Motherhood and Dichoto-me

On Quora, people are always asking things like, "What is one thing you never knew/wish you knew/no one told you about..." x, y, or z situation. As a new mother, my feed is filled with people asking and answering questions about labor, parenthood, and all the nitty-gritty obscene unmentionables about children. If I were to answer, "What is one thing you never realized about motherhood?" it would go something like this:

When the mother's body splits open to bring forth a child, the rest of her world splits as well. Everything inside her mind and that makes up her day becomes, for better or worse, a dichotomy. There are high highs and low lows, there are wishes for things and the opposites of those things, there are baby smiles one moment and screams the next. Her existence becomes yin and yang, undulating together with near unpredictability.

The mental state of flow, that timeless floaty place, grinds to a halt while at the same time, mindful awareness of the current moment turns up to high definition. The mother may not know what day it is, but is keenly aware of how many minutes the baby has been eating without needing a clock. A schedule that was once comprised of big blocks of project time suddenly splinters into fragmented tiny tasks or parts of tiny tasks. Each one of the mother's wants or needs becomes a highly prized jewel, made much more important by the choice that is made to fulfill it instead of another. Prioritization, once a vague goal, now is essential. In a spot of open time and free hands, it's bathroom before food and food before cleaning. Sometimes cleaning gets usurped by food for the soul. A walk, a chapter in a book, a favorite YouTube channel, or anything that resets the brain and makes it feel familiarity again. Then suddenly, as delicious as those free moments are, she looks in the baby monitor at his sweet sleeping image and just wants to hold him again. Even as the dishes sit and the book tantalizes. Even as his scratches on her neck are still red.

The mother's world before was an even hum and her world now is a jazz solo. Her path used to be an international kayak trip, and her path now is a roller coaster through her own neighborhood. The sophisticated grays of her life before shift into black and white like the board books she now reads to her baby. The mother's new existence is contrast. And contrast brings focus, and meaning, and excitement as it does to any artwork.

Do mothers ever want just one thing again? Do they ever only feel one way again? That is my own question for Quora.

In Repair

John Mayer sings, "I'm in repair - I'm not together, but I'm getting there." That melodic line ran through my head as I wore my belly binder, trying to get my abdominal muscles to stitch back together while the rest of my body adjusted to the needs of my newborn and my emotions attempted to level themselves. Postpartum is such a period of adjustment, waiting for the natural healing processes to take place and doing mental somersaults to understand what this new life means. Meanwhile, the newborn is doing the same thing - trying to learn this unknown world and all the feelings that go with a functioning physical body while communicating only in grunts and wails. It's hard. Even when it's comparatively easy to how others have it, it's hard.

I take comfort in and cling to the thoughts others have had about this time. Well, I take comfort and feel its accompanying shadow, guilt. "It's temporary and gets better at 3 months when they have a routine and 6 months when they can sit up," I've heard. That's a relief, I think, feeling it wash over me and envisioning a return to semi-normalcy. But also, No, don't grow up too fast, little baby! I want to cuddle you forever.  And then the tears spring into my eyes because I understand something about life that I never did before and also I'm a hormonal mess. When the baby screams and flails angrily, I want to call him mean names. Then I hear his little mobile tinkle "You Are My Sunshine," and my cheeks are suddenly wet. I was warned that for at least the first month, I would feel as if I was under water. I just didn't know the water would be made of my own crazy tears.

As I was looking at the rest of my life prior to becoming pregnant and in that stage of determining what I wanted to do with it, I read a book called Wild Mama. I reach into my memory for passages that ring especially true to me now, and for this reason I will always keep such books in my library. Marie Kondo just can't have that part of me. Hasn't she taken enough? Carrie Visintainer writes:

The recovery will be longer now. My abdominal muscles are severed, and it will take months - or years? - to get my core strength back. How long before I can carry the baby on my own? Before I can leave the house, toting my newborn around town and up mountains and into canyons in the sling I'd placed on a hook by the back door? What if the answer is never? (53).

