toto’s africa

I am actually hard-pressed to think of one moment in my life when this song didn’t make me feel better, happier, more alive than the millisecond before. And I have no idea what else Toto sings. Oh, apparently “Rosanna” according to Wikipedia. Life as a Top 40 girl is tough.

(Thanks, Mom)

And now your moment of Zen… (Or maybe it’s my Zen. Whatever.)

Happy Friday. Go forth and prosper.

washington state

It must be cool to live in the only state in the U.S. where people say the word “state” after your name. To distinguish it from the Nation’s Capital of course.

My grocery store is finally stocking my most favorite apples. And they are from Washington state. As they should be. It’s so rare that I see fresh food imported from the U.S.

Thinking of Washington reminds me of these gorgeous photos my brother Josh took recently of the cherry tree in his yard in Seattle. Apparently Rainier cherries are famous and highly valued- so much so there is National Rainier Cherry Day. Another one of the rare produce items imported to this land we live in. Mmmm.

speed 3: the old blighty edition

If you have been reading this for a bit, you know I have an inexplicably obnoxious superiority complex about living in cities. It surfaces about every five minutes during moments such as piling my clothes on top of my wardrobe to the ceiling since we have no storage space, and when I drop my heels off to get repaired every few weeks from sidewalk-and-carrying-groceries-five-blocks damage. A friend was telling me a story the other day about someone she knows who is living “off the grid” in the country. It occurred to me that hippie freaks like that should just move to cities like this. We use public transportation and get life in prison if we don’t recycle. My carbon footprint is about as big as my flat- roughly the size of your bathroom.

But now I can add a new layer to my arrogance and conveniently it checks multiple boxes since it can be construed also as another layer in the baby/mommy wars. On Oprah the other day a woman astutely pointed out that moms will always look for ways to divide and judge: natural conception vs. fertility treatments, natural birth vs. drugs, working vs. stay-at-home, etc. I want to add: city vs. suburb. Jonah is only 3 1/2 weeks old and he already challenges those exurb pansies to a duel. You bring your leafblower and riding lawnmower, we will bring pollution, construction and mom & pop-owned businesses.

You see yesterday we were out at an appointment for J and then to meet up with some other new mums. London cabs are amazing in their design and you can just bring the stroller/pushchair/buggy/pram right in with you- baby inside and all. We of course were using the rain cover. It’s London, people. So I was sitting pretty smug thinking, I have conquered stoller-up-stairs, rain and getting baby in taxi all in one day. Those detached-house mommies have nothing on me! Little did I know what the day would bring.

When I left the pub with the girls, I headed to a bus stop in Holland Park. Adding a bus trip with an infant to my day was sure to bring me world dominance. I waited at the stop when out of nowhere, the skies opened and biblical, torrential, Armageddon rain and HAIL started thundering down. The sky turned black. Flash floods appeared. An 8-year old boy who was apoplectic at the bus stop (is there a clinical name for “fear of floods”?) was practically crawling on top of my head. Just when the scene could not have been delivered more perfectly from a movie set, yes, I am not exaggerating- a truck (lorry) rode by and SPLASHED ALL OF US WITH A TIDAL WAVE OF DIRTY STREET WATER. I actually shrieked. Partially for joy as it all seemed like such a fun adventure for maternity leave.

Then the bus pulled up. The bus that I had frozen to death waiting for. When I got on with my extra human load, the driver asked me where I was going. I was confused but it turns out he was telling me to get off, that there was no room for a stroller. I looked down the bus corridor and all I could see were masses of soaking wet rush hour commuters, smelling like dogs in the rain and looking a little like they would eat me if I held the bus up one minute longer. I was confused. My brain could only process that if I got off the bus, Jonah and I would surely die in a flood of sewer water and fish & chips carcasses. And then out of nowhere…

My English heroine. A sopping wet woman started shouting, “She is not getting off this bus! She has a baby! That is ridiculous! Make way! We can fit this buggy on the bus! This is ridiculous! You don’t do that to a baby!!” And all of the sudden people starting clearing the aisle and getting up from their seats. This would be the part in the movie where the music crescendos and you start crying at the common decency of your fellow man. Although if set in New York, someone would have thrown their chicken bones at my head.

I could have wept. I felt guilty that I got off at the very next stop to transfer to another (empty) bus route. And then I felt angry because it took an hour to get home when a cab would have been ten minutes. But Jonah slept through the entire thing snuggled up in fifteen blankets, a state-of-the-art stroller and rain guard. I was shivering, wet, exhausted and was of course wearing flip flops so may now have 11 different types of foot fungal infections. But we are badass city folk. And I think Sandra Bullock could appreciate this plotline. I mean, no one saw Speed 2 okay. Cruise Control?? Ridiculous.

