Inside Motherhood
 Our beloved Eastern Market is gone. A fire gutted much of it in the early morning: It took 160 firefighters 2 hours to put out the blaze. Im at a loss. So many of our weekend rituals center around that amazing place, so much like a European market, with its stalls of cheese, produce, and specialty vendors. Hand made pastas, organic meat and chicken, exotic game, quails eggs. The cheese vendor who stands behind his counter and slowly, slowly slices off a sliver of this and that to tempt passersby. Delicious half-smokes for the starving, and the most popular lunch counter in the city with big fat crab cakes and lumberjack breakfasts. The best apple fritters and a decent cuppa at the opposite end of the hall, and flowers to bring home for your best vase. Ive always wanted to live right near Eastern Market so I could stop off for the evenings meal on the way home from work. Now, who knows if I will ever be able to?
The summer after our son was born, our little family would spend weekends at the market selling my husbands hand crafted jewelry at the open air market that ringed the old building on two sides. The babe would sleep in a sling while his parents manned the tables, old folding tables my grandparents gave us with cloth drapes my grandmother had sewn, herself. My parents would come down to give us a break or take the little guy for a stroll. We got to know many of the craftspeople at the market that summer, and several of them gave us small pieces of original art for the babys room.
My son and I walk to Eastern Market every Saturday morning to do our shopping, selecting fresh, local produce from the many farmers who back their vans up to the red brick walks. The past few weekends Ive been delighted to find strawberries so ripe, and so inexpensive, that weve had to invite friends over that evening to share them. My son walked with confidence among the bins, selecting leeks and potatoes for home made soup, shoveling fresh greens into a plastic bag, picking out the best apples and pears. Wed buy fresh pressed apple cider, a loaf of home made bread, and stop by the cheese counter for a sliver of something delicious. My son learned something about farmers and the earth, about a simple way of life, and well, we got some exercise.
I dont know what to do, when he asks to go to Eastern Market on Saturday. Do we go look at what happened? Do I just tell him? Do we go to another open air market instead? There are some good ones. They just arent Eastern Market.
There are some great images on flickr that give you a taste of what wonderful traditions have been lost.
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I spent the day at work, getting things ready for a crazy hectic week.Were short staffed, and as a manager, I try to keep the stress from overburdening my team. Yes, I know its Sunday.
My sons room is clean. The living room is neat. The kitchen is nice enough to cook in, and Ive got laundry in the dryer. By contrast, my clothes are piled up on the bed, Ive eaten dinner standing up five nights running, and I need a hair cut, a manicure, a pedicure, an annual checkup and a dermatologist. Honestly, I dont know when Ill get around to taking care of me. I know, were supposed to help ourselves first, and then take care of the passengers of life around us, but honestly? I cant do it. Im just not programmed that way. My gym card is growing dusty in my wallet while my backside is growing wider.
Do you take care of yourself, mom? Do you mother the mother, or do you neglect her?
I hope youre taking care of yourselves out there. Im going to take a long, soothing bath with something that smells good.
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I try not to. Really. I do. But when hes such a shining joy and yes, hes a pain in the butt, too I cant help myself. I do limit myself as much as possible, and edit 70% of what really wants to slip out of my mouth.
Its hard to be sensitive about the fact that not everyone wants to talk about kids, just as I dont want to listen to a blow by blow reenactment of someones cats derring dos. Im glad there has been a baby boom at the office, because that does give me a pretty broad base of folks I can gush to every once in a while. What amuses me to no end is the fact that nearly all of them are fathers, not mothers. I love watching their faces light up when they talk about their kids, and recount their toddlers antics when we share the lunch counter at noon. I want to sit the guy down who leaves right at quitting time every evening to get home to his wife and twinsdoes he feel the glass ceiling that women have traditionally felt? I wonder.
We didnt do bring your kid to work day this year. A very extroverted four, my child just cant sit quietly and color while I work. He has to help. He has to be involved. I remember when I used to have to bring him along to business meetings every once in a while, when he was just three years old. It was so funny! Hed sit on the couch or the chair, his little legs dangling, a crayon in one hand and a pad of paper in the other, while his mama discussed an ad campaign with the creative director. Every once in a while, wed here this little voice pipe up: Yup! Uh huh! Ow, wow, sure! as he followed along and interjected his own professional opinion.
I wonder if Ill bring him to the office next year. At least there are old printouts of floorplans laying around everywhere. Hell have something important to color!
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I was just looking at all the lovely groceries Ive put away this evening, and Im particularly amused by the head of cauliflower.
When I was a kid, I couldnt stand the stinky stuff. But my son loves it. And the secret is smash.
We steam it til its tender, but doesnt smell like an overboiled head of cabbage, and then puree it with butter and salt and pepper. Hes never been a fan of smashed potatoes and I try not to eat so many carbs these days, so smash it is!
Its a lovely way to get some more veggies into your kids. Try it!
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Four year olds arent the most accurate reporters of what passes for news. So when word trickled down that J. went to jail the other day, some moms wanted to know what really happened.
Apparently J, a smart, sweet, well-liked member of the three year old class, is a bit of a klepto. He steals. And its not just a matter of, Oh, isnt that cute, he doesnt want to let go of that toy, he wants to take it home. Nope, this kid goes through purses. When hes caught, he laughs and says it doesnt matter: Im just a kid. They dont put kids in jail.
Ahem. Officer Friendly, a retired police officer who volunteers at the school, came in to make a presentation to J about the dangers of stealing and behaving in a manner that is harmful to society. Suffice to say, all the kids were rather impressed, and I do believe even J has learned to keep his sticky fingers to himself.
But could you imagine? A four year old who already believes himself to be above the law, in a city where too many of our youth are running in gangs, running drugs, or just running wild? Oh my.
Thank you, Officer Friendly.
Tags: honesty, theft, stealing, lying, kids, motherhood, mothering, mommy
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