickets and found ourselves at an airport every day for 6 days. It's a long story not worth dwelling on. The positive is that it allowed us a brief glimpse of Dar Es Salaam, Addis Ababa in Ethiopia, and 2 days in Dubai, the Hong Kong of the middle East. Dubai was the perfect place to spend more money than we should have - I got hypnotized by gold jewelry, and Dan just had to add a sheesha pipe to our collection.

We've returned to work, the comfort of our home, and the absorbing street life of New York. It is good to be back. We've got a wide future to look forward to, and I'm happy about it. We've posted our wedding and honeymoon photos on our website,
Please check it out at
http://www.pbase.com/dgsc/wedding and http://www.pbase.com/dgsc/honeymoon

We send you love and best wishes. You are all in our thoughts. Here's hoping that the coming months will bring many happy opportunities to rejoice about life.

yours truly,
Sarah and Dan

A year to remember...

2004-01-22T10:55:00.000-05:00

Hello dear friends and family!

We're almost a month into the new year, and I am finally getting around to writing. I hope that everyone had a fantastic celebration to mark the end of 2003 and that you are looking forward to the many adventures to come. Several of our friends are starting 2004 with some big changes... new jobs, new cities to call home, new babies on the way (or just arrived!) and new 'commitments'. Dan and I are especially excited about all that 2004 will represent, as we have our own announcement.... We are engaged!

For a select few, this is yesterday's headlines, and for everyone else, please accept our apologies for not spreading the news faster.

Daniel finally proposed to me on December 20th, after 4 full years of working together, living together, and traveling together. With all that time, he planned a very memorable and romantic day of events that involved a helicopter over Manhattan, a bended knee proposal atop the Empire State Building at sunset, and champagne toasts at a candlelit restaurant. I was blown away. We certainly had a lot to celebrate over the holidays, spent in Los Angeles with my family, and hosting an Xtra special New Years Eve party. Now, we are back to the grind - working hard, trapped in our flat during a shockingly cold winter, dreaming of exotic, HOT honeymoons, and avoiding the monstrous planning involved with our early August wedding.

We do hope that all is well with you, and hope that we get the opportunity to see you in the coming months. One of my resolutions is to get more organized - please email me your current addresses, phone numbers, and preferred email address, at your soonest convenience. You can view some of our new photos from 2003 (which include our engagement and New Year's Eve party) at www.pbase.com/dgsc.

with warmest wishes,
Sarah (and her husband to be - Daniel!)

Takin' a bite out of the big apple

2003-03-21T23:02:00.000-05:00

Hello everyone!

It has been a long time since I've sat down to write a catch-up email. Dan and I have been back in the U.S. for almost 2 full (very full) months. In that time, we have visited family and friends in Los Angeles, San Diego, San Francisco, Florida, New York city, and have gone on a quick taster tour of Georgia and the Carolinas.

Throughout all our adventures, we've been wrestling with the 'what should we do with our life?' questions. First off, we had no clue where we wanted to live (only knew where we didn't want to be!). Second, we didn't know what kind of jobs we'd find, or be interested in. Well, our old company, Airtreks, settled one of our problems, by offering us a great gig. They said we could have our old job as travel managers back, AND live anywhere in the U.S. we want, working out of our own home office. In light of the current economy, this was an offer we couldn't refuse. The next step was trying to decide where in our 50 states we'd want to grow some roots. The search was on... Dan's parents treated us to a whirlwind tour of the South (a fascination of mine). We spent 10 days in their motorhome, visiting Charleston, Wilmington, Raleigh -Durham, Chapel Hill, Charlotte, and Savannah. These cities are truly beautiful, and incredibly inexpensive - you can buy a beautiful, traditional, 4-bedroom home for $150,000, and rent a 2-bedroom house for less than $800 a month. These prices were very tempting, but big city excitement was still calling us. Within 24 hours of our New York arrival, we were on an apartment hunt. Manhattan prices are out of this world. Thankfully, Brooklyn, which is a little cheaper, won us over. We saw 37 apartments in 4 days, picking the cream of the crop on our final day in NYC.

Now, we are back in L.A., packing up all our belongings (a nightmare), and comparing moving companies. (So if you know of anybody driving a big ol' truck to the East Coast in a couple weeks or a reliable moving Co. LET US KNOW) We'll have a hectic few weeks in CAL, before starting out our new life on the East coast. Wish us luck.
It goes without saying - nos casa es tu casa. You are all invited to come visit - we'd love to see you;)

We don't have a new number yet, but here is our address:
xxxx Brooklyn, New York

we send our love, and hope that all is well (or as good as it can be during these horribly troubled times),

wishing for peace,
Sarah and Daniel