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Usually we just see Paul on our way out for our nature walks. He says, "Bye ladies," as he opens the door. He always makes sure the girls exit carefully, "Watch your step, ladies." We swoosh out past him, bringing the cold lobby air into the humid D.C. summer. And for a minute as he closes the door, we are little bits of ice, reflected.
The girls and I went down to see Paul, our doorman, at around 2pm. Their birthday is next week, so any number of books and small teddies will be arriving in the mail. So we checked with Paul.
Today, he brings out a familiar shaped package and says, "Looks like books for the girls." We yell goodbye a million times as the elevator door closes and Paul's world is closed to us as we re-enter our own.
5pm and Jeff comes home from work. "I have bad news he says, gravely." I can't imagine what it might be. "Paul died on the job today." And I am in this odd place, having just seen Paul alive, hours before. And now he is dead. Paul wasn't a family member or even a close friend. But he was part of our routine. So I feel the immediate sadness that death itself exists. There is something to say for being sad for someone who has died rather than for yourself and your loss. I am so sad that Paul doesn't get to be alive anymore.
When Archie died last month, Jeff felt like he had to break it to Paul because he really liked Archie. The first year that we lived here, he left an Xmas present for Archie on our doorstep. That is just the kind of guy he was. The package said "To Freddy," so Archie was Freddy for a few days as he ate all the treats that Paul had left. He was a really nice man and beyond that, through all the years that he has been the keeper of the lobby, we never really learned much else. I am hoping that he lived a full life, but I will likely never know.
My new piece for the Etsy Storque went up today. Check it out! You can also see all of my Storque articles, here.
I have to admit, I am the wimpiest twin mom ever. I totally avoid taking the girls places by myself. I tell myself it is for safety. That they totally aren't old enough to listen to me about not running off yet. And this is mostly true. They aren't even 3 yet, so I shouldn't expect them not to get the impulse to just run off. But really, if I work hard every single second of an outing with just me and them, I can overcome being out-numbered.
I did this three times last week. Once, walking them to the park, once pushing them in their stroller nearly a mile to Target and then on Friday, I took them on the Metro to Artomatic to make sure my wall was still there and that the pieces that I have already sold were still in tact. Each time with the girls got easier, but I still found myself repeating the same safety instructions over and over and over again. This has got to be the worst part of being a parent. All the talking. The sound of my own voice.
Hold my hand or you will go home. Don't run away from me or you will go home. If you listen to me you will not fall down. If you head-butt your sister, you will go home. No biting or pushing. Put that back. No cookies. You already got a new toy. Winnie the Pooh is not just for babies. Please do not pick that up.
It just goes on and on and on. If I am lucky, Anya will start to repeat the instructions for me. Rachel, no running. Rachel, do not bub bub me. Rachel, I am going to throw you in the trash. Ok, that last one is of Anya's creation, not mine.
I almost feel like I have to literally push myself into these situations each and every single day or I will just stop. That this crazy exploration of our city has to continue so that this will become our new normal. No more Tuesday mornings inside watching "How I Met Your Mother" on the DVR, I must be out in the world, making the girls experience new things.
At this age, I feel bad that they don't go to "school" if you can call daycare at 3 "school". I know some people do. But in this city, we just can't afford it. We are hoping to be able to afford pre-school in a year when they are 4, so for now, I am their teacher and their best friend and I guess it is ok if I keep pushing myself on to the next adventure. After our trip to Artomatic on Friday, I went to put the girls to bed at 8pm and couldn't wake up. Just slept through my free Friday night. I slept for 10 hours. Grandma sleep. The sleep of a twin mom who is actually pushing herself and not taking the easy at home with My Little Pony route.
Let's see how long I can keep this up. Let's see where I take them next week. Let's see.
***
Oh! My Artomatic wall is still there, on the 8th Floor. I haven't been able to take a photo yet, but here is one that my friend Rania sent me:
Our neighbor smokes out her window. The smoke travels a little path directly to our windows. We don't notice it until it is too late and we are head ache-y and cough-y and sore throat-y.
My girls have asthma. This means that this attack from the girl next store is a big deal. This means they will have asthma attacks in the middle of the night while they sleep. This means they have to sleep with us so that we hear them. This means that we are all in one big bed and we are not comfortable. This means that we do not sleep well. I could go on and on. The winter was fine because we didn't open the windows, but with spring coming, we are noticing it.
I put a note under her door a few weeks ago. We thought she had stopped. But today I was feeling sick and Rachi was rubbing her eyes and Jeff came in to say that the neighbor was smoking out her window again.
I wonder if smokers feel this bad all the time. Like irritable and scratchy throat and head ache-y? If they do, they must be the most miserable people on the planet.
When I was 5, I watched an EMT put one of those hole things in my maternal grandmother's throat. She was a smoker and miserable. I remember thinking, wow, that is dumb, hurting yourself like that. But it was the 70's and she was a poor old woman. Our neighbor is young and lives in the future. So I wonder what her excuse is. I am sorry, but whatever it is, I feel no sympathy. She is pathetic for being addicted to something so disgusting.
So, I put a new note on her door, asking her to please stop harming us. Will see how much of a bad guy she really is. It is likely that someone else will have to deal with her for us. Unfortunately, it is not illegal in DC to smoke in your apartment. I could take my kids to bar and be smoke-free there, though. Perhaps we will go sleep at a bar.
For now, we close all the windows. We shut out the coming spring.
>>photo by Valerie Dryden.
I have mentioned this before, but the girls love trees. They love to say, "Hello, tree. How you doing?" They love to go outside and hug their tree friends. This makes me happy. The girls also like to argue about Barack Obama vs. Hillary Clinton. This makes me laugh. It usually ends with one calling Hillary Clinton a butt hole. This makes me laugh even harder. I am glad that I have kids who can appreciate the beauty of nature as well as the complex political landscape of our country.
I think that Barack Obama likely enjoys trees more than Hillary Clinton. Gonna go ask the girls what they think.
Some photos of us looking at our photos at the Corcoran last night. Thanks to everyone who came out to see us.
Here, Anya points to one of our photos. When she saw this one, she said, "There's Mommy all alone." This was so smart because it was actually the point of the photo! See below, in this one, I am on the phone with Jeff while away at the Bust Craftacular in New York in December.
The girls thought the gallery had a good dance floor.
Rachel and I:
All of us with Valerie:
The girls dresses are by courtneycourtney. They are made from recycled t-shirts.
House hunting, day one. We saw three houses. One was in our price range, the other two just at the top of it.
The first two bedroom "townhouse" was smaller than our apartment and had a pile of rocks for a back yard. All the applicances were older than me and the rugs were stained with pee. We could afford it.
The second one (three bedroom, detached) was stucco and so cute and looked like the Alamo or a house that you would put at the bottom of a fish tank. It smelled like Jeff's grandma's house (a plus) but needed a new kitchen and was in a questionable neighborhood. Jeff loved it. I knew how much it was and felt kinda sick that this was this expensive. But it was cute.
Third house was in a "better" neighborhood, but oh my was it a mess. Same price as the cute underwater house, though. It looked like zombies had been living in it for the past few months. Really. A mess. Closet doors hanging off of hinges, horrible contact paper on the exposed dirty kitchen shelves. A wall had been knocked down in the basement to create one big rec room with a wet bar. Yep, a wet bar. The bar was beautiful stone, but who needs a wet bar? I envisioned zombie key parties. The roof on this one wasn't too good either. The stares to the basement were steep and not baby friendly. Over all, it is a mess. Lots of space in a "better" neighborhood, but a mess and no place for babies to live.
For full disclosure, the first townhouse (less than 900 square feet) was 225k (we saw why) and the other two were 300k. We were a little horrified at what 300k will buy you now adays, but decided to put in a bid on the little fish tank house once we heard back from our loan guy how much the monthly payments would be. We got excited. What a cute little house, sure the neighborhood wasn't great and the kitchen was barely acceptable, but the yard! and the cute porch and it smelled like grandma! So excited. Until the numbers came back about 400 more a month than I thought it would be. I didn't take into consideration the property taxes (soooo high) and insurance and etc, etc, etc. This is my fault. This is my first time doing this. So, no bids from us.
