Perpetual State of Flux

katiebakes: brownmfa: I’m getting my fill of abandoned gas...

Sun, 27 Jun 2010 16:17:29 -0400

brownmfa:

I’m getting my fill of abandoned gas stations. I just finished lunch at this one in Toyah. Not much else in town. Everything is closed and abandoned. I had to go to a house to get my water bottles filled. The first house I went to a woman was outside with a red wagon. I asked and she went inside. A few minutes later she came out with a bag of frozen water bottles. She took my empties and went back inside. When she came out she said, “Mountain Water.” She never asked what I was doing. I think she might have been psychic. As I was leaving she said, “God Bless.” The water was the best I’ve tasted all trip.

This guy is walking across the country. He’s almost through Texas. What are you up to these days?

how many Americans right now are operating under the assumption that we are playing one half of the former Checkoslovakia?

Fri, 18 Jun 2010 10:35:00 -0400

(via biteofpythias)

I don’t know. How many Canadians know how to spell Czechoslovakia?

38 Weeks

Sun, 13 Jun 2010 16:00:00 -0400

Not feeling so hot. Decided it was time to pack the bag for the hospital. Despite reading numerous packing lists…this is the hardest packing job ever. Nothing seems right. Seems absolutely impossible to be prepared!

ETA: Nothing is happening. Just getting prepared. (They told us in birthing class to pack at 36 weeks).

I’ve been looking at books for the young man’s...

Tue, 08 Jun 2010 18:31:57 -0400

I’ve been looking at books for the young man’s library and came across Michael Bond’s Paddington series - a favorite of mine as a child. I then found this little bear and have convinced myself that I have to have it. Although, if I’m being honest, this one is way more for me than him. Can you tell that I’m having a really ROUGH week?

officiallymymother: ORANGE STRIPED TOMS WEDGES … yes...

Tue, 08 Jun 2010 18:16:49 -0400

officiallymymother:

ORANGE STRIPED TOMS WEDGES … yes please.

clickety-click

Me too, please!

imremembering: Hello (Remembered by ruthannsimages) AMAZING!!

Tue, 08 Jun 2010 18:15:57 -0400

imremembering:

Hello

(Remembered by ruthannsimages)

AMAZING!!

Baby Book HELP!!

Fri, 04 Jun 2010 12:01:01 -0400

Has anyone found a baby book they absolutely love?

As part of our journey into adulthood, we recently purchased a new kitchen/dining room table with...

Fri, 04 Jun 2010 10:51:00 -0400

As part of our journey into adulthood, we recently purchased a new kitchen/dining room table with the hopes of starting a tradition of dining around a table instead of how we’ve spent the last eight years with plates in our laps on the sofa.

This morning two large Eastern European men arrived to deliver the table. As I wrote a check for the balance remaining on the table (who knew places still had C.O.D) the larger of the two men started asking me the usual questions…when are you due, is this your first, etc…

He then launched into description of his own children and how much they’ve changed his life and how wonderful it is to have children.

It’s funny, I love this tumblr community of new and expectant mothers — I love reading about all the triumphs and the struggles — but I have to say that nothing quite gets me as watching a man talk about his children and seeing him absolutely reduced to his most vulnerable place. From furniture delivery guys to cab drivers passing their cell phones through the plexiglass to show me albums of their families, there are few things like witnessing that fatherly love and pride.

I have about two dozen posts I’ve been meaning to write...

Wed, 02 Jun 2010 17:20:00 -0400

I have about two dozen posts I’ve been meaning to write and I thank you all for not removing me from your followers in my absence. I am definitely going to get on the ball here in the next couple of the days. In the meantime, I heard this song on Music Choice today. I had completely forgotten about this one and figured it was time to bring it back to the collective consciousness!

(Had to google the lyrics when I thought they were talking about a “big fatty”. Nope, big fanny but not like Annie…)

Mood Altering Television

Fri, 21 May 2010 16:58:53 -0400

Dolly, Oprah and Kenny just sang “The Gambler”.

Dolly is on Oprah right now. I have no words.

Fri, 21 May 2010 16:39:10 -0400

Dolly is on Oprah right now. I have no words.

clementinesandmonkeys: What’s cuter than one baby?? Why, TWO...

Fri, 14 May 2010 11:36:55 -0400

clementinesandmonkeys:

What’s cuter than one baby?? Why, TWO babies of course!!

Millie and her BFF Lola. I die.

LOVE!!!

Rockin' the Suburbs

Thu, 13 May 2010 11:44:01 -0400

(Brooklyn Edition)

Just signed up for the “meet and greet” with the neighborhood pediatrician that is being held on the evening of my birthday.

Bette

Mon, 10 May 2010 17:51:00 -0400

When I started blogging again a few months back, I decided to resurrect the name of my decade old blog with the hope of reposting some of my favorite posts. Reading this beautiful post from Mamalina reminded me of a post I first wrote on 10.13.2005 about my grandma Bette. In light of this post and Mother’s Day, I’m reposting that entry here today.

I can distinctly remember when I first met cancer. My grandmother Bette had been diagnosed with breast cancer. At this time, in the late 80’s she was instructed to have a full masectomy of the cancerous breast.

