Cold Spaghetti

We have a running list of “reasons why living in New Orleans is like living in the developing world.” It’s quite a long list; the comparisons are uncanny. Today, we have one more to add to the list.

An athletic event can hold the hopes and dreams of an entire population, shutting down the normal functions of a even an entire city, to focus all energy on that game. Incredible challenges of daily life are completely forgotten and winning or losing becomes the ultimate symbol of the value and importance of an entire population.

This is what life in New Orleans feels like today. Today’s game — can there possibly be anyone in the United States, or even the world, who isn’t invested in today’s game?? — holds the hopes and dreams of our city. The desperation to win, to go all the way, has somehow gotten wrapped up in our personal survival. Something tangible that we can point to show that we matter.
I’ve thought hard on why even I am caught up in it all. Paul and I fell in love with New Orleans in the days before Katrina. But it was after Katrina, watching our city fall apart while others minimized the loss, rationalized the tragedy, and responded in passe, tacky ways (“Tell them about all the free stuff Katrina evacuees are getting!”) that were so arrogant and ignorant that it was hard to put into words how isolating and insulting it felt. (“It’s not like you lost anything, your house didn’t flood.” ) The stifling depression that set in after Katrina was perhaps more toxic than the sediment left behind by the flood. Paul and I, after experiencing the comparatively posh life of expats in Peru, came close to the cut-and-run. Life here, especially right after the storm, was intense. But when it came right down to it, we couldn’t leave. Our decision to stay was wrapped up in a web of emotion, experience, and pride too difficult to articulate. Perhaps one of the reasons we stay is for the shared understanding that everyone else here has gone through the same incantations. We can complain about the city, our taxes, our safety, the poor schools, the failing systems — but do so in a safe space where we know that the discussion exists within the context of incredible love for a place unlike any other in the world.
Community pride is important and I don’t mean to wax on, as us New Orleanians are known to do, boasting about the unique qualities that make our city such a gem. I imagine other folks in other communities feel pretty strongly about where they live, too. I don’t want to get into a pissing contest over which where is better… but I will say that I’ve never heard anyone sing “I know what it means to miss Centreville.”In the here and now, we are all in black and gold. On Friday, the kids has a Saints pep rally at Abeona. It was a serious affair. I spoke with Emmy at quarter to 8 Friday morning as we searched for black and gold facepaint and markers. Paul and I tore through our wardrobes for black and gold to wear (unless you’re Liberace, or a Hilton girl, who has gold in their wardrobe??) Other parents ran around town for fleur-di-lis patches and yellow sweatshirts. At school, the kids were eager to learn the nomenclature. When he got home Friday afternoon, Will told us that when you yell “Who Dat!?” you scare away bears. This morning, our street is filled with cars and pedestrians walking up to Whole Foods for King Cake and football snacks. Black and gold banners fly from cars; everyone is wearing their Saints best. I’ve bitten off all my nails and my stomach is in knots. We hear the kids next door, running around with excitement as game time closes in. It’s a big day in New Orleans.

In our house, everyday is an adventure. It is like we are tip-toeing across a mine-field, trying out different steps, listening for hints of a pending explosion, enjoying small celebrations when we are able to stand firmly with both feet planted.
We spend much of our days muddled over exactly what to feel: Do we hug him or throttle him? For help in this decision making, I’ve turned to child development literature. Unfortunately, I seem to be following much of this information already, so I am left with the realization that there is no silver bullet. What IS helpful, however, are things that help me understand my child’s personality so that I can better predict his moods. The best book on this (suggested to me by a Child Development Psychologist as “the best parenting book out there”) is “Raising Your Spirited Child.” The book gives a lot of insight into determining how your child handles their energy, what drains them, what recharges them, and how to help your child recognize their own limits and needs. Whether or not “spirited” is a term that applies to all children is debatable; the book argues that a “spirited” child is one that is simply MORE. (There is no question that this applies to Will; my fear is that if Will is more, I am terrified of the challenges I face with Kate.) Another parent of a child who clearly fits the “spirited” category said that “normal” kids must be the ones that don’t stick out. So that the labels that he gets now will grow into assets as an adult: tenacity, audaciousness, persistence, sensitivity, intensity. The book has been particularly helpful in its discussion of the extrovert versus the introvert. I realized through the reading that Will is probably not the extrovert I’ve assumed him to be; he has many more qualities of an introvert. He is shy in new situations, holds on to his personal space, needs periodic time alone, shares his thoughts and feelings with difficulty, and has a hard time transitioning from one activity to another. I had taken his energy, enthusiasm, and friendly disposition as signs of his being an extrovert (like me). In reality, though we share a similar intensity and persistence, I believe that Will is introverted like Paul. This information has changed how we schedule and interact as a family. After leaving school, Will would often want to go to the playground — this worked well since it left the house quiet for me to make dinner. But afterwards, Will would struggle through dinner and shower time. Now we’re making sure Will has down time after school, rather than going off to another stimulating environment. We’re still trying to learn his cues, but I’m hoping that being more aware will help.Will seems to be potty trained. We have to give him reminders, especially when getting ready to leave the house. We’ve had several “emergencies” but so far he is doing really well with “holding it.” Will is really sensitive to smells and we teach him to pull his shirt up over his nose before entering restrooms. He has also suddenly and without warning begun to pee standing up. This was a bit dramatic at first: how to do it without dribbling? The solution was that Paul taught him to lean up against the bowl, which is something I never would have done… I can’t think about him doing this in other places! (Paul assures me that he picks Will up or puts down paper.) Will is extremely proud of his toileting. We started a sticker reward system but found that it was completely unnecessary. He literally just picked it up overnight and was simply ready to do it. It has probably been the easiest parenting and developmental milestone we’ve had yet.Will is still our thoughtful and sensitive guy. In the picture above, he’s holding the “beautiful sun” he made for me. He’s got some new quirks that are notable. For example, he has a very strange relationship with his socks. While he is adamant(!) about picking out socks to go with his outfit each day, he is equally committed to ripping them off at every opportunity. We find them all over the house, in his bed, and tucked in the furniture. He is also bothered by tags in his shirts. He insists on keeping the tags flipped up so that “he can breathe.” We haven’t asked how exactly the tag sticking up helps him breathe, maybe we’re afraid of answer.

