Have Not Want Not

Zingaro Bimbo Nostro (our little baby gypsy)

I think that as you get older and you start understanding yourself, knowing yourself better, you ultimately become a happier person. Embracing your faults along with your good points is a lot easier than fighting against them or denying them altogether. Some faults can be changed, some modified, some acknowledged as unchangeable but learnt from.

Like my materialism. From an early age I have always had expensive taste. I don't go shopping often and I don't necessarily believe everything needs to be top line. Only some things and I have a hard time budging from my idea surrounding a given item. Like our strollers. We spent a small fortune on our Bugaboo stroller when Z. was first born and then again for our Phil and Ted's double decker stroller. They really have been worth the money though, this is the thing. When I can justify the investment to me its worth the money. Or if there is my nostalgic romantic attachment to some things in life I can't let go of like our beautiful old fashioned wedding invitations or our wedding china, clearly a rather indulgent investment for a life style that we don't yet have and might not ever. 

But on the other hand I am afterall still a bit of a Zingara (Gypsy). I can make do with what I have and am greatful for whatever I have and am given (which is a lot by the way) and most material things I don't have such strong feelings about - Our cribs? Ikea and Z.'s new toddler bed is second hand bought from our neighbor. And baby clothes? We have so many hand me downs, M. will never own a single item bought for him poor boy. And toys? I'd say 60% if not more have been given to us. The furniture in our house? A combination of Ikea, freebies (street acquisitions or left to us by former room-mates, neighbors, family), antiques, wedding presents and the furniture from the house. Books? I occasionally will buy new books but I'm much more into searching for gems from charity shops particularly children's books as at this age they're more likely to be ripped a part or bitten then read. I've worked in the fashion industry for thirteen years and so you'd think I'd be a clothes horse and I am but mostly of all the freebies I've received over the years. Thankfully I'm back to my pre-pregnancy size (don't know how that happened perhaps something to do with chasing after two boys under two 12 + hours a day?) so I can thankfully fit back into a lot of my old clothes.

My husband is much more of a spendthrift than I am. He has a great rule which I am now really good at following which is to really never to let any food in the refrigerator go bad. We very rarely throw anything out and make most of our meals from scratch which not only is better for you is much more economical. Spaghetti sauce which what in the States probably costs a couple of dollars a jar? I've been making my own for years now but never more so than married to an Italian. Buy a can of chopped tomatoes for 30 pence and saute a piece of garlic, throw in some basil and salt and maybe oregano and you've got yourself spaghetti sauce for four for under a pound.

Trying to let go of certain steadfast materialist ideas I have isn't easy. For example, we bought our neighbor's toddler bed for. Z as we gave his crib to M. We didn't have sheets for the new bed so I wanted of course to buy a new set of sheets for him. The thing is, we already have so many bedsheets of varying sizes, including three sheets which are too small for our beds which we were going to get rid of, so S. suggested we use them for Z.'s bed. At first I was really mortified. No, Z. needed new sheets, his childhood will be totally ruined without new sheets. Ridiculous. The strange size fitted sheets when folded over fit the new toddler bed perfectly. There is no point in buying another set of sheets we'll use only for this particular bed which we probably won't even bring with us to the States next year. That is money which doesn't need to be spent on more STUFF we don't need.

Once I accepted the sheets and realized that Z.'s childhood would not be ruined, his new/ old bed looks adorable - he still has his colorful Ikea children's pillow cases and duvet cover, his hand sewn owl pillow (gift for M.) and hand knit Afghan (another gift for M.) and his favorite stuffed animals on his bed- it was like the spendthrift in me was born. I thought, if it bothers me that much I can tie dye the sheets and make them more his or I can sew them so that they properly fit the mattress completely - totally not necessary. Then I started examining all the parts of our life where we can start saving more and cutting back, recycling old things in a new way and its becoming not only a great exercise in saving money but in being a little more creative with problems, as opposed to just throwing money at them.

The constant battle I have with myself derives from here, at least I've identified the problem. Now that the problem has been identified I'm working on using both to my advantage...

Breasts, Surgery, Feeding, Etc.