I hadn't anticipated my C-section either. I'd also had a rosy anticipation for this summer that would turn out to be so different from my expectations. I still need help to do many things, to take some of the physical burden off of my healing body for the everyday care of our newborn. I can't walk the dog since she has the tendency to pull her full body against the leash and over my weight limit. I must be careful about how many times a day I do the stairs in the house let alone go hiking with a compliant baby in his carrier. We spend long stretches of days inside the comfort of our air-conditioned house because it is too hot and muggy for a newborn outside, and enclosed public spaces leave room for all sorts re-emerging horrors like pertussis and measles. I seem to bounce off the walls like a pacing racehorse as I attempt to stay on top of chores and remember what things I used to enjoy doing with my time.

I can't count how many times different nurses talked to me about the difference between the Baby Blues and postpartum depression before we left the hospital. Aside from my weakened body and sleep deprived state, I didn't feel anything all that different really. I hadn't been overly hormonal during my pregnancy, either. But after the first few days home, I felt it hit. I was back in my home turf, and yet nothing seemed to feel normal. We were living on our first floor to avoid the stairs, sleeping on our sofa and ottoman, all the accouterments of our life strewn everywhere. I couldn't join my husband and new son outside under the willow tree for more than a few minutes before my incision started to feel strained. A first hopeful walk with the stroller took me only as far as the creek one block from my house. Nursing hurt, and I had to do it all the time. I googled things like, "When does breastfeeding get easier?" and tried to remember the reasons I wanted it to work so badly. I cried to my husband about my frustrations. I cried to my mom about my shattered expectations. I cried alone to Dixie Chicks songs.

Then, like others have said, it lifted one day. As if the loving forces of the universe heard my cries, my son and I got the hang of nursing. The lactation consultant gave us permission to let the baby sleep as long as he liked at night instead of setting alarms and trying in vain to wake him to feed. We learned a few tricks to help him stop wailing after his 3am feeding. My husband performed a miracle and got him to take a morning nap instead of fussing for 3 hours. Each day we either learn a little bit more or simply get lucky. We move forward in fits and starts. The exhausting and noisy nap strike of yesterday becomes a wonderful stream of sleeps the next day.

I took my first solo drive since the birth. It was to my mom's house, and to grab a few things at the store, but I felt like a deliciously free fugitive on the run. I took the time to browse the radio stations instead of staring into the car seat mirror. I took note of the way the sun hit the barns on the back country roads. I recognized myself again. While I'm terribly afraid of my husband going back to work and the potential ensuing loneliness it will bring to long days of being the sole caretaker of my son, I also relish being entirely alone. With no other being in my vicinity, my brain sighs and drifts in ways that it simply won't with even my lovely dog next to me. I needed that drive after 18 days of always having someone next to me.

But. I thought about my son while I was gone. I wondered if he was fussy or hungry without me. I wondered if my husband was frustrated. I wondered if he was still able to get things done while watching him. I wondered if I was staying away too long. Will my brain and my heart forever be split in this way? It is not wholly unpleasant, but it is powerfully confusing.

Visintainer also writes:
Motherhood has elicited this moment of illumination. It's what has torn me down, pushed me off center, and ripped my core to shreds. But this, in turn, has forced me into a place of authenticity where I'm committed to identifying my life's top priorities. (85)
These days, with time segmented into three hour chunks, there is only room for top priorities. Eating and sleeping, making some attempt at cleanliness, walks outside, and oddly writing about this experience have taken center stage. I daydream about hiking, but neither the baby nor my body are ready for that. I stare longingly at my paints, but my brain can't enter flow when it is edgily listening for baby cries. Daytrips, outdoor concerts, creek walking, afternoons on a friend's boat - these have all been plunged into the distance until we can catch up again.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the car window holding my son as I attempted to walk him to sleep. For as much time as I have spent studying his face and little parts of his body since he was born, this was an odd picture for me to understand. Whose baby is that in my arms? Isn't that still the face of my college self? A friend of mine described the strange realization she had that her new son would be someone living with them permanently. As I check on my baby, all stretched out sleeping in his pack and play, I think, "Who are you?" He is the one I dreamed of pushing in the stroller as the leaves turn gold in fall, and the one in a little hoodie by the creek, holding my hand. He is the one I see riding a bike behind my husband and the one with big brown eyes telling me about something that worries him. He is the one who fluttered his feet against my ribs and got hiccups that bounced my insides. I know him and I don't know him. I know me and I don't know me.

