DAY OF LOVE

A few weeks ago, while running errands down on the west side, we stopped to sit for a minute in Christopher Park and enjoy the fleeting early winter sunshine.  It was an unseasonably tepid day, and it seemed that with the shedding of layers everyone in the city also shed a bit of their hardcore New York attitude.  Everyone just seemed a little happier, a little lighter than usual. We sat on the benches and people-watched; we watched the couples walking hand in hand, the dancers with a boom box vogueing in the corner of the park, the business men and women buzzing by with their heels clicking against the pavement, the intermittent floods of people bubbling up out of the subway exit every few minutes, the dogs walking their owners and taxis screeching to a halt to pick up their passengers.. there was so much to see.  Everyone seemed oddly positive, smiling a bit more than usual and walking with a spring in their step. It was one of those rare golden days  that fall precariously just in between the seasons.  If only we'd all known what a brutally cold winter lay just around the corner.. :)

Biet was utterly enthralled with the life-size statues in the park, the gorgeous sculpture duo Gay Liberation by George Segal.  She kept looking up quizzically at their faces trying to decide if they were real people or not.  At one point, she pulled herself up onto the bench and sat next to the ashy statue couple, shyly brushing her hand against the stone.  I think it was in that moment that she realized they were pieces of art, not performance artists with painted bodies sitting deathly still (we see a few of those around town too).  I love seeing her interact with the public art pieces that pepper our city's public spaces.  It's one thing to go to a museum to see art, and another to simply live with it all around, on the streets, on the walls, and in the parks.  I'm so happy to be able to raise my babies in a place that celebrates the normalcy and livability of art and emphasizes the importance of creativity for all.

As she was reaching up to gently touch the hand of the standing sculpted man, I realized what an amazing world she was coming up in.  I thought, when she's old enough to experience that other kind of love- that kind of love so decidedly different from the bubble of love that she grows in as part of our family... that kind of love where you fall head over heels for another human being- she will be doing it in a world that wholeheartedly celebrates the diversity of love. Gay Liberation was installed in Christopher Park outside of The Stonewall Inn in 1992, but it was first approved a decade earlier in 1982, and was stalled to do public opposition. I can't imagine that kind of public opposition over such a piece these days. Now, over 30 years after its initial inception, I'm able to raise my kids in a world that celebrates loving anyone you want, regardless of color, gender, religion, or social differences. It's pretty incredible how far we've come. My kids will grow in a place where they can witness endless examples of what a loving relationship means, and will have the freedom to fearlessly explore it for themselves when the time comes.  It's really an amazingly beautiful thing.

So Happy Valentine's Day! Here's to loving the one you love, and doing it proudly. xoxo

THROUGH THEIR EYES

Gaby held Lucien in our living room and I stood by the record player, quietly watching a father and son interact.  Lou gazed up at his big bearded Papa.  You could feel the love in his eyes.  He wasn't just looking at his Papa, he was looking at the face of the familiar and the safe, the warm and the loving.  He had known that face since day one, and, to him, it was perfection.

Each morning, when I grumpily hope for just five more minutes of slumber, Biet jumps upon me and wedges herself under my arm, asking in a far-too-loud voice, "Mama, you awaaaaake?!". She sees not my red-rimmed, mascara-smeared eyes, nor the soft crinkles just beginning to crease my face.  She sees not the sprouts of postpartum hair regrowth sticking straight up on my forehead, nor my unshaven legs.  She sees not the imperfections, or as I've come to know them in my overly-critical and comparative adult life, my flaws.  She sees only Mama, her Mama, her everything.

It turns out that these children of ours, these utterly perfect children of ours, have a way of finding the perfection around them all of the time.  They see the world in a way that rises above stereotypes, judgement, and norms, and rests instead on pure insight and intuition.  They look at the world with great big eyes of wonder, and they are open to and accepting of it- to all that it is, and all that it is capable of becoming.  And when you think about it, that's kind of an incredibly healthy and inspiring way to be.

