In which she is thankful for November

This November has been an unusually busy month in our little corner of the world, hence the hiatus of small things grow. It started with a concussion (mine, thankfully, and not one of the kids’), and quickly segued into a visit from my in-laws, Wren’s third birthday, and a whirlwind 36-hour trip to San Antonio (alone!) so I could go present at a conference.

But as a means of saying happy November, I will share Wren’s annual birthday video. I don’t know that you’ll see me posting here before November is out, if the second half is anything like the first (and it appears to be shaping up that way, certainly), but in the meantime, I hope you enjoy this. The behind-the-scenes video would include lots of aggravated stomping and interpretative dances I performed for Andy about how much I hate Windows Movie Maker, not to mention scenes of me staying up so late that I became deliriously convinced there were ghosts in the house. But watching it now, all I really feel is enormous gratitude for this last year. It is just palpable evidence to me by how surrounded by love we are as a family, and the unbelievable good fortune that is our life together.

Happy third birthday to my little bird, whose irrepressible joy and kindness makes the world a better place. And if you’d like to see the previous two videos, you can find them here and here.



Posted in 1 year in 3 minutes, a little wren | 7 Comments

In which she looks at her future

It’s pictures like these

Wren & Ilan, October

It’s pictures like these that make me feel as though I am looking not at my two children currently, but at myself looking at these pictures 20 years from now, when they are both in their twenties, thinking They were always themselves. Isn’t this just that kind of picture?

Posted in a little wren, motherhood, my tiny revolution | 3 Comments

In which she thinks about ghosts of election days past

Every time an election day comes and goes I think of this picture:

That was the day I voted for Obama. Wren was a week away from turning a year old. I was excited not because I thought he’d be a particularly good president but because as someone who studies the most depressing shit in the world (that is, the construction of race in early America) it was a day with a lot of emotional significance for me. I went to vote with my sister and the little boy she was babysitting. It was one of those gorgeous fall days that is super bright and crisp. Later that evening we went to a party a friend had. We were the only people there with a kid, which was par for the course back then (and still, often, is).

That self, that mom of one infant, seems so unfamiliar to me now. It’s so strange to think about how I would just tote her on my back and then it’d be just us two ladies on the town. How she was always kind of a novelty. How young and, frankly, adorable I felt as that twenty-nine year old mom with her super cute, super social baby girl.

My cousin’s husband (he of this awesome advice) once told Andy, “When you have one kid, you’re a dude with a kid. When you have two, you’re a dad.” I have definitely found that to be true. It is only two years later. I love, absolutely adore, how our family has evolved in the last two years but it feels like a Family, capital F, as opposed to a threesome of BFF. I feel like a veritable grown up now. And sometimes, just sometimes, I feel like a pack mule. Tote her on my back and go? Uh, not so much anymore (it’s more like, tote him on my back while pushing her in the stroller).

Speaking of which, I was thinking today of the last time I wore Wren. It was January 18th, 2010, if I remember correctly. She was 26 months old. I was 6 months pregnant. I wore her in my ring sling, to the grocery store, because she wasn’t feeling well and we were bored so we decided to get some supplies to make cookies. I may have worn her in the mei tai after that but I don’t recall it, so in my mind that was the last day I wore her. I just remember thinking “Nearly 30-lb toddler and one-shoulder carry when 6 months pregnant…um, probably not the best idea.” Now that I wear Ilan constantly, I miss wearing Wren. I think this is less about the second child in the picture and more about Wren growing up, the way in which her long, lanky body doesn’t fit on mine in the same way, the way I can’t cradle her in my lap as entirely as I once did.

Always on election day, I think about election day 2001 as well. Andy still lived in this awful apartment building in Midwood that perpetually smelled like weed, cooking oil, and mildew. We had gotten into a huge fight on the phone. I felt panicky and wanted to see him in person. He wasn’t home. I wasn’t sure if he just wasn’t home from work yet, or if he was voting. I started wandering toward the school at which he voted when he lived in that neighborhood. It was not a beautiful crisp fall day. It was a cold, gray fall night, and it was misting. I stood outside the school for a long while, hoping he would emerge from it. I don’t remember how I eventually found him or how we resolved the fight, but I did and we did. Obviously.