Oh, it's taken so long,
I could be wrong, I could be ready.
Oh, but if I take my heart's advice,
I should assume it's still unsteady.
I am in repair.
I am in repair.

The Labor Story AKA Laboratory

When you are pregnant, people will, with the best of intentions, comment on your body all. the. time. You will feel at once too big or too small, high up or dropped, waddling or looking adorable. People will want to know three big questions:
1. When are you due?
2. Do you know what you are having?
3. What is the name?

I was one of these people at one time, and now I have been the answerer of the questions three. On the last question, I kept it a tightly guarded secret. It was, however, partially true that we wanted to wait to see what name fit him - but I wasn't giving up anything other than that our list was "mostly Gaelic."

The second question was easy. A boy. People would exclaim with delight, which would be the case either way, I hope. It's how I felt as well.

The first question - June 12th - would become emblazoned on my brain. Two days after work was done for the summer. Would I make it all the way through? I felt a surge of pride when I finished my last day with everyone else. I had two days of preparation and "summertime" before the big day arrived. I walked nervously, feeling heavier than I had all of my pretty much perfect pregnancy. I felt the twenty five pounds I put on with each step now that the due date had arrived. I didn't allow jokes. I was on edge. But the day passed without action. The next day, it was as if something that was supposed to happen did not, and now it would not, and so I just wouldn't need to worry about it. I would just be pregnant forever, and the unknown big bad pain of labor would always remain a mystery.

More days passed. My husband and I went out to a spontaneous dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant. We went to the movies. We lounged on the couch together, watching tv and trading massages. We ate meals outside and watched the sun set. It was lovely.

The following Tuesday, we went into the city for some long awaited cinnamon buns from Bakehouse on King and coffee at Central Market. We sat on a bench outside the old brick building and talked to a man about his seven children. We ate the buns in ecstasy. I started to feel achy and was ready to go home without making other wanderings through the city. When we got home I took a short break, and then it was on to garage organization. The garage always somehow turns into a hellscape, and it was time to get it under control before the baby arrived. While it wasn't perfect, we got a few things categorized, consolidated, donated, and the floor swept. I wasn't feeling very good afterward. This was natural though in my state. My back still ached and it started to feel somewhat more rhythmic with the pains in front like cramps. I haphazardly started timing them, feeling pretty certain that it was a waste of time anyway.

Sometime later in the evening, I said to my husband, "this might be happening," and we called the doctor. She said that I was still relatively irregular, and to call back when things felt more steady.  Two hours of steady waves later, we called again and were asked to come in to be checked. Bags were ready, we rushed around getting last minute chargers and glasses. The car ride to the hospital was pretty awful, with train tracks and famous Pennsylvania potholes making each contraction worse. Shaking, gritting my teeth, and taking each step as if on upturned needles, I checked in and got checked out. My husband was told by the main desk that he couldn't wear his scrubs because it was a risk to the other patients who might get confused. One can only imagine the sitcom-like situation in which he is unwittingly swept into some surgery or another. After shivering on the table,the doctor said, "1 centimeter." I was incredulous and disappointed. I was given a shot to help take the edge off so I could sleep and come back later when it felt "ten times worse". Oh good. 

Back over the potholes, the train tracks, and onto the couch to "sleep" while waking for each contraction and moaning in spite of myself while my loyal dog rode out the night by my side. Tuesday became Wednesday. When I couldn't take it anymore around 5am, I slapped my husband awake and we loaded into the car again. Train tracks. Potholes. Shaking. Moaning. Finally, the welcome news of "three centimeters, 70% effaced" and "we're admitting you." No more car rides! Sweet sweet epidural! Huzzah!

I made my way into the labor room, into a gown, and got hooked up to an IV that traveled with me as I wandered around the room walking in infinite circles. Each contraction issued forth a low moan from me that I never expected, falling into the rhythm of the steps, the ohm-like sounds, and the time in between. I didn't want anything I thought I would want. No music. No hypnobabies. No jacuzzi. And no touching! It took all of my focus to stay on top of the pains each time.

