pink pajama mama

My oh my. It all began last summer when I saw my friend Neila and she looked goood! Wearing leggings and a fitted shirt, she was toned. Nothing jiggled or shook. Granted, she has always had a phenomenal body, a dancer’s body with ballet posture and a small ribcage and long long legs, but she just looked good. I asked her what she was doing for exercise and she said she was going to Curves. This surprised me as I’d had Neila in my belly dance class and I knew when I left the island she had bought dvd’s of pole dancing for exercise and had even ordered a pole for her living room.But when push came to shove and I wanted to tone up my jiggly ass too, I signed up for Curves. The bonuses–it was a five minute walk from my house and I could go, work out, and be home in under 45 minutes. And so began my adventures with Curves. I joined on Martha’s Vineyard, a fascinating group of New England women, many farmers and self-sufficient strong women who owned their own businesses and enjoyed a mild workout. After going religiously three times a week the whole summer and still feeling jiggly, I gave up. It was harder to go once we returned to NOLA. It’s about a ten minute drive now, and the hours drive me CRAZY!!! They’re open in the morning and the late afternoon and closed during the hours I need them most–11:30- 3:30pm. I like to work out during Henry’s naptime. I went many times to find them closed, partly because of hours, and for many other reasons, like the rain. This is part of the charm and a very annoying aspect of NOLA, many things close when they feel like it, and rain usually makes people feel like closing their doors. The NOLA Curves was completely different than Martha’s Vineyard. The women here are much more rambunctious. They talk loudly and laugh loudly and tell wild stories which is great for making the workout faster. Still, I went a few weeks and decided to quit and get a personal trainer as it wasn’t doing diddly for my jiggles. Then they got Curves Smart and that changed everything. I realized nothing was happening with my jiggles because I wasn’t trying very hard. I finally understood how hard I needed to push myself to get an actual workout. In any case, everytime I go to Curves, it’s an adventure. For example, today I was working out in my pink outfit. A little old lady in big sunglasses came up to me and asked me if I knew the band called Pink. “Yes,” I replied, “I love Pink.” ”Are you them?” she asked me. I shook my head. Besides the obvious–I am one person and not many, and therefore couldn’t possibly be a ‘band,’ I also wouldn’t wear pink every day just because my name was Pink.She continued, “I saw that it says Pink Royalty on your pants and whenever I see you, you’re wearing pink, so I thought maybe you were that band.”Mmmm-hmmm.Last time I went, I was greeted by a flamboyantly gay male working the desk. It was a little startling as there are rarely any males at Curves, but I went with it. The manager introduced him as the new employee and he greeted us with a gorgeous arabesque and a little ballet. There was a robust woman doing a very robust workout, a welcome change from the usual group of little old ladies falling over on the thigh machine, falling asleep and snoring on the bench, or working out in their perfect white keds, button down shirts and tweed pleated pants, careful not to mess with their hair.This woman was going for it.The manager asked Robust woman to show the new employee the “line dances.” I didn’t know what they were, but soon they were going for it, doing some wild second line dancing, which got me going, and the little old ladies around me, and soon we’re all shimmying and doing high kicks. A chunky line of Rockettes.Like I said, always an adventure… 

Ok, technically he wasn’t REALLY a pirate, he was a commodore. Or so he said. We were playing on the playground when I spied out of the corner of my eye, a man striding across the park wearing a long pirate coat, pirate pants, tall boots, a sword in his scabbard, and a huge three-cornered hat complete with dancing feathers on his head.  His long black hair was tied back in a ponytail. “Annabelle! Look! A pirate!” I said. She stopped playing to look. “Actually,” I said, “It looks like Napolean.” She gasped in delight. “Look! It’s Panolean!” she whispered to her friend ecstatically, and we all crept closer. “Let’s go ask him his name,” I said, and we all walked over, me, Annabelle, her friend Sophie, Henry, Aya (Henry’s baby doll) and Coconut (Annabelle stuffed dog.) He told us his name was Commodore Something or Other and that he was looking for Jack Sparrow and had any of us seen Captain Jack Sparrow or Elizabeth Swann? We all shook our heads.”Look at his sword,” I said, pointing to the plastic sword he had taped together at the handle hanging from his belt. All their eyes grew wide as he withdrew it and let them hold it. They all collected sticks and he taught them how to block blows from other swords. Annabelle was fascinated, and after five minutes, was ready to teach the class herself to anyone who would listen. As more and more children lined up to learn about swordfighting, Annabelle couldn’t resist putting in her two cents. “Not like that, George! Like this!” She’d say, showing him how he should be holding his pretend sword.Henry was busy reverently holding the plastic sword. I have to say he did a fantastic job. He held very still and quiet. He didn’t swing it or dig in the dirt with it or try to hit anyone else with it. He just stood and held it with one pudgy hand, his other hand held behind his back like the Commodore was teaching. Every time I told him he needed to let someone else take a turn, he would hold up one tiny finger and say “One more minute,” and continue his sword reverie. After about five times, I finally had to pry his fingers loose and give it to another child. Henry was devastated, but quickly recovered when we laid out a blanket under the slide to have snacks and tell ghost stories. Annabelle of course led the way, telling everyone a story about a little boy and girl named Daisy and Sunshine who were very brave. The fact that we had snacks at a playground right before supper made us VERY popular at the playground, and we soon had an audience of about six kids listening to Annabelle’s stories. As we left the playground, Annabelle curtsied to the Commodore and he saluted her with his sword. He told me he was from the Phillipines and that he taught the kids at orphanages about pirates and swordfighting. Just reaffirmed my love for this quirky city.  A pirate in the park!! How often does that happen? 