Posted in a little wren, autumn, motherhood | 2 Comments

In which she writes a love note to now

Sometimes I think I am the least restless person I know.

Wren and Andy at sunset

I am not a “will” person; I am an “is” person. I fill myself up with the now and sink here, float here like a buoy. A chameleon, of a sort, who becomes wherever she is. And likes it.

Even as I work hard towards a goal there has rarely been a time in my life where I need to move on. I have known the reality of having to move on presses upon me, and so I roll with it like a tide. It’s not that I lack ambition; most of my goals are very ambitious. It’s just that I recognize I don’t get this time back. I also recognize that when I get to the now of the future I will probably love it just as much, so I continue to work toward it even though I would rather stay where I am. Even when money is tight and work is overwhelming and kids are not sleeping. Even in high school, I both was and wasn’t desperate to go away to college: desperate, yes, to escape living under the strict rules of my parents but simultaneously not at all desperate to escape that time in my life. Feeling like I could be 16 forever, despite the frustrations. Knowing I would miss being 16 and all the frustrations (which as it turns out, I actually don’t. I much prefer the now of 31 to the now of 16. Perhaps that’s not surprising!). Even as a child, I was baffled by my peers’ desire to grow up.

“Adaptable” my teachers always called me. Perhaps this love of now is because I adapt to it a little too well. And perhaps this adaptability was a response to changing schools a lot as a child; or of moving back and forth between oceans, back and forth and learning to be me in two different places, on two continents. Either way, it’s not always a positive trait: sometimes this adaptability has worked against me. Once, when Andy studied in Russia for two months I got so used to him not being here that I found it strange and unfamiliar when we were reunited. Other times, it is hard not to feel steamrolled when the rest of the world pushes forward, unending, fast-paced.

I just know I don’t want to be perpetually running toward something. I don’t want to believe that I will be more or better when I have x, y, or z. Though I, like all of us, fall into the trap of that thinking from time to time, I also recognize that it is a reality of my life that I will always feel like I can be more or better no matter how many material things in my life are gained or change. I will always feel like I can be a better mother, wife, friend, sister, daughter, scholar, housekeeper, gardener and so on. I may have more money or a car or a “real” job or third child but I will always be struggling with those things on a fundamental, emotional level. That struggle is me. What I am is what I am now. And I don’t want to be looking so far in the future that I don’t see what’s in front of me. Because there is not always a later, but there is always a now.

Posted in love notes | 4 Comments

In which she shares her meal plan for this last week of October.

Well, we’ll be starting solids (! How did such a thing happen? Isn’t he a newborn still?!) with Ilan this week but it sure won’t be Waffle House. Instead we’ll probably be starting with some butternut squash or sweet potatoes, and then next week we’ll probably move on to some greens or broccoli (I’m actually quite eager to see if he enjoys greens since I ate a metric ton of them while pregnant). This is actually lovely because all of these things are in season right now so he will be getting prime, delicious bites. While he is incredibly interested in food and showing all readiness signs (though his pincer grip still needs some work), I don’t anticipate he will eat a whole lot yet. With Wren, I followed my gut with solids and never did “baby food” specifically; rather I always gave her a bit of what we were eating, just cooked softer and smaller. She wasn’t much interested in anything but “tastes” before around 9 months (when, interestingly enough, she also sprouted her first teeth and then began eating her weight in food) and we never pushed it. I am a big proponent of this method. I like things to happen organically and this felt like a really natural progression. My parenting strategy, if I have one, is “meet my children where they are” (in all things), and it’s worked for me. With Wren at least, she became and stayed a very “good” eater. Though she was more adventurous as a toddler than she is as a preschooler (which is developmentally appropriate, and I don’t fret it much), she self-regulates very well. Some days she won’t be interested in anything but carbs but two days later will eat half a head of broccoli. I once read Dr. Sears advice to look at weeks rather than days when evaluating your child’s diet and it has always served me well and kept me sane and calm with regard to all things feeding.

But I digress! Let’s go over the roundup of last week’s meals. The only new thing to review is the root beer baked beans meal, which was, alas, one of those disaster kind of meals where nothing goes your way. The beans didn’t cook properly (I started from dried), for one. Then we all discovered we are none too partial to acorn squash, which I kind of knew already but refuse to believe because the acorn squash at Souen is so incredibly good. The dressing was excellent though, and the best brussies were as always, well, the best.