Kate was less than 24 hours into her 8th month when her teacher, Miss Gladys, greeted me with this expression when I went to pick her up: “Miss Holly! Let me TELL you about YOUR DAUGHTER.” This is generally a conversation that does not introduce a discussion of a child’s glowing behavior.As I understand it, Kate has developed some interesting past-times at school that present challenges to her dear teachers. For example, she likes to climb on the cribs of her sleeping classmates and poke them awake. She also is determined to roll off the changing pad. One of the other teachers overheard Miss Gladys changing Kate:
“Kate, where are you going? You’re going to hurt yourself rolling around like that.”
“KATE. Now be still.”
pause.
“Ohhhh my goodness, WHAT IS THAT FACE? I can’t believe you are giving me that face!”
(in enters another teacher): “Gladys, can I help..? OH MY GOODNESS, Kate! What IS that face?!”
“I know! Have you ever SEEN a baby give you that kind of face?!!”I apologized for Kate and her face. I know it well. With it, she very clearly explains that she is Ready. To. Go. and how DARE any of us try to keep her in one place when it is obvious that she is WORKING HARD on something VERY IMPORTANT. Lucky for me, the teachers have seen Kate in her element and know that I am not to be blamed for having such an energetic, rough-and-tough, confident, and ready-for-the-world baby girl.

I am to be pitied; they know I am done for.

In the past week, Kate has not slept for more than 15 consecutive minutes. I know this because in the past week, I have not slept for more than 15 consecutive minutes. On a good day, it takes a Herculean effort to get her to sleep (luckily, I’ve had 3+ years of practice with Will). This past week, it’s taken a Herculean effort plus drugs. Better living through chemicals — thank you Motrin! While lubing up her sore chops with Ambisol this morning, I noticed the sharp, rough bumps of a tooth just starting to poke through. Her first tooth. It is the lower middle tooth on the left. I can only barely make it out, although she hasn’t been keen on a full exam for me to get a really good look. The excitement is bittersweet; I miss the baby she leaves behind.One thing about the tooth: it explains the popularity of her ‘where’s my dentures?’ face.
Kate loves to explore our kitchen. With Will, nothing was baby-proofed. No outlets covered. No cupboards locked. We did have a few baby gates to limit his exploration to rooms of the house without powertools and nails on the floor, but that was about it. Nothing has changed — although it better start changing soon (note picture below). Kate doesn’t quite seem cognitively ready for the level of curiosity and ability she possesses.
(Don’t worry. No baby was hurt in the taking of this picture.)

Yesterday, we had the A/C on. It was working hard to keep the house somewhere between 72-73 degrees.

We turned the heat back on last night, knowing it was going to get chilly. It did! Having an hour or more this morning without power did not help us keep the house toasty warm. But we got everyone warmly dressed, the power came back, and the temp outside is 42 — with a “feels like” temp of 35! Yowza! Here’s our super little man, just a little while ago…And his sister, flying to the door to watch her brother off to school! (Only 2 more weeks until Kate starts full-time at Abeona, too!!)