Some time, shortly thereafter, our family traveled to Cincinnati/Ft. Thomas for a visit. The typical ritual for visiting our grandparents was that the six of us (Mom, Dad, Don, Doug, Katie and myself) piled into the Buick LaSabre station wagon for the 14 hour roadtrip to Ohio. Upon arrival, we would designate where each of us kids were going to stay. My father’s mother, Catherine, lived in a two bedroom apartment in Pleasant Ridge (a suburb of Cincinnati) and my mother’s parents Paul and Bette lived in Ft. Thomas, Kentucky in the same house where they had raised my mother and her three siblings.

Grandma Kate usually spent our visits crying, pleading with us to go to church more and to PRAY THE ROSARY. This made my crabby father even more unbearable — so the accomodations at Paul and Bette’s were slightly more preferable.

I say slightly preferable in light of the fact that for one to liken Paul and Bette to warm and fuzzy grandparents would be akin to saying the Artic Circle is ripe for sunbathing. Still, there was something mystifying about them. My grandmother was what we still called an “Indian” in those days. She had met my grandfather in England during World War II while she was enlisted in the Women’s Army Air Corps (WAAC). While my siblings were terrified of the basement in their house, I loved to go down and look around my grandmother’s art studio and I was amazed at the array of brushes, pastels and colored pencils. There was also an old work bench where my grandfather would polish stones that would later be made into Native American jewelry that he and my grandmother would then sell at flea markets.

In her bedroom, Bette had this beautiful vanity where she housed her seemingly endless supply of curlers. With each visit, I couldn’t wait for the moment where I would be left to my own devices and I could sneak off to search through the drawers of her vanity and admire all of the different beauty products. Things like her pots of rouge — always a cream based product in the richest roses and pinks. Her lipsticks always in these same rich bouquets. Vials of lotions and perfumes to sniff out. It left my breathless wanting to sample all of these delights but knowing that if discovered, I would receive a tongue lashing the likes of which I had never received from my own mother. Not that anything of my mother’s enticed me to go off snooping. My mother’s own assortment of delights were recklessly strewn all around her vanity with absolutely no care. No, my mother had not inherited Bette’s appreciation for preservation and order. So this foreign delight was one to be sifted through. Each bottle touched.

But Bette wasn’t the warm and fuzzy grandmother who took pleasure in sharing her life with grandchildren. Instead, we were a nuisance — merely part of a package that came along with a visit from my mother. Whenever Bette discovered me riffling through her belongings I was quickly scolded for being such a nosy child and furthermore, she could hardly believe that I had been raised with such a blatent disregard for the belongings of others.

Classic jewelry boxes that did not exist in my house were an instant delight. I marveled at the music they played when the top was lifted. No sooner lifted, however, that is was slammed down on my fingers. Fingers that today exist as a mirror image of Grandma Bette’s beautifully feminine hands. The skin of a tone and texture that I longed to touch. The nail beds long and smooth the edges of which were perfectly oval as an emery board was never out of site. Nor was the spearmint chewing gum — a smell that will forever remind me of her. For Bette always had emery boards, chewing gum and her fuschia lipstick in her handbag.

At some point in this particular visit, it was my turn to stay with Bette and Paul. When I approached their powder blue bedroom, my eyes were instantly drawn to the silver wig sitting on the foam carving of a woman’s head. On top of my grandfather’s bureau sat a box, a peculiar woman’s picture on the front.

“You want to see my new boobie?” said the sugary Southern voice behind me. I turned around terrified to have been caught snooping by my grandmother now standing behind me.

On her head, where her once raven colored locks has always been perfectly coiffed sat a brightly colored terry cloth turban. My grandmother rubbed her lovely hands together and laughed.

“You like my new hat? My head is always cold.” She said, the statement causing her to shiver.

She walked to Paul’s bureau, pulled the box down and directed me to sit with her on the bed.

“This is what I have now that they have taken my bosom.” She batted her eyelids when she mentioned the last word. Her lovely hand lifted the lid from the box revealing a flesh colored latex prosthetic of a breast.

“Do you want to see?” It was clear with this statement that she was asking me whether I wanted to see her surgically altered chest.

Ever the snoop, I managed a small nod through a mixture of horror, admiration and amazement.

Her lovely hands went to the zipper of her velour robe.

“Help me with this” she pleaded “I still don’t have a lot of movement in my arm.

With her robe around her waist she turned to show me gnarled tissue that had once been her breast. Though I had yet to start my own development, I understood the magnitude of this loss. Her breast. Her body. Her womenhood, or half of it, was gone.

“You see, they had to cut me all around here.” She traced the scar with her fingers lifting her arm to reveal its path like a purple river through her olive skin. “The cancer was in the nodes under my armpit so they had to remove it from there as well. I still have to do exercises to get the strength back” she told me pointing to a small two-pound weight at the foot of the bed.

From there she pulled the robe back up and smiled, “You wouldn’t believe how much that boobie cost!”

