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Today is the day!

The Governor Wins

Not to debate the Michael Jackson vs. Farrah Fawcett* newscycle, the real winner is that governor from South Carolina. When pop icons die, it makes politics even that less interesting and front page worthy. Even if it is some rambling guy who not only cheated, but also may have used state money to fund some of the travel. Has he not learned anything from the cheats of the past?

But, from thousands of miles away, all this news makes me miss my old jobs more than I have in months. While it's pretty unlikely that I would have gotten an assignment out of either death** covering celebrity news was what I did for the vast majority of my journalism career. 

(This is the one photo I have from those years.  It was my last interview in New York before moving to Atlanta. Check the striped hair. It was 2004.  Also note who is holding my recorder.)

And this morning felt like old times a bit. Elliot and I sat on the stairs and visited with Husband as he got ready for work. And we had our usual debate.

We were talking about how I missed working. 

I spent years covering celebrities in New York and then in Atlanta. Along with the regular assignments of party coverage, movie premieres, ten-day festivals and usual interviews, if there was breaking news, I'd get a call and would be off as soon as I could get out the door...sometimes to the airport to catch the next flight to a starlet's hometown to interview her middle school dance teacher. Other times to the courthouse to search for papers in a legal dispute. Other times to go to a town somewhere and find my own sources.

Husband who always supports my work, indulges me and loves my stories more than he lets on, was giving his familiar high brow refrain, which is a variation of "Why does anyone care about this?"

And then I defend it all, which is a mixture of "it's driven by the public need for 24 hours news"and "when you are a public figure who makes money from every press hit, it lowers your threshold of privacy, plus often they like it""*** and "people like escapism."  

Then I point out that it's just another faction of news, much like the financial pages he loves to peruse.

Then I blame it on MTV,**** Jerry Springer and his ilk.**** 

Also, it's fun.  

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*In case you are wondering, I am all in Farrah's camp. On Charlie's Angels she was a roundhouse-kicking, perfect-hair wearing, sports car driving badass. In retrospect perhaps it was all a little sexist (to wit: nipples) but at the time they were like real life superheros (as real as it could be in Aaron Spellings tv world). Afterward she did some fine acting, picking up an Emmy along the way. Her exploits with the loony Letterman interview and that weird stint of rolling around in gold paint, were a little bit endearing and little bit more sad. And then there was her firey relationship with Ryan O'Neal, again a little bit endearing and a little bit more sad. And then when she was sick, she did everything she could to live and publicized her struggles to raise awareness.

As for MJ, yep he was inarguably a megastar of the highest wattage who left a catalogue of timeless hits, but I still can't get past the Jesus juice and slumber parties with little boys.

**Usually celebrities are assigned to offices based on locations and both Fawcett and Jackson are LA based and also long-term stories. So they would most likely use West Coast reporters unless there was an East Coast angle.

***I explained it here months ago.  Click, then scroll down to the bottom.

****i.e. shortened attention span in the general public, especially in people our age; the opening of celebrity lives...suddenly everyone feels like they "know" them more so than ever; plus more sexual images.

*****schadenfreude as an afternoon pastime.

Happy Father's Day

I've always pretty much ignored Father's Day, not because I am against the idea of the day, but because my own father has been less than involved*.  I've always had stand-ins when needed in the forms of my Papa (Big D's dad) or Bill or various friends' fathers, so it hasn't been tragic, just occasionally disappointing. 

But this year, there is great cause for celebration.  Exactly as I suspected he would be, not only is Husband great at the various husbandly duties and my favorite companion, but he's a stellar dad.

From the very beginning, Husband prepared for Elliot's arrival.  He read** a few "expectant dad" books, indulged my need for ridiculous gear*** and painted the nursery.  

Then when Elliot was born, he stepped up in a big way.  The birth was difficult for a variety of reasons and Big D couldn't arrive to help for several weeks. 

Singlehandedly, Husband juggled the dogs and the house and me. And other than actually feeding Elliot, Husband handled much of his care for several weeks until I felt better.  He's a killer diaper changer and even now, Husband gets up in the middle of the night at least once every single night to help with him.  

He listens thoughtfully to all my concerns, both insane**** and logical,***** thinks about them, discusses it and then helps me execute the plan. 

And (almost) best of all, he takes Elliot and the dogs for long, long walks so I can have a little quiet time.*******

And of course Elliot adores him.  

It may be easy to say that all of this is exactly what Husband "should" do and it probably is, but it's far and away from what I am used to, so I don't know how we could be any luckier. 

