In the Deep End

Okay, so everyone in the free world has had something to say about this Valley Club debacle. Allow me to put in my humble two cents.

For anyone uninformed, the thumbnail version is this: Mayor Nutter cut funding for a number of city pools this year. A local summer camp worked out a deal with a private swim club for their kids to swim there (the camp paid and signed a contract.) After only one day, the club revoked the contract, refunded their money, and told the camp they would not be able to return. (Campers also claim they heard racist comments that day.)

Cue the media circus.

I can't stop reading about this case. And at this point, I'm thoroughly annoyed at both parties.

On the one hand, the club's offer was big-hearted but misguided. How are you going to accomodate 60+ kids, most of whom are just learning to swim? They should have worked out a system--20 kids a day during off-peak hours, for example.

Next, the club's president made a numbnut of himself when he said--in an interview!--that the campers (mostly minorities) would "change the complexion of the club." (Wince.)

So, in trying to save face (after everyone from the local Inquirer to CNN had something to say), the club invited the kids back.

Not so fast.

Several parents of campers are suing. The camp refused, and is threatening legal action. (Interesting and little-reported side note: the camp also owes about $70,000 in taxes.) Tyler Perry just announced that he's taking the kids to Disney World in order to "heal their scars".

There's one level-headed comment I've heard so far, that I wish would be trumpeted from the mountaintops. Annette John-Hall is a black columnist for the Inquirer whose articles I really enjoy. I don't always agree with her, but I do respect her opinions, and her writing is terrific. She made an excellent point recently, when the camp turned down the offer to return to the swim club: "What are we teaching our children?" When someone does wrong, but then tries to make things right, aren't we supposed to be the bigger person and forgive? Or do we fight back with a lawsuit?

I wish that instead of hiring lawyers or throwing expensive trips at the kids, someone would just teach them the simple lessons of keeping one's dignity, forgiving those who wrong us, and tolerating the intolerant.

Sweet Surprises...

The first sweet surprise of the summer was the arrival of Baby Vincent! My dearest friend, Jennifer, was due July 11...but several health scares spurred an emergency C-section, so the little guy was born June 20. Mom and Dad and baby are plugging along. Those first few months are SO hard...I'm not sure anyone quite prepares you for that. Plus, she didn't even get that all-important first week of maternity leave (pre-baby), where you just get to finish up the nursery, wash all the clothes in Dreft, cat nap, watch "Ellen"...and mentally prepare (as much as you can) for this little creature who is about to take over your life and (literally) suck the energy out of you.

But as a seasoned old mama of a 2-year-old, I know that it does get better. Somebody told me that it gets harder, but I really disagree. Sure, tantrums are a nightmare, and the worrying never goes away, but this creature starts turning into a wonderful little person who fills your heart with the most unbelievable joy. Just tonight, the Teege and I were sharing popsicles on our front stoop, chatting about our day (he informed me all about the bears he saw at the zoo with Daddy). There is no way I could have pictured this three years ago, attached to a screaming newborn and running on 3 hours of sleep. If you don't believe in miracles, parenthood will certainly turn your world upside down.

The second sweet surprise was from my darling hubby! Several years ago, we started a tradition of taking ourselves to a Broadway show for Christmas. Our last Christmas in Jersey City, we were torn between "Spamalot" and "Spring Awakening." I'd heard raves about the latter, but being a former Monty Python geek in high school, I voted for the former. And...it was eh. Some memories are best left un-musicalized. =/

So imagine my delight when the mister demanded that we go on a date last Saturday. He lined up my mom to babysit and whisked me off to the Academy of Music, where we finally saw this amazing little rock-musical. I can't stop listening to the soundtrack. For my non-theater-geek readers, it's based on a controversial play written by a 19th-century German playwright named Franz Wedekind. The musical brilliantly fuses the spirit of the original play with modern rock. Whenever the characters face a particularly tense moment, they whip out a hand-held mike and start singing--the message being that rock serves as the perfect release for teen angst. I absolutely loved it. And the staging--wow! I'm a huge fan of ensemble staging and minimalist sets, if they're done well, and this was unbelievable.

Off to bake some cupcakes (my new obsession--good Lord, am I becoming...gulp...DOMESTIC!?) A very merry 4th to all my little firecrackers out there. :)

Neglectful Mommy

Is it possible that the last time I blogged was February? Sheesh!

I was pretty busy second semester...besides teaching and mommying, my spring break was spent in a drugged stupor on the couch (my fault for waiting until the age of 32 to get my wisdom teeth removed), and I directed a one-act at my school--only a one-act, but when I direct, it tends to completely occupy my brain, for better or worse.

I quit the magazine I was writing for...not enough free time to get interviews done and churn out a quality product. Plus, I wasn't getting paid, which was starting to chafe a bit considering the amount of time it required. But I do miss the writing part, so here I am, like a guilty ex-lover, returning to my poor little blog. :)

NR and I made a pilgrimage to New York on Thursday. My wonderful sister and parents agreed to watch the Teege, our neighbors happily took Rocco the Wonder Poodle, William Shatner negotiated a great Tribeca hotel for us on Priceline, so we hopped on the train and returned to the Big Apple. (My brilliant hub forgot to pack pants, so our first stop in NYC was, embarassingly, the 34th Street Kmart to buy some khakis...)