We had been told in our childbirth class to wait until 4 or 5 centimeters to get the epidural, so I was anxious to be checked again. When I asked when this would be happening, the midwife gave me the third degree about why I wanted to know. This seems akin to a teenager asking about puberty only to be told, "don't worry about it." Citing infection and brushing off the 4-5 centimeter suggestion, she told me I should just get it if I want it. Ok. Well. Let's do it then. We had a great anesthesiologist who cheerily took away the pain while still allowing me to move my legs (albeit loaded with wet sand). The hours thereafter were comparative bliss. I slept and joked and waited. They broke my water and it had meconium in it. My heart dropped. I knew that babies could aspirate the meconium and get really sick. The NICU team would be in the delivery room as a precaution. I tried not to worry. I made it to 7 centimeters. 

Even more hours later, I expected to be close to fully dilated. It was Wednesday evening and we were all ready for the baby to make his appearance. I started to feel a strong pressure to, putting it delicately, use the loo. I knew this was a telltale sign of getting ready to push. Meanwhile, I had been flipping from one side to the next as machines pumped out long strips of paper with jagged lines that told a story in a foreign tongue about strength and weakness. My husband kept checking these with his classic curiosity and peppering the nurses with questions. I suspected typical clinical interest. He didn't let on that he didn't like what he saw.

Once again I was checked by the same woman who had checked me back when I was a disappointed 1 centimeter, and instead of hearing, "it's go time!" I heard 7 centimeters. No progress. Decelerations. Long contractions. Meconium. Distress. "So, it's going to be a C-section then, right?" I asked. That was correct. I trusted them and said that we would do what needed to be done. The sweet nurse with me put up my hair in a surprisingly fashionable messy bun under my blue hospital cap. My husband was ushered into the same material all over his body. Everyone moved intentionally and quickly. There was a noticeable edge to everything.

Before I knew it, I was being wheeled into the bright surgery room with another blue piece of fabric directly in front of my face, and staring into the white round surgical light. It was entirely surreal. I had never expected to get a C-section and now this was happening. Like, right now. I tried not to think about all the things I know about the C-section process. There was relief in knowing that I would meet my baby within 45 minutes. A second anesthesiologist pinched me all over my stomach and asked me if I could feel it. I could not. His incredibly kind assistant stayed with me and distracted me with questions and compliments. She thought my rings were beautiful. I told her they were from Target because my fingers were too swollen to wear my real ones. I stared at the textured pattern of the fabric two inches from my face as my arms were laid out and semi-tied down to turn me into a human letter t. My husband was instructed not to look over the curtain, which frustrated him and relieved me. Couples need a few of their own secrets, like what their internal organs look like, right?

They pushed on my stomach (I think) and I suddenly couldn't draw breath very well. Everything felt shallow, ragged, and I focused on the tiny oxygen tubes in my nose. My husband asked, "Are you ok? Are you ok?" The anesthesiology assistant reassured me with "long, slow breaths" coaching. There was suction, and he was out! I stared into the curtain waiting for a cry. My husband and I were both silent. The seconds ticked by. I don't know if I asked if he was ok, but all I knew was that I didn't even see him. I couldn't hear him. The voices in the room were a low buzz, with maybe a "Come on..." thrown in there. Finally, about 60 of the longest seconds of my life later, a cry. The most welcome cry I had ever heard. My husband and I burst into noisy tears. The anesthesiology assistant grabbed my face and put hers next to mine, saying, "That was so scary, but he's ok! He's ok!"I had been balancing on the edge of not knowing if I would have a baby to bring home or not.

They later explained that they had not wanted him to cry right away. They kept the placenta attached for oxygen while they did a deep suction of the meconium he had partially aspirated (though not past the cords, they kept saying). Once he was clear, they stimulated him so he would come to and give that first cry we had waited for anxiously. His apgar score was initially a 3, but it soon shot up to 8, which, they explained, meant they had done the right intervention at the right time. He has been a strong boy ever since, eating, sleeping, and studying his new world like a champ.

I held him while I was observed right after being stitched up. My body shook and my teeth chattered uncontrollably from the hormones and medicines. His little head shook in my hands. He was calm. I think we fed right away, but the rest of that night was a blur. There were compression boots that made me think my calf muscles were rhythmically flexing without my telling them to, and my own perplexed studying of this child I felt I had almost lost. We stayed in the hospital for four days. During that time, the incredible nursing staff held up my weakened body, intimately cared for all of my needs, checked mine and my baby's vitals repeatedly, and made sure we were both fed. There were bodily fluids, tubes going into me and tubes going out of me. I was walked around with a blue belt around my middle and brown grippy socks on my feet. My hair stayed in that first messy bun for days.

