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Picking Names
Picking names for your children is a wonderfully optimistic sport, filled with meaning and reverence and nostalgia and hope. We’re not encouraged to feel hope for the future much, most especially when you walk past anyone protesting the government, the environment, mass general hospital (I live near there and the State House, and you know, protesters like to keep things regional). But discussing names lets a small kite soar up within you and for a passing moment or two, the future looks bright.
Maybe you believe the world will be a completely different place than it’s been before, and you choose a name new to your world and social circles. Or you reach into the rock-solid parts of your memory, the place where things have really taken root, and you simply respond and take that as your guide. Someone suggests the name of a person you disliked immensely when you were seven? Absolutely not, off the table, never to be revived. A family name is suggested, one you’ve heard hundreds of times and barely registered, but suddenly it sounds hearty and wise, like an herb that’s healed the sick for centuries. You read the chipped scripts on old gravestones and let the worlds circle around in your head like a sink full of water draining away, trying to sense what they could mean to you after you’d shouted them across backyards for ten years.
I think many of the old fears don’t really apply these days. You don’t really mind if you meet someone who has chosen the same name.* When we thought we were having a boy, Joe and I liked the name Henry. I now know five Henrys that are Lux’s age, but I still love the name and love all these little Henrys running around. You aren’t afraid of those years when your child won’t like their name, or insists on something else; that’s nothing more than an easy indicator of how furiously their creativity and self-awareness has taken root. (The name I found better suited to my character from ages 11-14 was Octavia. Obviously, right? Missed that opportunity, Mom and Dad!)
I was on the phone with a customer service gal (I just love this trend of young friendly Americans at call centers, don’t you?) talking about Lux’s diaper order (*eye roll* oh modernity) and she said, “that’s the secret name I want to name my daughter someday!” And of course it was my secret name that I wanted to name my daughter someday, so I said, “do it for sure! But mention it to your partner early.”
Most of the names Joe and I suggest to one another sound crazy to the each other. It’s like comparing notes on a wine tasting and you’re about to say “fruity” when the other person says “soggy moss.”
This post isn’t ending with a list of names we’re thinking about, ha! But the game is on.
*Baby Lux, “the real baby Lux” twitter account with over a million followers that showed up four months after Lux was born is another story for another time. After 18 months I’ve finally managed to at least unfollow her, ha!
Photos from Paul Octavious’ #pantoneproject on Instagram. The best idea, as usual.
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Dream Life
One question I’m often asked: “if you did work, what would be the ideal situation?”
To this, I’ve always blithely answered something like, Twelve hours a week consulting for small businesses on how to be a little more creative or unique in their field. “Just fire up the ol’ mind a little,” I would say, temporarily turning into a Texan rancher. A small part of me might have imagined a lovely Italian speaking nanny that would show up for those hours and whisk Lux out to adventures and then come back and bake some cookies to go with our afternoon espresso. But realistically I knew I would fit those hours into nap time, settle down at the desk just as Lux settled down into her crib. This sounded perfect, it sounded quite have-it-all, to use the phrase society is obsessed with stamping on things.
(And it’s a testament to how far from an infant a toddler is, how predictable our days, that I even had those thoughts at all.)
Well for the past couple of weeks I’ve had that gig, and I’ve been rather shocked by tiring it is. Maybe I’m just out of practice with how people turn on for work, and then turn off again. I see the emails come in and I want to jump on them right away. I hate to click away the phone calls that I have to send to voicemail until later that afternoon. And then nap time arrives and I just want to take a nap. Or sit by the window and smooth nutella onto small crackers for an hour. Or pull out the ipad, open flipboard and read all the blogs. Instead I set to work, make calls, pin things, click links, email people back, write lots of barely legible lists in my notebook. People call me back when Lux has already woken up and we’re at the park. Unbelievable, I sigh in exasperation when I see their calls, nap time is obviously over now.
