adventures with my baby: getting there

The flight with C was fine. She might have even loved it as she doesn’t usually get so sleep all the time ON her mother – I usually put her down once she falls asleep. This time I just held her because there was no where to be and nothing to do but wait until the plane landed in Paris. Her ears were never an issue as she sucked away at her pacifier throughout take off and landing although I had to encourage her to keep sucking and not fall asleep during take off. Beside us on one side was a very helpful lady who used to work for Y!Mail and now lives in Germany. She had an accent and appeared to be reading Chinese.

On the other side was a couple with a small 14-month old who was not as well behaved as C, but almost as cute. At one point she pulled her mothers straight blonde hair right from the top of her head. I don’t know how her mother would have reacted if it hadn’t been public – she was pretty mad. I was feeling particularly tolerant of C tho she only really cried once and did sleep a little. The bassinette was a lifesaver!

The landing was one of the roughest I’ve felt to date – I thought the plane would tip over. Good thing the babies were strapped in. my belt was accidentally very lose, and I slid almost out of my seat.

Air France played a couple very bad-looking movies and a nature program. So, I didn’t watch them. Yet the flight still went by pretty quickly – maybe we slept. I have no idea. The food was remarkably bad, but I enjoyed champaigne as an appero and red wine with dinner.

Customs, bag collection, etc. all went smoothly and took forever. I was worried about taking a taxi because we didn’t have a carseat, and drivers can be so crazy. I also wasn’t crazy about the fare for just us 2 (50 euros, I was guessing). So I thought we should take the bus. The one that goes to Nation is the 351 which, it turns out, is a local bus, and CDG is a long way from Paris. But first, we had to find the stop!

Yeah that took about 45 minutes. The bus stop was on the 5th floor above the train station, but I didn’t realize that we couldn’t just take any elevator that went to the 5th floor to find the bus stop. First, we found the place where the taxi drivers hang out.

But before that even, the information desk gave us the wrong info and said Air France bus #3 went to Nation. Turns out it just goes to the other airport (Orly, for about 20 euros). Fortunately we didn’t get on the bus because a nice Berkeley-type lady and her preteen son set us straight. I then asked tourist information, and she was much more helpful even selling us a “carnet” (10 Metro tickets, 12 euros), 3 of which got you into Paris on the 351.

A couple from Utah also waited for the bus, which took about 30 minutes to come. I enjoyed the company, but I don’t know how they selected a hotel at Nation for their first visit to Paris. While we waited, C lost her cool because she was starving. There was nowhere to sit and nurse her so I sat on the edge of a luggage cart. She was also on her 3rd outfit since we left home, after 2 massive diaper blowouts, and I hadn’t found socks for her (the previous 2 outfits had been neck to toe pajamas). I tried wrapping my scarf around her cold little feet but she hated it and it didn’t stay on. Eventually I figured out that I could put her little feet in the pockets of my sweater and they would stay in and keep warm.

So the bus ride took about 1.5 hours as we meandered through suburb after suburb. I was reminded of the people in front of us in line at Tourist information who had a 4-hour layover and wanted to sit in a Parisien café for some of it rather than just sit in the airport – was there someplace closer than the center that they could go? “No,” said the lady, and I agree. “You should go all the way into the center to either Les Halles or Bd. St. Michel.”

As a bus line should work, it was nearly empty at first, the filled up right as it crossed the boarder into the City where most people got off at Gare du Nord or shortly thereafter. A woman with mismatched shoes and missing teeth ran for, and caught, the bus at one point. I nursed C near the end, and no one seemed to notice – it was her first time eating on a bus. A lot of people rode the bus until the end of the line at Nation. My huge bag and the space we took up with our stuff irritated the other passengers who wanted to sit in the space we collectively occupied (C+me + our stuff).

The 15-minute walk from Nation to J&G’s was not that difficult with my baby, backpack, tote and wheely bag tho originally I had intended to take a taxi for that short distance. So we arrived without significant incident – except maybe the lack of socks and that all together it took 2+ hours longer than a taxi would have. As my friends from Utah pointed out, we started our tourist experience of seeing Paris.

J&G’s place is always a magnificent oasis in the heart of a major bustling city. You can see the sky and hear birds. Equally charming is the sound of men playing ball in the parking area below and the chime of the church bells.

Sidebar: I wrote this as C slept. Just now, I mirrored her as she stretched after the nap, the kind of nap the often begins right when I’m ready to leave the house, but away, she kept looking where I was pointing with my stretching arms. She understands pointing! I never read that that was a developmental stage, but I don’t think she’s always understood pointing.

…Which is to say that we should leave the house now, and I’ll finish my story another time.