My husband played the Christopher Robin movie on the tv, and the story went in and out of my consciousness while I dozed and focused on feeding the baby every 2 hours. I fiddled with the buttons on my hospital bed that cranked me up and down, and I was able to sleep on my back for probably the first time in my life. I ate a mushroom and cheese omelet with hashbrown patties and a banana nut muffin every morning for breakfast and it was glorious. People flowed into the room at all hours for various checks. They scanned my bracelet to give me meds while another set of bracelets identified my baby and I as belonging to each other with a little song. I titled it the "That's My Baby" song. He wore a little hospital-issued kimono shirt. My mom and my friend since first grade visited us in the hospital. They chatted while the nurses checked and changed various aspects of my body. Modesty had long gone out the window. I was so grateful for them to be there, making this alien landscape a little more familiar. It was a kindly alien landscape, but alien nonetheless.

After four days in the hospital, two of which I spent solely in bed, we were as ready as we were going to be to head home. The baby went into his car seat, which went on my lap while I was wheeled out. My husband took the rest of our stuff in a loaded up wagon. As we drove away, me in the backseat with the baby, it felt like we had been far removed from the world for a very long time. It felt the same as when we would retrieve our car from long term parking at the airport after a trip to another country. One week later, we are settling in to life as a new little family. It was difficult to not be able to greet my dog as I normally would, on the floor and hugging her all over, but the healing process has taken some time. Today we all went for a walk together before it got too hot. It was nice to assert the normalcy of that one act. I'm surprised at my ability to work through the loud cries that the baby sometimes has, and I hope that it continues. I love holding him. I love when he is sleeping peacefully and I can still do other things. I miss him. I feel guilty about not giving the same attention to my dog that she always got. I love when we all can do things together. I reach out to stroke my husband's back to remember that he is still him and I am still me. My heart feels like a tumbling kaleidoscope that switches and reassembles into new patterns of feeling everything around me and understanding new layers of love.  

Meal Prep

Three weeks ago, I started a diet based on the book, The Mood Cure. The very basic premise is that many processed foods that we eat are causing hormonal and neurotransmitter imbalances in our bodies that lead to things like anxiety, depression, low energy, etc. We're not just talking hanger anymore, people. Dips and spikes in blood sugar, inflammation, low stores of serotonin - this is all going on under the surface when we say yes to that second doughnut. Now, if this were just about losing weight or being intangibly healthier, I wouldn't do it. But the fact is, eating by following the rules in this book has given me energy that I haven't seen in years and is effectively managing those moods that seem to come from nowhere. My baseline is happier. It doesn't take away life's stress, but it does help me deal with it better.

Now, as soon as I noticed a difference with this diet, I immediately worried that I wouldn't be able to keep it up. Not because I thought I would cheat, but because there is a fair amount of preparation that goes into following it without traditional breads and pastas, and with the addition of lots of protein. Coming from years of a more vegetarian diet, I'm not used to preparing food or eating in that way. So I wondered...

Could I keep up all this prep? Would it make financial sense? Would it work when the school year started again?

I'm going through this post to try to answer those questions, but mostly to outline things so that my husband can do meal prep without me yelling directions from the living room. You're all welcome. Especially my neighbors. Also, making lists soothe me.

Step 1: Decide on the menu of options for the week.
What will your main proteins be? How will you get your greens? How will you do quick breakfasts and lunches for work days?

Breakfast options:
eggs and corn tortillas (optional onions, salsa, cheese)
cottage cheese and fresh fruit
cottage cheese pancakes and fresh fruit
smoothies and gluten-free toast
previous weeks: oven pancake with fruit, greek yogurt and fruit

Lunch options:
jar salads
smoothies
zoodles
cottage cheese with fruit

Dinner options:
chickpea breaded chicken tenders with broccoli and potatoes
marinated chicken tenders with green beans and potatoes
zoodles and frozen tilapia fillets
jar salads
previous weeks: polenta with marinara and ratatouille, sauteed greens with balsamic, mexican chicken with rice and beans

