Viva Leslie!

Please, for the love of Austin, take a minute and watch this video by John Kelso, the Statesman's "humor" columnist, of his cross-dressing muse, the legendary Leslie Cochran. (He's so legendary, in fact, that when you Google 'Leslie,' he's the third entry.)


be sure to watch carefully at the end

http://www.statesman.com/news/mplayer/news/News/44147

(My apologies for not being able to figure out how to embed the video. Any html techies out there have a solution?)

I really don't think I can do Leslie justice by writing any sort of follow-up analyzation or attempt at witty humor. I am fortunate enough to see Leslie a few times a week on my way to work. Walking from Bouldin Creek to who knows where, in a black fur hat and red miniskirt, gold earrings dangling from his ears. Austin is my beloved home, indeed.

Also, in case you were wondering, I would LOVE my own Leslie magnets for Christmas.

The easy way out?

I promise this blog won't entirely be about kids and child-rearing, but I have to post about a Babble.com article I just read that put another light on how women these days go about childbirth.

Most of you know that I had a C-section in January (10 months ago exactly!) after
two days of labor. The first day, it was nothing worse than an achy flu. Second day, I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy. Throbbing, gut-wrenching, nauseating, incessant pain. It's the closest thing to death I have experienced, which is a fucking terrifying realization when you still have the baby inside you. They don't really tell you that part in the classes.

If I stayed still, it was awful. If I moved, it got worse. I couldn't talk. I could hardly keep my head up. If Ian and my mom and the birth assistants were rubbing me and encouraging me with kinds words to ease the pain, I don't remember it. I was too overwhelmed being stuck in the middle of what they were trying to help me get through. And stuck I was. Well, stuck Julian was. He was head down, facing the front. (They are supposed to be facing your back.) Stubborn as all hell to descend any further.

After 14+ hours of the worst of it, the pain suddenly stopped. Not when good old Dr. Monk, my OB who has 14 kids (I found this out on the Cesarean table) pulled Julian out, but about 30 minutes before, when I rolled on my side and they stuck the epidural needle in my back. It seeped over me. A physical numbness that allowed me to mentally focus on the child I was birthing. That was the "transformative personal experience" author Kathryn J. Alexander writes about. I think Alexander too quickly dismisses personal transformative powers the act of birthing on mothers has. But on the other hand, the natural childbirth movement goes too far the other way. Its teachers and advocates often deny, if implicitly, that mothers can give birth in a medicalized environment and experience anything as powerful as doing it drug-free.

Childbirth professionals with a nature-worshipping bias against medical pain relief seem to suggest that only self- indulgent, entitled control freaks — void of spirituality, feminist enlightenment and the ability to bond with their young — would want a pain-free birth. ... Since when did childbirth become about having a transformative personal experience rather than about getting a healthy baby and not dying (or wishing you were dead) in the process?

...

Moreover, telling pregnant women they should attempt to deal with their pain as an exercise in "plumbing the depths of their inner resources," rather than honoring their choice to give birth on their own terms, without pain, is in itself disempowering.

...

For me, giving birth was the fulfillment of a lifelong wish to have a baby, not a means of self-actualization.

Whoa, right in the face of all things Mothering, a magazine I subscribe to. But I really feel connected with a lot of what she's saying. I respect all mothers' choices, and I'm not against natural childbirth, nor the amazing moms I know who were lucky enough to experience it. But degrading medical birth experiences as less than natural ones is really ridiculous. This article made me realize how backward I had it before I had Julian. I loathed Cesarean sections and the doctors who performed them. I judged women who planned pain management, i.e. epidurals. I thought natural childbirth was the only authentic way to have a kid. ("It's what my body was created to do," I told so many of you.)

It's just not true. Attempting a natural birth is awesome and I would do it again, but you're no pity case if you don't even try. A healthy baby is a healthy baby. A frazzled new mom is a frazzled new mom. Don't make one feel worse because modern medicine gave her a little help.

Being a parent is what's really empowering.


p.s. The New Yorker tackled this in an article from 2006, which I read when I was pregnant. 'The Score; How childbirth went industrial'.