Here's the thing. We got preapproved for about double what we would like to spend on a house. This is not a good place to be in. Without the daycare bill, we would be fine, but here we are in a market trying to buy a house when we can't even afford a condo in the neighborhood where we live now. And the fact of the matter is, we are so much better off than other people. I know this. I know this and it makes me even more angry. This crazy real estate market is making it so that a family like ours cannot buy a decent house in a good neighborhood for less than 350k. Our big problem is a lack of a downpayment. But I told Jeff, even if I have 20k to put down, I wouldn't want to spend it on these places. I wouldn't want to hand over my hard earned cash to live in these run down, barely liveable houses in neighborhoods where I wouldn't send my children to school.
Here's my secret. I don't want to buy a house. I don't want to live in the suburbs. I don't want to work on a fixer upper. I don't want to paint and repair. I don't want to mow the lawn. I don't want to pay a 2000$ a month mortgage for a dirty mess and then have to drive an hour each way to and from work.
What I do want is more space for my children to crawl and play. A yard, a parking space, a bedroom for the girls, etc.
The fact of the matter is that I am not willing to give up our standard of living to buy a house. It seems like everyone tells me, "This is just how the market is. You have to spend this much. You have to live this far out. You have to compromise your lifestyle." Not only do I not know HOW people are buying homes in Washington at these prices, I don't know WHY they are.
So I guess my probelm is that while we NEED a house. I don't want one if it means our quality of living will go down. Buying a house should make your life better, not 50% worse. It is also the principle of the thing. These places aren't worth this much to me, why should I pay it?
I want to just say, I choose to not participate in this.
So I pray for the bubble to burst. I want it to burst and burst loud and fast, not a trickle. I want all the morons who paid 600k for their McMansions to fall hard. I want whoever is going to pay $300k for the zombie house to lose big. I want things to go back to normal so that buying a house means living well again.
For now, Jeff and I search the homes database for townhouses under 250k and laugh at at what we find. Jeff said, "next thing you know, they will start digging holes and selling them to people for $200k." You will go to see the hole and they will still be digging it. "This will be a nice hole," they will tell you. And you will marvel at the beauty of your hole and you will smile and pay for it. And you will wish you had bought the zombie house or the fishtank house or the tiny one with the rocks in the back. Anything to not live in the hole.
We are nomads, Anya and I. Walking the dark shiny spring-winter streets of Washington. When she is 14, I will remember this day. I will remember how she laughed at all the bumps on the street. The dips and the rollercoasting of uneven sidewalks. She is one baby attached to a stroller made for two. She is a twin, I tell people who tell me she is beautiful. She has another. I tell them. All. Of them, I tell. As if Anya isn't enough.
The other space in the stroller is filled with bags and vintage orange wall hangings. Beneath is full, too. 10 years of things packed under there. 10 years of my life packed under this one baby girl. Washington winter is dressed up in spring time, so I drap my couch coat over Anya's feet. Corn toes who don't want to keep their socks on. She is wearing a lavender jogging suit with a cupcake on the front. Team cupcake. And she has a healthy bit of mashed carrots up her nose.
Jeff is at the doctor with the Rachel Roo. She is getting xrays for possible lung weirdness. And again, I find myself with Anya as my sole company. I take her for granted, this Anya. I know I do. She is the loveliest creature alive and I know I don't appreciate this enough.
I am lonely walking home after dark. I am lonely on a street of people with the world's loveliest baby smiling up at me. I take the long way home because I don't want to pass where the cab hit me. I take the long way and I start to cry. I don't know why I am crying, but I know I need to. I don't know if it is the physical difficulty of pushing the baby and my things nearly 2 miles or if it is the sum of my recent actions.
Said ten years of goods under the pram are from my old office. Packed away weirdness that I never needed is going home with me because after ten years of working at the same place with the same people, I have made a change. I am free from it. There were a million reasons to do this and a million reasons not to. I choose the doing. And this is the first time I have cried about it. And my tears are so hot on face. They are so hot in my eyes, like a sinus headache. Painy and hot and real. I want to break down long and hard and cry for a day. But the girl is looking at me, slightly concerned. So, I sing her to sleep. A song about silly Anya is a nomad. And mommy, too. After a long stay is on the move move move.
And we move move move. Up the hill to home. Away from the place where things are easy and people like me. Away from people who I didn't even know I loved.
And tomorrow, there will be new arrangements. And new faces and new configurations. And I will be new. And I will be fine. I will be just fine.
This is a week of parties for me and free food and all that holiday cheer. I am not a party party girl. I am in general a happy girl who wouldn't mind a party if the right people were there. Not sure what that means. But I am not an office party girl. Today we had an IT group holiday (READ: FREE) lunch at noon. Then, at 2, there is a building party and then at 3:30 is a full company party. Insane. Also, this week, we have a daycare party and a building that we live in party and Jeff's work party. Crazy. Why am I tellin gyou this? In a boring way, I am setting up the following encounter, I suppose.
I broke off from the IT group lunch half way back to work. I needed stamps. And chocolate, but mostly just the stamps. The cloudy sky was perfect for this time of year. I hate hate hate sunny cold. I like my cold to be drab. I stopped to check my teeth in a safe-deposit box bank mirror, making sure I didn't have any remants of Cuban pork in my teeth. I noticed that I had been wearing my sunglasses on my head during the whole holiday lunch. And said couldy sky makes this seem weird to me. I am stunned by my reflection. My face is all Kate Winslet pointy when framed by my handmade orange scarf. At least an inch of brown roots make way for blond and then pink and then darker pink hair. The new purple fruit sliced eraser earrings (buy them at http://www.etsy.com/view_item.php?listing_id=41209) look so nice next to the orange scarf and pink hair. I am so much prettier than I feel, I think. I have gained 6 pounds. I am addicted to food again and I have gained 6 pounds. I whisper this to myself. "You look all Kate Winslet pointy right now... but you have gained 6 pounds!"
I make my way through the glass door marked, "please use the revolving door" and down the escalator to the post office. Full and full and so very full, the lines are long at said post office. I need stamps of all kinds, so quickly look around to figure out which line is the best for this. I choose the automated machine that takes debit cards, knowing it will only be able to give me half of what I need. I am in line behind like 3 thin blonds, all tweedy tweed in their winters and knee high boots. My mind is still on the 6 pounds and the pork in my teeth and I am someone's mom. And that is weird because I am not even thinking about those somebodies at all. Then I hear her. A familiar voice is behind me.
"Hello, little one." It is Lydia. My street grandma. She is in the line to see a teller at the post office. The way she addresses me is strange, yet familiar. As if she is really truly my grandmother and has been saying this to me since I was 3. And this surge wells up inside of me that I just can't describe. Lydia is looking tan like she has just come from a tropical vacation. But I realize this is the first time I have seen her inside under the bright lights of the post office. She has a heavy sweater wrapped around her head, turning the arms into a scarf. I make a mental note of this. She needs a scarf. She has an xmas card in her hand as well as a package slip. She must have a P.O. Box here, I think. Oh my, what if my mail to her has come to the P.O. box and she doesn't have an apartment like I think she does. I always worry about this.
I reach for my wallet as she asks me about the babies. I keep a new wallet sized picture in my wallet just for her. This one is of the girls in their Halloween dragon suits. She is so excited to see it. I give it to her and she says this is the best christmas present. "The emperor has two new dragons," she says. She asks me how old they are now and I say, almost 5 months. "Almost 5 months and here you are running around downtown DC," she says. She always worries that I don't spend enough time with my girls. I tell her they are ok and she seems to believe me.
I reach for her hand and hold it for a long minute. My hands are cold from the cloudy December outside. I say sorry my hands are so cold. She doesn't seem to mind and holds my hand while looking at the picture of my girls. We are holding up the line at the post office, my street grandma and I. We part and I wonder what she got in her package. I wonder what her life is really like. I wonder who else out there loves her as much as I do.
I come back to work and the lobby is full of more strawberries and little chocolate cakes than anyone could ever ever eat. I turn to go back out and find Lydia to share the riches. I even think about bringing her to my work xmas party in a few hours, the one where even spouses aren't invited. I don't, though, because she always refuses things like food and money. She just wants to see pictures of the babies. She just wants to hold my cold hands. She just wants to be my grandma for a minute or two.
