How I’m Still Feeling Contractions

These were the first notes I ever took with my first iPod:

427 434 443 452 505 511 518 522 528 535 539 544 547 553 557 604 608 612 617 622 626 634 640 646 652 700 715 724 733 737 742 747 759 804 808 813 818 822 831 836 841 847 852 856 901 905

No. Those aren’t the weird numbers that showed up constantly on “Lost” – they are the times of my contractions when I went into labor with She-Babe, 4 years ago tomorrow.

Being Born

Of course, at the time I didn’t know I was in labor. My doctor had mentioned that if the contractions lasted longer than an hour I could assume it was the real deal but I didn’t know what contractions should feel like. All I had to go on were the cinematic images of hollering, she-wolf women that grabbed their husbands by the lapel and spoke in diabolic tongue to get the demon living inside her, out. My contractions felt nothing like this, so for all I knew, I just had to poop. Continue reading


The Art Class Down the Street

Last week both kids went to their first art class. Super close to the house – walking distance, in fact – and totally affordable, I left there excited about their new artful ways and also about the new phase they are heading into.

Art Class

This phase of discovery and experimenting where we begin to see what our kids emerge at and what they enjoy – beyond just the toys they choose to play with – is so exciting. They’re becoming real people – small, real people with open, courageous hearts and strong voices. (Really strong voices, sometimes, that scream and stomp but, I digress.) It’s like looking into a tiny hole of the future and starting to see what they might become.

But back to art class. Continue reading

Notes from a Local Scene: Bagels & More

So, this happened yesterday…

Bagels and MoreBagel 2

Ask any respectable New Jerseyan and they’ll tell you that bagels anywhere else are just circular dough discs with a whole in the center. Husband’s brother, who used to live in Texas, would buy a dozen bagels or so whenever he’d come back to visit and take them home to freeze. For Jerseyans, there is no comparison. (You can chalk that up to one of the other reasons people hate on New Jersey. Because, seriously, don’t bagels suck? Insert sarcasm. )

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A Mighty Dog

When I felt the little lump in her undercarriage I wasn’t concerned. When we took her to the vet for a general check up and her health certificate to fly and they took a biopsy I wasn’t concerned. When I asked Husband to call the vet for the results – reminded him, really, in a hey-honey-could-you-check-this-errand-off-our-list kind of way, still, I wasn’t concerned. When he walked out of the room with the phone still to his ear and our eyes met, I was concerned.

Sweet Dog

Real Time: I’m sitting, waiting for Olive to come out of her surgery and coping with it the only way I know how, by writing about it. But the writing today isn’t helping. It isn’t stopping the shakes or the wanting to throw up – me – not Olive. It isn’t helping to stop the tears that keep fighting their way out and that are sitting in a lump at the base of my throat.   Continue reading

The West Village Playground Food Tour

I understand people who don’t want to live in New York City: tons of traffic, crowded streets, parking hassles, outrageous rent. But I don’t understand them nearly as well as I understand the people who do want to live in what I commonly refer to as “the best city in the world.”

We are lucky to live near the city so our visits home twice a year always include various trips to Manhattan. The visits with just Husband are easy; we could do anything we want without considering our nap time or whether my behavior will be acceptable at a restaurant, but visits with kids have to be a bit more thoughtful. Though, if I do say so myself (which I am), we nailed it this time.

Totally New York City

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