If I do complain to Joe about the difference between his life and mine (and this happens every eight weeks or so, on some night when I’m exhausted and should be sleeping instead of talking) I complain that he gets to speak with adults who value his opinions and perspective on a daily basis. There’s something rather satisfying about that, rather than someone who shouts “no no no no” to your suggestion of a banana snack, don’t you think?
And that’s definitely my favorite thing. There’s never going to be anything like working for someone and hearing, “awesome idea. I love it. do it.” (And I know most of you would love to hear this just a little bit more at your day job.)
I think I can get better with practice and a few good habits. Set up a work email and only check it when I can respond. Tell people realistic deadlines and remain calm around the “this is a triple-panic-priority!” mindset. Bill the hell out of the hours I spend brainstorming and dish washing. But–what is the point of this post, anyway?–the old truism that the grass is greener in that yard way over there? I think so. You get what you want, and it turns out to be rather a lot of work.
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Sling Diares: inspiration
I returned from visiting another city inspired to rediscover my own. That was the most unexpected element of our trip, the way I came back ready to see Boston as I had seen Rome. What are the old habits you find yourself in, that you haven’t even noticed? The cafe you always go to, the cafe you never go to? The part of town you haven’t visited in years. That park you’ve heard is beautiful, but it never quite works out to visit. If you were visiting your city for the first time, what do you think you would fall in love with first?Carrying a toddler can have a similar effect. We talk about ducks, and suddenly she’s pointing out that ducks are everywhere, in fact there are flyers for a duck parade in every window on our street. When I’m pushing her in a stroller, we have a bit of separate experience—she’s chatting away while I’m eyeing street signs, curb ledges, the uneven sidewalks that are coming up next. But slung up next to me, we share the moments as they pass. And why not stop to watch the bikers ride by, their wheels skimming over the pavement with such precision? Why not closely examine the flower buds as they open just a little bit more each day? Why not head in a new direction for the morning, the day unplanned but certain to be filled with something new?
This is my first post for the Sakura Bloom sling diaries. Lux is slung in the simple silk sling in amber made by sakura bloom. There are thirteen other moms with babes of all ages participating, what a treat to take part!
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Pack rats on planes
Ah, the great roll of the dice that is getting on a plane with a child. The resulting adventure is always worth it. As long as you don’t introduce sugar halfway through, you’ll probably find yourself surprised by how many relaxing moments you have, staring at the Emergency Exit diagram for the 30th time. I like to order a cup of coffee as rogue challenge to fate. I always manage to finish it while still hot, and it is always delicious.
Whether it feels like you finished your flight with a walk of shame or a nod toward infamy, someone is bound to say “oh she was so good” as you walk past. Translation: You’re lucky I didn’t hear that baby once from my seat.
Those who were so blessed, slept. Those who didn’t, blog anyway.
Packing entertainment for a near two-year-old means tapping into your inner pack rat. Find containers, most from the recycling bin, and hide things in them. Think color, tactile, cheap, and random. Random is the key because truly you have no idea what stage of object-love your child might be at that week. Hide everything until the plane ride (actually, for nine months and younger I think it’s better to introduce things here and there beforehand, because they like familiar objects in unfamiliar settings at that point). We explained several times, “We’re not unzipping that backpack because it’s chock full of treats for the airplane.” Evidently anticipation is inborn in humans from the word “me.”
The number one winner in this group for the whole trip is that little Clinique jar full of pom poms on the far right. This is a jar that I purchased in the late ’90s and wisely left in my cosmetic bag for the next eight years, expensive moisturizer steadily declining into lord-knows-what-paste. It looks like glass but it’s actually thick plastic (clever, Clinique!). Not only was this the plane favorite, it was the restaurant favorite, the it’s 8am and sunny but mom and dad are still resting favorite, and the we’re-still-shopping stroller distraction favorite. Pom poms were strewn across the city for pigeons to mistake for chewy colored bread. “All of these will end up thrown across the plane,” Joe wisely observed when I brought them home from Target. “They were $2” I gleefully replied.