Well, Saturday night was my first real night out after bedtime (7pm!) in four years! I went to see VDay–the tenth anniversary of the Vagina Monologues. Eve Ensler has chosen to focus on Gulf Coast women for 2008. She wrote some INCREDIBLE monologues for the women of Katrina and dear New Orleans. She opened the show with a monologue saying New Orleans is like the “woman” of America. People come to her for pleasure, for spiciness, for fun, but when she had needs of her own, they turned away. She has so much energy, is so smart and amazing and leaves a wake of healing and inspiration and courage and care wherever she goes. The Sports Arena was packed with thousands of women. I pretty much wept from the moment the Mardi Gras Indians led the actresses into the arena in a second line parade.  And if I wasn’t weeping I was laughing my ass off and screaming with everyone else.I found the show to be very cathartic and healing in many ways. I hadn’t even realized that I was feeling out of sorts. Without even realizing it, I had been thinking negative thoughts of my own v-jay-jay ( Cathy’s code word for vagina). She just hasn’t seemed as perky and cute lately. She seems more languid, like a lioness who has just had a huge meal and now rolls around in the grass, stretching. She’s gone from peppy cheerleader to one of those ladies in Arizona who drinks beer and smokes cigarettes and speaks with raspy voices and who are really tan and wear a lot of turquoise and gaze at the world with merry but world weary eyes.But after seeing VDay, I celebrate my V-Jay-jay! I sing her praises!! She’s seen the world, given birth to two amazing children, and she’s beautiful! A creator of miracles! A holy vessel of love! A delectable crumpet of divinity! A kick-ass powerhouse elegant queen! Don’t mess with the V-jay-jay!!Back to Vday! The VDay actresses nailed it! Christine Lahti wowed with the hair monologue. Jennifer Beals rocked the house with the hysterically funny orgasm monologue. Jane Fonda was a powerhouse with the birth monologue, and Ali Larter was awesome in the short skirt monologue. An actress I’ve never seen before–Liz Mikel–just totally brought the house down with two monologues–the angry vagina and a new one about Katrina. At the end of the show, Eve Ensler asked everyone who had ever been raped or abused to stand with the at the end, to break the silence, and from that moment on, to rewrite their stories from tragedy to triumph and power. Then she asked everyone who knew anyone who had ever been raped or abused to stand up and by now, the entire arena was standing in solidarity and support. The show ended with Faith Hill and Jennifer Hudson and Charmaine Neville singing Respect and everyone in the place dancing. I went with Miss Cathy, and we of course, were sitting right behind one of the three men who attended, and as luck would have it, he was a drunk and obnoxious man and he nearly ended up getting whacked in the head with my purse. Cathy was kinder–she kept gently putting her hand on his back to tell him to quiet down at which point he yelled at her that he was not in a library, but at a sports arena. As if we were watching a basketball game and not a life-altering piece of theater.Eve announced the focus for 2009 would be women from the Congo and showed a very moving little film about her visits there to help the hundreds of thousands of women there who are experiencing rape and torture in the name of war. There is a doctor there helping them, and he came to New Orleans to receive an award and quietly and humbly spoke in swahili about how honored he was to help women. The Vagina Monologues has raised more than 50 million dollars to help fight violence against women. There are VDay activists in so many different countries, even the countries you would never expect–the Middle East for example.Totally incredible show. And the world didn’t fall apart while I was gone. George did a phenomenal job putting the kids to bed for the first time alone, and all was well. 