I have been withholding this information for some reason. I don't know why. It isn't anything big. Just that i had my reunion with my street grandma. It was a day later than it should have been, because, I am ashamed to say, I avoided her once. I didn't have the time it would take to update her on the past 5 months, so I didn't walk down the street where she stands. I saw her, there, though. Something in me also made me feel a little guilty. I think it is about my real grandma and how I don't visit her in the nursing home. She doesn't remember anyone, I tell myself, so it is ok. But it really isn't ok. These things rarely are. Last time that I went to visit, there was a terrible stomach flu raging among the inmates. I didn't get to see her, but I did get the flu. Pregnant and with the flu. Now, Jeff and I agree that a nursing home is too dirty for infants. So, odds are that I may never see her again. This is what made me avoid Lydia, my street grandma, the other day. This sadness and yearning to see my real grandma.
When my parents told my real grandma that I was pregnant with twins, she didn't really remember me. But to the news, she said, "better her than me!" Ah, that is my Margie. Always with the quippy. When my dad told her that she had two new great grandchildren, she looked at him and said, "mike's daughter, right? she had them." All the while, not even knowing that she was talking to Mike. So it was with all of this in my little head that I seek out my street grandma for the first time in 5 months.
Lydia is right where I left her 5 months ago, next to the smoothie place where I get my lunch. As I walk up, she reaches into her giant silver purse and pulls out a pair of pink gloves. She hands them to me without even saying hello. "For you," she says. "They match your hair." To this I wonder how long this woman has had these gloves in her purse. How many times did she search the streets for my pink hair. How much did she worry about me. And this breaks my heart. I am heartbroken at what I have put her through. I am heartbroken at what we put all grandmas through. They don't deserve this.
She tells me that she got my card announcing the birth of the babies. To this I am happy because it means that she indeed does live somewhere and not outside. She also tells me that around July she thought I might not make it. She worried that I was going to die. I came close, I tell her. I give her another picture of the girls and she is delighted. She asks a lot of questions about daycare and seems worried that I am leaving my daughters somewhere unsafe. "And at night," she says. "You have a place to stay at night." To this, I feel so ashamed of my lovely 7th floor apartment with its solarium overlooking the park. I wish she didn't assume that I am poor, but she worries about me.
Lydia wants to buy a present for the babies. She wants to buy them gloves. I tell her I already have some, but they always could use socks. "I know a lady who sells socks," she says, delighted. I tell her to please not buy too much, as I look down at her cup nearly empty except for a dollar and some coins. I offer to buy her lunch, but she smiles and scolds me. "You know I am trying to lose weight and you offer me food!" I see Margie in her smile. I hear Margie when she speaks. And I am heartbroken. And so, I will avoid her corner for a few days until the pain is dulled.
We are all getting into a routine. The girls seem to be eating less times a day and while they aren't going to sleep at 8pm anymore (much to Jeff's sorrow), they are sleeping more deeply at night. I actually had to wake Rachel at about 7 this morning (we were up at 3, but still). I find that they are more interested in waking up to smile and play than to eat. This is cool.
Yesterday I didn't go see them at lunch time, instead I made my way to my favorite sushi by the pound place. I didn't get any sushi during most of my pregnancy, so I am wondering if I still have a taste for it! But, so sad no sushi! The by the pound place is gone! So I got a gyro instead, which was still great. I also stopped in the fabric store and bought a giant blue/grey button for $2, which I made into a ring. A little present for me. Today's lunch adventure will be to find another good sushi place.
I just wrote this in marker on a big pad of paper on the wall at work:
Pounds lost before getting pregnant = 70!
Pounds gained during pregnancy = 80!
Pounds lost since giving birth = 56.5!
This is the first step on my new weight loss adventure. Announcing it. I will tell anyone what I weigh. I weigh 248.5. That sounds really heavy, but it is nothing compared to the 305 the day I gave birth! I am currently wearing a size 20 and my goal is a size 14. My weight goal is 180. So, I have 68.5 pounds to drop. Oh that will be a piece of cake! wink wink. I think it will take about 14 months.
So. First step was to tell all.
Second step is to increase exercise.
Third step is to increase water intake and swtich back to diet pop.
Fourth step is to smallen portions.
Fifth step is to change what I eat.
I have done steps one and two. I will let you know when I for real do step three. But I think that steps one and two are good enough for this week. I think I will see a change on Monday when I weigh in.
If you weren't with me for my first weight loss adventure, I must sound like a total nut. Gender politics are really wrapped up in the weight and weight loss for me. The "fat positive" movement kept me down for a long time. I mean kept me fat! And while I always feel lovely no matter what I weigh, I am a bit obsessed with dropping the pounds for health reasons and also for emotional reasons. I love to know that I CAN do it. That I can do anything. The ability to change my body gives me this ultimate power. Once I get started I will be slightly addicted to it. But the truth is, right now, I love cheese fries. I love hazelnut 5 Star bars. Oh and guacamole! I love to eat. This is what I am up against.
It is funny. Embarking on this second weight loss adventure is way more low key than the first. And I think that is because I know that I sort of dodged a bullet with the first one. I can't imagine what it would have been like to have gotten pregnant with twins at my original 290 pounds. I would have died. I would be dead. Plus, this time around... I know I can do it. It isn't a question of if, but a question of when.
It is 9:51 pm on a Monday night and we are the only people on the little white bus going from Woodley Park to U Street. The girl in my front pack has finally calmed down after a good deal of hopping and binky giving on my part. Your girl is wearing a blue hoody sweatshirt that you picked out before she was born. Her head is turned and I can only see her tuft of hair. You look so tired in this blue bus light and I am filled with so much love that I can't stand it. At the bus stop you said we were like Mai and Satsuki waiting for the cat bus in Totoro. Iconic. But this moment is equally as iconic. I say that we are like a scene in a movie, the light is just right. You joke that they don't make movies about people with babies. But here we are, we will never be in this place again, on a night bus with 8 week old babies. You in your Bungee baseball cap and me with my pink hair. Some day when we can't afford this city lifestyle, I will remember this. It is funny how life always takes me to exactly where I need to be. And last night on that bus with you and the babies was that place.
**************************************
below is my new hair in phases... first the bleaching, then the new pink with some blond. the baby is rachel.
The world still exists and we live in it.
Let's try again. This week, I learned that the world still exists beyond the window that I look out over the changing table. And that we girls indeed do live in it.
On Thursday, Jeff, the girls and I went to the Crafty Bastards party at the CityPaper offices. So at 6 weeks old, my wee ones have been to their first party. We got to meet Sara and the whole Crafty Bastards crew there who were so nice. Then we saw Heidi and Tom, who we adore. Oh my, the arts and craft fair is only 21 days away! Dude, I have a lot ot make before then. Here is a picture of me and the girls that I stole from Heidi's website:
Then on Friday morning, I trekked down the hill more than a mile to my work to show off the girls. I almost cried the last block there because I hadn't walked there is so long and hadn't seen those places in so long. I have worked in the same building for over 10 years and I never thought turning the corner and seeing it would make me cry, but it did. Weird. Everyone at work was so nice and excited to see me and the babies. It was pretty touching. And reminded me of the world/life? I have been missing/missed.
On my way out, the Indian street vendor and his wife in front of the building stopped me excitedly. I have literally walked past these people for ten years, and never talked to them other then to buy an umbrella. The woman was talking really fast, while the man translated. They were worried about me because all of a sudden I had stopped walking past them. They remembered watching me get bigger and bigger during my pregnancy and then I just wasn't there anymore. They were so excited to see me and the babies and were so surprised to see two! They had just become grandparents for the first time in June and were so excited to tell me about it. It was this amazing experience, like something from a Krzysztof Kieslowski movie. This perfect intersection of people and places and things. It reminded me that even though you don't know it, there are people in your life who love you and think about you. Just as you love and think about the person you see on the bus everyday or the man in the elevator with the funny hair. That we all have a story and connections and secret caring for strangers.