Oh, actually, I lied. The coconut vermicelli dish I cooked up was also new and was a very, very nice and QUICK meal. I will tweak this recipe and eventually post it. And while we had planned to make the garlic soup, we ended up eating pizza with some friends instead so it’s up this week! Stayed tuned: I am eagerly anticipating it.

And here’s what we’re eating this week:

Wednesday: Chilaquile and the quickest apple crumble of all time. I promised Wren apple crumble and I delivered, despite running late and then getting stuck in the rain on the way home from the gym. But I managed, and it was delicious. The Chilaquile was good too though a little bland for my liking, and Wren is inherently suspicious of casseroles so she mostly add individual beans and some corn on the cob. It did use up a load of leftover tortilla chips from a party with threw Saturday night though, which was aces.

Thursday: Was supposed to be soup tonight, but as it’s a balmy 75 degrees out I’ll probably go with spanakopita (Wren’s favorite, which she has dubbed “mamakopita”), my most excellent blackened tofu, and roasted butternut squash.

Friday: Honey baked lentils (another of Wren’s favorites, and so easy! It’s an amazing go-to meal) and baked rice, best brussies again.

Saturday is our Coop playschool’s Autumn party, which we are hosting! I’m making this awesome chili (though I generally use kidney beans, not chickpeas — and more than is called for — and only barley, which i also increase) and my equally awesome fall salad, which I blogged about here.

Sunday: We moved family day to Sundays since we were always doing family things on Sundays anyway. This time it’s Halloween, obviously, and we’ll probably grab some pizza while we’re out and about.

Monday: Mushroom Kasha burgers, homemade whole wheat rolls, broccoli, sweet potatoes

Tuesday: Garlic soup meal I mentioned last time.

Posted in small bites | 3 Comments

Five song Friday: the first five songs of Ilan’s gestation mix

So, I do have five song Friday themes planned that don’t have to do with pregnancy or childbirth, I swear (though Mary Catherine and I have a hard time convincing our husbands that we talk about anything else). But since I started with the childbirth songs I figured now was as good time as any to post Ilan’s gestation mix, which has been on the backburner, well, since I got pregnant.

With both children I have added a song to a running playlist every week of my pregnancy. And both times these playlists, in their completion, have reminded me so palpably of those pregnancies (in Wren’s case, even years later). They also both have interesting arcs in terms of the feel of the songs — Wren’s for example, moves from quieter, more intimate and acoustic sounding songs to manically upbeat music, to more introspective-feeling music that is somewhat more catchy than the first third of the mix. And these changes in feel all correspond to my moving from sick first trimester in the winter to the blooming belly (and manically happy Robina) of that spring, to the fuzziness of the third trimester, the closing of both a season and a particular season of our lives. With Wren’s mix, I posted the songs each week; when it soon became clear that wouldn’t happen for Ilan’s, I planned on posting the songs by trimester; when it became clear that wouldn’t happen, I planned on posting the songs all at once upon his birth; and now, I am posting them here. Enjoy.

My 30th bday cake

1. Time to Pretend, MGMT
listen via YouTube
I got pregnant on my 30th birthday. Literally. A week later, we had a party to commemorate the beginning of my third decade, not having any idea how momentous and life-altering that day actually was. I called it my “adult princess party” — in other words, a delicious dinner party with many of my friends where I wore an awesome dress and was provided with an awesome, crown-esque Etsy hairband from my sisters. My friend Jim provided the soundtrack, and toward the end of the night, right around the time he told a (fictionalized) story about me saving a bunch of children from a burning schoolbus, this song came on, and we had a conversation about it and MGMT. So it will of course always remind me of the earliest days of my pregnancy (keeping in mind of course that I had no idea I could even be pregnant at the time).