I returned the smile feeling as though I had finally shared something other than quarrels with Bette. I believe she was still going through radiation at the time. And I don’t remember how long she was in remission but I think it was a couple of good years before I was being told that my grandmother was going to be having a complete hysterectomy. More of her womanhood removed. More remission. Then a tumor started growing in her feminine parts…parts that couldn’t be removed this time. All they could do was more radiation. More terry cloth turbans. More remission until Bette finally lost her battle with cancer in September 1996.

I remember visiting her in the hospital the week she passed. In the bed was a woman who bore little resemblance to my grandmother…completely bald and ravaged by this horrible disease. We were friends by then. My admiration for Bette had grown to an iconic status. As I kept vigil she awoke between morphine induced “naps” and took my hand. Her hands — that are now my mother’s hands as well as my own — were still lovely. Still the softest thing I have ever felt.

She spoke to me then. She told me she loved me. I told her I love her. She promised to come back to let me know she was okay.

“Look for a white dove. I want to come back as a white dove.”

Finally, after more than a decade in battle Bette had found her peace.

~~October 13, 2005

imremembering: Ramona Quimby, Age 8 (via 0tterp0p) I felt such...

Mon, 10 May 2010 15:41:47 -0400

imremembering:

Ramona Quimby, Age 8

(via 0tterp0p)

I felt such a kinship to Ramona Quimby. My favorite books growing up. Although, it took me a long time to understand what dungarees were…

I’ve started writing a series of letters to the little man in a moleskin. It’s mainly a...

Mon, 10 May 2010 15:39:00 -0400

I’ve started writing a series of letters to the little man in a moleskin. It’s mainly a collection of all the hopes and stories that have been floating around my mind during the last 33 weeks. Each entry I start with hopes of profundity and then it all becomes so tangential and filled with digressions. The good news is that if I ever decide give it to the little guy - perhaps when he is a young man - he is certain to have an accurate picture of just how nutty his mother is.

Stupid Pet Peeves

Wed, 05 May 2010 16:03:09 -0400

People who mispronounce Louisville.

I’m looking at you Ms. Winfrey.

Padding my nest

Wed, 05 May 2010 15:24:00 -0400

When I first learned I was pregnant, I made a conscious decision to not get hung up on the baby’s due date - that whenever this little guy made his arrival would be fine by me. I had witnessed the frustration of more than one friend when their baby didn’t arrive on his due date.

Lately, however, I’ve been facing this overwhelming feeling that this little guy is going to make an early appearance. I’ve also hit the “nesting phase” of my pregnancy and as a result I’m left feeling like I have to make sure I have everything ready. So, I’ve been busily purchasing all those “must have” nursery items and scanning my registries to determine what items I absolutely need to buy RIGHT NOW! (As an aside, I think it’s more than a little annoying that Babies R Us and Buy Buy Baby don’t send out the registry fulfillment discounts until two weeks after your due date.)

While we’ve certainly benefited from the generosity of our friends and family, we haven’t received many of the items on our registry. And while we’ve also received a fair amount of clothes, it is so hard for me to gauge how much clothing I’m going to need for the little guy.

Newborn clothes seem silly - most are sized up to 8lbs which is also the average size of a newborn these days. I’ve got a fair amount of 0-3 months but how do I know if I have enough? And everything seems like pajamas. I get that babies sleep all the time but do you need more outfits?

I know that these sound like the dumbest questions in the world but I honestly have NO IDEA what I will need. I’m one of those fortunate New Yorkers with a home washer and dryer but I also don’t suspect that I will want to do laundry everyday. I also don’t want to overdue it - which I’m more than prone to do.

Well, I had certainly hoped that I would be posting here more than I have to date. When I hit my...

Wed, 05 May 2010 14:52:21 -0400

Well, I had certainly hoped that I would be posting here more than I have to date. When I hit my third trimester a few weeks ago, I was slammed by wicked insomnia. Luckily, that soon passed and now I want to sleep ALL THE TIME. I have been reluctant to post simply because I know that my story is not unlike that of others in their third trimester and why not save my whining for those truly difficult days set to arrive in a matter of weeks!

Additionally, in the past few weeks I’ve learned that multiple friends of mine have experienced miscarriages and I have to admit that this remains firmly on my mind — these friends remain a constant in my thoughts and remind me of gratitude. Having children was a priority to me at an early age and yet here I am, practically on the eve of my 35th birthday, pregnant for the first time. I often wish I was experiencing this at a younger age, simply because I see those girls on “16 and Pregnant” and I want to steal their energy like the witch in a fairy tale seeks the youth and beauty of the princess.

Which isn’t to say I wish I was experiencing this at 16! And if I’m being honest, I was not in any position to be having a baby at 26 either. Still, I am frightened by how tired I feel and GOOD GOD THIS ACHING BACK! HOW AM I EVER GOING TO BE ABLE TO CHASE A TODDLER!

Then, I try to remember to embrace this all. The good, the bad and the PAINFUL.

A friend of mine posted a few of these lyrics as her Facebook...

Fri, 30 Apr 2010 15:35:00 -0400

A friend of mine posted a few of these lyrics as her Facebook status today. This song is an eternal favorite. Every time I hear that school bell ring at the beginning a smile forms on my face.