Pushing my giant double stroller, I made my way home, stopping at Chocolate Chocolate first for 5 Star bars. The store is so tiny that only the girls and I fit in it. I walked past the Gap, thinking about how excited I was when I could finally wear clothes from there and how excited I will be when I can again. My former life as this carefree girl all came flooding back to me. And I remembered how the dirty streets of Washington were always so inspiring. On bedrest at home and now caring for babies, I missed how dirty the streets really are. I missed all the smells and trash. I missed the allies and the panhandlers. I missed the world. But it still exists and I still live in it. And now there are two more. Two more people who live in it. I hope that some day my girls can be inspired by random trash and side streets. I have a lot of work to do before we get there, but we will.
>>> Jeff holding his youngest daugher (Anya). They both look sooo sleepy.>>>>
It is 3:41 on a Friday and you cannot imagine how much I need Jeff to be home for the weekend. And for his mom to come. I hate that i feel this way, but I need a break from babies. For the past 3 days, I have been not much more than a baby sofa. A big, soft place for babies to recline. This is nice and warm and lovely and I am glad that I am comfy to them (daddy likes to tell them how sorry he is that he is so boney), but there are so many other things that I want to work on. I am actually typing this with one hand!:)
While I am admitting things, let me tell you something else. I am eating like a pig. Gourmet chocolate bars, mac&cheese, pizza. There is no end to the bad eating. It is stress eating because I'm not even tasting it. There, I admitted it. First step to making it stop. I am holding steady at 248, which means only 20 or so more pounds to drop to get to pre-pregnancy weight, so that is good. But I fear I will see the scale creep up if I don't chill the hell out.
Eileen and I took the girls to the Whole Foods yesterday, which really increased my confidence in dealing with the girls in the world. It was also about a mile walk (maybe less), so I got to feel my leg muscles work for the first time in maybe 6 months. I was stiff this morning, like a new runner. She and I sat in the front of the store with the babies and there was much laughter. She made me miss having a full-time friend. Someone who lives near me and just shows up to sit around and do nothing. Eileen has been this amazing part of the past month for me. She and I were friends for a long time until more than a year ago when she moved half a world away to Chile. Then, on the day my girls were born, she blew into town for her own life event. And I have been so lucky to see her every few days since then. Yesterday was her last day with us, but she reminded me about the importance of community, the importance of letting people in. All of our friends have helped me with this in the past month, actually. I have never ever seen so much generosity of things and spirit.
In the Whole Foods, we watched people try to figure out whose babies these were. It was funny because Eileen with her wonderful dark hair could easily be their mom. And perhaps I look a little too immature to be someone's momma. While I wish she still lived here so that we could run around town letting people think we were a two mom family (lots of that in our town, actually more two dads) and wonder which one of us had the babies, I am so glad that she has found a place that she loves. I am so glad that she lives her life the way she wants to. Hopefully some day, I will take my girls to see her where ever in the world she is living. Below is a picture of Eileen holding Rachel. But I do do do miss having a full time friend. Oh well, it isn't like I have much time for new friendships right now. Perhaps I am holding my new full time friend right now. Perhaps I am forming two right now.
>>>>Eileen with Rachie>>>>>
We ventured into the world today. It did a lot for me emotionally. Will write more on that when it isn't 2 am. Isn't Jeff the cutest dad in the world?
OK. 5 am now. Waiting for Anya to fully wake so I can feed her.
Ok. 7 am now. Anya cried, but wouldn't wake up to eat, so here I am again. Waiting to see eyes and a tongue before I will feed her. My world is full of sleepy, yet hungry babies. They don't know which one they would rather be. If I were breastfeeding this wouldn't be a problem, but these stupid formula bottles have a shelf life. Formula also smells like trash. Great. It is my birthday and also the end of toxic breast milk. I will try to breast feed today. I worry it won't work, we will see. I should have had a lactation consultant lined up for today.... we will see how it goes.
Walking in the world yesterday made me feel so much more normal. I weighed 249 yesterday. 56 pounds less than the day I gave birth. I can't imagine that I had 56 pounds of extra fluids, so I hope some of it was fat. 25 more pounds and I am back down to pre-pregnancy weight. I wore a non-maternity shirt yesterday (Q and Not U t-shirt!), but I am still stuck with maternity pants because of the c-section and all of my extra skin.
Katie, who I have only met a few times, sent me the most lovely email the other day about how we as women feel closer to others who have gone through this whole childbearing thing. It made me think and worry about the women I have known. Why is it that there seems to be this quiet surrounding childbearing. No one ever talked to me about it until I got pregnant. Why aren't birthing stories a huger part of our culture? There are 14 tv shows about investigating murder, but none about giving birth. I think women need to stop being so quiet about these experiences. And that whole TLC "A Baby Story" is so sanitized. Why is it called a baby story? It isn't about the baby. Anyway... I just wish women would start wearing their birthing stories on their sleeves. But I guess they don't because most people don't want to hear them or can't relate. Also, they don't because these stories are messy and scary and life-changing and who talks about these things in normal conversation. I have a new, deeper respect for women. All women, because even if they haven't gone through this, they have the ability to. I wish our culture would allow, encourage? us to share our experiences in more profound ways. More profound than complaining about weight gain and body changes. I can't imagine not liking what this pregnancy has done to my body. I can't imagine hating myself that much, like so many American women do.
Then there is the reality of the babies. This is hard. Sometimes I look down at them and am filled with so much love. Sometimes I wonder when this will end. Knowing that this won't ever end overwhelms me. Loving them so much overwhelms me. I know it is only slightly worse/better for me because I have two. I want to think that my experience is unique because I have two, but I know those of you out there with one baby at a time have had the same experiences. But mine are just doubled.
There is loveliness in the loneliness of a nearly empty bus when you are running late to work. I can see my pink and blue sneakers in the big bus mirror and my feet swing swing to new words and sounds from Suki and I almost wonder how this rainy world could get better. And this is a repeat repeat of things I have said or thought before, but skinny boys are pretty and even more so when they have pink cheeks in June.
Yesterday, Jeff said, remember when we got off the plane in London at Heathrow and rather than leave with our luggage to begin our vacation, we just sat in the airport. We had only planned that far. Off the plane and now what? It didn't last long, maybe only 30 minutes, maybe less. But there we were, regrouping in this new environment. It is a good memory, one in which we both were feeling this slight fear of what to next. So we just sat there holding hands, sleepy after a night of no sleep on our first plane over the ocean. We talked about just going to sleep right there, we were so tired. Instead we got on the Tube, picking it over other options of getting to our hotel on a Monday morning at 7am. I remember exiting the Tube station, after picking one of 5 exits at random and looking up to see our hotel right there. And even though our room wasn't supposed to be ready until 2pm, I asked nicely and we got it right then and went right up and went to sleep. Not at all upset that the first few hours of our first vacation in another country would be spent sleeping. I remember how happy we were that we had made all the right choices without getting upset at each other the way people may do when they are stressed and tired. I think this is what it will be like when the tiny girls get here. We will look at each other and remember that morning in London when we were exhausted from no sleep and didn't have a clue what to do next and how if we work together, things usually are fine.
I know that bringing home two infants is nothing like going on vacation to London. :) And that comparing them might make me sound a little naive. But I just think all the years that Jeff and I have been together have made it so that we are able to face things with this sense of calm. But it only works together. I don't think either of us can get there without the other. It makes me wonder when reading the baby books... who are these men who have to be told that their wives need help with new babies? How do these men written about in these books function in their marriages? And who are these women who would think to have babies or even lives with people who aren't complete partners? I mean really? How do these people function in their separate pods in their separate lives, all the while pretending to be together? Jeff wonders these things too, because all of the books about fatherhood that he has read spend all this time reminding men that their wives need help with new babies. We are too modern. Him and I, I fear we are.
Last night I nightmared that I gave birth to the passengers and they looked like they look on the ultrasound, see-through and flat. I forgot their names and kept checking for their heartbeats. Breastfeeding them made them turn into less flat versions of themselves, but then they looked like baby birds when they first hatch. All veiny and purple and gross. And there was something about the ocean and being sweep up by waves.