Photo by gabi_menashe on flickr

Walking those wiener dogs

Photo by chrisnichols on flickr

It's official: Julian took his first steps over Thanksgiving weekend. He's up to 3-4 max, but hey, we all gotta start somewhere. He shuffles his little feet a few inches forward, then pauses, musters the confidence to do the same with the opposite foot. This is the point when he usually falls on his behind, but a few times he's stuck with it and continued on. He's been crawling for months now and we thought his steps would come a little earlier, but no complaints here. He's quick enough as it is; I imagine we're entering an entire new phase of the chase-me game. His favorite hiding spot of the moment is the bathroom. He loves the hard floor and standing up beside the toilet or bath, knocking over whatever shower products he can reach. Don't even get me started on how much he loves trash cans.

So, "walking" might be a bit of a jump, but that's around the corner. He's also learned how to throw a fit. He stood up and squealed loudly ("Gimme, gimme" I swear it sounded like) and violently shook his hands. It was so cute, I couldn't help but laugh. Let's hope I can always take his fits so lightheartedly.

He's eating like a champ lately. The only thing we're holding off on feeding him are raw nuts, milk for drinking and honey. Or at least that's all I can think of. No reaction so far to the peanut butter or eggs he's been devouring at breakfast. (I don't know what I would do without the peanut butter tortilla roll that is now his favorite snack.) He stuffed his little face at Thanksgiving. Right there at the table. Turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole. Oh and the pumpkin pie and ham, which he could not get enough of. Gluttonous little dachshund, he is.

What a perfect segway to a little story about GaGa. My grandmother (who is actually GaGa No. 2. GaGa No. 1 was her mother. No you get an idea of where YaYa comes from...) has a thing for dachshunds. She and my grandfather, PaPa (see the pattern?), in addition to raising four kids (when you include Fernando, the Ecuadorian exchange student who lived with them in high school and who is like another uncle to me and Chelsea), they had like 5 dachshunds. One after the other, they all either died or got hit by cars on quaint little Pleasant Street in Aurora. After the last one died many years ago, GaGa vowed never to get another dachshund again because she couldn't stand the heartbreak of losing another.

So she collected them instead. Porcelain miniatures make up the majority of the 100+ litter that Chelsea and I used to carefully dust and rearrange whenever we'd visit, but there are also corn cob holder, glass and clay dachshunds in the mix. Playing ones, sleeping ones, red ones, black ones, long haired and short. They kept her company for years, even through PaPa's death. About 10 years ago, she finally gave in. A neglected runt needed a home, so she took her in. Daisy was a high-maintenance mutt who brought a zest to the house my mother grew up in. Then along came Chloe, an overweight wiener dog whom GaGa was charged to babysit but who never ended up going back home.

There's just Chloe now. The heartbreak of losing a pet came in full force when GaGa had to put Daisy down not too long ago after years of battling various strange pet illnesses, not to mention Daisy's inability to keep from urinating all over the house. Chloe is getting her turn as princess of the house.

My grandmother is such a good caregiver. She's too humble to admit it, but it's probably what she will be most remembered for. By her children, her grandchildren and great-grandchildren, the little old ladies she visits every day and takes to church on Sunday. And, not the least of all, her dachshunds, both figurine and real.

From the vast archival desert...

...I pull this photo of my mom and me from way back in May 2002. We were driving through the Arizona (or hell, it could have been New Mexico, to a Midwestern girl like me, they all looked captivatingly the same), en route to San Diego.

It was the first of two summers I interned at KPBS radio, worked myriad jobs (holla, Kinko's) and got my fill of sweet coastal California life. Uncle Chris invited me out there at the end of his Pioneers and Settlers speech, one of the pivotal invitations I've received in my life. He opened his home and his family to me. I helped grocery shop and cook (and ate plenty, I'm sure. Gez, lay off the Pokey sticks, would ya, Ads?). Mother's and Father's Day. Birthdays. I felt like an adopted daughter. They were so patient as a stumbled and triumphed in my new surrounding. It's still a time period of my life of which I am so proud. Making friends out there. Going to movies, parks, festivals and beaches entirely on my own. Discovering Addie outside Missouri was thrilling. It was the exciting taste of exploration that led to me studying in Spain my junior year of college and, eventually, to move to Austin.