Mean Mamas

Motherhood brings out the best in most women, I read somewhere recently. It is certainly the case for me. I’ve never felt happier and find it easier than usual to dismiss the dysfunctional. So, I was particularly surprised to be rejected from a local moms’ group I attempted to join.

The myth is that there aren’t any kids in San Francisco – everyone moves to the suburbs to raise their family. I’ve also heard people say that there are lots of kids in SF, but no school-aged kids. Yet, San Francisco has a range of networks for parents.

I found without difficulty, the Mission Parents’ Network where people borrow and lend parenting items, compare notes and narc on each others’ nannies, etc. It’s great. I attempted to form my own moms’ group, but it seems to be stalled as I was really hoping it would be more members-driven. But I haven’t given up. I also attend regularly a City College playgroup (which I completely love), and I know some people nearby who just happened to have babies around the same time I did (who are also great). I also completely love Jane Austin's yoga classes which I started when pregnant, and now I enjoy mom and baby yoga.

In Noe Valley, I heard there is a weekly stroller walk that leaves from Holy Bagels at 11am every Thursday, but I haven’t made it yet. It’s like Critical Mass in that it happens spontaneously without central organization. Other groups I haven’t tried yet include Golden Gate Mothers' Group which serves the entire City and costs $75 to join, Natural Resources which also has moms’ groups which cost $15 and up, and a Bernal Heights list similar to the Mission parents’ list.

Last week, I learned about two more groups: the SF Mission Mamas (such a cute website -- love it!), which I may ask my group to morph into, and MILFs and Cookies, a Glen Park moms’ group. For those of you unfamiliar with SF, Glen Park is the next train stop from my Mission neighborhood, and it takes literally 3 minutes to get there. So, it should have been a great fit.

But alas, the MILFs are exclusive. While they accept members who live in nearby neighborhoods, nearby Mission residents are not eligible. The reason? They want the kids to all go to school together… which is interesting since San Francisco doesn’t put kids in schools based on their neighborhood. [The other reason given was that they wanted to be able to arrange last minute meetings, a reason I summarily dismiss since the Mission is temporally closer to Glen Park than… much of Glen Park.]

I can think of a few possible real explanations: 1) the current group members don’t understand San Francisco’s school assignment system, or 2) they just don’t like people who live in the Mission. A friend (whose kids are older than mine) confirmed the latter: “You don't want to join the GP parents group,” She said. “I live here. Believe me. It is competitive parenting to the 100th degree. And yes, it is being snobby about the Mission- a lot of kids in the neighborhood schools are from the Mission.”

OK, this is a bit of a reach, but bear with me. When the Nazis rose to power in Europe in the 1930s, the Christian public’s hatred of the Jews grew in part as a response to dire economic conditions. After all, hardship is much easier to bear if you have someone(s) to blame for it. So, I’m wondering, is having a family in San Francisco so difficult that people feel compelled vilify adjacent neighborhoods?

If that’s too much for you, OK. I’ll just quote my Glen Park pal again: “parenting can be isolating enough without that crap.” I don’t feel especially isolated in my vibrant urban neighborhood, but I do feel like these Glen Park MILFs may have had a traumatic experience in 7th grade that gave them arrested development. I’ve outgrown being 12, thank heavens, and will continue to seek out and meet urban SF mamas elsewhere. I certainly want to teach my daughter by example to befriend and embrace people of all races, religions, sexual preferences, gender identifications, abilities and neighborhoods. So, my group is open to anyone who wants to meet mamas who live in the Mission (or elsewhere – doesn’t matter). Join us.

radical vertical greening

Now that I'm off my bikes until my daughter is a year old (and her neck is strong enough to join me), I've been more aware of small efforts to green the urban landscape. Like development, greening can be horizontal or vertical. I recently noticed 2 seemingly independent instillation of greening the front of buildings.

The first is at an obvious high-pedestrian area, 16th Street near Valencia, on a hip storefront.

The second seemed a bit more radical, by a SOMA freeway onramp. I wonder if the cars see it? It must make some impact on highly-local air quality... or at least its perception.

Y: the business of staying married

I like this article on one of my frequent topics.
Y! Finance: The Business of Staying Married by Laura Rowley

high art

my friend Gwen is a fashion designer in Paris. The video below is from a Warsaw performance of his work.

Parklet at Freewheel

I was walking down Valencia today as I often do, and I noticed something different going on in front of Freewheel bicycle shop.


They're putting in their Parklet!

Instead of someone parking their private property in front of this business, the business has chosen for the space to be enjoyed by the public as a whole. Hurray, Freewheel! Hurray, San Francisco!

Celebration is this weekend:

Don't miss their Taco Party this Saturday, March 12th.

punk homeless BART chic

This woman totally blew my mind. I don't even know where to start; so, I'll let the photo speak its thousand words.

Ride on, girlfriend.

typical in Portland?