NR had been invited to graduation at Nativity (where he used to be principal), which was amazing. That school has such an incredible spirit and sense of family. He was pretty much a rock star...everyone was so psyched to see him. Plus, they organized a fabulous spread of Dominican food for the party afterwards...God, I've missed good pernil!

We also got to catch up with some dear friends, some of whom are at major turning points in their lives (just married, about to get married, leaving New York, switching jobs, etc.) It's reassuring to know that nobody really "has it all figured out"--nor should they. Where's the fun in that?

While it was awesome returning to the city where we fell in love and spent our twenties, it was even better returning to the town we've started our family in. New York was just as loud and dirty and crowded as ever--exciting, for sure, but I was quite happy to come back to trees and wide open sidewalks!

I finished a book on the train: The Song Is You by Arthur Phillips. Completely annoyed by it...I'm pretty sure it was a thinly veiled defense of stalkerdom. Skeezy old dude falls in love with a young, hot singer and becomes completely obsessed with her. But instead of being freaked out by him, she's romantically intrigued. Um...no. I'm so TIRED of this plot, because some guys eat this sh*t up, and then call women picky or snobby when they aren't bowled over by what the guys consider some sort of charming persistence.

I call it the "Say Anything Syndrome." Sure, when I was sixteen and first saw Lloyd Dobbler holding up that boom box in the rain, blasting "In Your Eyes" into Diane Court's bedroom, I swooned. But when a guy several years later threw clothespins at my window, sobbing openly (ick...), it wasn't quite so adorable. In fact, it was pretty creepy.

So now I'm reading Boy in the Striped Pajamas by John Boyne. So far, no icky pseudo-stalkers...yet.

No More Drama?

Well, that's a bit fatalistic. But that's what I'm feeling these days. (Above: Me as Sue in The Exonerated, February '06)

Ever since I saw my first play (around the age of 4--my parents started me early on the road to theater geekdom), I have had an extremely complicated love affair with the theatre.

I made my stage debut the summer before 5th grade with the Back Alley Players. My neighbor Heather and I went to the library, checked out a bunch of children's plays, and decided on "Rapunzel" (mainly because Kristen Scarino, who lived down the block, had really long blonde hair.) We rallied the neighborhood kids and rehearsed every day in our back alley (I grew up in a rowhouse neighborhood, so nobody really had backyards--the entire alley became one big playground for us.) I played Rapunzel's mom, and Heather played the witch (truly ironic, because years later she would find fame as the girl in The Blair Witch Project...yup, THAT Heather!)

From then on, I was hooked. I spent my summers at a local children's theater; I performed in every school play I could. I rarely recognized Top 40 songs because I only listened to showtunes. In high school and college, whenever I had the choice to research something independently, I managed to make it theater-related (a paper comparing Shakespeare to Tennessee Williams; an educational psychology paper on the power of creative drama.)

When college came, however, I balked at actually majoring in drama. Instead, I minored in it--still acting all the time in college productions, community theater, and a local dinner theater/improv troupe. (The last was a true test of acting skills--staying in character while wolfing down tiramisu was not necessarily my finest hour!) I majored in the lofty field of English, immersing myself in Austen and Fielding, yet secretly preferring my acting and directing classes.

By senior year, I'd grown tired of the acting game--tired of shallow actors, the backstage drama, irrationally pinning all my joy on scoring a role. I fled to a volunteer program for two years, and welcomed the break. I focused on teaching, and eventually found my way back onstage here and there. I began to see that my true passion was a marriage of theater AND education. I felt most alive, as a teacher, when I was directing the school play or implementing a drama activity in class to make literature come alive. Getting my master's in Educational Theatre was the perfect fit. And each time I performed in a new show, the energy and enthusiasm completely transferred to my teaching.

But now, I'm back to teaching English full time. While I enjoy it, sometimes I feel like a fraud. I mean, this was always supposed to be my "fallback" job if I couldn't score an actual drama teaching position. Who knew my fallback would become my career? But such a position usually means directing the school show--which I absolutely loved, but it meant VERY long hours and weekends. With a little one at home, that's just not realistic. I even interviewed at a theater company in Philly for a fabulous education position, but it became pretty clear to all of us during the interview that I wasn't ready to give up time with the Teege...even for a dream job.

And as for acting? Not right now. Working on a show requires tremendous dedication and energy--which is firmly reserved for my son these days. I don't think I could handle kissing him goodnight and then dashing off to rehearsal time and again. Yet I do miss opening up a script, bringing it to life, and that flying-without-a-net feeling of opening night. I also miss the sense of community that theater can provide. I was part of a fantastic little company in Jersey City (http://www.atticensemble.org/), which really became my family during my time up there. (We performed in an old mansion which housed a number of groups--during Thursday night performances, we were constantly interrupted by the applause coming from the AA meeting in the basement.) I performed in my last play with them while I was 4 months pregnant. I remember sitting backstage with my hand on my stomach, thinking about when I would tell this child about the time we "acted" together.

It's very difficult to consciously put your passion on the back burner...but as I told a student today, it's wise to know your limits. And honestly, I wouldn't trade this little "limit" for the world.

