More stuff about working mothers

I have been thinking about this subject more and more as my return to work approaches.  I thought this article from the Guardian was very good. 

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2010/jun/08/motherhood-work-sexist-suppression

Now, I've driven in Brussels, but Boston is something else.....

There are plenty of very cool things about living in Boston, like being able to walk pretty much anywhere you want to go, being near the sea, the friendly people, the delicious food... I could go on.

One very uncool thing about living here is the unbelievably bad driving and total disregard for the rules of the road.  Oh, and bad road signage that spring exits on the novice driver so that you have about 10 yards to cross 4 lanes of traffic. 

Did you know that, in Massachussets, an attempt to make the use of mobile phones whilst driving illegal was blocked on the basis that to do so would infringe the driver's constitutional rights?  I'm no Revolutionary historian, but I doubt the Philadelphia Convention agonised over the right of some moron to chat unceasingly into his cellphone whilst merrily mowing down small children on crosswalks.

The state of the roads themselves is pretty dismal, which might explain why the taxi drivers here are so bloody miserable and rude.  I've only been here a few months and driven a handful of times, but even I would have a better knowledge of the streets than some of the jokers driving licensed cabs in the City of Boston.

My rant ends with the cyclists. In all fairness, they are a rare breed in Boston, but that is probably because none of them seem to think that red traffic lights apply to them.  In the last week alone Zoe's buggy has twice narrowly missed being hit by a freewheeling cycliste running a red light.  Today I screamed "JERK!" at the man who almost mowed us down crossing Commonwealth Avenue.  I am quite impressed that in the heat of the moment I managed to simultaneously translate the "WANKER!" that was actually going through my mind into understandable American.  I hope that ignorant tosspot ("asshole") hits a pothole ("pothole"?) and gets clipped ("winged") by a cabbie ("taxi driver") who didn't see him because he was too distracted talking on his mobile ("cell") 'phone.  That would be JUSTICE in any language.

Night of the Black Rose

Granny Kay is visiting at the moment.  It took me quite a while to track down some Pernod in advance of her stay, but I got there in the end.  Sadly, no Silk Cut to be had anywhere, not even for ready money. 

Yesterday Zoë took her Granny to the top of the Prudential Tower for some ear-popping views.  Then we went for lunch at Legal Sea Foods (Chablis & scallops, of course).  In the evening, whilst Zoë was running Bridget ragged in the flat, we went to Stephanies on Newbury for dinner. 

The last time we went to Stephanies we had a lovely time - it's a very busy place but the food is excellent.  However, that extreme business meant that, this time round and despite a reservation, we had to wait half an hour for our table.  To add insult to injury we were asked for ID before they would serve us any alcohol and, as a meal without Chablis would be unthinkable, Eamon had to go home to get our passports.  And after all that, our waiter never asked for them!  

The ID requirement is a recent and bizarre aspect of Boston life.  Apparently, anyone that appears to be under the age of 40 is required to show specific photo ID before they can be served alcohol.  Interestingly (worryingly?) I have only been asked asked for ID twice*, but suddenly ID checking seems all the rage.  In fact, you can't even get into a pub in the evening these days without your passport.  Lucky then that Eamon had gone to get them, as after Stephanies we headed to the Black Rose Irish pub downtown, for some Guinness and Irish fiddle music. 

I am sure Kay could have gone on all night (everyone was up & dancing when we left), but Eamon & I were exhausted (due in no small part to our regular 5.30 am alarm call, which unfortunately has no "snooze" button).  So, it was time to head home for a nightcap of camomile tea (me) and Pernod (Kay), which at the 4 am pre-alarm call turned out to be a very wise decision on my part!

* At the time I was immensely flattered, but the novelty has kind of worn off now. 

Such a busy baby

The Swing of Doom is being pensioned off (i.e. it's up for sale on Garden Moms), as Zoë is now too long for it and her feet were getting caught in the base.  The swing's main purpose was as an in-bathroom receptacle for Zoë, to keep her entertained whilst her parents showered.  It took her a while to get used to it but now she's quite fond of Tigger and the tinny sounds of Baa-Baa Black Sheep. 

The replacement receptacle is the Exersaucer, which helps Zoë to be upright, concentrate on controlling her head and placing weight on her legs.  It's very cute to see her in it, busily arranging the farm animals and giving them a good slap every now and then.  She's really quite a stern boss when it comes to her toy minions. 

My hope is that the Exersaucer will allow Zoë to be more active and perhaps tire her out some more. Lately her sleeping patterns have been all over the show and it's made life pretty heavy-going.  We got some advice about sleep training off our friend Bill when he came 'round for dinner on Monday night, but that advice was pretty redundant in the face of our hangovers the next day.  Hangovers that are not helped by having a morning soundtrack of Goosey Goosey Gander (Chipmunk version) playing over and over again whilst you're trying to have a restoratative shower.  Maybe that's why no-one's made me an offer to buy the swing yet?

What a pair of piss artists*

We have some very lovely neighbours here on the 10th floor, Chris & Jessica.  Eamon met them in the lift one day and he has been stalking them ever since.  He managed to lure them into being friends with us by using our deadliest weapon (Zoë), as Chris & Jessica themselves have a very new and cute little baby girl called Amelia.  Chris has already led Eamon astray once, when they went out one Friday night "to watch the Celtics game" (which actually means "go on a bar crawl, get totally shitfaced, come home at 1 am and chunder in the toilet").  