I've been thinking a lot about boobs recently. What with Angelina Jolie's shocking revelation  yesterday. And my constant mourning of my inability to exclusively breastfeed - ridiculous I know but I really loved it when we / I was able to make it work and I always feel a tinge of guilt and jealousy when I see other mothers effortlessly breastfeeding at playgroup. I feel it less now that M. is six months and eating solids and I also know that for whatever reason it was never as easy for me/ us as other moms make it look as they throw a boob in a mouth discretely mid-chat. Well it was sometimes and then sometimes it wasn't. We did get into a groove at times but I still almost always needed the formula to top up, whether I was overfeeding M. as one breastfeeding midwife suggested, I don't know, I don't think so. I saw how much happier he was after receiving the formula and how much more weight he gained and that's really what I was more concerned with at the end of the day.

It's hard to know what exactly the problem was. Maybe it was adding the formula in the beginning when I was so engorged the baby couldn't get his mouth around my boob because our latch was all wrong and I couldn't even pump enough, maybe even though I did produce a lot more milk this time around I simply never made enough thanks to a lumpectomy I had in both breasts of a fibroadenoma I had a decade ago. The right breast didn't have anything but they still removed tissue as the biopsy said I had rapidly reproducing cells which turned out to be nothing. I have scars on both breasts away from the nipple because I was so adamant about being able to breast feed even when I was in my twenties and not anywhere near thinking about babies. In hindsight of course I wish I had skipped the surgery altogether, but doctors are convincing and the results were scary enough to make me want the surgery.

Which brings me back to Angelina. I can't believe the negative backlash I've read in the comments section of some sites against what I feel is a particular act of bravery on her part. My surgery was really simple outpatient stuff although I was under general anaesthesia but was otherwise able to go back to work the next day, although I think I smartly took the day off and recovered at my parents' house over the weekend until the pain, which was pretty substantial in the beginning, subsided. I had so many emotions as a twenty-something, tied up in my boobs by having two still fairly prominent scars. I cannot imagine anyone going through voluntary cosmetic surgery let alone a double mastectomy as a preventative measure. Particularly someone who makes a living on her looks and prides herself as being the world's 21st century fertility goddess.

A woman's breasts are fair game from the time she hits puberty. Do you have any? She developed way too early. She's a late bloomer. Are they big, small? All nipple? Are you wearing a bra? She's not wearing a bra. A cup? B cup? DD?? She needs a bra. That shirt is too tight/ loose/ see through/ way too revealing? Too much cleavage? No cleavage. Flat chested? Pancakes? Are those real? Boob job. There's no WAY that those are REAL. Headlights. Are you breastfeeding? Did you see her take her BOOBS out in the middle of _____ to feed the baby? You are NOT breastfeeding? You only breast fed until... She's still breastfeeding??? Her boobs are down to her knees now after having kids. Her boobs are so perky she must have had a lift, etc., etc., etc...

Angelina Jolie, I salute you. Your surgery and decision to have it was no ones business but your own but you've done an incredible service to breast cancer and empowering women in your situation and women in general by sharing your story.

Knock, Knock...

Anyone there? I took a break from blogging, it wasn't deliberate, I haven't made time for it but really have so much in my mind I want to write about. My maternity leave is almost over and I'm trying not to count the days before I have to go to work next month. I feel really lucky to have had all these months with my boys, I know its not always possible for some families.

It actually works out better financially for us to have one parent home with the kids as daycare is so prohibitively expensive in London, so when I go back to work S. will be home. I think because of this arrangement I feel much more relaxed about my return to the office although I know I will miss being home with my children. There are so many unknowns with a daycare center or even a childminder although we've got a friend who might be willing to look after the boys and our neighbor, who we've become friends with, is a childminder and wonderful with the kids so I would feel confident with either of them. But, we can't afford it. Crazy that with one parent home we manage to save money and if both parents were working and we sent the kids to a childminder we wouldn't be able to save. 

There is a proposal in Parliament to allow nurseries to reduce the amount of carers per child, supposedly to help reduce the costs of the fees for parents which in London at the moment probably averages around £60 day for a baby. This is a completely naive idea on so many levels. Firstly, the proposal is for six two-year-olds per carer and four under ones per carer, what kind of attention will your child receive with this arrangement? They'll be changing diapers most of the day... And secondly, do they really believe that a private daycare which at the end of the day is trying to make money, will really reduce the fees when it's an opportunity for them to make more of a profit?