Getting a slurpee at the 7-11 this weekend, the man that worked there didn't have the best English language skills. While checking out my boobs, he said, "You like slurpees? Is that why you are fat?" I should have been offended by this. Any normal person would have. I said, "No. I am fat because I am pregnant with twins. Before getting pregnant with twins, I lost 70 pounds. And now, I am fat again." To this he said, "I am so sorry." Which just made me laugh and laugh. Then he pointed to my wedding ring and said, "Oh I see now." It was so funny because this whole conversation went on as if he were flirting with me. I wonder if it is ok to call a woman fat in his culture? If that is a compliment. He was lucky he said it to me and not someone who would have been offended.
Speaking of weight. I have now gained 30 pounds since getting pregnant. I am weighing in at 257 and am fine with it. 22 weeks, 30 pounds. If I can get through these next 15 weeks or so gaining only a pound a week, I will be happy. It is weird. Since I lost 70 pounds before, anything less than that gained in a twin pregnancy is fine with me. My tummy is finally starting to get a little round... while some pregnant women get this little perfect round thing, I have seem to be growing a full square in the middle of my body. I remember how it was so cool to unearth my bones when losing the weight. Like an archaeologist digging for ancient history. Now, I am losing the bones again, under hard mounds of placenta and babies. I tried to find my pelvic bones yesterday, an amazing find some months ago, now hidden deep within me again. I wonder when I will see them again, if I will see them again. And I giggle at worrying over it. So far, pregnancy has only effected my middle, though. My neck and cheek bones are still on display. No matter what, I find it all utterly fascinating and wouldn't change a minute of it.
I saw Lydia again. She didn't have any money in her cup, so I avoided having to try and refuse a dollar from her for the babies. I tried to give her a dollar, though, and she said to keep it for the babies.
She told me she liked my easter hair today. And also told me about going to the Easter Egg Roll at the White House yesterday. She said she found it very interesting, which was a lovely professory way to put it. I mentioned it must have been cold, since yesterday was miserable with wind and rain and frigid temps. To this she told me the story of the poncho. That while she was bundled up in her raincoat, she had gone to CVS and bought a poncho just in case. She saw a little boy who was wearing just shorts and a t-shirt and she gave him her poncho. She was very happy with herself about this. And it made me think about how she must have been doing this her whole life. Giving people things. And this made me sad. Because here she is, panhandling extra money to survive.
She pulled out her wallet to give me something and to my surprise it was a folded piece of stationary with her name and address on it. It was as if she were waiting to give it to me for weeks. And again, I hear the ding ding of being in an RPG and getting a magical object that will help me on my quest. She told me that she would only be able to live at her apartment for another 6 months because the whole block is being sold and asked if i would keep an eye out for an apartment for $600 a month because that is how much she gets in social security. Perhaps this is what I am supposed to do for her.
As if it just dawned on her, she asked how the the little easter bunnies are. And again, I am touched, so touched, that this old woman is asking me about the passengers.
I sit here now, looking at her name and address, and realize that finally I know she actually exists, since I have wondered many times if she is just in my head.
The pink hair caused a big ruckus while I was getting my lunch today. I would imagine it is because it is all out and big today and not put back in panda ears. It made me think about the benefits of not being so visibly loud. This made me think of what kind of long term affects my pink hair have on people? haha. No, seriously. I worry sometimes that I negatively impact little kids with it. I always here little girls telling their moms, "I want pink/blue/purple hair," as I walk by. I wonder how often my whimsy causes a mom to say "no" to her daughter.
Ah, and I always move back to motherhood. Last night, I had a bit of explosion of emotions. I think that being pregnant with twins has made me ignore my worries about becoming a mother in general. I am so wrapped up in the whole twin thing, that my old phobias about motherhood have been stuffed away. So, last night, I saw this Cingular wireless commerical, where a set of super cool in that O.C. way male triplets all come home from college for their mother's birthday. I reacted to this commerical in such a crazy way. It sent me to the bedroom in angry tears. I told Jeff about the commerical and about how those guys totally don't love their mother. They love beer and skiing and whatever cool O.C. boys love. And that I wondered what the whole point of this was since no one I knew really loved their mother. This was just totally out there and Jeff let me know it.
I guess I just worry that no matter what I do, at some point, my kids will feel like I harmed them somehow. Like I loved them too much or not enough or who even knows. Everyone is messed up somehow and it seems more than ever, people blame it on their parents. Maybe deep down, I have this fear of being rejected by my kids; even though I know it is a natural part of growing up.
I am sure all new moms worry about these things. I know I am not the first. And once again I think about how lucky I am that so many of the real worries of pregnancy are voided for me by modern medicine and life. That I can afford these emotional concerns. I wonder what the top concern of my greatgrandma who had 22 kids was. I am sure it wasn't being rejected by her children or not being loved. I'm sure it was food and clothes and losing her little ones to illness.
I am lucky. I am a fortunate panda. I am golden. I need to remember these things.
It happened again. My street grandma gave me a dollar again today. Despite my attempts at giving it back to her. She put it in my shirt this time, when I tried to give it back! She told me it was for luck. I told her about how my real grandma used to do that when i was little. She told me she was doing it because my real grandma wasn't there to do it. Once again, I offered to get her something. Once again she refused. She thanked me for talking to her. Told me it made her happy and once again asked if I knew her daughter. I asked if she knew where her daughter lived and she said no, but she had a card from her.
Again she asked me what I would name the babies. And when i said I had some time to decide, she said, yes, a few days to decide. And this reminded me of how fast time moves. A few days, indeed, I thought. Life is really but a few days.
I said goodbye and went to get my lunch. I picked out a nice piece of banana bread for her. And just like yesterday, I exited the store and she was no where to be found. I searched the streets for her, perhaps she had just moved to another corner. But nothing. I thought about the thin line between people again and wondered if I was at the beginning of some sort of freaky life experience or time travel movie or something I can't explain. Perhaps she is a character in an RPG (role playing game) video game. And I must do the right thing for her in order to move forward in my quest. I wish I knew.
So, I walked back to work, with my lunch and this dollar in my hand. Wondering what to do with it. I gave it to the first homeless man I saw. Then someone at my work scolded me for giving the man the dollar because he has seen the man take a cab to our sidewalk to beg every morning. Thus, I felt terrible, like the woman's dollar was wasted.
My pretend grandma says her daughter's name is Patricia Kay. But I don't know how true that is. I live in Washington, DC and see Lydia on the street around 17th and K. Maybe someone out there knows them. Maybe this is what I am supposed to do.
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Doctor's appointment and sonogram tomorrow afternoon. I am excited to see the passengers again. To see how they are doing in there. They have been so quiet.
I just saw her again. My street grandma. Long time readers will know what I am talking about. The sometimes panhandling woman who I have talked to for years. I walked up to her today, not intending to give her money (because I didn't have any cash), but intending to ask her if I could get her something. Instead she hands me a dollar straight out of her cup and tells me to get myself a soda. I try to give it back, but she refuses. I say I can't drink soda because I pregnant. And to this, it is as if I am telling my real grandma that I am pregnant. She is so happy for me. So so happy. Her eyes sparkle with tears and I wonder if there is some thing in the world that links all people and lets you speak to those you can't speak to anymore through someone else. In my mind, I see the thin silver line between this woman and my own grandma, miles away in the Alzheimer's unit. And wonder if information can travel this way, from one unknown person to another.
Today, I learn my street grandma's name is Lydia. She wants to know if I know her daughter. I say I don't. She seems fine with that, but tells me to keep an eye out for her. She tells me about the little room on 11th street that her social security pays for. And I am relieved that she isn't homeless. I once again try to give her the dollar back, but she will not have it. We talk about the passengers and she wants to know what we will name them. This begins a ramble about famous queens and czars and things and about the history of Turkey for some reason and I see her mind isn't as clear as I thought it was. I tell her it is lovely to see her, as if we have just had some sort of tea party and she tells me she will be thinking of me.
I get my lunch and add in a bunch of things for her. Some strawberries, an apple and a box of raisins. I want to give her a variety to choose from. But as I exit into the sun, she is gone. I whisper to myself, perhaps she isn't real. But I have a dollar in my wallet to prove it. And I think of visiting my great grandmother when I was little and her sneaking a dollar under the table to me. As I got older, I would try to refuse the money as I did today. It seems that all grandmas are linked somehow, I suppose. And there is this thin line between all people and we are lucky when we can see it. It usually hides from us so.