Today when I was driving home, I saw our next door neighbor getting out of the car, a nurse was pulling up his pants and helping him with his walker. He’s a very old sick man, and he lives alone in a big mansion with a nurse. I’m told he was a famous New Orleans judge for years. I feel sad when I see him, he’s bent and shaky and both his feet are wrapped in casts. One night his nurse came knocking at 9pm to see if George could come next door as the judge had fallen out of his wheelchair and she couldn’t get him back in.I was thinking about seeing the judge tonight while we were eating toast before bed. I started composing a poem aloud. “The mighty judge has fallen…”"What are you talking about?” Annabelle asked me.”Oh,” I said, shocked out of my reverie, “I was composing a poem.”"What’s a poem?” she asked. ”Well, a poem is when a writer tried to tell a story or express a feeling in as few words as possible.”"Like the Spiderwick Chronicles,” Annabelle said. ”No, the Spiderwick Chronicles are books, they’re novels.”"No, like IN the Spiderwick Chronicles, there’s a poem,” my 40 year old in a 4 year old body says.”Oh, yes! You’re right! There IS a poem in the Spiderwick Chronicles.”She took a bite of her toast, looking beautiful and radiant in her yellow nightgown. She chewed thoughtfully.”The sky is fallen…” she said. “I’m writing a poem too,” she said.”Yes, great, that could be a poem!” ”Hmmm, moonlight and mermaids, is that a poem?” She took another bite.”Yes, absolutely! A beautiful poem, I love that.” Then Henry threw the olives he had stuck on his fingers across the room and gleefully laughed, poking his little fingers into more olives and hurling them across the room. Moonlight, mermaids, and flying olives. That about sums it up.  

Tonight I was trying to get Annabelle to go to sleep. I reminded her that the Easter Bunny was watching her and would probably really like it if she would fall asleep without whining or crying. She glared at me, stuck out her tongue, and then immediately clapped her hands over her mouth and shook her head, saying, “I’ll never do that again.” She knew the Easter Bunny was watching.The babies are completely off schedule after our week of partying in Utah.  Our trip was a mixture of heaven and hell. Let’s see, a brief glimpse of the hellish moments:Annabelle gets a fever; Henry vomits on my mom; Henry’s poopy diaper leaks all over my parent’s white carpet; the kids don’t sleep for five nights in a row; Henry develops strange bumps on his feet and I take him to my brother’s medical clinic; Henry scratches his ear until it bleeds and we take him to my brother’s at 9pm at night; Henry finds a little patch of snow to sit in and walk through wearing his slippers followed by sitting in a sandbox getting covered in mud, snow, and sand… The heavenly moments:Sitting in the sunshine with my sister, talking while the kids play; sitting in the sunshine with my family watching Bandit, Janessa’s tiny puppy, romp in the grass with the kids; watching my brother lift Annabelle up in the middle of a basketball game so she can make a slamdunk; going to pick up Annabelle at my brother’s where she was very happily eating popcorn and watching Pinocchio; seeing the snowy mountains glow under the moonlight; watching my nephews (fourteen and ten years old!) don capes and tie one on Annabelle (they even helped her tie a tiny cape on her stuffed guinea pig) and run around the house; watching the kids run by screaming with laughter after the big party; seeing Annabelle do her Hannah Montana dance at the big party; seeing my oldest brother who I haven’t seen in four years!…It was quite a trip! I spent months planning my parent’s fiftieth wedding anniversary and it was a huge success.  

Let me see. I rolled out of bed yesterday to Henry padding around the hallway saying “poop” and pointing to his diaper.”You want to change your diaper?” I asked him, and took his diaper off. I put it in the diaper champ and when I turned back around, there was a big piece of poop on the floor. “Oh, you really had to poop,” I said, stating the obvious. I picked him up, rushed him to the potty, and he finished on the actual toilet. Annabelle had gotten up around 4am vomiting, so overall it was quite a morning for bodily functions. Shockingly, for the past two days, Henry has told me when he has to poop or pee and has gone in the toilet. This is completely amazing for a one year old! He’s potty training himself!! ”Blop!” Henry said this morning, patting my knee.”What’s he saying Annabelle?” I asked.”He’s saying blop.”"I know that! What does it mean?”She shrugged.”Blop!” After a great deal of time, I finally figured out he was saying lap–he wanted to sit in my lap. Oh the joys of conversation with a one year old.He’s talking so much. He loves to poke my belly and say “funny” over and over. He calls every bug an “ant” and he holds up one finger and says “oneminute” for anything he wants to do. He knows it’s a sure way to get his way. All his teeth are coming in, he’s potty training and taking–my baby is growing up!! I can’t believe it!!