And my mom, literally my life's connection to Missouri, came with me on my journey across the country to drop me off on this new chapter. Neither of us really comprehended the impact of my time out there, which, as a The New York Times article last week concluded, is better. No preachy parting words. No defiance of parental authority (I'd had my fill of that the previous two semesters as a freshman at MU). Just buzzing through the CDs and random truck stops along I-40, observing the now, recalling the past and hinting at the future along the way.

I fell in love a couple of times in San Diego, but fresh out of my chrysalis, I mainly fell in love with me. You're supposed to do that in college. You finally get to make all these concrete decisions based on whatever the hell you want. I'm just so thankful that they gave me the opportunity to do that. The Cooks for providing a home away from home. My parents for the good old '98 Corolla I still drive and for keeping me company along the way.

________________________________

Randomly from the archives: Dearest Scott Schnelle, always the animal lover, took in a pair of skunks right before I took off that summer. On one of those trips to Lockwood to visit Troy, he showed them off inside their little cardboard box homes. If I remember correctly, one of the little guys stuck around and, though he lived outside, hung around the house for awhile. Unless I'm getting my animal stories swapped. Scott has so many run-ins with critters, it's hard to keep the tales straight. Ask him about the bobcat sometime. Or maybe the two Jills.

Thought I might showcase a different baby every now and then.

November 2007 slideshow

Here are some highlights from this month's slideshow, which I've posted at www.addiebroyles.com/frameview.html.


















































← My little Mizzou Tiger.

Showing off the car seat

Erin in the Big D has an awesome pad. I had the pleasure of seeing it first hand at a couch-warming party last Friday. Couch-warming is to put it mildly. Jagermeister was involved. Political sparring was had on the deck. As it was mainly a group of folks associated with a big wig adverting agency in Dallas, media analysis dominated much of the conversation. Just my style.

It was so cool to enter a party a totally anonymous figure. I love seeing people's reactions when I let on that I have a 10-month-old. I become The One With The Kid. Never has that been more clear than at this party Friday. It was awesome. They'd ask all kinds of questions. And I've learned what to tell them and what not to. Keep it down to the basic aspects of parenthood a youngish non-parent can grasp. After you exchange the essentials, (yes, I still wake up at 5 a.m. for a feeding; no, I'm not worried if I sleep a night away from him) having a kid doesn't extinguish the zero-to-sixty friendships (or maybe alliances is a better word) you build at really killer parties like this one. You know, those sudden connections you make with people because of some interest you share. Because motherhood is just one part of my identity, I can still get on with people with all sorts of backgrounds. As much as the Mother label lingers in the backs of people's minds, I felt like I got to step outside mommydom for a little while and just enjoy being a 24-year-old.

One fun, interesting adventure of the night was a b-double-e-double-r-u-n for Enlightenment with this tall, Republican-y boy with a "Got Goat?" T-shirt. When we got into my car — cause I'm always the driver for these sort of things — I used the car seat as proof that this kid I'd been telling crazy stories about was, indeed, a real person. I'd told him about Julian but it didn't register until he peered into the back seat of the Corolla and saw his toys strewn about and the good old Graco. Here's this person who is years, years away from being a parent hanging out with this other person who's pretty outspoken about still breast-feeding. As we were frolicking about the very hip lower Greenville area of Dallas, I thought to myself how great it was that the dude, a silver-spoon slacker, and I, the working mommy at recess, and could explore the world without the pretense or goal of (shhhhh) hooking up. It made it so much easier to just enjoy myself. Alas, it was only my enjoying. As the night went on, it became more clear that Mr. Got Goat didn't seem to hear that I was engaged. He was very well-mannered, but you could just tell he was hoping I'd be more interested in him than I was.

I had realization No. 2: Addie-with-child was getting considerably more attention than the Addie-without-child ever did. Said boy (who's name I didn't even catch till the end of the night), and a handful of other males at the gathering, were swarming like flies. (And I'm not boasting, I promise. This is more about my astonishment at the irony of dating life.) It's the result of a potent two-part combo that acts like a pheromone, as BAT noted.