First entry today: Place past fear
Someone just emailed me about my captain's log on the place past fear. This was my email response:
I remember the first time I got to that place past fear. A friend and I went on the Batwing rollercoaster. No, really. I was flying face down on the rollercoaster, looking at the ground below me, thinking, if I die right now, it is ok. I can't be afraid anymore of anything. I was so quiet. And Brian kept screaming next to me, "Are you ok?" And all the times I was ever afraid in my whole life passed before me. And I thought, this is the place past fear. This is the calm after fear. The fear of being afraid is far worse than the actual fear, ya know? But the calm after you accept the fear is the thing, the strength.
I just remember thinking... this is how I will get through giving birth someday. This is how I will get through whatever life sends me. I will remember this place, flying through the air, looking down at the green green grass and I will tell myself to step right beyond the fear and grab the calm. And to stop being afraid of being afraid.
And now to the less serious part. Someday, I hope to get Jeff on a rollercoaster! Or perhaps my passengers will be little daredevils like me and their dad can stay safely on the ground like the smart person that he is.
For a while my hair was fading to a very pale pink and lavendar. I figured that since I couldn't re-bleach, I would just do with the pale colors I was becoming. I have to say that I also thought, well, I am becoming a mom, I won't need to be so crazy with my appearance anymore. I have to say this was just a little bit of depression that made me think that way.
On Sunday, Jeff took a bath to soak his poor broken toe. This gave me a reason to hang out in the bathroom for a while and talk to him. Hmm, what can I do in the bathroom for that long? I searched through the linen closet for my hair dyes and found one that I had never used. Atomic Pink! As long as I don't bleach, I am fine. So I went at it. And now I have this full head of Atomic Pink hair with like 2 inches of brown roots. I feel like a rock star. Haha.
I just went outside to get my lunch and the sun is happy, but the air is still cold. Spring is still dressed like winter. And her wind blows my pink hair everywhere. And I am the only pink haired pregnant girl on the streets of downtown Washington. And this makes me feel special even though I am special without those things. But this makes me feel like a giant ball of joy. I am a force of joy. I am. I am. A force. I am.
For this pink and blue haired pregnant girl, Washington, DC is like a tiny town.
Around every corner, I encounter people who I might not remember, but who know me and ask me how I am doing. I feel like I am living in Mayberry rather than a fast moving capitol city. The woman at the post office asks if I know what they are yet. I am taken off guard. A downtown direction-giver chases me down the street to ask me how I am feeling. A homeless man says, "hey blue, I haven't seen you in a while, when you gonna dye your hair a new color?"
Of course, this is all because I have been walking around town for over a year with a full head of blue or pink or green hair. And people wanna talk to me about it. And now that it is growing out, I have to tell them why I am not coloring it anymore which means I tell complete strangers that I am 3 months pregnant. This delights people. People love pregnant women. They all love to tell me how wonderful it will be for my kids to have such a cool mom. And I am stunned and touched by the ability of people to be so loving and sweet to someone they don't even know.
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On Saturday, Jeff and I met up with a set of 5 year old identical twin boys and their mom, Kristen. It was really interesting to spend time with the boys and see how while they were identical, they were very different. I never once couldn't tell them apart. They were charming and happy and wonderful kids. At one point, their mom told them to tell each other secrets, which resulted in them huddling together, all whispers. Brilliant! I put that one in my pocket for later.
Benn who likes and wears blue told us about how babies come out of your "'gina" and Dylan who likes and wears green liked to tell us who was who in the baby pictures that they brought with them. That was the second thing I learned. The kids will want to know who is who in baby pictures! I never would have even thought about it. Their mom really did a lot to quell my fears about giving birth and dealing with the first year. She also brought us all these books about twins, which Jeff and I are now reading through.
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I am now in full maternity clothes. Before I started to grow, I was horrified at having to wear them, but not now. It is such a relief to put on this huge flowy shirt. I feel so much better. Every night, twins girls continue to show up in my dreams. Last night, they were about 14 and one was goth and the other was dressed all vintage June Cleaver. The goth one was a happy goth who really secretly wanted to be her sister. The vintage one was very proper. Then I dreamed about two clear eggs with tiny full grown people in them. I cut the top off the eggs and pulled out these slimy people. Gross, but funny. It made me think about making gummy placentas with babies in them. I know, have a sick sense of humor.
This is what is going on with my passengers, thanks to ivillage:
:::Measuring in at about seven centimeters crown to rump, and weighing about two ounces, your baby-to-be (babies) will spend the rest of the pregnancy concentrating on growing and becoming strong enough to live outside the uterus. Your babys' intestines have now moved from outside the body to inside the abdomen. While your baby won't be saying "Mommy" for some time, vocal cords are now developing. Your fetus also has developed many reflexes and will squirm inside of you if your abdomen is prodded.:::
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It is official. I just bought all the food in the world. I have been battling dizziness for the past two weeks, so I am now trying to combat it with food, mostly protien. I just got back with my lunch which includes:
fruit smoothie with soy protien
roast beef sandwich with cheddar cheese and veggies
hard boiled egg
banana
apple
cheese and crackers
cashews
bagel with creamcheese
I just finished the sandwich and can't even think of eating anything else. But the goal is to finish it all by the end of the day. It was hard for this former fat girl to buy all of that food at once. It will be even harder to eat it all considering that during my weight loss journey, just months ago, I would have just eaten the egg and the fruit for lunch. What a change. Wish me luck.
look at me shrink. now, look at me grow. look at me age. and the world moves around me.
My daily walks have turned into bus rides and I now love riding the bus. If i sit far enough back, I can make it so that my feet don't touch the floor of the bus and that is magical. Suki sings to me on shuffle from her little white and silver frame and I dangle my feet. Lalala. The whole ride, I am itchin to get off and walk the next block home or to work, just so I can move move move. And I do, like a race horse, I'm out the gate, surrounded by cold bus air and people and I love my world.
I have been thinking of the things that I want to teach my kids to love or do or appreciate. Here's my list so far: color, feeling their muscles work, jumping on the bed, making noise, laughing big and loud and deep and for real, animals (but specifically small details about animals, like a seal's teeth or a bird's feet or a dog's nose), calling old people dude (it always takes them off guard), weather (good and bad). Oh there is so much more.
Things I wanna teach my kids are bad and should be avoided: the circus, joining the military, organized religion, smoking, most mass market fiction, hunting, the lottery, the actress meryl streep. I am sure there is more, but those are the most important. But really, I don't want to be the kind of parent who ever tells their kids they can't do something. If my kids have some crazy idea, I want them to be able to see it through. No matter what it is (unless it is in the list above). Like if my girls become nuns who play the lottery and love meryl streep, I will be so disappointed. I am being funny, but I really don't like the selflessness of giving your life to God or your country. I don't want to raise selfish people, but I do want my children to love life enough to want to take it and make it theirs and enjoy it and live it. I know that in America, these are not popular views, but I can't curb how I feel about those things. END RANT. hehe.
My clones should be about 2-1/2 inches each now. My tummy is starting to grow. And I am in love with the world today. It moves all around me and inside of me and nothing could be better.
i saw her again just now. my pretend grandma. she was standing on the corner with a cup. i never know if she is collecting money because she doesn't look homeless. and i see her on her way to work in the morning. i have seen her on her way to work and panhandling off and on for 10 years. we always talk. we always smile.
merry christmas, she said as I walked past her to the CVS. Merry Christmas, I replied. The whole time in the CVS, I am thinking about her cup and whether or not she is actually panhandling or just standing there in the freeze with a cup. And I wonder if at 74, she even knows. So, I take $5 out of my wallet and make my way out to see her. I walk up to her with my $5 and try to give it to her.
No, she says. You need it for your holiday. No, I don't, I say. Now I am getting worried that I am offering money to someone who is indeed NOT panhandling. No, really, this is for you, I say. To this she says, you know what I want you to do with that? I want you to have a christmas party for all the little kids. She says this with a twinkle in her eye. I ask her if I can give her a hug. I do. And i whisper, it is nice to see you. I whisper this and in my arms I feel my own grandma. Fraile and soft. I pull away and my pretend grandma's eyes are sparkley with tears. This is a bad tv moment, but it is ok.