Snacks:
cream cheese with chopped black olives for jalapeno poppers and turkey roll ups
popcorn
brownies http://www.bitesforfoodies.com/recipes/healthy-date-brownies/
fresh fruit
popcorn chips

Step 2: Grocery shopping for the best prices and produce.

eggs (lots of them): Millport road farm stands ($1.50/carton)
organic produce and meats: Aldi, Weis, farm stands
canned goods, produce, bulk baking needs,nuts, frozen fruit: Sharp Shopper (frozen fruit $1/bag)
hard to find bulk ingredients: Miller's Natural Foods

For this week, I was also stocking up and getting ingredients that would last for a while, so it was a little more than it would normally be.

Millport road: 3 cartons of eggs
$4.50
Sharp Shopper: produce, chicken, dairy, fruit
$70
Martin's: unusual baking ingredients and jalapenos
$20

Step 3: Preppin'


No, not that kind.

So shortly after getting home from shopping, don't even bother putting most things away. Just dairy, meat, and frozen stuff mostly.

1. Start smoothies. Peel and cut up bananas, put on silicone mats, and put in standing freezer for about 2 hours. If there are already frozen bananas, you can skip this step. Depending on how large your slices are, about 2 big bunches fit on 2 silicone mats. Get a big ole trash bowl going for all of your scraps.

2. Move on to snack and salad prep.
Cut up a whole can of black olives and a whole block of cream cheese. Mash together with a fork. Stuff jalapenos and top with chickpea crumbs. Put in container to be ready to bake.

Pull out the quart size mason jars (enough for eat least work and school day lunches). The book has a chart of options and amounts to put in, but here's the basic rundown for this week. Put a mixture of proteins (feta, beans, chickpeas, walnuts, etc.) in the bottom that equals about a cup.

 Chop up carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, etc., mix it all up, and put a cup in each jar.

Put a half cup of broccoli, cauliflower, etc. in each. Top with roughly 2 cups of romaine and/or spinach or other greens. Prep small containers of dressing if desired. 

                                    They fit neatly in a drawer. Satisfying.

3. Get the dinner veggies and proteins going. Zoodles can be put away raw to be sauteed later.

I used 2 packages of chicken tenders to do chicken two ways (both sauteed, but can bake). One big bag of green beans (steamed and covered with lemon juice, butter, salt, and pepper). Leftover broccoli from salads done in the same way as the green beans. Sliced up red potatoes, boiled, then seasoned with butter, salt, and pepper. Could also saute with butter and rosemary. Can also use rice or polenta, corn or peas as a starch. Divide up into prep containers and put some in the fridge and some in the freezer.

4. Back to the smoothies. 

Get pint sized mason jars out (at least enough for work day mornings). I used nine here. Put about 8 slices of banana in each (this equals about one small banana). Put about a half cup of other frozen fruit in. Nine jars used about 1.5 bags of fruit. Put in a small handful of spinach. Do powders: scoop of protein, 1 t. nutritional yeast, 1 T. ground flax. Use white plastic lids and put in freezer.

5. If you are baking, now's the time! When I prepped this week, I also made dry mixes of the bread and brownies to have on hand so it would be faster next time. Takeaway from this week - just buy the GF bread. It's too hard and takes too long to make. Always make the brownies. Delicious.

Excluding baking, the bulk of this, from bringing the groceries in the door to finishing prep (without cleanup) was about 3 hours. While that may seem like a lot, consider the time it actually saves through the week as a whole. Also, making all of these meals while the produce is still fresh and you still remember what you wanted to do with it...yeah. So all in all, I think writing this post will help me keep up the diet since I now have an easy, personalized reference, and more importantly, so does my husband :)

I Wanna Take You To Bermuda

Alex and I just got back from six days in Bermuda. After last year's honeymoon, we wanted something a little closer to home, with great snorkeling, and hopefully some tropical drinks melting in our hands. This fit the bill. Although, speaking of the bill, Bermuda is expensive. We attempted a budget Bermuda approach, using Airbnb, taking the extensive bus lines, and grocery shopping. This meant that we would often come across a cast of interesting locals who taught us more about the island than we would have gotten in a resort or on the absolutely enormous cruise ship somehow floating in Dockside. We volleyed with the weather a bit, never really figured out how to relax, and ran ourselves silly all over this beautiful, friendly island.