First, bearing an offspring is undeniable proof of a supple, fertile female, who is emboldened with a round figure and the beaming energy a young child provides. Biology and evolution tell us this is the foremost influence in how both men and women pick mates. Second, having a kid bolsters your confidence in a way few other things can. That I went through pregnancy, birth and infanthood and made it out alive has been enough to make me feel more confident and proud of my abilities than I have in a long time. This all leads to a certain boldness and authenticity, which both men and women would admit is hugely appealing.

It's just so interesting that these boys take note when I'm undoubtedly off limits. I'm thinking this is a thing all mothers encounter at some point or another. Am I wrong? Doesn't motherhood make you feel like a sorceress sometimes?


Coming soon: Project Runway reports...

I feel it all

We are headed to the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex today for some quality family T-day time. Getting a late start, as you can tell. That's what happens when you have a dog to drop off and a load of laundry to do. I'll try not too hard to focus on the fact that we're breaking rule Numero Uno of traveling Broyles style: Do not burn daylight. Clearly, we're already http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gifa Knox-Broyles household. We won't leave before noon. Unheard of = yes. Something I'm just going to accept and make the most of = yes.

Did y'all like that Golden State song? I'm a big fan of sharing music and new artists, so I'm going to try to post more songs on here. I love this so-called Web 2.0, where the goal is to give Internet users access to the tools they want/need to make the Internet work for them. Imeem is a perfect example. I googled "John Doe Golden State" and found exactly what I wanted: an mp3 with an option to embed the file and player on whatever page I wanted. People do the same thing with Myspace; I just use the Web site instead. Today, I go back to Imeem (See what happens when you deliver a product that someone wants? An instant fan and invaluable word-of-mouth advertising. Erin would be proud.) and dig around. I quickly stumble upon Miss Feist herself, who's been enjoying quite the surge in much-deserved popularity after this recent album, "The Reminder." Girl snagged herself an Apple commercial for chrissake.

Here's one of my favorite tracks off the album and you tell me what you think.



Been feeling pretty good lately. After that spate of sickness/fussiness from the kid, our momentum is back. Ian's been recording a lot lately. He's got some killer tracks laid down for some of those songs. "Very Phil Spector" he's calling his recording style. Old Phil Spector, right? Too bad most people of my generation will only know him because of this murder he's accused of. The Wall of Sound was his idea. Everything from hip hop to modern country uses it these days. All those layers of music on top of one another. Just makes things more interesting, more engaging. Ian's doing a really good job of that with his album. I even caught him using a capo to turn an electric guitar into a mandolin. That crafty kid.

Music is really both a curse and a blessing for him. Tortured artist is so cliche, but damn is it true. Recording can either put him in the best of moods or the worst. He just wants it to be so perfect.

.....

damn, since I started writing this post I read a refusing-to-nap Julian two books, gave him a bath, fed him some peaches, put away the dishes, filled the dishwater, burned the crap out of my thumb and two fingers, stepped barefoot in peaches and realized exactly how much work it will be to take the family away from home for two and a half days.

My initial cheery disposition has been sucked from me (temporarily, I hope). Maybe I'll remember to pack some more in addition to the hundred other things a good mom is required to remember to ensure we make it through the end of the trip, everyone fed, clothed, well-rested and intact. Uff.

Wish me luck.

Golden State

Please, dear readers, listen to this song. John Doe, formerly of the band X, sings alongside Kathleen Edwards. Their heavenly harmonies and emotive lyrics have been making me play this song over and over and over since I first heard it awhile ago.

I, love

If you've got 10 minutes to spare, you should really watch this slideshow/video multimedia piece on MediaStorm. It's about this young couple who got pregnant and decided to keep the baby and start a family. The guy was named the college photographer of the year last year, so all the photos are incredible. Definitely a quality I aspire to. Their love is exquisitely captured with the video and confessional-style videos. Their little baby girl, Madelyn, was just born last month. Anyway, it's a really beautifully told story. Check it out.

