Grocery store scoldings

I took Emerson with me grocery shopping today, as usual. His socks had been falling off all day so as we headed into the grocery store I took them off and left them in the car to avoid losing them in the store.

In the produce section, the first stop in my route through the store, an older Mexican woman stopped me to admire Emerson.

"Oh look at the baby!" she cooed. Then suddenly, with horror: "Bare feet! Are you cold little one?"

"He kept losing his socks..." I attempted feebly to explain. Ignoring me, she grabbed his feet with her hands.

"Oh you're freezing!* Pobrecito! Pobrecito!"

I managed to move on, but was feeling like Most Horrible Mother Ever.

I was finally fully focused on grocery shopping again several minutes later when another older woman stopped me to admire Emerson, only to recoil in horror and scold me sternly upon discovering his bare little feet.

This happened no fewer than four times. Yes, four times. During one forty minute grocery shopping trip.

As far as I can tell, this grocery trip was far more traumatic for me than it was for Emerson and his chilly little feet.


*He wasn't freezing.

San Francisco Re-Discovered

I've been doing a lot of walking lately. A lot. Walking is a thing that Emerson and I can do together that doesn't make either of us fussy, usually.

I used to think I knew San Francisco pretty well, but I've discovered all kinds of things that I had no idea existed.

For example, I discovered a lovely waterfront walkway along the channel that essentially connects right near our place to the ballpark. It's much nicer than the walk along the train tracks that I did dozens of times walking home from work while pregnant. If only I had known!

Another recent discovery is the footbridge over the highway that allows me to skip the nasty and not very stroller friendly walk under the highway. The added bonus is the unexpected views:

Gone camping

This weekend we took Emerson to the woods to attend a three day sustainability summit organized by a colleague of mine (and at which I facilitated a few sessions). You don't know what you can and can't manage with a baby until you try it, right?

The accommodations were rustic cabins, with walls that were just screens above armpit height. We were deep in the redwoods in a valley, so it was dark and chilly in spite of the hot sunny summer day happening overhead. It was even darker and chillier at night, and the screen walls didn't do much to hold in any heat.

As the only people with a baby at the conference, we presented a modest spectacle. We were alternately providing inspiration for summit attendees (after all, sustainability is about future generations and Emerson represents that well) and providing inspiration for banning children from future conferences. I got a laugh when I dripped yogurt sauce on top of Emerson's head as he sat in my lap at dinner. He was unphased.

The first night was long. Until about 3am we could hear the other conference attendees dancing, drinking and revelling around the campfire. It was cold and Emerson slept in my sleeping bag with me. He actually did pretty well though his early morning feeding ended with him giving all that milk back to me, catching me totally off guard. He's not much for the spitting up, usually. I guess all bets are off when you're camping.

We stayed most of the day Saturday but decided to skip out on a second night in the cabins. On the way home we stopped for dinner in Healdsburg, a cute wine country village and the site of Eric's proposal-with-ring almost a year ago now.

Emerson woke up and started wailing as we were cruising the main strip looking for parking. Eric saw a primo parking spot on the other side of the street and was already executing an illegal u-turn to nab it when he registered a cop watching him. Eric had successfully parked in the desired spot when the cop rolled up, lights flashing.

"Crying baby, eh?" he commented as he arrived at the driver's side window.

He must have children; he let Eric off with a warning.

Sleeping in our own bed that night felt great.

Stars and stripes

On a recent walk up the hill, we noticed an unusual number of people were gathered outside our local pizza joint, Goat Hill Pizza. They appeared to be filming something. To say that this doesn't happen very often in Potrero Hill is like saying our compost bin only has a few fruit flies in it.

I asked a large man sitting at a console with a lot of buttons and a little screen what was going on.

"We're shooting a little thing with Danny Glover," he told me nonchalantly.

And sure enough, as we walked up the block there was Danny Glover walking and talking with the director.

Not wanting to gawk, we continued walking on up the hill toward the library.

"Danny Glover got old!" I observed to Eric.

A woman, clearly part of the crew, happened to be walking by us just at that moment. She burst out laughing.

There were no stars, young or old, at the library when we got there. Only beekkeeping books. Luckily that's what we wanted.

Hawks Win!

My father maintained a photo album for me while I was growing up. Several times a year, and sometimes more often, he would have prints made from his favorite slides capturing the important milestones of my childhood.

Then in late summer of 1989, the Chicago Cubs won the National League East Championship. My photo album goes from photos of my childhood to clippings from the Chicago Tribune of the Cubs celebrating this victory. After at least five full pages of newspaper clippings, my childhood resumes with photos of me becoming increasingly awkward as I enter junior high.

So it seemed only appropriate that today we interrupt the blog to celebrate the Chicago Blackhawks winning the Stanley Cup last night. In overtime. GO HAWKS!

Mom and Baby Fill in the Blank

Apart from the skirt making (which has clearly not been taking up too too much of my time) most everything I do these days is done with Emerson. This includes getting exercise.

I gave Mom and Baby Yoga a try a few weeks back. I think I would have liked it better if it wasn't trying to pretend to have anything to do with actual yoga. Given the number of babies there, at least four of them are crying at any given moment and at least half of them need to be fed at some point during the class. We did do a few yoga postures but I think I have done more yoga while waiting for the bus than we did in this class. Not that it was a bad class, I just didn't feel it delivered on what its name promised. I think it should be called Mom and Baby Play and Feeding Time With Yoga Mats In A Yoga Studio But Don't Expect Any Actual Yoga.

Today I went to Stroller Fitness for the first time. It is offered by a yoga studio but cleverly promises that no actual yoga will take place. The class meets in the lobby of the studio* and walks to a nearby park, in this case Alamo Square. This works out well as a spot for women who are trying to lose embarrassing pregnancy pounds because it is major tourist destination: it is a stop for those double decker tourist buses as well as a good proportion of all of the other tourist buses in the city. People want to see the Painted Ladies. As a bonus, on Wednesday mornings they get to see the Postpartum Ladies too. Running up and down the stairs, doing lunge squats with our strollers, doing forearm plank and push ups with our hands on the actual ground.

"Do you smell dog poo every time you go down?" Sarah asked me as we did push ups.

I can't wait to go back.


*Or, if you are running 10 minutes late like me because of ridiculous and unnecessary traffic near Van Ness, you drive straight to the park and meet them there.

Second skirt

Like so many other things in life, it turns out that if you just keep following step by step, you eventually end up with a completed and wearable skirt.