:::::: i am ice and clouds :::::::
no, really. i am.
i walked out of the His Dark Materials stage play having forgotten that I wasn't in Washington. Three hours in the world of Lyra and Pantaliamon and Will and Dust will do that to you. This evening has been a series of accidental loveliness. First, on our way to the Tate Modern this morning, we walked past the National Theater, which is funny since I hate theater. No really. I hate it. Anyway,, I usually wouldn't have given it a second glance... but then I saw the poster for the first part of the His Dark Materials stage plays. I started yelping and jumping and it was like my vacation had finally begun. We ran into the theater and of course as Americans, we asked for what we wanted, tickets for tonight. Smug British girls tells us that it is sold out and the first tickets she has is for ummm.... January. Bugger all. Then she tells us we can que up for some 20 or so day seats on Friday morning at say, 9. Hmm... Ok. I look at the poster outside and it says that the play isn't even playing on Friday. Back in I go and find the cutest ticket boy and ask him. He smiles at me and says, let us see if there are any open seats for tonight since last you asked. Umm. Let us, I say. Oh yes, 2 tickets in the 5th row for tonight. View is a bit restricted at times, side of the stage. £10 each. Whoohoo! I say. I make my way out into middle of the sea cold that is the edge of the Thames and smile a tiny evil smile to show Jeff that I have a secret. Tickets! Anyway, so something we didn't even know existed (well sorta) hours ago is now in our grasp. How you read the His Dark Materials books by Philip Pullman? Well, you need to and you will know why this is a big deal and why I am going on and on about it.
So, the stage play was 3 hours long and combined the first book with half of the second book and the daemons were these amazing puppets with actors in black doing the voices and Lyra was spunk spunk and Wil was spot on and wow wow. The theater was full full of little British kids and teenagers and to hear an 8 year old British boy talk to his brother about the stage play of a series of 3 books about the trials of a girl who must fight the church to save the world and lots of other things like portals to other worlds... wow, amazing.
AND before this amazing play, we didn't have time for the Tate Modern, who does when they are on the way to the theater, afterall? .... so we stop by the Saatchi Gallery, which we had gotten a postcard from a man named Mikee on the street about earlier in the day. We had been waffles about going there since it was £8.50 and not free and they seemed to have street teams of folks to get us in. How good could it be? Um. Amazing. Can you say, real dead shark in a huge tank as art? Um... frelling amazing.
lalalala. check it out:
http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/county/county.htm
the shark art is huge and huge and huge... it is by Damien Hirst, check him out.
Ok... so here I am, 11:34 in the basement of a Burger King in London, writing to you. The wall of the Tube said "I am ice and clouds". I put that in my mind and take the stairs to the street...a cold wind blows up my courdory skirt and I feel like the captain of a great ship. And I am glad I wore the tights instead of the knee socks. I am a good captain. I am ice and clouds.
British girls have been serenading (sp?) me all morning. Heavenly and Helen Love and Comet Gain. It makes me wonder if Suki knows my travel plans. Then I realize that no, it is just her lovely shuffle songs mode. I take every corner like a dance floor. I know I tell you that all the time, but this morning, I really did. Lalalala. I am all velvety and pink today. My clothes, not my skin. Happiness surges through me and I realize that I love my walks to work best of all my time alive because it is exercise and feels so good. Blood pumping through my body. I wonder who I am and how I became this lovely girl. Perhaps I am possessed by some happy demon. A good witch or something.
I smile at everyone I pass and they look at me like I am insane because I am pink and they are grey. A woman with very fat ankles does not suffer my foolishness and I want to hug her to tell her she is pretty but could also be more pretty if she smiled. I think about how I love pretty so much than angry now. Pretty. Angry. I think about the words and how they sound the same, but mean the different. Pretty angry. Pretty. Angry. They tick tock in my head like a big old clock. I remember being angry. It makes me smile because it is such a distant memory. Mary Lou Lord coos to me now. She isn't british, but she is lovely and pretty. I never thought I would adore pretty, but I do so with exurberance. I never thought I would think of myself as pretty. But I do and it is like fireworks. Whatever that means.
Here is one view from my new rooftop deck. You can't see everything from this one and the view is much more breathtaking at night. But here is the first picture:
And here is a picture that I took of Brian and I on the roof this afternoon. As usual, as I am told I don't look as happy or smilely as I really am. I can't smile on command. Plus, I was talking to Brian when I took this and the sun was in my eyes eyes eyes, so I am all small eyes. Brian looks all happy though. Sillly Brian, making me look not as happy because he looks so happy. I promise to the people who complain, I will try to post a picture of me smiling more.
Today was lovely. Jeff, Brian and I went to see Shaun of the Dead, which was very very enjoyable. Brian has now been redeemed for dragging us to see at least one very bad movie in the past few months. It wasn't his fault, but he was really wanting_needing this one to be funny. He got it! Lucky duck.
Tomorrow night we are all going to see the Mountain Goats, who i haven't seen in actual years. I hope he is still good. I love that new record, even though it is about divorce and very sad. I have been a busy busy girl lately. All party party. Well, not party, but busy fun outside of the house girl. I think it is because of October. It is my favorite month to be alive. To exist. To experience life.
Tonight we begin our crazy Farscape marathon. We have to watch all of season 4 in like 7 days. I have no idea how. We will see.
I looked for myself in a bathroom mirror today and couldn't find me. Haha. I just didn't recognize myself. I love that. I am always so used to seeing this huge fat girl in the mirror and when i see a smaller person, i wonder where I am. I worry sometimes about not being a fat girl anymore. I worry that I won't be pretty if I lose too much weight. That must sound funny to girls who fear being fat. That I fear being thin. But it is the truth and I must share it. But then I realize, no matter what, i will always still be a big girl and I love that. I can work hard to accomplish the weight loss, but still stay pleasingly plump and curvey and girly. So, I end up with the best of all worlds. A sense of accomplishment and still pretty pretty plump. I guess that is the upside of starting at nearly 300 pounds. Haha. I can always find a positive side to every frelling thing.
This is a strange time. A flux time. I am in flux. But you already knew that. Sorry to repeat. But it bares repeating. It is worth repeating. Repeat. Forward. Repeat and forward again. Move forward. Repeat. Don't be a still shark. You will die. Still sharks die. So keep moving and swimming. Ahead. Remember. Ahead. Ahead. Ahead. No matter where it takes you. Ahead is always the right way to go.
eternal sunshine of the spotless mind came out on DVD yesterday. I went to Borders at 8 am before work to pick it up. Borders didn't have it yet. Poop! They told me it wasn't out yet. They were wrong. The commericals were telling me otherwise. I was so disappointed. It really is my favorite movie in the past few years.
So, today, I went again. Jeff and I went after lunch and looked around for it. It wasn't in the new releases racks. Poop again! But then I found it in the Comedy section. I don't think it is a comedy. It is more of a drama. Anyway, I have it now. whoohoo! But Lost is on tonight and the presidental debates are on tomorrow, so it looks like I will have to wait to until Friday to watch it again.
I was counting my ninjas last night. I keep fearing that I won't have enough and then that no one will buy any at all. Haha. I will post a picture of all of the little guys tonight. It is just this massive pile of ninjas. Massive. ;)
the blimp
"there is a huge white blimp hovering over us," jeff said as he brought archie in from his walk this morning. "just turn down corcoran and you will see it. it is really low and unmarked."
so there i was, standing on 16th street in washington, dc, looking at this huge white bobbing blimp hovering above me. marvelous. it was so low, i felt like i could reach out and touch it. the capsule part that holds the people at the bottom was all shiny and flashing like a tiny lighthouse. a tiny bobbing lighthouse in the sky. what was that flashing? someone taking pictures? someone taking pictures from an unmarked blimp on a lovely day in the city. what would it be like to be that someone? is it a job or just for fun? and who let's blimps fly around this close to the White House.