Julian is asleep (wheee!) and Ian's out on an errand. It's such a quiet house. It's eerie in a way. Both of the boys have been in really good spirits lately. Julian is a 9-month-old with a belly full of laughs. He chuckles to himself all the time. Eating raisins, inspecting leaves on the porch, grabbing mommy's hair or glasses. It's this quick, guttural huhuhuhuhuh. I'll have to post a video soon. It's really too cute. The seven or so teeth he has are fully grown in now. We suspect he might be teething, but hell, I think kids this age are always in some stage of teething and are always mildly fussy, so we could be making it up.

His hair is growing longer. This sweet mess of wee blond curls. Again, so very adorable. He's still Grabby McGrabs Alot; he finds it particularly gratifying to grab your tongue after he's fed you a raisin. He's lost interest in the cords near the computers, but I'm sure he fantasizes at night about some undisturbed time alone with the dog food.

Oh, and we think he's given us his first sign! It's milk, of course. (The sign is squeezing your hand into a fist. As if you're milking a teat. Charming, I know.) I haven't seen him do it unprompted, but if I ask him, "Julian, what do you want? Do you want some milk?" and accompany it by a sign, his little hands sort of close and open, but it's almost like he doesn't realize he's doing it. Good enough for mama, though. Once again, must post video.

85 degrees today. Might go swimming again at Barton Springs. It's hard to get into the Thanksgiving mindset when it still feels like summer.

That's all for today. I need to enjoy myself during this rare occasion of time alone.

To get you through Monday morning...

...or Sunday night if you're a late night Internet troll like myself.

That, and the Pool Boy

Little girl: Mommy used to give me booby, but now she gives the baby booby.
Uncle: That's what mommies do.

--Staten Island Ferry

Overheard by: greenwood

via Overheard in New York, Nov 10, 2007

Pretty Much How Everyone Feels about Yoko

Six-year-old: She didn't like Ringo!
Mom: Well, who was her favorite Beatle?
Six-year-old: She doesn't even like the Beatles!
Mom: Don't talk to her.

--Park Slope

Overheard by: a

via Overheard in New York, Nov 11, 2007

Two posts in one day! Do I get a treat?

Babbling

I can't believe it's taken me this long to discover babble.com. The site's very cool, very hip creators have self-proclaimed it the "The magazine and community of a new generation of parents," and though I admit how interesting and relevant I find the content, it does scream hipster. (And in the work/social circles I find myself in, this is as pejorative a term as any.) Skinny jeans notwithstanding, you have to marvel at the intriguing collection of columns/blogs/essays they present.

Exhibit A: "Breast friends"
#Pondering the idea of breast-feeding your soulmate's offspring.

Exhibit B: "The Over-Parenting Crisis" by the woman who wrote the book "Attachment Parenting" way back in 1999.
#About the over-ambitious attachment parenting movement that is having major unintended effects on kids whose lives are disinfected, micromanaged and fretted over from Day 1.

Exhibit C: "This is the part where I name drop"
#Hanging out with Dave Grohl-the-daddy not Dave Grohl-the-badass-lead-singer-of-the-Foo Fighters.

I'm very intrigued by the idea of pitching stuff to them. But what stuff? This blog? That essay I wrote back in the spring? Maybe this is the swift kick in the rear I needed to start writing more seriously again. We shall see what comes of it.

Anyway. Babble.com. Check it out if you're interested in parenting methods.

If you are interested in modern, melancholy photography, I have two recommendations.

Bluejake.com
#One of the founders of Gothamist.com keeps a photoblog of the architecture and intrinsic beauty of a forgotten side of New York City.


3191
#A year of mornings, captured by two friends who live 3191 miles apart.


And don't forget. PostSecret is updated on Sundays. Ya know, if you're a PostSecret kind of gal.

This is thriller

I was poking around today and came across this post on Ron Davis' blog Chatter. 25th anniversary of the album that has sold more than any other album in history. 42 million copies.

No matter how weird or twisted he seems now, that's a commendable act. Michael Jackson put out Thriller and redefined music and sexuality in a way that only David Bowie and a few others have. Prince and MJ were the same beings on different sides of the same coin. The Jekyll and Hyde of androgynous pop music. Showing men of the world how to wear heels and eyeliner and the meaning of accessorize. They gave David Lee Roth a run for his money for the underwear of American's twenty- and thirty-somethings. I was a kid then, so I saw (and heard) pop culture through very naive eyes and ears. Michael Jackson's Bad was my first cassette tap after Raffi's Baby Beluga. (ps I can't wait to play these favorite kid songs of mine for Julian. "In the Jungle," anyone? Note to self: Make mix tape for JP.)