Back at Blue Ridge...

Blue Ridge Summit. A breathtakingly beautiful place right on the PA/MD border. The site of where exactly ten years ago, this week, I began the volume of what I like to call my adult life.

This was where Orientation for JVC:East '98 took place. It was where I met my incredible housemates--Katie, Mary, Megan, Julie & Scott--that I spent a year with in Jersey City. It was where a lot of things I thought I knew were completely turned upside down. It was where I really started to learn about spirituality (as opposed to just going through the motions at Church), simple living (beyond just getting dollar drafts), community (learning to live with and support each other, but not having to be best friends), and social justice (a term that, embarassingly, had only recently entered my lexicon.) It was where I experienced some great moments of revelation, as well as overpowering feelings of self-doubt.

And of course, it was where I met the man I would someday marry.

NR and I were invited back to Blue Ridge last week, to speak to the JVs who were finishing up their year of service. It was quite a trip to see Teege running around the oregano fields where we first met, and to wax nostalgic with NR's old housemate (who's now on staff)--whining about endless rice & bean dinners, crazy students/clients/co-workers/housemates, but realizing what a truly amazing and transformative period it was for all of us.

We decided to make a mini-vacation out of it (hey, when you have a kid, you're not going to pass up free lodgings and food!), so we drove down Wednesday, had dinner with the current JVs (who seemed alarmingly young...which means I'm alarmingly old!), put Teege to bed, and chilled on the porch of a cottage with some Coronas and lots of memories. We watched the sun set and the moon come up over the horizon above, talking for hours. It's a rare gift to just sit and talk--especially in the silence of nature--when you're new parents, so we cherished the moment.

So as I reflect on the 10th anniversary of JVC '98-'99, I am full of thanks. Grateful for my hilarious and talented students at St. Mary's High School that year, who made my first year of teaching such a joyous one. Grateful for my housemates--who challenged and humbled me in the best ways possible, but also lifted me up on my darkest days. Grateful for a city which I would eventually call home for nine years. Grateful for learning to think beyond myself, step outside the spotlight, and discover how to be a supporting player rather than a drama queen.

Summer in the 'burbs...

So, it works like this. Someone will tell me that they enjoy reading my blogs, and it has an adverse affect--I get slightly embarassed and sheepish and then don't blog for months on end. Or I'll replay every silly navel-gazing posting I've ever spewed, and wonder if I should delete the whole damn thing.

But maybe I'm thinking just a bit too much. It's a goofy little blog, not The Huffington Post, for gosh sakes.

So, a brief update: summertime is here, which is a simply blissful time for teachers. (See the pic of our garden, the labor of NR's love, as proof of said bliss!)

We've joined the Y in an attempt to be active--we no longer walk hither and yon like we did in NYC. I have no desire to get buff, but I would like to walk up a flight of stairs without wheezing like Patty & Selma!

I'm teaching storytelling and improv in the mornings at Summer Stage, to children who've just finished 5th grade. A really sweet age--they still have that wonderful optimism that has yet to be crushed by junior high. :( It's very strange to be back at UDPAC (the Upper Darby Performing Arts Center), a place that was my holy temple as a child, after such a long hiatus. Strange, but comforting.

The Teege is doing GREAT, of course. We're really enjoying taking him to the playground, doing little art projects, going swimming, etc. I am so thankful that our schedules allow us to spend this time with him--it's extremely precious. He's such a funny kid. I actually miss him when he goes to sleep...so of course I have to check on him every hour until Mommy's bedtime. :)

I'm still writing for Philadelphia Maven, which is a terrific creative outlet. I absolutely love meeting and writing about these rockstar women--I always leave my interviews on an inspirational high. It's such an honor to give them the recognition they've earned.

I had the chance to audition for a play, but decided against it. One of the performances falls on Halloween, and I'm just not going to miss dragging my child around in an embarassing costume! But I also didn't feel the NEED to do it. It's funny--people always said that everything changes once you have a child, but I never believed it. I was always determined that I would keep as much of my old life as I could once I entered mommyhood. But now if I have to choose between sitting in a theater with a bunch of pretentious actors (okay, they're not ALL bad!) or watching Teege stuff Legos in his mouth...I'm gonna choose the latter. Besides, I have plenty of other ways to keep my synapses crackling--teaching, writing, yoga--that keep me quite busy these days.

I had this same attitude towards acting back in college. I felt like it was great fun, but not productive enough. I found a lot more satisfaction in teaching it or directing. I remember writing this very pompous piece for Fr. Burch's class called "The Player Queen," about my issues with the actor-audience relationship.

I'm sure at some point the "roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd" (yes, that's actually the phrase I meant to write!) will lure me back. But for now, I'm very content co-starring in "The Chronicles of Teege." :D

Fear & Friendship in 48 Hours

Just got back from 48 hours in NYC, where I presented at NYU's Shakespeare Conference. I felt oh-so-academic as I milled around with fellow teachers, performers, directors, and professors, discussing all things related to the Bard. What I found was this:

1) Truly smart people don't have to use big words. In fact, it's a lot more effective (and cuter) when you use words like "fanny."

2) Just because you have a British accent doesn't mean you're brilliant.