Yesterday it was unbelievably hot (and pretty humid too), the perfect day for a few cold beers.  Chris & Jessica obviously felt the same way (naturally) so at lunchtime we packed the little girls into their strollers and headed to the Boston Beer Works on Canal Street.  Normally, a meal out with Zoë follows an unchangeable pattern - fast asleep in the buggy on the way to the restaurant, asleep whilst we peruse the menu, order and wait for our food, wide awake and up for some fun as soon as the food hits the table.  Yesterday was no exception, although she did wait until we'd downed our first pint of beer before deciding it was playtime. 

At the Beer Works the beer is brewed on the premises, and includes a variety of fruit beers.  They were extremely refreshing and I can confirm the Raspbeery is also a fast-acting sedative - by the time we got home after lunch we were both wrecked and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep for a very long time.

In the evening Bridget came to hang out with Zoë, but we had totally failed to organise anything for ourselves to do (after our daytime drinking we would have quite liked an early night). Our knowledge of Boston nightlife is pretty limited, so we headed back to the Beer Works, where Eamon totally kicked my ass at pool.  In 2002 Eamon, an early protégé of Stephen Hendry**, was crowned the SJ Berwin pool champion at a seedy dive in Victoria and, who knows, if the SJB/Proskauer merger does happen maybe he could lift the crown again?

I suspect that my evening pint of Bluebeery lager merely topped up my lunchtime Raspbeeries, but that still doesn't excuse how crap I am at pool so, after Eamon got bored with me being so hopeless, we headed to the North End and for a stroll down Hanover Street, the heart of Italian Boston.  There is a very famous pastry shop on Hanover called Mike's Pastries that sells cannoli.  Maybe if I knew what cannoli are I would be more inclined to join the block-long queue to purchase said pastries.  Instead we went to the Grand Canal Irish Pub, where we felt far more at home (more beer, less fancy pastries). 

Today we've taken things pretty easy as tonight's excitement is the second match of the NBA final between the Boston Celtics and the LA Lakers.  Do not underestimate what a huge deal this is in Boston.  LA may have Jack Nicholson sitting courtside, but the Celtics have the most devoted and hardcore fanbase a team could wish for. 

Despite myself I quite enjoy watching the basketball, but Eamon absolutely loves it. In fact, him and Chris are already plotting how they can get rid of their wives and have a good old session in front of ESPN.  They have cunningly disguised this as the opportunity for Jess and me to go out for a few cocktails, whilst the daddies babysit, drink beer and watch an upcoming game.  Let's hope this time, now he's a had a bit of practice, Eamon will be able to go beer for beer with Chris and not end up spending the night on the bathroom floor. 

* To be clear, I mean me & Eamon, not Chris & Jessica!

**  If you have ever met Eamon you will have heard the story about how Stephen Hendry came to his house once, together with a man called Mulligan after whom our cat is named.  True story!

Letters from home

Zoe received her first letter yesterday.  She was very excited and drooled all over it.  Thank you Aunty Cath, miss you!

Baby Gourmet

Little Zozo has made some great strides in the last few weeks.  She can just about sit up on her own, can stand when supported, is making word-type noises, knows her name straight away, recognises mummy and daddy and is much more mobile on her front and side.  However, this has come at some cost - she is also getting wise to mummy's clever tricks to get her to sleep and has realised it's far more fun to stay up, with the possibility of cuddles and food!  The girl who rivalled Rip Van Winkle's love of Bedfordshire has been waking up as much as 6 times a night, often flipped over with her legs stuck in the bars of her cot, and it's left me slightly delirious from lack of sleep. 

Anyway, on a more positive note, Zoe seems to be getting the hang of eating!  Milk feeds just don't do it for her any more so hopefully we can start to fill her up with other stuff during the day and she might sleep better.  Whilst my fellow Isis moms are busy buying Beabas, I am ashamed to say my copy of Annabel Karmel is gathering dust under the TV and I still haven't worked out how to use my food mill.  Instead, Zoe has been practising redecorating our apartment with Earth's Best organic baby food.  I have to say the rice cereal was a complete waste of time - Zoe would grimace every time it touched her lips - but she seems to like pears, apples, sweet potato, carrots and (taking after her Granny), prunes.  Zoe also loved sucking banana from her fresh food teether -  although parents, beware! - it produces banana puree of such stickiness it will need to be chiselled off the highchair with a pneumatic drill.  Curiously, peas and apricots are not popular at all with Zozo, and so the quest for filling food continues. 

As you can see from the photo Aunty Loo-sey had fun feeding Zoe when she was here, although experienced parents may notice Zoe is pretty much naked under her bib, which makes for a much easier post-puree hose-down.  As she gets into her bath shortly after her evening meal, I have found  myself wondering whether it would in fact be easier to cut out the middle man and just feed her in the bath.*  After all, it would be hard to make as much of a mess of the bathroom as her daddy sometimes does (and she is now, sadly, a bit too big for the kitchen sink). 

*Yesterday Bridget found prune in Zoe's hair from the day before.  THE SHAME.