2. Holland, 1945, Madeline Ava
Listen as a gift from me to you

The shift in feel here is, well, telling. Let’s just say that the week I found out I was pregnant was filled with conflicting emotions. This song is another that was on Jim’s birthday party playlist and I found myself listening to it a lot in early pregnancy. The line “and this is the room where your brothers were born” always made me feel a strange and nauseating combination of sadness, joy, regret, anticipation, wonder, wistfulness, and utter terror (although that may have also been the morning sickness, which kicked in almost immediately). Being a homebirthin’ mama and still sleeping in the room where Wren was born, the line was particularly resonant for me because , at this stage in the game, completely and totally sure I was carrying a boy — dead certain, in fact, just as I was dead certain during early pregnancy with Wren that I was having a girl (my early intuition is, apparently, killer , and it’s only once I start filtering other people’s opinions into my own experience that I start to be less sure). Of course, it is probably odd to say that the song, which is of course originally found on an album about the Holocaust is rather inauspicious thing to find resonant during a pregnancy. But despite the actual theme of the album, it has always been a comforting one for me, one I’ve returned to at many points in my life, and it personally means a lot of different things to me (and like a billion other people in my generation) as a result.

3. It doesn’t have to be beautiful, Slow Club
Listen via YouTube

“It doesn’t have to be beautiful…unless it’s beautiful” may as well be the paradox of my existence. My entire worldview is predicated in seeing the beautiful in the everyday, and I am insistent that every mundane cloud has its transcendent lining. So when my feelings are decidedly unbeautiful or messy, I feel pretty unhinged. This song let me make a little fun of myself in my head.

4. Sugar Mouse, Oh, Atoms
Listen via YouTube

To explain why this (nearly saccharinely sweet) song appealed to me in September 2009 is almost too painfully obvious, but I’ll belabor the point (“No one knows what the future holds / if we just hold on, maybe life could be sweet”). As an aside, Wren loves the little mouse in this video.

5. The Beach Song, Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin
Listen as a gift from me to you
This song reminds me so much of being at the gym in my first trimester, just moving back and forth, steadily, on the rowing machine, wishing I could row myself straight out of morning sickness. An idiosyncratic workout choice, sure, but for some reason it invoked a lot of the same feelings that “Swim Until You Can’t See Land,” which I blogged about last time. Which is funny because it is called “the Beach Song,” after all. Sensing a theme here? In any event, its comforting properties can be attested to via my heart rate, which always slowed down whenever this song came on for some reason. I say “for some reason,” but let’s belabor the point some more:

…this could be right
if you could see the clearer light.
in my head, in my dreams,
You were inside of me…

Posted in five song friday | Leave a comment

In which she shares her meal plan for the third week of October

Sneaking in here under the wire for my Wednesday meal planning post! I know I said I would probably fail you, but failing you after only a week would just be embarrassing. So here I am!

So before I share what’s up for this week I thought I would review the quick egg and rice dish I made last week (the only recipe from last week that I hadn’t ever made before). Actually (and probably surprisingly for those of you who know me) this was my first time making poached eggs — I’ve always been intimidated by them. I am proud to announce, however, that I have now successfully poached eggs! Which is good news indeed, since I love me a good poached egg. The dish itself was very simple, very quick, and very delicious. For some reason our kitchen was chaos that night though and both children were screaming at various points while we ate. And Wren was insistent that the black rice was actually beans.

Conclusion: It’s way more simple to make poached eggs than people make it out to be; your child may be intimidated by “the emperor’s forbidden rice”; overall this is an easy weeknight supper I’d definitely recommend.

And now for my meals this week:

Wednesday: Leftover night for Andy and Wren while I go out to eat with a friend (luxurious!). I am told they ate pierogies and chili (not together!) so, uh, we can call this international night.

Thursday: Thursdays is family outing night (or family movie night if the weather is crappy) so we always rotate homemade pizza with Spaghetti and “meatballs,” which is thus up this week, and which I will pair with salad (I have perfected vegetarian meatballs and it’s a good thing too because I have such fond memories of making meatballs with my grandmother that for years I fretted about how I could properly nurture my children without a decent meatball recipe. How’s that for my Brooklyn Italian side coming out? Meanwhile, the salad will be romaine and a yellow pepper — both still in season, hooray! — with roasted butternut squash, goat cheese, and sunflower seeds — the same salad I made last Thursday and which was *amazing*. Wren will likely just eat the roasted squash, however. Preschoolers are not generally known for their salad consumption but I just keep offering assuming one day she will try it.).

Friday: Poorjee. Poorjee is a Pakistani dish of spinach, eggs, and potatoes. I will serve this with rice or roti. It is one of Wren’s absolute favorite meals.