Seriously, the weekend was fabulous, and I was just so honored to be presenting alongside some truly remarkable people. I attended four workshops, a paper panel, and a production of Twelfth Night. That was a trip--the actress playing Viola was a girl I'd coached for Romeo & Juliet four years ago. Back then, she was this mousy little thing--albeit incredibly brilliant--whom I actually wound up writing a paper on (the phrase I used to describe her was "refreshingly age-appropriate.") Now, she is this very composed and lovely young woman about to graduate high school. I praised her in the talkback afterward, and her face just lit up when she recognized me. It was a very cool moment. As a teacher, you just get used to letting students crawl into your heart, set up shop for a while, and then they vacate. You're left with memories and funny anecdotes and just pray that they'll turn out okay. So this was such a gift--to see a kid you've really loved just thriving as a young adult.

My workshop was entitled "The Play's The Thing: Teaching Hamlet in the Secondary Classroom." I got some great feedback, and although I barely ate all day due to insane nerves, it was well worth the trip. (If you'd like a copy of the workshop, do let me know--I'm all about sharing!)

I also got to meet up with some of my favorite people while I was in the city--people whom I admire, respect, and love wholeheartedly, and who always affirm me in the best ways possible. On the infuriating ride home (they oversold the train, so I was stuck with my 50-pound suitcase balanced on my lap for the whole trip--oh, and then they had to replace the motor, so we were trapped in a dark, airless car for 40 minutes), I distracted myself by focusing on how grateful I am for the gift of these people in my life. God truly does send you people for a reason.

And now I'm back in da 'Hill...and so, so grateful to be back with my boys. :)

Bobby Hearts Barry

Okay--color me convinced! (I love the Bob--he's a former JV.)

http://www.cnn.com/video/#/video/politics/2008/03/28/sots.casey.obama.cnn

"Gin" & Juice

So...what's up with "gin up" these days?

I like to consider myself up on the parlance of the times. And I am, to quote my dear friend Chris, "a lover of language." But this is a new one for me.

Not only that, ever since Obama gave his "groundbreaking" (really? more on that later) speech on race in America last week, the term has been popping up everywhere. I counted at least three usages in the Inquirer this week.

Am I an old fart? Or just dumb? ("Honey...we're both," I can already hear my hubby sighing.) Or...is Obama just too trendy and relevant for me?

Okay, so back to good ol' Barry. I tend to stay away from politics in my blogs, because there's nothing I hate worse than a half-informed person on a self-indulgent rant. So I'll say this. I REALLY, really like him. I think he's genuinely positive, kind, optimistic, fair-minded. I really enjoy the fact that he's steered clear of the mudslinging. So he had a crazy pastor. (As a Catholic, all I can do is wryly sympathize.) I'm sure he's a good senator. I'm sure someday he could make a terrific president. His daughters are adorable. Michelle is class personified. But I'm a wee wary of how blindly people are jumping on his lil' choo-choo of "change". I've asked several devoted followers (in a completely innocent, "I really honestly want to know, I'm not baiting you" way) what exactly they like about him, and all I get are blissful sighs and glassy-eyed stares off to the distance and lots of talk about "change" and "future." Okay, sweet. Sign me up. But when pressed to name his acconplishments as senator, no one can give a straight-up list. So...what IS he all about, really?

There's a radio ad down here right now, targeted directly to the young 'uns, about how "he gets what our generation is all about." Okay, cool! Um...what is it that he gets? I've watched the debates, I read "Dreams of My Father" (okay, well, most of it), I read his speech (which was really beautiful, and timely, and necessary...but was there a new school of thought voiced that I missed? I've been having the same conversation with people for years.)

Fret not. I finally registered as a Democrat this year (after 12 happy but frustrating years an Independent). I voted for Kerry, whose name I still can't say without shrugging indifferently. And come April 22, I will most definitely be voting for Obama and his mission of change. I just want to be assured of what that change will be.

"Dreams are like fish..."

"...you gots to keep on reelin'."

So goes one of my favorite songs by Philly boy G. Love.

Dreams have been the subject of note these days. I just finished teaching Death of a Salesman and A Raisin in the Sun to my seniors, so we have beat the subject of the "American Dream" to death over the past few months. (Side note: I really didn't think P. Diddy was THAT horrible in the film version Monday night on ABC. He's definitely not picking up any Emmys, but he wasn't the train wreck I was expecting. And Phylicia Rashad is a freaking goddess.)

So...what is the American Dream? Damned if I know. I really don't think there is a cookie-cutter dream assigned to us today. It's no longer the house, 2 cars, 2.5 kids and a dog. It seems (and so my students agreed) that the American Dream of the new millenium is simply to find true happiness through success (whether it be personal, financial, what have you.)

We had an in-service day on the topic of time management. (Funny that it took about 4 hours to learn about how to manage your time...when all I could think about was everything I needed to take care of as soon as the meeting was done! By the end of the day, I had doodled a frighteningly long "to-do" list on the back of my very thick training manual...)

Anyway, one section was devoted to prioritizing goals and deciding whether they were to "prevent pain" or "achieve gain." (Don't you love the precious little catchphrases that corporate trainers whip up? "Fight back the fear!" "Management is measurement!") At one point, we had to turn to a colleague and share something we wanted to do in life that we have not yet done. She shared that she wanted to do the Inca Trail and learn the guitar. Completely cool.