The flight was an easy 2 hours out of Philly, and we arrived to rain. We waited with a local woman at the bus stop, our packs adorning us front and back, and looking much like pregnant turtles, we chatted with her about onion rings. Onions were once an export of Bermuda, and so they were quickly on our list of 'must-do' items. We grabbed the bus into Hamilton, the main center of the island where there are great shops, restaurants, and lots of activity (except on Sundays when it is a ghost town).

Out of here, we headed to Warwick, which happily is home to under-populated beaches and excellent snorkeling*.
*I cannot confirm since I did not get to snorkel here - choppy water, nighttime, and an impending plane to catch did not allow. Alex did, though, while I paced on the shore and tried to wave him back in.

We were too tired to grocery shop and cook, so we walked to the famed Swizzle Inn. Did you know that there aren't a whole lot of sidewalks in Bermuda? By the end of the week, it felt downright luxurious to have a sidewalk instead of tall grass. The Rum Swizzles here are very nice indeed. We got our onion rings, and respective burgers (mine a lentil curry patty with caramelized onions). Yes please. For several reasons, we took a cab back to the Airbnb.


The next day we careened all around the island from bus line to bus line, getting confused and walking through lots of neighborhoods to get where we wanted to go. The locals were unfailingly friendly and we never felt at all unsafe. In fact, anyone who spotted us would check to see that we were doing ok and knew where we were headed. We squeezed every last dime out of our multi-day bus passes as we went grocery shopping (hello $7 bread), crept around Sea Glass Beach, visited Dockside for a hot minute, took the ferry to Hamilton to sprint through the weekly street party, and headed over to Admirality House Park for swimming.

Let's talk about Sea Glass Beach. When I looked online, I saw pictures from tripadvisor like this:

Wow, what a chance to be a mermaid lady in a coastal expanse of jewels! But, do you know what sea glass is before it is sea glass? It's shards of broken glass. And there are no Keebler Elves of sea glass, tossing it ashore when it's ready. So what you have is a mixture of sea glass, broken glass, car parts, and decapitated mosaic monkey heads. But! The unexpected reality aside, it was an exceptionally cool place. The sea glass made tinkling sounds when the water lapped at the shore, and it was really full of the stuff. I had never found a piece of sea glass prior to this trip, and here you could walk on it without touching the sand if you so desired. The area was dilapidated and creepy and neat. I made a cairn out of sea glass on a piece of driftwood. It was fun.

Dockside had lots of shopping and water sports rentals and a big cruise ship.

Admirality House Park was a definite highlight. A large protected cove in a public park, it offers easy swimming, a small sandy beach, cliff jumping if you dare (I thought I would but didn't want to after hearing Alex's uncontrolled screaming on the way down), and good snorkeling. This place, especially when we went back again on a sunny day, was straight up off of a postcard. Lots of locals there, convincing me that barracudas were in the water, but also offering tips on cliff jumping. You know, as much as it's sensible to take safety advice from eight-year-old boys (not the ones peddling barracuda lies, of course). This was where we easily burned 3 hours when we had anticipated spending one, where I saw some kind of big red, yellow, and black crab on the rocks, swam over a sea turtle, went through underwater forests of coral, and felt surrounded by the lush environment of Jurassic Park.

 
We may or may not have finally eaten dinner at 10pm this day.

The following day was our big boat trip out to the outer reef for some truly excellent guided snorkeling. We had an amazing guide who explained all about what we would see and did a lot to assuage any fears we might have about anything creeping up on us and stinging/biting/stealing our voices in exchange for human legs. The worst that would happen is one of the fish might try to nibble at us with rubbery lips. Feeling calm in the water wound up being key to having a good time. We spent an hour at Blue Hole, drifting over the reefs full of yellowy brain coral and rusty sea rods and purple sea fans. We saw parrot fish, butterfly fish, angel fish, and a bunch of other ones whose names I can't remember. Alex and I brought our own snorkel gear so that we'd have more opportunities to use it outside the guided trip. This was nice because we also had comfort mouth pieces that were more...comfortable. There were underwater "cliffs" where the coral dropped off and we could swim deeper into the aqua water to a sandy bottom. Alex did many times, but I preferred the very buoyant feeling of the salt water, just floating over the fish that were munching away on coral. At one point we followed two tiny transparent squids or cuttlefish or Snorks, as Alex deemed them, scooting along the surface. We got sunburned and caught in a rainstorm on the way back and counted the trip a success.