I know that if I can take a moment each day to try to see the world as they do, my world will become more beautiful.  If I can strive to focus on the perfection of the day to day things around me- the perfection of my tired eyes and crooked smile (those eyes are tired from growing and raising two beautiful human beings! That smile makes my children beam with happiness!) or my husband's salt and pepper hair (he's more and more handsome with age!), or the inevitable constant mess in our home (a well-lived-in home where there's always a project underway!), or the way that our bed always and forever smells like a dog (our beautiful Nico whom we love to the moon and back- we're lucky to call her a part of our family!)- well, I know that I'll begin to see everything more clearly.

These things don't bother our babies, and why should they? We have each other, we have our health, and we have a million things to make and adventures ahead of us.  My kids know that, and, when I let them remind me, I know that too.

And on this sunny morning, as I put on a record for my family, my boys reminded me of all this.

A FAVORITE RECENT PHOTO OF MINE

I stared at this photo for so long when I first saw it, wondering what exactly it was that made me love it so dearly.  Was it the honesty in my husband's spectacle-free eyes? The way my daughter's collar was rumpled and disheveled just so? The tilt of her head leaning on his shoulder? I could not decide.

Then my older sister Emmy saw it and told me that Biet's face- her quiet yet moody little smirk- is exactly the face that I used to make nonstop as a toddler.  It's the smirk of an opinionated little girl, and one that an older sister would remember well.  And I realized that its the familiarity of this shot that feels so right to me.  With Biet being the spitting image of her father, and inheriting (thus far at least) many of her looks, mannerisms, and tastes from him, I sometimes forget how much of me she has in her as well.

And so it may not be best quality, or the best lighting, but this instagram photo makes me smile ear to ear.  And so it gets it's own little post here, so as not to be forgotten.

THE SLING DIARIES: EXPRESSION

There is no sweeter sound to me than that of her voice.  Whether she's singing along with her favorite songs, reading her books to Nico, calling out my name a million times a day, or having "conversations" with strangers, I can't get enough.  WIth confidence and enthusiasm and more than a bit of talent, my little girl knows how to express herself with that lovely little voice.

When her baby squeals began to take on a pattern actual notes at just a few months old, we convinced ourselves that we were hearing things.  When she started to gently sing herself to sleep a few weeks later, we were baffled.  When she began to join in with her Papa's guitar playing, we knew we were witnessing something magical. Our little girl liked to make noise, and she wasn't half bad either.

Now, months and months later, she awakens with her Papa every morning and they sing along to their favorite albums together. Each time we pass a musician in the subway she stops to dance, and offers an enthusiastic round of applause when their set comes to a close.  She talks nonstop with random strangers on the train, making friends everywhere we go.  Throughout the day, I try to encourage her to express herself and communicate with everyone she meets.  It's amazing how many people are startled, and then thrilled, to look up from their phone on the subway or bus and find a miniature little songstress serenading them.  She brightens up faces all over the city, and eagerly blows everyone a kiss on our way out the door.

No, Biet is not shy when it comes to expressing herself. As a more reserved "behind the camera" kind of gal myself, I can only imagine that she inherits this from her Papa.  As my second pregnancy now nears an end and I try to take it easy, Biet has been spending more and more time on her Papa's hip.  They go out each day together to walk Nico through the city, and return with matching grins across their faces. I imagine them strolling the streets, two characters humming a tune in unison and tipping their hats to everyone who passes.  Maybe one day they'll even put an act together.  That would make for one proud Mama.

Sing on, my baby girl, sing on.

This post is the fourth installment of the Sakura Bloom Sling Diaries. You can see all previous entries here.  I am wearing the Simple Linen Baby Sling in Emerald.

BEAUTIFUL, BEAUTIFUL, BEAUTIFUL GIRL

After your dinner, and your bath, and your late night playtime on the bed with Nico... after you've been rocked and cuddled, and nursed and kissed, when you are on the delicate verge of sleep, you want just one thing. You're Papa's voice, singing that tune- that tune that you love and have come to need at the end of every single night- "Close your eyes, have no fear, the monster's gone, he's on the run, and your Papa's here..."

The original was written for a son, but your Papa has adapted it just for you..

"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.... beautiful girl"

Lennon wrote it, but it has become yours.  Each night it guides you into your dreams, and each night you now expect it.  And I have a suspicion that it will remain yours long after you outgrow your crib, and long after you no longer fit in the crook of your Mama and Papa's arms.