I'm happy to report that it took me a REALLY long time to respond.

Not to say I don't have dreams. But so many things that the speaker offered as possibilities...I had done. And there are so many experiences--really, ever since college--that have exceeded my wildest dreams. I'm still kind of in awe that I've lived them.

And life continues to bless me with happy surprises: how much I've enjoyed being a mom this year, buying our first house, being invited to present at NYU this spring, snagging a writing gig for a local women's magazine. I'm really not trying to brag; I'm just shocked and honored by the good fortune that my family has been blessed with.

Both of the plays my students read had to do with dreams being stifled, or just too big for the dreamer in the first place. My girls were completely fed up with the protagonists by the last pages. "Ugh, why is Willy so obsessed with his own funeral?" "Why can't Walter appreciate what a nice family he has?" The consensus seemed to be that a healthy dose of realism was sorely needed by these guys.

I'm definitely a realist, but certainly not a pessimist. I simply try--and don't always succeed--to seek peace and balance in my life. It seems that more often than not, when you make good choices for good reasons (i.e. beside yourself), you wind up reaping the benefits. As my dear friend Jen said during her toast at our wedding: "When you give glory to God, the glory comes back to you."

In closing...two wonderful friends have achieved incredible dreams over the past month. I just have to give them a big ol' shout-out because they have WORKED THEIR BUTTS OFF to make this happen--while remaining just plain good peoples. So here's to DOCTOR Christina McMahon, newly appointed professor of theatre at Santa Barbara, and Diva Julia Spanja Hoffert, who made her MET DEBUT!!! I am deeply awed and insanely proud of you both. :)

R.I.P., Janam Tea

Janam Tea, an adorable little tea shop in downtown Jersey City, is closing.

Well, actually relocating--the owner is packing up and heading out to Portland, OR. (And really, can you blame her?)

This shouldn't bum me out--I don't even live in JC anymore--but this little shop has a special place in my heart.

The day we found out we were expecting, we were on cloud nine, but definitely in shock. That night, we stopped by Janam for a cup of tea and some shortbread. We curled up on a couch in the window, gazing at the neighborhood we'd lived in for years, basking in the glow of our news and talking excitedly about the future.

This part of JC (known oh-so-quaintly as "Harsimus Cove") has definitely seen some changes. Run-down parking lots have given way to luxury condos; an abandoned old community center is now a day spa. It's where I had my first apartment, my first teaching job, and where Nick and I first started our marriage. I know this particular strip pretty well, as I used to walk down it to the PATH every morning. I know the dry cleaners (who always spelled my name "Dana" on the receipt), the bagel shop, La Conguita where you could get insanely huge servings of pernil for about $5, the camera shop with the fat old cat chilling on the counter, the apartment with crazy brick sculptures in the front yard...Janam was a perfectly weird and wonderful addition to the corner of Newark & Grove. And now it's leaving.

Well, JC's loss is Portland's gain. Maybe some other dorky couple, scared to death but drunk with joy over their bun in the oven, will have a similar "Janam moment" out west. :)

Green Cleaning!

You know that dizzying yet satisfying feeling you get from the smell of Pine-Sol or Tilex? That nostril-burning, nauseating, eye-reddening sensation?

Thing of the past in the Romero household these days.

No, we're not on a cleaning strike...although that's awfully tempting. :) I've taken on the mission of greening our cleaning. Yes, it sounds awfully crunchy; but you know what, I'm starting to embrace my innate crunchiness. (After all, I did live in a vegetarian household for a year.)

When I was home on maternity leave, I became addicted to "The View" (I can proudly say that I witnessed, live, the infamous Rosie/Elisabeth fight--and damn, was it great!) One day, Deirdre Imus was on to plug her new book, Green This (see above), singing the praises of "green cleaning." And you know what, it made a lot of sense.

So, I'm starting out small. Being that the bathroom is my domain (see "The Stepford Husband," below), I focused on that first. With vinegar (to disinfect), lemon juice (to deodorize), and baking soda (to scour), I scrubbed away and was shocked by the result. My bathroom was sparkling, and I didn't feel sick afterwards like I usually do! We're so conditioned to think that the smell of bleach = clean, but that's not necessarily the case.

I also made a few other changes...using non-toxic glass cleaner, freshening up our bedroom with an essential oil diffuser, and adopting some plants (which, so far, I haven't killed yet). Maybe it's psychological, but I really do feel a little healthier.

Something about moving to the 'burbs has made us want to live a more intentional lifestyle--making small but important choices to better our family, our community, and the world. Just a few minor changes can make a big difference. (I mean, we're not about to blow all our money on organic cotton sheets!)

Another thing we're trying is to become "localvores" (buying food from local farmers as much as possible.) We'd toyed with the idea of joining a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture), but you're never quite sure what you'll end up with--and the next thing you know, you have a crisper full of rotting broccoli rabe and three sad little radishes.

