Wednesday, November 7th, 2012
We all know New York is struggling in the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy. All five boroughs. New Jersey too. But we also all know what a resilient city it is. One only has to remember September 11th.
My niece Rachel visited us when we lived in Brooklyn. During her senior year of high school, she wrote this poem. I was just so impressed by her insight and perception. She was only 14 years old when she came, but the memory held on so vividly.
She is now a freshman in college, studying journalism. I’ve been saving this poem for the right time to post. Figured now is it. Just like Sinatra says, “Come on, Come through, New York, New York, New York.”
The Sole of New York, New York
By Rachel Johnston
The sun shines above the smog,
illuminating life, language, and love
for this city’s bright eyes.
New shoes become old and worn here
within a mere morning of travel.
They’re sore, bruised, dirty,
but singing a Sinatra tune.
They smile as they conquer
miles of concrete, of storefronts,
of Main Street, of Wall Street.
They look to the sky.
Feed us, they say.
They stumble down stairs
that reveal a dark underworld.
Sparks, rats, bustling bodies,
the homeless and the senseless.
They stumble up stairs
that break through to daylight.
Toes scuffed and laces soggy,
the shoes smile still
just now with broken teeth.
This time, they peer down
at tiny taxis and tacky tourists.
They are not afraid of heights;
they are indestructible, unstoppable.
They are on top of the world.
These soles are experienced,
enlightened, musically inclined,
bold, logical, beautiful, free,
native to city life.
Photo of NYC Skyline via Shutterstock
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9/11, bronx, Brooklyn, hurricane, Hurricane Sandy, New York, poem, queens, resilient, September 11, September 11th, staten island | Categories:
A Fi Grows in Brooklyn, Fearless Feisty Mama, Moving to Los Angeles
Thursday, October 11th, 2012
He attacks in the night and without warning. He bites off ears and rips out stomachs. He is violent, vicious, and clearly angry. We don’t know where he came from or where he went. We don’t know what he looks like. But one thing is certain: he is out for blood. Or actually rubber. Maybe he is teething. Whatever this beast is, he committed murder in our yard last night.
Rody Is Dead. D-E-A-D.
We are deflated. So is he.
We loved you, Rody. We adopted you from our Brooklyn friends, Ozzie and Kerstin Walz. We loved you like our own. You were a happy, bouncy boy the night before. You skipped across the yard, with Fia propelling you the whole way. You were a red bubble of joy in an otherwise gray world. We are in mourning.
All we know is this: He was dragged across our yard and down a set of steps. His ears were torn off and his body bit into in such a way only a savage would be capable. Or perhaps a couple of ferocious animals on a playdate gone array.
And yes, I’m assuming this violent beast is a male. There was way too much testosterone to explain otherwise.
R.I.P. RODY (2006-2012)
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Friday, March 23rd, 2012
My best friend came to visit and captured this picture. I just love it. It seems to describe Fia perfectly….
As does this one. Another friend of mine, upon seeing this, said, “I know exactly the person she is going to be.” It’s a tad blurry, but I knew what she meant.
And of course, we can’t forget Emmett, who is all smiles and coos lately.
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Wednesday, March 7th, 2012
Okay, so I tackled the Diaper Rash update. Now onto Fia’s poop. Ever since her first one a few days ago, it’s gotten harder and harder for her to want to go. She hasn’t peed yet in the potty either. The last thing I want to do is pressure her, but I also don’t think we should give up at this point.
What’s happening is she wants to go, but is scared to go. She says, “I have to poop.” We tear off the diaper, put her on the potty, and after 10 seconds, she says, “All Done.” Okay, we say. And let her put her diaper and pants back on–only to have the same scenario repeated over and over. It can go on for 30 minutes, at which point she gets upset with herself (I think), and starts to tantrum and cry about it. I tell her I don’t care if she poops in the potty. I tell her to put her diaper back on and forget about it. But I think she’s a little overachiever and doesn’t want to disappoint herself. So she cries even more. And then the whole thing gets stretched out for hours.
Eventually she does poop (after exhausting all of us) and we cheer, give her a cookie, etc.
Last night this routine began about 30 minutes before bedtime. Problem is, she never made the poop. We finally put her to bed 45 minutes late. Poopless in LA.
This morning, it started again. Now it’s late afternoon. She still says she has to poop, but hasn’t. She’s going to constipate herself. But more than that, I hate to see her put this pressure on herself. Especially because I don’t give a sh-t. No pun intended. I like diapers. I think they’re cute. I don’t care if she goes in them. But she was giving us the cues that she was ready to start potty training, so here we are. Poopless and frustrated.
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constipate, constipation, diaper, diaper rash, diapers, poop, poopless, potty training, pressure, tantrums, upset | Categories:
A Fi Grows in Brooklyn, Fearless Feisty Mama, Mom Situations, Mom Tricks and Tips, Must Read
Tuesday, October 25th, 2011
Author’s Note: Join me every Monday as I share Fia’s ongoing milestone (mis)adventures–from potty training to talking to everything in between. Mayhem and mischief guaranteed on Milestone Monday!
We have progressed on potty training. Fia has moved from pooping on the floor to pooping in the shower. It happened a few days ago.
We were showering and her training potty was right outside the shower door. She lifted her left heel up, as she so daintily does when she’s about to poop, and out came the turds. On our pristine tile.
I threw the door open and grabbed the potty, pulled it in, and was able to catch a few more turds as she proudly plopped them out of her and into the toilet. Is this progress? I’m not sure. But I cheered anyway. So did the toilet. The music went off and Fia started to wave her arms in a dance. The Happy Poop Dance.
I then screamed for Phil, who came in and cheered too, then helped me clean her and our shower up.
We move next week so this poop party will be put on hold. In the meantime, I must share my friend’s potty training trauma. She may actually need therapy to recover. Here goes:
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milestone, milestone monday, milestones, moving, moving to LA, poop, poop party, potty, potty training | Categories:
A Fi Grows in Brooklyn, Milestone Monday, Mom Situations, Must Read