A slightly bruised up nose but otherwise good as new. She's long forgotten while I tear up just thinking about it.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
The Day After
A slightly bruised up nose but otherwise good as new. She's long forgotten while I tear up just thinking about it.
Worst day
Most days are neither good nor bad, glorious nor horrific. Most days pass in a semi blur of routine and happenstance. Yesterday was hands down my worst day as a mom.
It made me think of other worst days of my life. When I was little (6ish maybe?) and we awoke in the middle of the night to a scary drunk guy kicking on our front door yelling obscenities. The worst of it was not this random dude threatening to break in but the look of complete terror on my mom's face as she held us close - single mom of two young girls. We huddled in the darkness of her bedroom in the back of the house as she phoned the police and tried to enlist their help ("sorry lady, we got real emergencies to deal with here"). I knew at that moment for the first time in my short life that my mom could not protect us - that she too was vulnerable and that my childhood would soon end.
The next most memorable involved my first broken heart. The day I found out my love, the first real one at 14 years old (he was 16, a popular school DJ and bad boy) had been cheating on me with my best friend - freckly, red headed cheerleader goodie two shoes lived across the street from me Julie. Classic betrayal. A young heart torn by the loss of boyfriend and best friend in the same cataclysmic instant. Many many many tears.
The most recent was the day I said goodbye to my dying friend Joni. The conversation we shared with a clear understanding that we would never see or talk to one another again paints grey a tiny part of my every day since.
So, yesterday. It started out as routine as any other. I took Valen with the umbrella stroller and Utta for a spin around the lake across the street. Multi-tasking as all moms do, Utta got a good morning workout and the baby entertained by the scenery, fresh air, and passerbys to shout out "Hola! Hola! Hola!".
We finished the loop and started the return for home. I stopped at the crosswalk waiting for the green light and white man walking sign. I'm always extra careful and nervous frankly crossing Libertador - either from our side or from the park back over. Its a double-wide busy street with cars zooming in both directions. People run red lights all the time and never look to the right to check if a pregnant mother with infant and a dog might be crossing.
The white walker blinked on and I lowered the strollers' front two wheels down from the high curb to the cobblestone below. (many parts of Buenos Aires are still paved in cobblestone - Libertador is not but for some reason on this stretch of the street, there is a 4 foot wide lane of cobblestone to cross before the asphalt begins) The stroller wheels stuck in the cobblestone for a split second and the rear of the stroller lifted up in the air a few inches. My hands were well position on the handles of the stroller but just at that moment Utta charged ahead to cross the street - ahead of us but attached to the left stroller handle via her leash. I tried to hold it down but the forward yank caught me offguard. Utta continued ahead taking the stroller handles with her as the baby (buckled in) catapulted forward face down in the asphalt. Just like in the movies- yes, "it all happened so fast".
I immediately tried to lift the stroller up off the street (at this point face down with my 15 month old inside) - at the same time I couldn't just unleash Utta as she would surely jet into the oncoming lanes of traffic. With all this swirling in my panic stricken mind, I tugged Utta's leash back with my left hand and tried to lift the stroller and baby with my right. Just at that moment, a car stopped and two young men jumped out to assist me. They helped me right the stroller and I immediately pulled a screaming and bloodied little baby into my arms. There was a lot of blood. It streamed out of her nose and seemed to come from her mouth too. Her face was dirty from street soot and she looked scared as hell. Blood smeared my shoulder and arms as I tried to wipe away and access her wounds. The assists asked me if I needed anything else, if I knew that Clinica Trinidad was just one block away. Shaken, I thanked them but said I could handle it from there. Obviously I couldn't handle it but they left anyway. Paula, the maid who brings baby Joaquin (born on the same day as Valentina) to our neighborhood playground everyday was standing on the other side of the street with Joaquin in her arms and witnessed the whole ordeal. She crossed over to us quickly and offered to help bring us home. I let her take the stroller back across Libertador while I carried Valen in one arm and led Utta with the other. When we arrived at the other side, Valen looked at her friend and said through teary eyes and bloody boogers "Hola Joaquin!" and then laid her head on my shoulder. I knew then that she would be ok but I just sobbed.
It made me think of other worst days of my life. When I was little (6ish maybe?) and we awoke in the middle of the night to a scary drunk guy kicking on our front door yelling obscenities. The worst of it was not this random dude threatening to break in but the look of complete terror on my mom's face as she held us close - single mom of two young girls. We huddled in the darkness of her bedroom in the back of the house as she phoned the police and tried to enlist their help ("sorry lady, we got real emergencies to deal with here"). I knew at that moment for the first time in my short life that my mom could not protect us - that she too was vulnerable and that my childhood would soon end.