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*Without putting too fine a point in it, this is putting it mildly. 

**And made great fun of...

***The swing, the sling, the two tubes of nipple cream (now used as lip balm) and the matching cover for the nursing pillow just to name a few that I can remember. 

****"If Elliot cries for more than 5 minutes in a row, do you think it will fry the little neuron connections in his brain and make him a defective and insecure adult person?"

*****"If we don't teach him to fall asleep on his own, we'll be doing him a disservice. Plus it will make both of us crazy people." 

*******Like right now...

In Which I Am Sleep Deprived and Husband Saves the Day

Right after we got engaged, BigD pulled Husband aside and said "When Elizabeth gets cranky, tell her to go take a nap. She'll be better when she wakes up."*  

I've never needed that much sleep.  

In high school and college I  would routinely pull all-nighters.  In graduate school, I did my best work between midnight and 4am when things all around were quiet and all there was to hear were the soothing city sounds and the click click of typing. 

And when I covered red-carpet and parties, I would have to scurry home afterwards to transcribe and write to make my 8am deadline.  After the long nights, I'd nap for a few hours, then go on with the rest of my day. 

But I can only do it so many days in a row.  After five or six days, maximum, it starts to affect my mood. I get teary for no real reason and my patience dissapates.** In the olden days, I would just spend an entire day in bed to catch up.***  

Life is a little bit different these days.

Elliot is a sweet baby and sometimes when I hear stories of babies that are much more challenging, I feel extra lucky.  He has been sleeping in five hour shifts at night.  During the day, we play, he eats, then naps.  (Repeat)  He's cheery and babbles funny things. He doesn't complain when I drag him all over town on errands or walks. And he doesn't fuss when I put him down in the bouncy seat or in his play gym for me to have a few moments of hands-off time.

Until recently.  

For the past four or five days, he's been ultra fussy. He doesn't want to play, go anywhere, sit alone or sleep longer than about two to three hours.  He does want to be held while I walk around the house while we discuss what we are seeing.  He does want to eat every two or so hours and spit lots of it up, always on himself, often on me if he can aim it just right.  And he only wants to play, if I am playing with him.

I don't resent him for it.

First of all, he's a baby and he's only been around for about 14 weeks. One day he will be big and may not let me hold him as much as I want to, so it's really a little bit nice. And he's clearly having a bit of a hard time right now, so of course I'm going to do what he needs to help him work it out. Also, it's not that it's difficult, it's just constant. Plus, he's my dear baby, so I love him no matter what.

But I have asked for some advice.  

The nurse says "He's a baby.  They do this." 

Big D says, "If he's upset, clearly it is something you did.  Tell him I will always be on his side."**** 

The internets say "It's a growth spurt and he may be teething., but it will pass."*****

So this will all be fine.  But, in the meantime, I am exhausted. 

Usually in the mornings, after I feed him at 6:30 or 7, I hop into the shower while Husband listens out for him.  Then the day starts.

This morning, I couldn't do it. He had been up every two or three hours, each time for about an hour.  So I had dozed in one hour increments and when I staggered out of bed, Elliot woke up as well.  So I picked him up, crabbed a little at Husband, felt a little teary and we went downstairs as I plotted the day.

This was my plan:

"It's Tuesday.  I'll head to my mother's group.  Then I'll ask someone to keep an eye on him while I run to the bathroom.  Then I'll wander a bit around the house until I find a bed.  I will get in it and take a nap.  Elliot will be fine and no one will come looking for a while.  Also they are all nice, so probably they will let me sleep a bit."

Husband came down a few minutes later.  This was Husband's plan:

"Elliot will eat again in a bit.  Then he will sleep.  When you put him down, get in the bed, too. Do not turn on your computer.  Sleep. Do not read Gawker.  Sleep. Do not fold the clothes. Sleep.  I will come home at lunch, eat here and watch Elliot while you shower."

And that is what he did.  

Elliot and I both slept for a full 90 minutes.  He is clearly still tired because when Husband got home for lunch, he fussed a bit more, then fell back asleep.

As for me, we're still going to our group in a bit. And while I'm feeling almost back to normal, I need just a little bit more, so I still haven't ruled out my plan. 

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*On that same day, my Nana also had some advice for Husband.  "If she ever gets out of line, bear down on her." We don't know what this means.  I asked her a few days afterward and she never really answered.  She just laughed. She was also 93.  I'm thinking that had something to do with it. 