I saw this in Portland, OR last fall. Given that the city is a US bicycle Mecca, I wonder if the people prefer unicycles even more because one wheel is less resource intensive than two?

Pregnant Chic

My sister snapped this photo as we were biking around Golden Gate Park when I was about 7 months pregnant. Sometimes your best asset is the person in your uterus (as opposed to the person on your arm as the saying usually goes).

But seriously, one of my personal campaigns to promote bicycling as a mainstream form of transportation is to help people to understand that it can be safe for our more vulnerable populations (children, pregnant women, etc.) if we just have the infrastructure in place and drivers learn how to share the road. To do that, I am "acting as if" it is -- since it is for a seasoned cyclist like myself. Someone has to set an example!

I stopped biking a few weeks after this photo was taken mostly because I got tired of my knees hitting my belly when I peddled. I'm hoping to get back to it, sans baby (who can't ride until her neck is strong enough to hold up a helmet -- about 1 year), next week when I am no longer "disabled" per gov't policy for women who have had a normal delivery.

Summer is just a few months away.

This one smacks of summer. She's even riding in flip flops, which I do NOT recommend! In these dark days of winter, remember the time when we can comfortably ride our bikes with bare arms and toes. It will return!

red tights on Caltrain

You can't miss the florescent red tights...

...but also notice that her handlebars match her purse, and her purse is rigged up to attach beautifully to her rear rack.

Ramona Wheelright

You probably already know Ramona. She's a fellow bike enthusiast and blogger.

Check out her awesome Soma drop-bar frame bike, too. I think she told me she customized it herself! H O T, hu?


PS, I'm at home with my new baby for now, but she no longer requires me undivided attention 24-7. So, I'll be housekeeping photos and blog entries too. Enjoy!

Yes, the baby came.

...just two days past our "guess date". I am delighted to report that we are both healthy, and the birth was 100% natural.

Hello, EDD.

My baby is due today (my "estimated date of delivery" or EDD). But she's not indicating her actual date of debut.

She does continue to be very active and elegant in her own dancerly way. (I'm supposed to "count kicks", but she never kicks. It's more like she mimes. Fortunately, any motion counts as what they call a "kick".) In the meantime, I finally stopped working due to inability to sleep. (I would have kept going because work is fun, but alas!)

Why am I telling you this? Because it explains why I've been so quiet lately. Being enormously pregnant is like having a second full time job. That said, I have no plans to become a different person. I still don't own a car, and I still believe that sustainable transportation will save the world. I'm also still taking pictures and thinking artsy thoughts as exhibited by the self-portrait above. I still love music. And I will continue to blog.

[Some words about the photo: I probably wouldn't wear a dress like this even without the additional weight and human life. But it arrived with my maternity hand-me-downs, and it seemed a shame to let it go to waste completely. So, I included it in my photo shoot the other weekend.]

overheard on the Portland MAX

Dad said: you like the train don't you?
Little boy: yeah
Dad: why do like the train so much?
Lb, a bit thoughtful but enthusiastic: because it goes there
He made a shoosh noise and motion as he said it.

Contra-flow

Here, my sister has stopped to admire one of the City's contra-flow bike lanes. See how it says "Do Not Enter. Except Bicycles." It's a quick and lovely way into Golden Gate Park.

Slice of Mission Life

Beattle Lights

Months ago, Chloe and I went to a special event at the SF MoMA. So did a lot of other people, including a surprisingly large group (I recall at least 4) who arrived in this vibrantly lit VW Beattle. Of course, I had to record it.

Happy cyclist....

Sometimes people just pose for me. I like this photo because she's sort of framing the massive white GMC with which she's sharing the road. It's like "cars cars cars cars cars... oh, and a smiling cyclist." You choose!

Red Onion Lottery

I got some groceries last weekend -- everything fit in one pannier and one tote bungeed to the top of my rack. Half way home, a red onion rested in the bike lane on Harrison. Since nothing seemed to be wrong with it, and it was quite beautiful, I stopped to pick it up. Then, I noticed another one nearby. I picked that one up too. Thinking I had won the Red Onion Lottery and that was a bit strange, I glanced around.

Another cyclist was on the sidewalk nearby. He looked up at me and saw me holding the two red onions. "Oh, that's mine," he said. "My bag broke." And he motioned towards the sidewalk where a huge, broken bag of granola rested. What a bummer. He explained that not everything fit into the one bag he had left: his backpack, now bursting at the seams!

So, I gave him my extra tote. It was gifted to me when I volunteered at Sunday Streets. I keep it in my purse at all times in case of unplanned shopping because it folds up so small. He was very grateful and promised to return it (I gave him my address), but I didn't really expect him to.

Low and behold, the next day, resting in my entry hall, not just my tote, but also a little thank you note and... you guessed it! A red onion!