Michael Jackson was a caricature to me. The costumes. The white glove. The dancing. His whole persona. Only now am I realizing what a star he was. Who compares to that now? Justin Timberlake? JT has six songs in the top 40 now. That's incredible. Nobody does that now. Except Mr. 'NSYNC himself. Michael Jackson had the world on a string. And maybe he still does. Ebony, as Mr. Davis pointed out, has him on December's cover. It's a damn fine photo. Yes, he's white as a Scandinavian. Yes, his eyebrows are painted on. But watch that video and tell me he doesn't still have it. The top hat. The confidence in front of a camera. He remains borderline freaky, yes. But tell me if this or this isn't freaky. Being a little off-kilter is inherent to star appeal. The child-molester thought lingers, yes, but something inside me just really wants to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Side note: "That's Eddie Van Halen on guitar," Ian says. We're listening to "Beat It." Reason 66,576 that I love Ian: His profound knowledge of music history. We got to enjoy a band last night at the Cathedral. We threw chicken on the fire, rocked Julian to sleep in his car seat, met some crazy fun new folks. Just got to enjoy each other and our friends. Julian was an all-star kid. Finally, a break. A respite from the uphill progress of parenthood. Hallelujah.

Now, for your viewing and listening pleasure.

• MTV
• Music Videos
• MTV Shows
• Entertainment News

Julian's very fun day at Barton Springs

On what will hopefully not be the final 85 degree day of the year the other day, Julian and I went to Barton Springs. We met up with Aaron, Sarah and Ruby, and enjoyed raisins in the sun. I found the courage to jump in and it was every bit as refreshing as I'd hoped it would be. When I think of Barton Springs I think of freezing water, but I was so enthused to be swimming in November, the water stung a little less when I took the plunge. Julian decided it was finally more fun to play than to be fussy, so he enjoyed himself, too. Rice crackers seem to be a new favorite snack (more for mommy than Julian? it's hard to say). And I've laid off freaking about him eating leaves. Things seems to be looking up from the grumpy Julian days we've been having. Now if I can just work on Ian...

The sky is falling!

It's raining leaves! That's what fall means in Texas. Little pieces of oak trees dropping from the branches. Not like that is any different than the rest of the year. But rather than the pollen sticks or airplane seeds, it's the big, fat oval acorns and their little hats. And yellow leaves! That's the closest we can get to the vibrant orange and red hues back home, but they falling leaves just the same. As I write this, the temperature is about 80 degrees. The warmth of Texas fall is something I most definitely appreciate.

Warm afternoons make for nice in-the-city adventure weather. This weekend was the annual Texas Book Festival, which is always held in Austin this time of year. It stated (I believe) to have authors from all over come and give talks about their books. But now it includes tents and tents of exhibits from book publishers, literary groups, writers, musicians and craftspeople.

I went yesterday to hear two authors speak and I went today to introduce Julian to the celebration. We strolled and strolled, met lots of nice people who are quick to fawn over him. But he's been in a weird place ever since he was sick last week. Just funny. Funny odd, not funny ha-ha, which makes me long for those silly days with him. He always seems on the verge of meltdown. He's always sucking his thumb. He never seems quite satisfied. It's hard realizing that suddenly you have The Challenging Child.

I know it won't last and that we've been really lucky to have the happy baby we have for the past 9 months. But I don't want this to become a thing with him. I'm hoping that he's just getting all these side and back teeth and that's making him uncomfortable. He's asleep right now...

On the adult side, B-zilla had a very fun gathering of folks at her house last night. There were costumes and kegs. There was music and laughter. I got to pull the "oh, the clocks are changing, I guess that means I have another hour out tonight" trick. Still works. Even when you've got a kid. Got to see a friend of him from way back in the early Mizzou days. He's the resident investigative reporter prodigy at the Houston Chronicle, which is suiting him well. It is fun to go out with journalism-types and drink. A good time is always to be had.