But we did find a great little place: Farm Fresh Express (www.farmfreshexpress.com). Based out of Lansdowne, they carry products from local and/or organic farms. Either way, you feel good--buying local, you're supporting a local farmer and cutting down on fuel used to transport produce from all over the world; buying organic, you know it's just a little healthier for you and the environment. Monday, they send you a list of their choices for the week, you place an order, and then you can pick it up or have it delivered. We stopped by on Saturday, and they are so friendly and just EXCITED about their business. (You don't really get that at Acme!) Plus, they offer free, YUMMY fair-trade coffee from Mexico and Ethiopia. (Caveat: It IS a little more expensive, so we're only going to do it once a month or so at first. We are teachers, after all!)

Sure, we still drive a SUV. Let me expiate my guilt by cleaning my bathtub with vinegar and eating my organic peanut butter. :)

JUNO!!!

Quite possibly the best movie I've seen in a LONG time.

Go see it. See it again. Then download the soundtrack. Guaranteed happiness. :D

The Stepford Husband

As I write this, my husband is happily strolling through the aisles of Acme, carefully composed grocery list in hand, dutifully bypassing any product for which he hasn’t clipped a coupon.

No, I’m not home sick on the couch. Nor did we have a wicked fight for which he’s atoning. Rather, I’m married to a singularly unique yet no longer rare creature—The Evolved Husband.

When we first started dating, I smiled bemusedly when he first offered to cook for me. “Aw,” I thought as he whipped up a delicious chicken parm, “this must be the ‘special occasion’ dish his mom taught him to impress girls with.”

Yet that chicken parm gave way to roast chicken with homemade gravy, sausage lasagna, salsa and guacamole from scratch, gourmet Saturday morning breakfasts (with my choice of fluffy blueberry pancakes or omelets with spicy home fries)…as I slowly realized that I’d hit the culinary jackpot with this guy, my burgeoning cooking skills took a backseat. (After all, I’m Irish, and we’re not exactly known for our prowess in the kitchen!)

Not only does he cook and do the grocery shopping, but he also vacuums, sweeps, mops, cleans out my car, takes the dog out, and does the dishes. He also takes equal care of the Teege—feeding, changing, bathing, and playing. This is on top of the typical “male” chores he carries out—yard work, painting, killing spiders, etc.

So what, you may ask, do I do, exactly?

Well, laundry. And boy, is there a lot of it. My biggest shock after getting married was how much laundry there suddenly was. Nick has never been a “wear and air” kind of guy—a sweatshirt worn for two hours, over an undershirt, is promptly deposited into the hamper. Throw a baby’s endless dirty clothes into the mix, and laundry is suddenly a Sisyphean task.

Cleaning the bathroom is another chore falling squarely on my shoulders. Early in our marriage, Nick remarked how glad he was that I “loved to do the bathroom.” Feeling guilty that this was not nearly as taxing as making dinner every night and dealing with the supermarket every weekend, I smiled sweetly and answered, “Oh honey, I don’t mind at all!” Thus, I sentenced myself to a lifetime of rubber gloves and Soft Scrub.

Oh, and I did go through nine months of pregnancy and a little event called childbirth.

Sure, I’m spoiled rotten. But I know that each task Nick does is out of love for us and the home we’ve created. A few days after our son was born, he braved the blizzard to shovel the car out of the snow so he could make yet another run to Target for diapers. As I watched him from the warmth of our living room, I thought to myself, “This man was born to be a husband and father.” He finds such joy in completing these seemingly mundane chores. It has certainly made my decision to return to work an easy one, knowing that he will happily shoulder the burden of homemaking with me.

Some prefer diamonds; some prefer pearls. I’ll take chicken parm any day.

Sibling Rivalry

I read a book a few years back (chick-lit, for shame) in which the protagonist, a Philly newbie, remarked on how "Philadelphia was the type of place where the local newscasters were major celebrities." Growing up, I thought nothing of the fact that Lisa Thomas-Laury, Dave Roberts, and "the entire Action 6 news team" were household names. I vividly remember eating dinner in front of the television (a huge no-no in the Kelly home) one night, seeing my mom tear up as she watched the news about Jim O'Brien dying. I also remember going to Houlihan's by St. Joe's during college, in hopes of running into John Bolaris (who ALLEGEDLY ate lunch there.) And when our bus would take us back down City Line from a field hockey game, we would all hang out the window and screech for the weather forecaster who reported from outside the studio.

In the family of major east coast cities (with New York being the successful if rather self-important first son, Boston the cranky grandfather, and D.C. the dad who's always away on a business trip), what is Philly? Perhaps the brother who never went to college, is enormously talented at what he does, but never gives himself credit. Instead, he's content to lay around and bask in the glory days of high school.

Philadelphia is a city obsessed with its past. Rightfully so--it is oozing with rich, solid history. Yet unlike its founding fathers, who were always marching towards the future, its current citizens (and suburban denizens--because, let's face it, anyone within a 50-mile radius tends to refer to themselves as "from Philly"--including yours truly!) love, love, LOVE to wax nostalgic. We're like a collective Willy Loman; "woulda coulda shoulda" is our mantra. (Can you tell I'm teaching Death of a Salesman this week?)

Don't get me wrong--I adore Philly (and my dear old Delco). And I tend to have a silly little chip on my shoulder, having lived away for so long. But, like any good writer (as sporadic as that might be), I enjoy a love/hate relationship with my homebase.