But the very best advice is always going to be: ask at the desk as soon as you arrive at your gate to see if there are any open seats you can be moved near to. Lux was practically kicking Joe and I out of our seats on the way over so she could have her own space for awhile. It wasn’t lost on her that no one else on the plane was sitting on their companion’s lap. On the way back, by a miracle, she got her own seat and it was wonderful.
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More Favorites, Rome
I haven’t mentioned it here yet but I’ll be blogging for the Sling Diaries next session–once a month for six months! They sent me this gorgeous silk sling that Lux and I wore out this morning. We’ve had two cooler days–in the 60s–and it was wonderful to be cozy and wander easily across the cobblestones.
Lux and I spent an hour in this garden while Joe drew a church facade up the street. Of course Bunny couldn’t wait to visit as well and was given a perfect view of the place. It was the garden of the Barberini family so marble bee sculptures were everywhere. A bee might be the best emblem for a family–they look delicate and scary at the same time.
The wisteria just takes your breath away. We’ve seen most of it near really ancient sites–that’s Joe and Lux up there at the Forum. It’s shady and smells unbelievable. The flowers look like luscious grapes dropping down even as the vine looks wise and elderly.
This cappuccino was accidentally our most expensive yet! I was in the mood to sit down and chose a grand cafe just down from the Spanish Steps. We sat on velvet booths and while Lux pestered the waiters in their tuxedo coattails, Joe and I had a moment to talk about a few of their renaissance paintings on the wall. We left twenty euro lighter (eight euro each!) but refreshed and caffeinated.
For dinner we usually don’t bother with a chair for Lux. Joe orders pasta and she absolutely helps herself. Sitting on his lap helps us sneak into tinier places and levels down her activity just a notch. Nonetheless, the iPhone as distraction has been resorted to twice. What a mechanism of mercy when you’re sure the game is up!
This gorgeous labyrinth mosaic, found in an abandoned villa in 1893 and transported to the Capitolini Museum in Rome. Abrupt and without context, yes. But persevered for thousands to see and dally over for a few minutes. -
Best 5, Rome
My five favorite things, so far. (it’s only been three days) The eight hour red eye is not invited to this list because Lux opted not to sleep for the whole adventure.
This building across from our porch, which I find endlessly delightful to gaze at.
Pizza Bianca, chewy and salty, super fresh from bakeries around town. The most delicious and incredibly affordable meal for the three of us (perhaps paired with a wedge of asiago and a mix of salumi wrapped in dancing-pig paper?).
A toddler in Rome! Who knew it would be so much fun? Because of her we stop and enjoy all the squares perfect for cavorting in, the public fountains for joyously emptying her water bottle and refilling, we notice the bells that toll every hour, we count the pigeons wandering past. And loyal bunny is almost gray now that he’s been dragged around so much of the city. Marble stays beautifully cool but it maintains a thin layer of grim just waiting for soft bunnies to soak up.
This careful caretaker in his church, cleaning up the sand for fresh candles, and arranging the ones left burning until they are just so.
I’m posting many more photos on Instagram as we go. If you don’t use the app on your phone, you can see them online right here.
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Missing the Liquor
Well it’s practically March and oh my goodness do I miss cocktails.
I just finished the Dinner a Love Story cookbook (so good, so good, by the way) and Jenny frequently mentions her retreat to an evening gin and tonic whilst cooking, and especially while cooking with toddlers. Her loyal love of one good cocktail (with “only fizzy tonic”) made me like her all the more, but also made me desperate for my own.
“This is a tough time of year to live in Boston,” I announced to Joe.
“I think it’s a tough time of year to live anywhere,” he said, too moderately for my taste, especially at 8am.
“I don’t think it’s a tough time of year in Mexico.”