I'm not sure what the answer is, short of creating more state run affordable daycare centers but none the less we wouldn't qualify for a spot in one in any case. Ah, the struggles of a middle class family, too rich to be poor too poor to be rich. We are not in need of anything. In fact we have more than enough and isn't it great that our children will be raised when they're so little by their parents instead of a childminder but I guess it's that we are left without a choice which is the difficulty. And that it's me who goes back to work when I'd prefer to stay home and it's my husband who is home when he'd prefer to be working because it makes more sense financially at the moment. This is one of the many reasons why we are slowly planning our escape route out of the city.

Hiding

I've been hiding. I've been hiding from the cold, dull, wet winter days of London, the chaos, the noise. I've been hiding from my husband, our marriage, our recent arguments which left me feeling sad and alone even in the midst of our two beautiful boys. I've been hiding from myself hoping I'd reappear as a new incarnation of me, stronger, taller, calmer, more organised and free from worry. I've been hiding from reality on the one hand and our dreams on the other, while everything, everything except the daily love and care of our two boys, was put on hold while S. and I turned ourselves inside out trying to understand what we were doing. 

Stress is a terrible enemy to love. It creeps up on you and sets camp in the most unknown places waiting to strike when you are most vulnerable. We are better now, things are settled, peace has been made but life while always wonderful - how can it not be when I look into the eyes of my two boys and I see the man I set out to make this life with looking back at me? - is hard, even when you feel you are blessed with so much. We are set on moving to the States next year, I'm hopeful that we'll do it and be closer to my family and even closer to S.'s sister and nieces in Canada. We'd move to Italy to be close to S.'s family too if the country wasn't in such shambles. The dislocation of family in this globalised world is one thing which really hurts us all as a society. I feel the absence of family much more now with kids and I hope we can change that.

A Post A Day - A Corner of One's Own

I sleep under a picture of the Brooklyn Bridge given to me by my niece a few years ago for Christmas. I'm so nostalgic about Brooklyn, the Brooklyn of my childhood, that I have small mementos of Brooklyn all over the house. In fact there is a tie dyed Brooklyn Bridge pillow on our bed just out of the shot.

Just next to the bed is M.'s moses basket, he's almost too big for it now but its hard for me to think about moving him out of our room, or even just away from my side of the bed. We have many different scenarios for the next steps, all of which involve him not sleeping next to me. My idea is to get a travel cot to buy some time before moving Z. out of his crib but we're supposed to be saving money to move next year so that idea for the moment was shot down by S.

Even though you can't see it in the picture, we've got a bay window in our bedroom. The curve of the window gives the room a wonderful warm feeling to it, particularly as the light comes through it in the afternoon. I love rocking M. to sleep and looking out at my neighbors as they stroll home at night, it makes me feel a bit less homesick.

A Post A Day - 88 Highbury Corner Morning

In an effort to keep myself writing and to record little memories of this time in my life, I'm forcing myself to post daily no matter how mundane the result. I have so many long posts running through my head and when I start to write them, they end up all over the place, sorry about that. I'm hoping by writing everyday my posts will become more focused. Thanks for reading while I find my voice again.

This image is of our breakfast yesterday morning. We didn't clear the table because our dishwasher is broken and the sink was already full of dishes. There are three remaining blueberry muffins from the eight S. baked that morning inpromptu as the blueberries were going off.

The poster on the wall is of my favorite Italian actress Monica Vitti.  Monica Vitti was Antonioni's muse and he's my favorite director. I've never seen that particularly film Modesty Blaise - and apparently it wasn't great - but I love the poster because she's dressed in a velvet suit and she looks both sexy and strong in it. Z. always points to the two men behind her and asks Papa? Or any number of our male friends.

The sun is coming through the glass doors from our garden, which is lovely when it happens, the lighting in the kitchen is so pretty when there is sun in the morning. We have a crystal on the door which is solar powered and makes rainbows on the wall like a disco ball when it's really sunny. My mother gave it to us and I think of her everytime it works.

The shelves against the wall are mostly empty. We've moved everything on top as Z. kept pulling everything off the shelves which is funny when you think about it, an empty bookshelf with cookbooks and magazines and a Kitchen Aid on top. On the corner of the shelves are a stack of interior decorating magazines. I need to go through them and keep the pages I like and recycle the rest but I still love flipping through them when I can.

You can see a big crack in the wall above our recycling can. We had the crack repaired when we first moved into the house and now its back. There has been damp in every house I've lived in in London. The elements are slowly eating away at walls and floors and ceilings in this country, only to be plastered up and then deteriorate again, its a funny game we play with mother nature.