Saturday we are eating dinner with some friends (twice in one week! Positively decadent for us.)

Sunday: Garlic soup, quinoa skillet bread , sauteed broccoli.
I’ve made the skillet bread before — it’s lovely. The soup is a new recipe to me.

Monday: A meal inspired by a dear friend. Root beer baked beans (made veg), chili lime acorn squash, best brussies

Tuesday: I am obsessed with this Vietnamese restaurant in Pittsburgh called Tram’s. And on Tuesday I am going to attempt some kind of noodle dish that will satisfy my cravings for their coconut vermicelli. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Posted in small bites | 7 Comments

In which she wonders a bit at the way memories are made

Babywearing shadow

I shot this picture after the wedding of our dear friends on Saturday. It’s my shadow, and Ilan’s, as he was in the ring sling at the time. As we started to get back into the car to make our way to the reception, I looked to my right and saw the shadow, and marveled at the way in which it looked so similar to the contours of my recently-pregnant-silhouette, distinguished only by that little infant head on the top of my belly. It seemed to me such a metaphor for the way it feels to parent very young children. Though you aren’t one, not anymore, not in the way you once were, they still need you so fiercely and so primally that the two of you may as well be one — your days are theirs, your nights are theirs, your bodies, often, are theirs, whether because of breastfeeding or carrying or simply the way in which they casually rub snot on you or tangle themselves in your hair or curl up, fit themselves into the warmth of your armpit or waist, when you read them a story.

And yet I’ve also been thinking a lot lately about your story is not theirs, or perhaps how their story is not yours. I’ve been reflecting on the ways in which my material reality right now won’t ever be known by my children. Perhaps this is because Wren is approaching three and she has suddenly taken to calling me “Mom” instead of “Mama,” each sentence punctuated with it as though she is fifteen (“I want to take a shower and not a bath, Mom“; “The baby is drooling all over the place, Mom!”); perhaps it is because she is approaching three and most of my earliest memories of my own childhood are from this time. When the four of us curl up in bed together at night and Wren reads bedtime stories to “Seal Lion” (a puppet that she had previously named “Money” but who is now simply “Seal Lion” — you will be corrected if you call it “Sea Lion” — and who is thrust on me or Andy’s hand roughly 1500 times a day) I reflect that she may remember these cozy scenes. But I know she will not remember the way, a few nights ago, Andy made Seal Lion say “Do you know what my dissertation was on? It was on gender roles in Disney films” or hear me respond “Oh Seal Lion that is so played.” Nor will she remember Seal Lion turning to me and saying “Well it got me tenure at Harvard so STFU” and then me and Andy starting to chortle. She will not remember in any real way what Andy and I are like now, still young, in goofy and in love but trying to manage two young children and really demanding work. She will remember, perhaps, things that made her feel especially loved or especially constrained. But the memories will revolve around her own desires. Our presence in those memories will be like weather: completely structuring and yet somewhat intangible. I can only hope that her memories will be set to a backdrop of sunny days. Ilan, too, will definitely not remember that at 31 I often had to sing “Illy Illy baby, Inky Inky Baby! Mama’s little baby is her Inky boy!” ad infinitum while I prepared dinner — that that has become my soundtrack to chopping onions or mixing batter or blanching broccoli, that I do it almost without noticing, that I have mastered the art of drowning my own voice out lest I begin to feel a bit unhinged — because it is the only way he would stay happy during that time. Though our lives right now are so intertwined as to be almost indistinguishable, they are their own people, and they will narrate their lives in a way that precludes a true understanding of my perspective on the very same moments. Their stories are their own. If we are lucky they will realize I have my own story when they themselves are adults.

I guess this is the bittersweet reality of being a parent, knowing you will have to wait almost a lifetime to be truly known by the people you love the best.

Posted in motherhood | 3 Comments

In which she shares her meal plan for the week

Fondue night!
Fondue Night! (Yes, my child’s feet are on the table. We are barbarians!)