I will forever remember the way you relax your head, slow your breath, and sink your weight into your Papa's chest, listening to him serenade you into the night.  You never let yourself fall fully into slumber until the last note of the last line has been sung. But then, you are peaceful, restful, content.  Our beautiful girl.

OUR FOURTH ANNIVERSARY

Four years ago today, on a cold winter afternoon, we were wed under the Hare Krishna elm tree in Tompkins Square Park.  Four years ago today, we said "I do," and you smashed the glass under your foot, and we all danced our way, parade-style, through the East Village in celebration.  We have managed to fit a dozen lifetimes into these four years. They have been the most progressive, most lively, and most awakening years of my life, filled with strength, and learning, and laughter. And love. Always love. Always and forever.

Happy Four Year Anniversary, my sweet. Remeber these photos from our first anniversary, when we pretended to be fancy uptown folks?  And we sipped on expensive hot chocolate, took a carriage ride through Central Park, and then got lost on busses on our way to that tiny & amazing Italian restaurant?  You just might be the best partner for an adventure that I've ever known. xx

HAPPY MONDAY!

Our weekend was pretty low key.  We spent it mostly relaxing in bed, watching old movies (Biet's favorites so far are Heidi {starring her sort-of-look-alike Miss Shirley Temple} and Breakfast at Tiffany's), and eating Tibetan food.  Oh yes, and in between lounging, we walked- a lot.  All this little girl wants to do is to walk, all day, all afternoon, all over town. You just can't stop her. I guess its a good thing we live in New York City :)

Happy Thanksgiving week everyone! I can't believe the holidays are here already!

POP UP SHOP

The other day, we made our way across the island in search of a tiny little pop up shop. In a brick and glass storefront hidden under the beautifully overgrown highline, a temporary store had emerged, dedicated to Gaby's one real true love- Mr. Bob Dylan.  We arrived to the discreet storefront, and Gaby was instantly in paradise. While he perused the music-legend goods, I snapped a few photos of the shop and the neighborhood. I used to walk over here to the Meatpacking district when I first moved to the city, making my way east to west past the warehouses and the abandoned industrial buildings and the butchers in the garages hanging with slaughtered cattle and the trucks double-parked everywhere spewing exhaust. It was really something to see, especially if you wandered the streets int the early hours of the morning when the workers were just getting started on their day's load. It was kind of terrifying and disgusting, kind of awe-inspiring, and always cinematic. Now the cobblestone streets are lined with high-fashion shops and restaurants, but the industrial feeling remains.  It's kind of crazy how now, as a mother, I look at neighborhoods so very differently than I used to.  Now I see the architecture and the culture and the people, and I think to myself, what would it be like to raise a child children here?  My verdict on the Meatpacking district: a pretty amazing place to raise a family, so much history, so much happening.

Gaby didn't end up buying anything at the shop. Instead, we decided that it would be more fun to go see Dylan live when he tours through Brooklyn in a couple months. We have our tickets in hand, and Gaby is over the moon.

** By the way, the counters over at Top Baby Blogs have been reset. If you feel so inclined, please click over and VOTE for Petite Biet. I have been connected to so many amazing women, bloggers, and readers through the website, and would truly appreciate your vote to stay listed. Merci! Gracias! Toda! Thank you! **

HIS BIRTHDAY MORNING

It wasn't as tedious as usual for me to get out of bed on that early morning. Biet and her father were still asleep, snoring lightly next to one another in our big bed.  Biet had been going through a rough patch of sleeping and had somehow persuaded me, with her uncomfortable waking cries and moans, to transfer her from her crib into our bed in the middle of the night.  She always sleeps best wedged in between Mama & Papa.  I left my two loves (three, if you count Nico balled up under the covers at the bottom of the bed- yes, our bed gets mighty full sometimes) and tiptoed to the kitchen.  The flourless chocolate cake, baked just hours before in dark of the night, had cooled on the butcher block with the breeze from the slightly cracked window.  The cream cheese icing had set in the fridge, and the two were ready to come together into the most decadent & unhealthy breakfast ever. 