So much has been going on that I’ve missed updates on the mundane, yet so interesting when looking in retrospect, moments of our home life.
THE BINKY…
… is gone. Back in November, Will’s primary source of soothing developed a small tear at the tip. Paul encouraged the plastic to spread a bit more, changing the suction effect. Right away, Will lost interest in the wounded Bink. So, when he asked for a binky we could give it to him, making him “choose” that he didn’t want to use it. For the sake of documenting what really happened, I should add that this was a seriously controversial affair. The start of the ear-infection, antibiotic, diarrhea, swollen-member mess were big complications. The miserable guy was left with a binky that didn’t quite give the right relief while he was dealing with so much discomfort. Feeling in the middle of a battle, I encouraged cuddles and helped him to quickly transition to other means of comfort (a blue blanket.)

POTTY TRAINING…
… happened overnight. All that stuff about when they are ready, it will happen overnight? IT WAS EXACTLY RIGHT. While we have accidents every once in awhile, Will is basically potty trained. He has had a few days when he asked for pull-ups, not underwear (interestingly, these tend to fall on weekend days) and we’ve just let him be in control over that choice. In our experience, using success as a reward in itself was definitely the way to go. We sort of introduced a sticker chart leading to a special treat, but honestly, his excitement over succeeding by himself was all that was necessary. I don’t think we’ll be moving on to nighttime underwear for awhile, though. This still scares us quite a bit.

Only two words necessary: WHO DAT!?

… was one of the signs we carried. Several parents pushed empty strollers that read “future of our city??” along with the signs. Other signs included: “No Children — No City,” “No Child is born a killer,” “Children’s Laughter is NOLA’s Music,” “NOLA’s Children: Long Neglected and Unprotected,” and pictures of Francis with “Friends of Francis” labels.

The March and Rally were initially organized by the Marigny/Bywater community and anticipated maybe a few hundred people. Over 1,000 met them at the base of Canal Street. When we began to walk up Canal and over to Poydras, the crowd began to explode. It is hard to explain exactly how it happened, but people seemed to be pouring in from everywhere… coming down out of office buildings, meeting up with the crowd from side-streets. I was in heaven taking pictures, standing on curbs or other elevated surfaces to snap pictures as the crowd went by — and the way it kept growing was surprising, and energizing.

I had heard that several neighborhoods organizations were gathering to march to City Hall separately. So when our crowd (from Canal Street) got to City Hall, we were met by other groups coming from different parts of the city. Estimates put the numbers of people somewhere between 3,000-5,000 people. Considering that the city’s current population is roughly 200,000 people, that is an incredibly high turnout — and on a mid-week workday!

I’ve been to several Marches and Rallys, walked the picket line with the Union at Michigan, attended the March for Women’s Lives in DC (which, I believe, holds the record as the country’s largest march at 1.2 million people). In my experience, this was by far the most passionate and emotional event I’ve attended. The energy was palatable; it seemed to hold us all together in a mix of diversity that others tell me is unprecedented in this divisive city.

Speakers represented various neighborhoods and experiences. No political official was allowed to speak (even when some called for the Mayor, who stood quietly behind the speakers microphones) clarifying that this event was specifically about allowing the people of New Orleans to be heard. I was so thankful for this. We needed the event to specifically be about our anger, our vulnerability, and our ideas.

The statement that resonated in me and that stays with me came from Reverend John Raphael, (whose fantastic speech may be viewed through that link) who said,

“New Orleans maybe the city that care forgot. But today, we declare that New Orleans will never again be the city that forgot to care.”

Because the job of law enforcement is to protect citizens only when they march, in numbers into the thousands, to City Hall to demand it.

“What took so long? The community finally woke up. We had a tragedy or two. The community should have, in fact, probably spoke up sooner.” – Police Superintendent Warren Riley on CNN

I’m too tired to say much of substance and am still processing the day. But it was incredibly powerful. Being there with such an amazing group of people was inspiring.

Times-Picayune has several articles that cover some of the media focus at the event. Thanks for all the messages regarding watching us on CNN. If you could drop a quick line to your local representatives, we would really appreciate it.

We TiVo’ed several evening news broadcasts to review later, but we know that you can see images of Paul, Kate, and even me — as well as other Abeona-related people — in these places (hat tip, Emmy!):

Join Abeona parents tomorrow as we march for Francis Pop and the children of New Orleans — long neglected and unprotected. If you can’t be here with us, PLEASE — call your radio station, your television news, your local paper. We are not so naive that we believe our local government will change with a demonstration — we know that we need media, Big Media, attention to refocus eyes on the terror, tragedy, and suffering in our city.

If can join us, we are gathering at the Harrah’s fountain starting around 11 — look for the Abeona sign. Email or call me for more information.