There are two things you should know, and maybe already know, about our eating habits:

1. We are diehard meal planners. I started meal planning in late 2003, when I realized that in order to successfully feed one graduate student and her then-unemployed partner, you have to get organized. Like seriously organized. As in, set a budget, plan a menu around that budget, go shopping only with a list, and never deviate from set list. And I’ve been meal planning ever since. Truly, I am not sure how one (especially if one has a family) even approaches dinnertime without a set list of meals to choose from. This fact probably betrays my lack of imagination and ability to think on my feet, but just the thought sends me into my own truly spooky witching hour. Indeed, our meal planning and grocery shopping has reached such a compulsive level that we have a print-out grocery list, organized by aisle, wherein I can just check off what we need and so Andy (who is the designated shopper) can get in and out in 1/2 hour flat.

Sometimes I like meal planning and sometimes I don’t. I really enjoyed it pre-kids, when I could sit down with a cup of tea and a stack of cookbooks, and do it in a leisurely way. Now I often resent it for eating up all too much of my kid-free time (generally after they go to bed on Tuesday nights, when all I want to do is curl up with some hot chocolate, knitting, and “Six Feet Under”). But I must admit it is entirely indispensable.

2. As of Spring 2009, we eat according to the seasons and what’s available locally in terms of produce. This was motivated by a combination of environmental beliefs as well as gut feelings (backed up by some research) about wellness, paired with my own propensity to make things hard on myself. (That last part is — mostly — a joke.) We have been aided in this plan by our membership at the truly amazing Park Slope Food Coop, which updates its in-stock produce every morning as well as the produce’s point of origin. (The PSFC defines “local” more broadly than we do but since they generally give more specifics than “locally grown” we pick and choose according to our own definitions.)

A brief rundown of the way it works is this: On meal planning night, I look at the PSFC website and see what’s around. I plan meals around those vegetables. Over the summer, I preserve a good amount of vegetables as well as some fruit (particularly berries, which freeze well, and a few bags of peaches for smoothies or pie) to supplement the cruelest winter months (February and March being the only months where basically *nothing* is in season). Our meals thus follow a certain natural rhythm not only according to what’s available but also according to the season itself: heavier, starchier foods in winter and lighter food that can be prepared without turning on the oven in the summer. While I miss salad in the winter, fruit has never tasted as good as when I have had to wait for it, and there is a certain mammalian pleasure to letting the time of year naturally determine what I am eating and how it is prepared. It was very interesting to me to notice that contrary to when I was pregnant with Wren over the summer and wanted only to eat salad and fruit, my pregnancy with Ilan (which took me through the winter months) centered around soup and an alarming amount of collard greens.

We are not purists, however, and we do buy certain non-local produce: for example, while we are lucky to have local onions and garlic for most of the year we don’t always, and ginger is not something this Pakistani girl will do without. Likewise, we do buy dried fruit for Wren to snack on as well as lemons and limes for cooking, which are of course never local. And we do allow ourselves the occasional non-local fruit, particularly during winter months (I won’t ever buy, say, a banana when the coop is overrun with local peaches and plums and melon, but I will allow Wren clementines here and there, particularly in the winter months when we are eating our 28982978297298728927th apple of the year. And I don’t think I could ever wean myself off pineapple and mango entirely, even if the mangoes here leave much to be desired, especially because pineapple in a savory dish is one of my true joys!).

Now why do I bring this all up now?

At various iterations of my blogging “career,” I’ve attempted to record my weekly meal plans on my blog. And I have failed, every time, recording them for a few weeks and then forgetting. Generally, my (failing) efforts have been motivated by friends repeatedly asking me to do so. Occasionally it occurs to me that maybe it would be useful to have a “meal planning” tag and to be able to quickly see what I was cooking at a specific time in years previous, but yet here I am, still flipping through my old datebooks for ideas instead. They take up space, sure, but I must admit it always makes me smile to look at old datebooks and find the various notes to myself or to remember what I did on the 21st of December in 2005 (had dinner with my Intro to Africana Studies class at the now-out-of-business Zen Palette).

Yet recently it’s been requested of me to share my meal plans again, by more than a few people, and so I am attempting to comply, AGAIN, with the disclaimer that if I fail, AGAIN, you’ve been warned. That being said, I’ve also realized in the past year that our meal plans might actually be useful because of the seasonal element. Now, I don’t purport to be any kind of food blog expert, but I can say that I subscribe to what might rightly be called a ridiculous amount and have been generally amazed at how few are seasonally inspired. Sure, you’ll see people mention their CSA boxes during the growing season, but you will also see more than your fair share of asparagus from Chile in the middle of December. Which is fine, of course, but not helpful if you are attempting to avoid doing this. I am sure there are foodblogs that are locally-themed and that, because it is not physically possible to read everything on the vast interwebs, I don’t know about them, so please don’t read this is as my claiming some kind of innovation on my part. I did, however, think that it might be helpful for others to see what’s cookin’ over here in Brooklyn throughout the year.