I was the only one looking up. Everyone else just kept walking. It made me wonder if it was real. But I knew it was since Jeff told me about it. It also made me wonder what I am missing by not looking around every corner every day. What marvelous sights escape me. I almost ran inside for my camera, but the giant thing started to float up, higher and higher. And I thought a picture wouldn't be as good as I would remember it.
FROM THE AP about my blimp:
Security blimp takes flight over nervous D.C.
Associated Press
September 29, 2004 BLIMP0930
WASHINGTON -- Here's a head-turner for a security-nervous city: A large white object was spotted in the skies above the nation's capital in the pre-dawn hours Wednesday.
Pentagon police said the Defense Department is testing a security blimp - fully equipped with surveillance cameras. The white blimp was spotted early Wednesday morning hovering at various times over the Pentagon and the U.S. Capitol.
The 178-foot-long device, which is expected to remain in the skies until Thursday, is conducting a mission for the Defense Department.
Authorities say the airship is equipped with infrared cameras designed to provide real time images to military commanders on the ground. The equipment on the blimp already is being used to protect troops in Afghanistan and Iraq.
The Army says the device will make at least one 24-hour flight in the District of Columbia area. It has been in the region since last week, and is also being used for test runs over the U.S. Marine Corps Base in nearby Quantico, Va., and the Chesapeake Bay.
I am making it a habbit of stopping at the CVS on my way to work now, not sure why. This morning, I was so happy to see the emergence of Halloween crap. No treat bags yet, but lots of skull plates and costumes. I picked out a new color to replace my blonde. It is natural reddish blonde. So by the end of the day, I will be a strawberry blonde with electric blue stripes. Bye bye my little pony hair. Hehe. I dig the idea that i change my hair colorS with the seasons. Summer was blonde and green,fall is auburn and blue.
So, I tried on my GAP winnings last night and guess what? They all frelling fit. Insane. Literally while I was buying them, I was disappointed that they wouldn't fit me until winter... but no way, even the size 16 skirt fits. I kept running around the house telling jeff to look. He was so funny, he said, "yes, i know, you are a normal sized girl" haha. Cause that is what I was saying. It made me think about last year when I worried that after pregnancy, I would be a "super sized mom" which is what women who weigh more than 300 pounds in pregnancy are lovingly called. Nope, super sized mom, I will not be. That was totally Yoda speak.
I am wearing this gignormous resin strawberry ring today and it is making it hard to type.
So, what do you have planned for the weekend? Another trip to Ikea is in my future, cause I tried to order bookshelves and a chair from the website and the Ikea website sucks cause they never have anything in stock. Belva is bringing me some children's sized shirts, so I will be silk screening again. I also plan to tag all of my current inventory with price tags.
I have been doing this weird thing... We had these panda statues in the city this summer and now they are gone. So, every morning, I walk past where one used to live and I stop there, stand there and pretend to be the gone panda. Is that weird? I don't know. I miss them. I close my eyes and think about how it must have felt to be there, on the sidewalk all summer. It is silly, I know.
all morning long i have been thinky thinky.
dreamy thinky. wondering if it is the earth threatening to give me the autumn that i have been yearning for? or perhaps the new allergy meds.** no matter. i enjoy the thinky dreamy time.
walking to work, i felt a bit like the Buffy-bot or the Terminator, looking at everyone coming up to me and sizing them up. it sounds judge-y but it really isn't. tick tick tick, that person should stop smoking, that person would be happier with some comfortable shoes.
blop blop blop. my attention turns to other things. a sprinkler. the way my mary jane's frame my tinyily dotted socks. the exact size of my shadow.
i have a passport. i am passported. i can now escape this country if i have to. hello london. my shirt has a giant yeti running through paris. i am the yeti in washington, walking through the streets with big eyes and swinging arms. pretty yeti. silly yeti. me.
** i picked the zrytec because they have the best commericals with the dog like mine.
Jeff and I spent the day at the Japanese Festival in DC today. They had squid on a stick, which looked so pretty, but I ate sushi instead. I did have my first eel sushi, though, so I was at least a tiny bit adventurey. I just made that word up.
I didn't think I would be the only blue haired girl there, ya know, cause of all of the bluehaired girls in anime. But we found that having blue hair is good at a street festival because your peeps can spot you in a crowd. As long as someone is looking for you, you will be found if you are a blue haired girl.
My friend Chris gave Jeff a free Japanese beer and it didn't effect him like the Red Bull usually does. Hehe. I bought some Pocky and stickers and went pee in a port-a-pooty, which was weird because I could see the sidewalk through the door and it was like going to the bathroom on a city street.
We walked to the Cherry Blossoms, but didn't stay long because of all of the tourists. Jeff's mom took this picture of us, I was apparently not ready for the picture, but this is pretty cute anyway. As you can see in this picture, I am still a little fat in the middle, but the great smallening is continuing. I am now at 54 pounds gone.
I spend my days looking for portals out of this world. Don’t get me wrong. I love this world. My world. The world that I have made. Created and approved. But I wonder about other worlds too. I wonder what lies through the portals that I search for. Will there be another me there? Another you? Tell me. Tell me if you know. When the science guys prove string theory, will they tell us? Or will they keep the other worlds to themselves. Their own private vacation resorts. Will they go and become new gods in those other worlds? Or will they just walk over and take notes like all good science boys do. I wanna prove string theory. Not personally, but in general, I want to hear it on the news. Hear it on NPR. Today, scientists prove the existence of hundreds of other worlds occupying the same space as our own. Our dead relatives are all there in one such world, the one where things exist as pure energy. They say another world grows cotton candy instead of grass.
For now, I search the sidewalks and alleys for portals. I think about how I could rip a hole in the universe to see the others. I think about whether it would be like looking in a mirror or through a window or both at the same time. I wonder.
We spent about 5 hours on Sunday walking. Yes, walking. Jeff, Brian and I walked a total of 7 miles yesterday to get to a sculpture in DC called The Awakening. I am not sure the sculpture was worth the walk... but it was a nice adventure and I am sure a 7 mile walk will help my weight loss. ;) I will post a picture of us at the Awakening later today.
As of today, I have now lost 53 pounds!
On Friday, Jeff and I went to a rad art opening at the Arts Club of Washington, DC. It was at President James Monroe's house. I love old houses. I now love art in old houses even more. My friend, Allen, invited us and I am so glad we went. It was enlightening. I had no idea that I could just apply to be in galleries like this. I am working on an exhibit now. More on that later.
The weather here is wonderful. I love the breeze. It feels like San Fransisco. Friday was the 10 year anniversary of mine and Jeff's first date. Crazy.
He stands there every morning, looking down at me with his stern uncared for face. He is so old. He is so unloved. His park is not a circle, but a tiny slab of smelly grass.
No wonder he looks at me like that. He seems mad and bursting to tell me of the injustice of it all.
Daniel Webster's park stinks. Sometimes it smells so bad that I wonder what poor dead thing is hidden in the bushes.
Mr. Webster's park has fruit-bearing trees. But they are tiny sticky stinky fruits. Sometimes I step on them and they go squash. When the fruit are in season, short old asian women fill huge plastic bags with them. I wonder what they are making them into.
I used to think Mr. Webster had a bird on his head, like molded into the metal or whatever. But that was just a bird who happened to be there everytime I looked. Sitting there, on the man's head, like a freakish live hat. But today, Mr. Webster was hatless, birdless.
Birdless. Hatless. Ceaseless.
This is not poetry, I swear it.
You stare at a purple sweater behind glass.
It is surrounded by the winter-grey of trees.
You stare for so long.
I take every corner like a dance floor.
Volume is up to 20 and I can’t stop moving.
Can’t stop moving.
Can’t stop moving.
Bopbopbop.
Waiting for the blinking white walker to let me gogogo.
I sing along with my lips, but not my voice.
Shaking my head like I am shoeing away a bee.
My hair smells like my Aunt Wanda did when I was little,
when she
was one who beautifies others.
I used to think she was so shiny.
He drops his blue hat
in the middle of the street.
I pick it up and run after him,
even though I am a scavenger
by nature. And my nature tells me to keep it.
My reflection surprises me again.
Can’t stop moving.
Can’t stop moving.
Can’t stop moving.
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Copyright © 2008, Tina Henry-Barrus, all rights reserved.
Design by Jeff Barrus, 2005. |
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