**With adult people, not with babies. 

***Don't judge.  In busy times, I would work four or five 15-hour days in a row. Even on the slow weeks, it would be three or four 15-hour days.  It was much much fun and I never felt one bit guilty about spending an entire Wednesday in bed watching reruns or not showering, but rolling out to catch an afternoon matinee.  Those were great years.  

****She kids.

*****I love the internets.

Baby BBQ*

In preparation for Elliot's birth, Husband and I signed up for a ten-week class on childbirth and what goes along with it.  It was the only English-language class in town and overall, I would recommend to any one.  Not for the advice**, but for the fellow classmates. 

From almost the beginning, the mothers have had weekly get-togethers.  Every Tuesday afternoon we have "Tea and Cakes"*** at one of our homes.  The babies play and we all visit.  It's made a world of difference in getting adjusted to things with Elliot.

Not only are all the women good company--each is smart, accomplished, kind  and funny---but it's been fantastic to have a group going through all the same things, at almost the same time. Recovering from childbirth and all the culture shock that follows, changing relationships and roles, working through baby sleep issues and figuring out how to fit into our clothes again. But, the pregnancy and baby things are giving way to the beginnings of good friendships. 

And as we're getting to be friends, naturally what follows is having a party. It is summer, after all.  But this time, we decided to add in the whole family, because other than a few moments in passing, we haven't all visited since one of the last classes. 

So of course this included the dads.

Husband and I picked a date that worked for everyone**** and organized a cookout. 

And everyone showed up.  And by everyone, I mean nine families.  Nine moms, nine dads, nine babies and one grandmother.  Between all of us, there were ten nationalities.***** We are geologists, journalists, human resource managers, financial service people, engineers, primary teachers, musicians, quality managers and other things I am forgetting.  It's a diverse group and a lively one, too.

We parked the baby seats by the door and set up a play area with toys and soft blankets.

Husband manned the grill on the back porch.

And then he had some help.

Husband, Elliot and I provided the main course of all sorts of pølse as well as brownies and key lime pie.****** Everyone else brought side dishes.  We had glutenous rice, which is not just rice stuck together, but a savory concoction of rice and vegetables.  There was lentil salad and apple cake, a recipe from the chef's hometown in France. We had stuffed baked potatoes with fancy sour cream, which was a mix of oniony, herby goodness. Then chicken on a stick covered with a satay sort of goodness.  The table was covered with all sorts of culinary yumminess. If Husband and Elliot weren't blocking the table below you could see it, too.

A grandmother who was in town for a visit came along.  Since she clearly had much more experience than any of us do, she shared advice.

We passed around our babies. 

And I learned that whipped cream doesn't just exist in Cool Whip cartons or fancy restaurants.  It can be made in regular people's houses as well.  

We also had a Magic Cleaning Fairy.  Well before I could even make any protests, the kitchen was straightened and I could see the counters again.  It was not necessary, but so so appreciated. (And isn't her hair fabulous?)

Everyone was casual and hung out exactly as they wished.  Occasionally, babies and a parent or two would take a break for a nap or an attempt at pacifying.

And little by little, families trickled off home...Most of them anyway.  A few stayed on and after a while, we reheated leftovers for dinner. 

Overall, it was a really good day.

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* I am referring to the guest list, not the menu. 

**Though I was promised a balanced agenda, it was heavily skewed to the all natural, a perfectly acceptable method for many people, one of which I am not.  

***I suggested "Knocked Up Meet Up." It never really caught on. 

****We are missing one couple, but we're hoping that they show up again in the fall. Also one couple in the group did not attend the class.  We adopted the mom from a yoga class.

*****American, British, Scottish, Irish, French, Norwegian, Dutch, German, Singaporean, Australian

******I LOVE key lime pie.  Every year, I have it instead of birthday cake.  I have specific opinions on when it is appropriate to add a dollop of whipped cream to the top of a slice. (Never)  And if I could have found someone to make a GIANT one for our wedding, we would have. I was explaining this one of our guests yesterday.  She told me that it's traditional at Dutch weddings to have pies instead of cake.  And at their's a few years ago, they had tables of all varieties of pies...chocolate and fruit and butterscotch.  If it had been my wedding it would have been all key lime. Mmmmmm key lime.

In Which I Explain the Price of Beauty in Norway

I've written about how much I love and miss mani/pedis (scroll down to Number 6), but also how they are mega expensive here, so they only happen for me when we go back to the states.

But, for my very first Mother's Day, Husband and Elliot went to the only place in town, Bare Clinic, and got me a gift certificate for the kind of mani/pedi I love, which means nothing too fancy, just the good, soaking, rubbing, scraping and painting.