So, with that disclaimer, here’s what we are eating this week. I have linked recipes wherever possible but am happy to provide more detail to ones that are not online — just ask!

W: Creamy Vegetable Millet Casserole, corn on the cob (we are attempting to eat a metric ton of this before it goes out of season!), baked potatoes
Th: Homemade whole-wheat Pizza with various toppings according to whose slice it is (broccoli rabe, olives, roasted butternut squash), salad
F: Poached Eggs over black rice
Sat: Pierogies, Cabbage, Applesauce
Sun: African Pineapple Peanut Stew (see, there’s a pesky pineapple! We haven’t had this dish in 2 years and of course it would appear on the plan this week, by special request.)
M:Korma (with Cauliflower, Potatoes, Carrots), Roti
T:Leftover night

Let’s see if I remember to do this next Wednesday! If I do, I’ll review any dishes here that I hadn’t tried before (which I think in this case is only the poached egg dish) and then write out the plan for next week.

Posted in small bites | 9 Comments

Five song Friday: Labor

Five songs I listened to when I was in labor with Ilan, in no particular order
by Robina

1. Won’t Say Anything, Hello Seahorse!
listen via YouTube

This was the first song I listened to when I was in labor and I chose it specifically as The First Song I Listened To In Labor. The first time I ever heard thing song was seven moths earlier; it was in October; I was still in my first trimester; I was working on Wren’s Halloween costume; I was listening to a mix my friend Jenny had made. In the months to come, I would listen to the song often, especially because Wren developed a fondness for it and would often request it and sing along. But that time, the first time I heard it, I listened to it once through, thought “I will listen to this in labor,” and then listened to it again. For the interesting (and useful) thing about a second pregnancy is that you’ve been through labor once already. So certain surprises — say, the fact that you like extremely idiosyncratic music while in labor and specifically songs that are quite repetitive and almost anthemic — are no longer surprises and you will waste no time putting together playlists of things like Jose Gonzales and Iron & Wine. Instead you will know, in advance, that while in labor, it will please you greatly to bounce on a birth ball and chant

DON’T YOU MAKE A FUSS ABOUT IT DON’T YOU MAKE A FUSS ABOUT IT DON’T YOU MAKE A FUSS ABOUT IT DONT YOU MAKE A FUSS ABOUT IT!

Which is indeed what happened.

2. Modern Mysery, Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin
listen via YouTube

The nineteenth-century nerd in me loves the references in this song. And of course it is quite anthemic. So that is how it ended up on my labor mix. However, I only know I listened to it because iTunes tells me so. Sorry, Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin, you didn’t make much of an impression on me while I was in labor. I love you anyway.

3. Broken Bells, The High Road
listen via YouTube

So, I am going to sound like a total lameass when I say this, but this song is almost painfully cool. If you were a character in a movie, you’d want this song to play when the camera shot you for the first time, as you walk down the street looking hot. (And I have discovered, now that I was searching for the video to post here, that Brian Burton and James Mercer also apparently enjoy walking down the street looking cool when this song is playing, so perhaps I am not as lame as I thought.) In fact, the song very much reminds me of the walk from the subway station at City Hall to the college where I held a fellowship last year. Except most of the times I sauntered down that street listening to this song I was hugely pregnant. Like, hugely pregnant. As in, carrying a 10 pound baby in one’s uterus pregnant. In fact, one of the clearest memories I have of listening to this song and walking that walk was a week before Ilan was born, and two rastafarian men yelling at me from across the street:

YOU HAVIN’ A BOY, MISS!

and

GOD BLESS YOU!

Anyway, listening to this song during labor was very soothing. As insane as it might sound, the repetition of “it’s too late to change your mind…” felt not like

YOU AIN’T KIDDING!

and more like

“That is profoundly true, I’d better roll with this.”

Go figure.