I started my coffee on the stovetop percolator and frosted away. One blue candle, left over from Biet's birthday, finished the cake.  Then it was on to the gift wrapping. I had been collecting my gifts for Gaby for the past few weeks, secretly hiding them around the house out of sight, anticipating the big day when they would finally be opened, anticipating the surprise and delight on my man's face.  So on this morning I fetched them all and plopped down on the living room floor with a roll of butcher paper and a roll of ribbon.  And just then my little assistant woke up, crying for her Mama from the bed. So we worked together, side by side.  Each pretty white package, upon closer inspection, was embellished with the faintest streaks of red, blue, and yellow, swirling wildly across the paper into the most beautiful crayon-drawn wrapping paper.  I would wrap and tape a package, hand it to her, and she would do her thing, my tiny artist.

We stacked the packages into a pretty little tower, set out the cake, and climbed back into bed.  I had intended to relax a little before the day began, but Biet's exuberant hugging and kissing on her Papa (did I mention she isn't the gentlest of babies) had Gaby up and smiling in no time.  I kissed him and wished him a happy birthday, and suggested that I go make the coffee and he take Biet into the living room and put on some music (music and potty time is her usual waking routine).  I knew that he expected nothing.  He swooped up his daughter and danced away down the hall, and I waited. A few seconds later he came running back into the kitchen, so surprised, so excited- the way everyone should feel on their birthday.

And then: loud music, dancing in our underwear, three (!) slices of cake (each) for breakfast, laughter, a baby having a ball tearing up paper, a Papa-husband-birthday-boy having a ball with his new things, picture-taking, coffee, love, family.... a birthday morning, and a great one at that.

THIS MAKES FOR A HAPPY MAMA IN THE AFTERNOON

I realized that I had just finished an entire magazine article without being interrupted, and I knew that something was up. The house was silent. Calm.  So I peeked in and this is what I found. Two birds of a feather, passed out on the big bed. And that afternoon- well that afternoon was glorious. I did my hair and sat down on the couch to enjoy my lunch, alone and in peace, with a fashion magazine. You know, the sort of things that I took for granted before this whole motherhood thing happened. And just when I began to miss those sticky hands and slobbery baby kisses (Biet's) and loud music and laughter and bear hugs (Gaby's), I heard Papa and baby stirring in the bedroom. But that little break, well it changed my whole day. I'll take one every afternoon, please. 

*The winner of Monday's Urban Baby Bonnet's Giveaway is heatherington. Congratulations, lady! I'll keep my eyes out for your email!  petitebiet{at}gmail.com

BBQ IN THE BACKYARD

We invited some friends over on the weekend to have our very first BBQ in the backyard of our Brooklyn apartment.  I toiled away throughout the morning making basil-dill potato salad, herbed vegetable kabobs, strawberry brown sugar lemonade, and chopped fruit salad. Our guests arrived, we put on music, the weather was perfect, the meat went on the grill, and... I had to leave. Sunday night work at the restaurant.  I was sure that I'd at least get to enjoy one bite of steak before my shift, but, alas, time would not allow.  So I kissed my loves goodbye and headed to the train, giving firm instruction before I left to "take photos, take photos, take photos!".. I wanted to see how it all turned out.

The restaurant was packed that night, so I worked like a madwoman and made crazy tips, which is always a blessing as the end of the month rolls around and rent is due.  Although the late-night hours seem to be getting harder and harder to swing as my baby grows into a child, I am ever so grateful for the amount of work that has come my way lately.  I'm setting the wheels in motion for some alternative, creative-based work in the future, but for now my tried and true restaurant job is just fine.  Except of course on BBQ evenings, when I would love to be able to stay home with the family..

I returned home late that night, exhausted and ready to turn in.  Biet was sound asleep and  Gaby was watching a movie.  He jumped up to welcome me home, took my bag, and told me to look in the freezer.  I tiredly opened it up to find a little surprise- two (!) pints of delicious ice cream just waiting for a tired Mama to come home and devour them.  As we looked over photos (Gaby and his friends had listened well and taken lots and lots of photos for me) and enjoyed our late night dessert, I counted my blessings.  Enough work to get by, a healthy and ridiculously happy baby girl, and a husband who stays up to welcome his wife home in the sweetest way- I think I have it pretty good, even if I do sometimes miss out on family BBQ's.

And from the looks of these photos, the day was a laughter-filled success..