First, my hands...the cuticles were trimmed and shaped, then my nails were clipped and filed and then painted.

Next I sat in a comfy chair, which reminded me of the ones in dentist offices, but without the bright lights, tray full of scary shiny instruments and an anticipation of imminent pain.  My feet soaked in a pan of hot soapy water and the polish was whisked off.  The sweet technician rubbed my feet and got every bit of calloused skin off.  Then she polished them properly, which is much more challenging than it looks.

And if it sounds like the sweet, sweet mani/pedi that I used to love...the one that can be had in every major American (and most non-major as well as non-American) city...the one that costs in the range of $17-50 depending on how swanky the venue...

That would be because it is the same.  

The process is similar and even the polish is OPI.  

The difference is that this mani/pedi cost 1490 kroner.* 

And, depending on the day and the exchange rate, that is about $231.  

I say this, not to necessarily share the cost of the present, but to illustrate a bit of the way things work here.

The pricing of these kinds of services are based on the time it takes to perform them.  

The manicure was the 60 minute mani which cost 700NOK ($108ish).  Husband could have chosen the 15 minute one, which is a polish change, or the 45 minute which is in between.  

It is the same with the pedicure. The lower end one is just a polish and the higher end one, which is what I had, takes 80 minutes and costs 790NOK ($122ish).

In comparison, check the price list for the waxing,* which is really when a skilled person smoothes hot wax over chosen and/or various hirsute body parts, covers the wax with linen strips and rips.  

It's pretty quick, or at least, if you're the one having it done, you hope it is.  

So the prices are pretty comparable to the US prices.

Also, the time it took for the mani/pedi (140 minutes) is approximately the same amount of time as it takes to cut and color my hair.  It is also about the same price.

The root of it all, in vastly oversimplified terms, is that everyone is paid a "living wage." Which also means that while a manicurist may not make the same wage as a CEO, proportionally, there is not the same massive difference that there is in the US.  

In related news, one also does not tip. 

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*Don't judge or think I'm spoiled.  I'm not, or if I am, it's only a little bit.  I was my very first Mother's Day, so my boys got me my very favorite thing.  It was the best present ever and I appreciated it like crazy.

*Go to XE, if you'd like to convert for yourself.

If I were a slow loris...

According to Jack Hanna, the slow loris is one of the only two venomous mammals.*  It makes its poison by licking its own armpit.  Then the animal's saliva mixes with whatever armpit substance is there to make the poison.  Next, they lick their babies to protect them against predators and other hurtful and dangerous things.

I wish it was that simple to protect Elliot.  

And I don't mean that I am developing into one of those creepy over-protective mothers.

Skinned knees will happen.  I am certain that someone, some time will break his heart.  And it's possible that he will make some big mistakes.  I hate all of that, but if Husband and I do a good job, hopefully he'll be okay with it all.  

Also, those sorts of things build character, which I hope he has lots of, all good.

But I would still lick him every now and again.  At least for a while. 

*Elliot's napping, so I'm going to trust Jack on this one.  Also, the other one is the platypus.   There is one more kind of slow loris, one that makes awesome printed designs.

Things Elliot Stares At: Fish

My sister Claudia saved boxfuls of clothes and toys from when her son Jack was a baby. When I was pregnant, she was sweet enough to sift through them all for me. And because I was new to the whole mothering situation, I trusted her advice as to what was key and what was not.

(Elliot has been loving this fish mobile since he was a month old. He abhors the pram and the pacifier.)

One of which was a fish mobile---Just a few brightly colored fish hanging from a few pieces of string. It didn't go with my color scheme and I kind of hate cartoon-y things.* Also it didn't "do" anything.

She insisted, saying, "Trust me. Jack LOVED it."

So of course I trusted her.  And Elliot loves it, too. 

(This is from back in the olden days, too. And, no I don't know why he's only wearing one glove.  He's never even heard of Michael Jackson.)

He hates the pram where it has been hanging, so he hasn't had a good visit with the fish in several weeks. But these days he's been rolling over and wiggling about, so we decided to hang it over his changing table---everyone involved would benefit from the distraction. 

 

The first time I put him underneath it, it was like Santa, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy had all stopped by.  He laughed and cooed and talked to it.  And other than a little wiggling, he was calm while the business was happening.  And it's been that way, every single time we make a visit to the table since.

So yesterday, after we were done and he was settled into a safer place, I peeked underneath and understood.  

Awesome. 

*This was back when I really really cared about things like that. I still hate cartoons, though.