4. “Airplanes,” Local Natives
listen via YouTube

Oh, this song. By far one of my top ten of 2010. I almost don’t want to say anything about it because it’s just that good.

But I will.

This song was something of the soundtrack to my last trimester. I remember once, on a rather blustery day in April, the day before Easter actually, walking to the toy store near my house to buy a couple of last-minute things for Wren’s Easter basket, listening to this song on repeat. I knew my sister would be at her radio show, so I texted her to tell her to see if the station had this album because I got the sense she’d like the song too. And when I got home and went to pick up Wren at my other sister’s house, a good thirty minutes later, this song was playing: Tahira had found it at the station and decided to play it. I cocked my head and couldn’t help but laugh: what timing!

I cannot entirely explain why this made sense to me as a labor song, or why I still love it as a workout song. I hesitate to say this, since it is about someone’s dead grandfather, but the sound of the song itself is very sexy to me. Listening to it just makes me feel…feisty. It’s that chorus. It gets me every time. And there is, of course, something innately sexual about labor. As I’ve said before, the contraction is essentially the orgasm gone terribly wrong. But it goes a lot less wrong and a lot less painfully if you can still sustain some semblance of feeling like a sexual being while it’s happening. I’m not talking about orgasmic birth or anything like that; I’m just talking about ignoring the fact that you’ve magically grown fifteen extra chins during the process and are in pain and instead Being (note the capital B, because I am a huge hippie apparently) in your body in a way that allows you to look straight in the eye of overwhelming sensation. To feel vulnerable yet powerful — which I would argue is an inherently sexy feeling. Again, it’s hard to explain. But it was never a question in my mind that I would love this song during labor. And I did.

5. Swim Unitil You Can’t See Land, Frightened Rabbit
Listen via YouTube

Whenever I hear the opening bars of this song now, I immediately feel a sense of calm. It’s a strange phenomenon, quite frankly, because the song was one I listened to rather obsessively during my first trimester, when I was terribly sick and sad, worried about how the life growing inside me would affect our perfect little threesome, worried about the approaching winter, worried about how morning sickness was interfering with the progress of my dissertation. And as I’ve written before, that endless seasickness that is the first trimester is as demoralizing emotionally exhausting as it is physically.

So you would think it would remind me of feeling depressed and that I would, as a result, avoid it.

And yet.

The song always served as an anchor for me, if you’ll excuse my extended pun. I can remember so vividly, walking up the street once, the sun glittering in the late afternoon, over the trees and graves of Greenwood Cemetary. I remember walking up the hill towards home and feeling so, so ill, and so, so tired, tired deep in my bones, and listening to this song again and again and again. And literally imagining myself, instead of on a street in Brooklyn, sick and walking up a hill,in the blue ocean of Panama, floating, riding the waves, sun beating down. Or in the lake Andy and Wren and I had driven to the week before I found out I was pregnant: on my back, blue sky above, arms cutting through the water and swimming, swimming, swimming out and feeling utterly content. As you can imagine, I really enjoy swimming: like my daughter, I am a water baby. And these images of myself swimming somehow in that moment linked me to this not-yet-baby inside me: him a little sea monster in his saltwater, developing so rapidly, changing every moment; me feeling as though I was bobbing along on waves, vertigo-ridden and nauseated, in a holding pattern while he grew. Both of us swimming: him through what might fairly be called the most tenuous part of his gestation, me through a haze of nausea, knowing I just had to wait it out. And though I couldn’t articulate it at the time, I think some part of me knew it wasn’t just about waiting out the morning sickness. I was waiting out the whole pregnancy, waiting to meet this person, waiting to know it would be okay and that I would love him as much as Wren and that our family could be even better.

I know “swimming until you can’t see land” doesn’t seem like much of a hopeful image but for me there was something profound about this image of giving up. Giving up on trying to meticulously plan. Giving up on my illusion of control. Giving in to the experience and seeing where it took me.

And so it was natural I would listen to this during labor, the time when you most have to let yourself go to what quite literally feels like waves. That you have to give in to them, ride them, and know you will come out on the other side somehow more than you’ve ever been before.

And the water is taller than me and the land is a mark and a line. All I am is a body adrift in water, salt, and sky…

So I swam.

Posted in five song friday, my tiny revolution, pregnancy | 9 Comments