Yes, I just wrote a short novel about the most boring thing you ever read. But you’re at work and this is still better than solitaire.

bad mom

I have been a bad blogger and I decided I might as well be consistent. These are the ways that in just three short weeks I have discovered I am a bad mom:

1. When we took Jonah out in the Baby Bjorn for the first time, I forgot a hat. Apparently 2 week olds are not supposed to be exposed to the sun or they melt or something. So we walked around all afternoon with a bib balancing on his head.
2. I am pretty sure I nursed Jonah on Saturday about 20 minutes after I had a beer and a jello shot. But to be fair, he purposely lost flip cup for our team.
3. I really, really, really want to get a mani/pedi. The salon I go to has the most intense chemical smell of any I have ever been to. So I am currently researching where I can purchase a baby-size face mask.
4. Breastfeeding can be all-consuming and monotonous in the beginning. So I attempt to multi-task and often eat at the same time. To date I have dropped Dorito crumbs and chocolate ice cream on Jonah’s head.
5. With respect to the aforementioned all-consumingness, sometimes when Jonah is screaming and flailing with inconsolable hunger and rapture for my boob, I stick my nose in his mouth at first just to watch him intensely suckle before confusion sets in. It makes me laugh every time.

I do love him more than anything in the universe. But I yam what I yam.

my favourite holiday

is Fourth of July of course. I am sure I mentioned it last year.

Matt & Trish hosted a bit of an international crowd at a 4th of July barbecue in their flat and garden in Notting Hill. The fancy dress theme was, wait for it: red, white & blue. Remember fancy dress means costume/theme, not formal. Bah.

Sarah & Andrea posed for my v. favorite pic. Andrea is Italian, and not the Long Island chicken parm-eating kind. The real deal. Sarah is from Texas. I am throwing in a photo they sent me from their wedding in Tuscany a couple weeks ago. Just because I can.

People brought to the bbq all kind of delicious staples from home like chili, rice crispy treats, macaroni & cheese, hot dogs and my family’s very-famous potato salad. I am not kidding about its fame. Try it for yourself.

Potato Salad recipe

4 cups diced cooked potato (I prefer peeled Idaho baking potatoes)
1 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
i med onion diced
1/2 cup celery chopped
4 hard boiled eggs, diced

mix these 3 ingredients together and then mix together and pour over the potato mixture

1 cup mayo
1 tbl mustard (I like spicy brown and I also put in way more than this says)
2 tbl apple cider vinegar

Tastes much better after it’s been in the fridge for awhile.

And Siobhan made a red, white & blue cake with some serious dedication and attention to detail.

The more important part of the story is how fun the day was. Lots of great people and tunes (we even suffered through “Proud to Be An American” by Lee Greenwood several times). Independence Day always seems even more meaningful when abroad. Especially because Trish’s cousin made jello shots and you know momma had one.

Jonah lasted for 8 hours being passed from person to person and through several patriotic outfit changes, starting with his Obama onesie of course (thanks poren!). Matt & Trish are such thoughtful hosts they even constructed a nursing corner for me called ‘Jonah’s Diner’. Not a bad way to celebrate your 3-week old birthday.

the beginning, chapter 2: our hospital cocoon

Back to the Jonah story. Yes, this week too.

The Portland Hospital is a very fancy place to have a baby. An international and jet-set crowd passes through it, eschewing the government-funded NHS healthcare system. This was all unbeknown to me nine+ months ago when my consultant (aka ob/gyn) told me that is where she delivers (her patients are mostly expats with private health insurance). I am sort of a yes-man when it comes to dictates from doctors. What do I know.

Fast-forward to June and there we were in the fancy hospital. Private room, en suite bathroom (they love the term “en suite” over here and so do I), midwives coming in every five seconds to teach me every thing I could ever want to know about caring for a newborn and breastfeeding. My first sponge bath. Hello. A “room service” menu for me to order my three meals a day- choices that were restaurant-caliber. Five luxurious days. Well, somewhat luxurious considering I had surgery and we had an infant to care for. When we transferred rooms Bryan started complaining that the flat-screen tv in the second room wasn’t as big as the first. Foolish boy. It was never turned on the whole time. When we left, one of the many staff members that dress for hotel work rather than hospital work, brought us a gift bag that included champagne and Molton Brown products. Oh and then there was that photo shoot…

But this is not me bragging. The whole thing was surreal and hilarious to me too. As Summer said it, I will be so depressed to ever have a baby in the states. But more important than the conditions, five days in the hospital gave us a bit of a coc0on to nest in. No real world, no traffic or noise or annoyances. Just happiness and lots of firsts for Jonah. Including his first visitors.

visitors