The next most memorable involved my first broken heart. The day I found out my love, the first real one at 14 years old (he was 16, a popular school DJ and bad boy) had been cheating on me with my best friend - freckly, red headed cheerleader goodie two shoes lived across the street from me Julie. Classic betrayal. A young heart torn by the loss of boyfriend and best friend in the same cataclysmic instant. Many many many tears.
The most recent was the day I said goodbye to my dying friend Joni. The conversation we shared with a clear understanding that we would never see or talk to one another again paints grey a tiny part of my every day since.
So, yesterday. It started out as routine as any other. I took Valen with the umbrella stroller and Utta for a spin around the lake across the street. Multi-tasking as all moms do, Utta got a good morning workout and the baby entertained by the scenery, fresh air, and passerbys to shout out "Hola! Hola! Hola!".
We finished the loop and started the return for home. I stopped at the crosswalk waiting for the green light and white man walking sign. I'm always extra careful and nervous frankly crossing Libertador - either from our side or from the park back over. Its a double-wide busy street with cars zooming in both directions. People run red lights all the time and never look to the right to check if a pregnant mother with infant and a dog might be crossing.
The white walker blinked on and I lowered the strollers' front two wheels down from the high curb to the cobblestone below. (many parts of Buenos Aires are still paved in cobblestone - Libertador is not but for some reason on this stretch of the street, there is a 4 foot wide lane of cobblestone to cross before the asphalt begins) The stroller wheels stuck in the cobblestone for a split second and the rear of the stroller lifted up in the air a few inches. My hands were well position on the handles of the stroller but just at that moment Utta charged ahead to cross the street - ahead of us but attached to the left stroller handle via her leash. I tried to hold it down but the forward yank caught me offguard. Utta continued ahead taking the stroller handles with her as the baby (buckled in) catapulted forward face down in the asphalt. Just like in the movies- yes, "it all happened so fast".
I immediately tried to lift the stroller up off the street (at this point face down with my 15 month old inside) - at the same time I couldn't just unleash Utta as she would surely jet into the oncoming lanes of traffic. With all this swirling in my panic stricken mind, I tugged Utta's leash back with my left hand and tried to lift the stroller and baby with my right. Just at that moment, a car stopped and two young men jumped out to assist me. They helped me right the stroller and I immediately pulled a screaming and bloodied little baby into my arms. There was a lot of blood. It streamed out of her nose and seemed to come from her mouth too. Her face was dirty from street soot and she looked scared as hell. Blood smeared my shoulder and arms as I tried to wipe away and access her wounds. The assists asked me if I needed anything else, if I knew that Clinica Trinidad was just one block away. Shaken, I thanked them but said I could handle it from there. Obviously I couldn't handle it but they left anyway. Paula, the maid who brings baby Joaquin (born on the same day as Valentina) to our neighborhood playground everyday was standing on the other side of the street with Joaquin in her arms and witnessed the whole ordeal. She crossed over to us quickly and offered to help bring us home. I let her take the stroller back across Libertador while I carried Valen in one arm and led Utta with the other. When we arrived at the other side, Valen looked at her friend and said through teary eyes and bloody boogers "Hola Joaquin!" and then laid her head on my shoulder. I knew then that she would be ok but I just sobbed.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Hello 2010
My friend Tara reminded me recently of an apt quote "The road to hell is paved with good intentions" for the close of 2009. I really did intend to make at least a few posts in December but obviously failed. I had plenty to write about. The completion of November's novel writing month - which produced 15,000 of my own words, a start but not the whole novel. Then my first "mommycation" a 5 day retreat to a lux hotel called the Llao Llao in Bariloche, Patagonia - alone. I used to take solo vacations every year to a hippy spa in the hills outside of Guadalajara called Rio Caliente. It was something I always looked forward to and went every year for nearly 7 years. I thought those days were long gone with the birth of Valentina but Hugh insisted. Yes, he deserves the Daddy of The Year Award and all my mommy friends were pea green with envy.
December passed quickly in a blur of end of year dinner parties. I brought Sour Chickpeas and chicken tandoori to more than one potluck event. Mostly, I endured nausea and tried to nap when Valen did. The news of baby number 2 took us by surprise but in a good way.