We hid out in the apartment for the hotter part of the afternoon to baby our reddened skin, and then took a twilight walk on the South Shore beaches before dinner.

The next morning was rainy, but we did manage to sample some comparison Swizzles and onion rings at the Hog Penny and let me tell you, THESE onion rings were the business. We also saw a rainbow! At some point we found our way to Art Mel's Spicy Dicey, home of the unexpectedly delicious fried fish sandwich with coleslaw on raisin bread. We shared one, which was a good four inches high, and then Alex went back for sandwich #2. This was so good that he later made questionable choices about eating the last part he had saved, which had been hanging out in the sun while we swam that afternoon. Somehow he didn't get food poisoning, so win!

Another rainy day took us to Fantasy Cave and Crystal Cave, which were cool and filled with drippy candle-like stalactites, blue water, and stories of their discovery by boys with ropes and gas lanterns.

 The rest of our time was spent chasing the sun and hoping for more snorkeling and relaxation. We got a little bit of each, though I quickly realized that when Alex was getting his snorkeling in (in the open ocean, with waves, and approaching storm clouds), there wasn't much relaxing I could do. Still, we had a great time in a place where tropical fish are more than emojis and the water is the color of gummy sharks. Until next time!

My Newest Obsessions - Chalk Paint and Rollerblading

Some things are new and exciting, like tapping into a love of painting and marrying it with a collection of mismatched furniture. Other things are timeless, like speeding down a hill with wheels strapped to your feet, unsure if you should bail into the neighbor's grass or chance the sprinkling of gravel and twigs on the path ahead.

First of all, I don't know why I stopped rollerblading. Yes, it became passe, but since when have I really cared about being cool? I had spent countless hours scraping myself off the sidewalks and telephone poles of my town, through summer and winter, occasionally attached to a system of leashes and speeding dog. The clack of plastic wheels over smooth concrete was the soundtrack of my '90s. So perhaps it was the new millenium, the mounds of high school homework, or the fact that I lost the inserts to my rollerblades, but I stopped. Years passed. I still biked, ran, swam, but did not skate. Then, enter Slomo.

This video awakened something deep and dormant in me. I went out and got myself new adult skates that same day. And knee pads, elbow pads, and wrist guards, because I'm an adult and can't miss work because I broke myself skating.

Picking up skating again is different in an adult body with a (slightly) higher center of gravity and years of rust. But in a way, it's exactly the same. It comes back in stages. The balance first. The stopping technique. The downhill slowing. The joy. 

My husband got skates too. We are using muscles we had forgotten existed. We are learning our new town the way our hometowns became ingrained in us as kids. Which routes are smooth or scary, have barking dogs or uphill climbs? What is this or that parking lot for, and will people yell at us for skating there? He came of age on the impeccable surface of the roller rink, so navigating gutter dips and bulging sidewalk squares is new. But while I duck and weave as I always have, rarely chancing a glance upward, he has introduced me to the glory of music while skating. This new era is allowing for music on demand and blue tooth earbuds. We skate and sway to the sounds of Lake Street Dive.

What childhood activity would you bring back, with current technology and an adult budget?

The other thing currently filling up my brain in ways oh so good is chalk painting. In the way that the rabbit hole of the internet works, specifically youtube, I came upon Debi's Design Diary. I love this woman. She is funky and doesn't give a rip. She paints beautiful bright furniture with her own brand of chalk/clay paint. She makes chippy textures and drippy textures and talks about her family and her happy and ugly feelings. 

I got some of her paint and went to work transforming a cheapo full length mirror for our bedroom. I'm also painting a dresser to fit the whimsical nature of this paint, creating a misty woodland scene that rolls over the drawers and onto the sides.

Now, living in a craftsman house, I have a deep respect for natural, bare, beautiful wood. But sometimes something comes to you already painted. Or plastered with stickers. Or an oddball to your established motif. Sometimes it just wants a little funk. 

I see more of this in my future.

What have you been obsessing over lately?

Glen Coe and Silver Sands Beach Recovered!