Joe gave up alcohol and coffee for Lent, which is extremely noble. I pretended to dither about it, but really I can’t give up another thing. Pregnancy is lent, as my dear friend and priest’s wife so nicely pointed out. Last night with the doulas we discussed what a mysteriously big baby Lux was (9lb 10 oz) and I blamed it on a protein shake I drank a lot while pregnant with her. “And no white sugar or white flour?” one asked. My mind blanked as I searched for something I was currently eating that wasn’t comprised mostly of white sugar and white flour. “Uh well, a lot of pasta,” I said lamely. “A lot of macaroni and cheese,” I clarified. “Oh.” she said. I mentally scratched off a few more items to feel confident about when eating.
My twenty-three-year-old brother Leighton offered to not drink for my entire pregnancy if, I also, did not drink. Imagine the audacity.
Like most modern conversation topics, whether you drink or do not drink is treated as a highly personal decision that one makes for themselves based on highly personal feelings. The conclusions on whether the fetus is affected by occasional drinking are bounced back and forth between opponents like a swinging ping pong game. Nonetheless, if you visit an OB office in America, a nurse will probably say something along the lines of “It seems silly to say, but of course you’re not drinking?”
Leave it to family to cross the safe line of modernity’s “It’s your decision, not mine!” politeness. I took him up on his offer because it was so thoughtful. This is a kid who, at the time, probably got a safe quarter of his weekly calories from beer. I couldn’t resist his offer of co-denial in its sheer chumminess…and because of a slew of other implications that seemed to lie within it.
It seemed implied, for example, what kind of barbarian was I? If he could go without a glass of wine now and then, why couldn’t I do it? In the past, a tiny part of me admired women who completely abstained, but a larger part of me held them off as a little juvenile. Like, if everyone’s having mimoas at brunch, is it really necessary to wave your hand and insist on only orange juice for yourself?
But it was pointed out to me by my dear, over-curious family (keep in mind I’m the first one to have a baby among them) that to decide to drink simply to satisfy my rebellious counter-cultural francophile streak was absurd indeed.
True that.
So I think I’ve texted him a total of five times for exceptions to our plan, i.e., very special occasions. Five drinks in 22 weeks is certainly a more moderate environment than Lux abided in. Soak it up, baby, and let’s see it in the SAT scores in 18 years, ok?
February 28th and it’s bleak folks, bleak! There are still small slumps of snow on the street, each protectively harboring its own disgusting pile of soggy trash. Mmm, this looks delicious, Lux says, as she picks through each one like a little alley urchin.
Mercifully we were at Formaggio Kitchen this morning for coffee and they had piled up a basket of the darkest cinnamon bread loaves I’d ever seen. You know how you want cinnamon bread, not some-bread-etched-with-cinnamon? This was it. As a rule Lux doesn’t eat bread (white carbs, Mom! she says reproachfully) but we both tore off hunks and ate it as we walked.
We’ll get through this yet.
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Early Pregnancy Champions
1. I probably eat a box of this a day. This bunny-themed version is a cheerful pink and for unspecified reasons has been on sale at grocery stores across the city for the last two weeks. And yes, I’ve legitimately considered buying stock in Annie’s Natural Foods.
2. Local pickles. You can taste the dill and horseradish in these. “Let’s just have pickles for dinner,” I called to Joe. “Yup, you’re pregnant” he called back.
3. One thing Boston does really well is the Sub Shop. If people ask if I have cravings, I say “yes, pizza and sub sandwiches.” Of course we all know that all humans crave pizza and sub sandwiches. Which is why the industry created the word “crave.” Now you can justify it biologically!
4. Local peanut butter, but it’s my favorite brand because it is the best flavor. My position is don’t bother with the flax seed enhanced stuff. That research is suspicious and it taints the flavor.
5. My favorite with everything–the macaroni and cheese, the Market Basket ruffle potato chips that I go through a bag of on a weekly basis, honey, scrambled eggs… There is NO reason to buy any version besides the Total full fat. I wish that 2% junk would stop crowding the shelves.
6. Is it just me or is the grapefruit super good this year? I end up just drinking the juice because Lux likes to eat the whole fruit and I don’t mind splitting that type of stuff.
Note that none of these involve cooking. Coincidence? Um, no.
ps: I found these snack ideas totally eye opening.