My sister and I have a favorite pasttime of putting on bad Philly accents and concocting the typical Philly fam as follows:
Jim (but everyone calls him Jimmy) - big ol' sunburnt Irish guy, spiked blond hair, white sleeveless T-shirt, cutoff jeans, runs a "landscapin' compnee" and is a volunteer firefighter (tattoo: shamrock)
Denise - tanned to a crisp, halo of frosted blonde hair (which is always half-up in a fluorescent scrunchie), tight tank top, stretchy pants, Reeboks, extra scrunchie around the wrist (just in case), raspy voice (from the daily pack of Parliaments) tattoo: Tazmanian Devil ('cuz she's so CRAAAZY!)
Two non-descript kids with names like Tyler and Brianna (always dressed in various Disney paraphernalia--Brianna is especially partial to her bedraggled "Belle" dress)

You get the picture. (Or pitcher, as we like to say down here.)

My Excuse For Not Blogging...

He's a pretty freakin' cute excuse, huh?

I had grand plans of blogging all about childbirth, the blissful first few months of motherhood, the joys of nursing, all that good stuff...but truth be told, there were days it was a huge, huge triumph just to get through the day in one piece and find five minutes to shower.

Oh, and remember that pie-in-the-sky blog about moving to PA for a pastoral change of pace? Well, we did it, but boy was it a stressful trip getting here! House-hunting, job-hunting, countless trips to PA with a newborn in tow...we're finally all settled into our cute little house in blessed suburbia, and I feel like I can finally BREATHE after a year.

So "the Teege" is amazing...just the happiest little boy in the world. He truly is a Superbaby. :) All the cliches they say about parenthood are true. It's a fairytale like no other. The first three months are HARD AS HELL, full of self-doubt, loneliness, and frustration, but the payoff is incredible.

Life is good. I'm back in the classroom, where I'm happiest. Teaching at a private girls' academy, where every day I fear I'll say something to get myself fired. ;) I'm not teaching drama or directing shows, which is a bummer, but it's also a beautiful luxury to leave at a normal hour--so I can go home and hang out with my boys.

We miss New York more than we thought we would...especially when we see it on TV (where, of course, NYC is always this magical wonderland of bistros and gorgeous people and carriage rides through Central Park...instead of urine-scented subway stations, maniacal cabbies, and people slammed up against each other in every direction.) We miss our friends, students and coworkers. We miss our reputations. We miss our schools.

But we don't miss the commute, the noise, our crappy neighborhood, and throwing tons of money away on rent. That's for damn sure.

Almost every morning (as I DRIVE to work now, passing horse farms...so surreal), I cue up "One Thing" by Finger Eleven on my iPod. It's really become my anthem for this year, ever since the Teege entered our lives:

Restless tonight
Cause I wasted the light
Between both these times
I drew a really thin line
It’s nothing I planned
And not that I can
But you should be mine
Across that line

If I traded it all
If I gave it all away for one thing
Just for one thing
If I sorted it out
If I knew all about this one thing
Wouldn’t that be something

I promise I might
Not walk on by
Maybe next time
But not this time
Even though I know
I don’t want to know
Yeah I guess I know
I just hate how it sounds

My Teege. He's "this one thing."

Sometimes I'll stop for a minute and think, "What am I forgetting? I feel like I'm missing something." And then I check in with myself and realize, "Oh wait...this is what peace feels like." It's such a new feeling...but one I think I can get used to. :)

Blaming Dr. Seuss

So, it's my first day of maternity leave. Friday was an emotional roller coaster of a day, saying goodbye to my students and colleagues. I'm just so afraid that I'll never find another job that gives me such satisfaction and affirmation.

It also doesn't help that I haven't really had any nibbles with the job search. People are like, "Well, that's okay! You can stay home with the baby for a year!" Yeah, it's not that easy anymore...it's not the 70's when that wasn't such a financial strain.

It stinks. We don't want a lot--just a house, a bambino, and jobs we love. (Is that a lot?)

So NR and I are a bit stressed about the move. Luckily, he has some nice prospects, but we just want everything SETTLED before baby comes. An idealistic scenario, perhaps, but we would feel a lot better.

I just finished a book (see above) called "It's a Wonderful Lie: Truths About Life In Your Twenties." Parts of it I totally related to (crappy first apartments, starting your marriage someplace unfamiliar, seeking solace in grad school, constant second-guessing); others I very happily could not (specifically the serial dating or lack of romantic prospects.) Hot damn, I am so lucky I met The One when I was 21! God only knows what rocks I would have dug up trying to find him.

Anyway, the recurring theme through all 26 essays in this book was the overwhelming buffet of choices we're treated to in this generation. On the one hand, it gives us amazing freedom; on the other, it's terrifying. So we rack up debt, financial and emotional, trying to find our one true path, only to long for simplicity and direction. Freshly out of my twenties, I'm ready to settle down and enjoy some quiet, and I can't help feeling a TINY bit guilty about that just because of the messages we receive to knock down doors and kick some ass.

I blame it on a simple gift that most of us probably received for college graduation: Dr. Seuss' "Oh! The Places You'll Go!" Harmless enough, right? A furry little Seussian creature bounces through fuzzy trees and stalactites, chirping about the fantastic adventures you're about to embark on. So we dive feet-first into the world, clinging to life boats along the way (friends, jobs, traveling, etc.), discarding some along the way when we find something better. Then we think we've reached the luxury liner--the dream job, the stable relationship--only to look back nostalgically at those crappy rafts that got us to where we are.