This year we'll visit family and friends in Dallas/San Francisco from late February through mid March. Then, come August, we'll welcome a Leo to the family and in November we'll celebrate 10 years of marriage. Whew, I better get another nap in....
Monday, November 23, 2009
Sag Paneer
My fascination with India goes back some 10 years. Joni and I were in the same marketing group at Oracle. We befriended Sharmila - a beautiful ex-model from Bombay, then a Direct Marketing expert living in Fremont (the SF Bay Area's little India) with her arranged marriage hubbie. One of the memorable events of that period was Sharmila's baby shower. Joni and I were the only non-Indian women invited. The twenty or so others came donned in Oscar night caliber saris - rich hues of eggplant, fuscia, turquoise and canary yellow - golden embroidery lining every hem. Sharmila wore a sexy belly-baring hot pink sari with tiny rubies (yes, real ones) pasted across her forehead. Her lips painted red and a thousand bangle bracelets lined her delicate arm. Her friends wore their finest but she was clearly the star. We ate homemade Indian fare - more than 10 varieties of curry, naan bread and other things that tasted amazing but I'd never tried at any Indian restaurant in San Francisco. I felt like a complete toad in my Gap khakis and Ann Taylor blouse. As they encircled Sharmila and talked about their home country I imagined visiting one day with Joni.
In December I'll complete the first year of a three year teacher training program in Iyengar yoga. Part of the course has been a detailed study of yoga philosophy, hinduism, and Indian mythology. Before I became pregnant, I imagined visiting India at one of the many ashrams and of course making a stop in Bombay to visit Sharmila, who has since moved back, had another child and is making a successful career for herself in acting and commercials. I know the right time will come but it will not be this year or next.
For now, I'll continue my exploration of all things India until I get a taste of the real thing. My latest exploration has been of the culinary variety. In October I attended a four week intensive cooking course of Northern Indian food. It was a birthday gift from Hugh which turned out to be more of a gift for him. A long time expat named Juhi led the course from her own small kitchen. There were three of us foodies. Each week we learned how to prepare four dishes. After class we'd gorge ourselves on the leftovers and during the week I'd practice at home at least two of the four new recipes I learned.
In the first photo, I'm in class about to flip over a mung lentil and basmati rice pancake. The second shot is of my first at home effort - a meal of Vegetable Biryani, Spicy Eggplant with homemade yogurt and Carrot Raisin salad with mustard seeds and ginger. The last photo is of my daughter eating and enjoying extremely flavorful and in some cases quite spicy Indian food. My Uncle-in-Law Lee aka Ram Alexander who lives in Assisi Italy and spends three months a year in India says she must have been Indian in a past life. There you have it.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
NaNoWriMO
Today marks the kick off of National Novel Writing Month - (ck out www.nanowrimo.org) and my real return to writing. My writer's group Thursdays@3 decided to participate this year - meaning each of us will write a novel during the month of November with the support of each other and the org/website that hosts the event every year.
Junot Diaz would be proud of me. It's what he urged me to do - take on an unspeakably bold goal. For someone with no time or energy, writing a novel in a month is a preposterous idea and for that I'm smitten. I have nothing to lose except feeling in my hands when I reach the 50,000 typed word goal in a month.
Today I logged just over 1,800 words (they say about 1600 per day to reach the goal of 175 pages) most written during Valentina's first nap. The rest after I put her down for the night, poured a glass of Merlot and opened a Toblerone. There is no time for perfectionism, editing, overthinking the plot, idea or whether I'm capable. There's just writing every single day for a month on a single project and sticking with it.
Whatever comes out, it'll be worth the effort because I never thought I could.
Junot Diaz would be proud of me. It's what he urged me to do - take on an unspeakably bold goal. For someone with no time or energy, writing a novel in a month is a preposterous idea and for that I'm smitten. I have nothing to lose except feeling in my hands when I reach the 50,000 typed word goal in a month.
Today I logged just over 1,800 words (they say about 1600 per day to reach the goal of 175 pages) most written during Valentina's first nap. The rest after I put her down for the night, poured a glass of Merlot and opened a Toblerone. There is no time for perfectionism, editing, overthinking the plot, idea or whether I'm capable. There's just writing every single day for a month on a single project and sticking with it.
Whatever comes out, it'll be worth the effort because I never thought I could.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
Valentina's 1st Birthday
A homemade heart-shaped banana cake with pink-dyed whipped cream frosting and sprinkles.
A few hours with a few friends at our neighborhood playground.
A tantrum and then home.
Just another day with my now toddler.
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