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Our Roommate
Planning for Rome has almost been usurped by a new topic: planning for a new apartment. Though we would swear up and down that living in under 500 sq ft is good for us, the prospect of just a little more space has our minds reeling. I have a list of furniture and things we’ll need that’s titled “new apartment new life.”
Now’s a good time to do a post on sharing a room with Lux this past year-n-a half. Occasionally people ask me how that’s going and I often don’t know what to say because I’m so accustomed to it.
She sleeps in the top corner of the crib, closest to me. We put her water bottle there and she often wakes for a drink during the night. In the morning when she wakes she noisily reads aloud her books that were left in the crib from the night before. After that she dangles each of her stuffed animals over the edge of the crib and documents their fall to the ground with loud pronouncements. Eventually we lift her out and try to convince her to come cuddle in our bed with us, but typically she marches out of the room and then marches back in, until I ask her if she wants some oatmeal. Then she nods with glee as if I’ve announced we’re adopting a puppy.
The fact that I know all of this is one of the things I like about room sharing. I also like that she doesn’t wake up to noise in the room, both because we have a small apartment and because we just don’t bother with being very quiet when we’re getting ready for bed. Travel too, is eased because sharing a hotel room is the usual. When she’s sick, it’s just a quick hop from the bed to check on her, or soothe her back to sleep. The times we’ve gone through brief sleep “regressions” (when babies decide to wake up earlier than the typical schedule, like say, 4am) I’ve been able to both say “we’re still sleeping right now” but not abandon her to be by herself while she falls back asleep.
Around 12 months there was a point where she woke up early, and it felt like she was waking up because she wanted to see us. But right around that time a friend moved into a two-bedroom and confirmed that her daughter woke up early even in her own room. Roughly one month later it became old news to Lux that we were there and she woke up later, clearly with no concern about whether we were there or not.
A mom once asked me how I would feel putting Lux in her own room now, and I shied away from the question. It sounded lonely. And she nodded her head, as if in confirmation to herself that this showed a negative side effect of our plan–being afraid of the eventual separation.
But soon she will have her own room. I look forward to turning on a bright bedside lamp and reading myself to sleep (I do this now, but by the dim light of the closet). I don’t look forward to having another room to check for distributed toys. I’ll miss saying “good morning!” from my pillow when she wakes up. I think she’ll notice that the new space is her room and will enjoy hiding away in there. And of course, she’ll sleep better than all of us once baby #2 comes along.
Does the idea of a one-bedroom house appeal to the minimalist in you? Or sound stifling?
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2x
I often think of this as a place to write, but sometimes I want it to be a normal blog with lots of photos too.
If you ran into me on the street, you would notice that I look suspiciously pregnant. You would probably feel awkward because I would forget to bring it up and force you to. My brain can’t quite catch up to the fact that at 15 weeks with Lux I was still letting people in on the secret, and at 15 weeks with bébé de deux I’m practically in maternity t-shirts.
Since I don’t believe in due dates anymore, I’ll tell you that the baby is due in July, shortly after Lux turns 2. I think this is the perfect time to have a baby, and not just because I already had a baby on this exact same schedule (read: same seasonal clothes!). I think it will give Lux just enough time to grow up a bit and understand what’s going on, maybe even to be excited. Don’t let that statement lead you to believe I was some how in control of the timing of when I got pregnant, because I was not, and it was a good learning experience to realize that.
To answer your first question, we will be finding out whether it’s boy or a girl because we loved doing that the first time. The baby will probably be born across the street again, at Mass General. To answer my first question, we may or may not be moving out of our one bedroom apartment.
Our announcement for Lux, way back when.
ps: My friend pointed out that it’s just too coincidental that Lux and I are pregnant at the same time! Of course, that’s why I had to have her in this photo session with me.
my sweatshirt is from my cousin Caitlin’s partner’s Detroit clothing brand. I love it, thanks to Joanie for letting me take it after I begged it off her.