I wouldn't say NR and I have reached the luxury liner just yet. And maybe we won't. (Hard to afford on a teacher's salary.) But thank God I have a terrific first mate and lots of support along the way.

Pimp My Nursery

Very productive weekend on Baldwin Avenue! My parents brought up the crib, we went on a crazy shopping spree at Babies "R" Us, and the nursery is now pretty much ready to roll--all we need is a baby to put it in. :0

The mural was done by two of Nick's former students. We paid them in Chinese food and art supplies; they were happy as clams. Hmm, maybe we'll try that tactic when we finally have a house of our own one day..."Thanks, Mr. Plumber, for putting in those fabulous granite side-by-side sinks. How about some McDonald's and a couple of pipes and washers? Deal?"

I'm home sick today. One of the lovely perks of being a teacher is the many gifts your students give you: gratitude, inspiration, the occasional Barnes & Noble gift card, and the common cold in all sorts of lovely variations. Of course, being preggers, I'm relegated to saline spray and Kleenex as my drugs of choice...so it's Couch City with Rocco today, accompanied by "E!"

I have less than a month left with my students. I'm trying to just focus on the positive--we're moving for a good reason, everything will (somehow) work out--but it's still incredibly sad to say goodbye to a job I adore. But the way I see it, my life is going to change in ways I can't possibly fathom. So best to just keep an open mind, take a deep breath, and (try!) to relax.

Philadelphia Freedom?

So, the hub and I have made a pretty huge decision...we're moving to PA this summer. Back to the land of cheesesteaks and scrappy Eagles fans, of terrible accents and tourists running up the Art Museum steps.

Well, we're not actually moving to the City of Brotherly Love, but probably my old hood of Delaware County. Back to the land of barrel-chested women with buzz cuts, dark lipliner with frosted lipstick, men built like trucks who call their sons "Pal," and beef 'n beers at the local parish center.

The reason, of course, is the lil' bambino on the way. Nick and I both grew up close to our grandparents, and can't imagine our childhoods any other way. Being a "mixed-coast" couple, we know that's just not possible, so PA has won for its affordability and proximity to my fam.

Not to mention...it's just a different way of life down there. Everything's just a little bit slower, cheaper, and not so hectic. Every morning when I get off the subway at 86th & Lex, I literally have to take a deep breath and fight my way through the crowds. My heart starts racing, my body tenses up, and I can just feel the blood pressure rising. Even when it's a beautiful day out, I barely notice because of the massive buildings, construction, and nonstop jitteriness that pervades the streets. I swear I can imagine B.R. inside me, waking up and saying "Mom, what the hell? It's too damn loud out there!"

And it wasn't always like this. When I first moved up here, I loved just diving into the crowd and being shuttled along like a sardine. You know, that whole "Oh, I'm in the pulse of the urban wonderland!" I would imagine the camera focusing on me and switching into slo-mo as I bounced along, just a silly little twentysomething in the mix. I remember when I was doing a show at the Producers' Club, and I absolutely loved walking down 46th Street past the theaters with my costume and make-up tucked away in my backpack, feeling so smug that I was one of the hundreds of Times Square actors scurrying off to work. (Never mind the fact that the show was a steaming pile!)

Now, I'd rather just take Rocco for a walk down a quiet, tree-lined street, then sit on a porch and read for a while.

I guess it's better to feel this way at 30, rather than wake up one morning and say "Dammit! Where did my twenties go? I missed out on so much!" I remember the panic I felt my senior year of college, when I realized graduation (and the real world) was looming, and I really hadn't done squat. I DEFINITELY think I worked that bug out of my system, and now this is God's way of telling me, "Look, you've done a helluva lot, and now it's time to slow down."

Well, maybe he wouldn't say hell. ;)

Well! Look what happens when you don't update your blog for a while--you get knocked up!

Actually, I found out I was expecting back in July, but we didn't "go public" with the news until September. Since then, time has been tripping merrily along, my blog has gone blissfully ignored, and yours truly is getting bigger by the day!

Here's a pic of the hubby and myself receiving our very own "Charlotte York McDougal Goldblatt" diaper cake (that's for all the SATC fans) at our shower on Saturday. Clearly I was suprised, as you can see from my frump-a-dump hair and lack of make-up!

I'm definitely excited to meet the little guy--partially because I'm hoping the maternal instincts will finally kick in. So far, all things Elmo and Dora are pretty foreign and bizarre to me. They were giving away "Wiggles" tickets on the radio the other morning, and Hubs was like, "Yikes, we're going to have to take our kid to see this crap, right?" Oy...well, my parents were never ones to give in to the latest kid trends--instead, we were museum vets and musical theater geeks by the age of 5. I actually remember Rosie all dressed up, prancing around the living room, pretending to be Josephine from "H.M.S. Pinafore." One little girl's Disney Princess fantasy is another's Gilbert & Sullivan heroine, I guess!

In any event, I promise to be better about updating this, especially with the exciting events coming up in the months to come...