kindred women

Bear with me. Youtube is... gah. I want to play the following song, it resurfaced in my head recently, and Ms Moon made me think of it again today. But the song on this vid is disabled, even though it's up on others. But I love the pictures whoever put this one together chose. So play the song in the first link, but if you want to look at the pictures, watch the second one. Does that make sense? Listen to first vid, watch second. Bah.

Listen:


Watch:

ageing with beauty, ageing with grace

Aw. I just love this.

Best. Hair. Ever.




Then:

Now is better!

buggabuggabugga!

Sharks scare the piss out of me, but I love the delicious thrill pictures like this give me. I flicked across  the closing credits of Jaws the other night, and even the empty beach gave me the willies.

the View's not too good, dear

So said a little old lady to my friend, as she sat against the wall outside Bray Station, waiting for the bus, reading a book, in a short skirt with her endless legs propped up. At first my friend thought she was talking about the dismal vista that is the outside of Bray Dart Station, but then she realised the lady could see her pants.

I'd say the view was likely fairly glorious, but it offended the LOL (remember when lol meant little old lady, not laugh out loud?) and her pronouncement in turn upset my friend. Don't diss my pants, little old lady.

If, unlike the elderly guardians of Catholic Virtue, you agree that Sex Is Not the Enemy, you should click the link and check out some of the most beautiful intimate portraits of all sorts of genders expressing their sexuality. They're graphic, so be warned,  and they're NSFW, but god, they're gorgeous. And I don't know if you'll agree, but as you scroll through them, you get a little sudden ! reaction as you see one that resonates with you. Interesting to note. There's lots of excellent little clips from meditations on sexual politics too. I found  this last night, and I'm already on p53.

praise be

'How's the soup, Olivia?'

'... It's... delicious!'

'!!!!'

Mother is overwhelmed with astonishment. Olivia is eating vegetable soup again. Cheese is the secret.


Now if only Bhodi would start again I'd be two for two.


Dinner time, five minutes after I should have left:

'Go on, taste the soup, you don't have to eat it, but what if it's yummy and you're missing out?'

'Ok. Hmm, it's kinda cool. It's kinda yummy!'

Puts spoon down.

how can we say we're not like them?

Skip down to the bit about Chiam and Ghanti. Notes for first time mothers!

Taye Diggs

I have such a soft spot for involved Dads... who happen to be pin-up gorgeous. I will sidestep the soap box, but it's nice to hear men doing their birth stories too.




Why yes, I could spend an hour reading about celebrity babies on the Celebrity Babies blog! Don't judge me...

school disco

On Friday Olivia's school held a parents' disco. Intentially not a fundraiser but a thanks for all the fundraising, a BYOB evening in the PE hall with parent-DJ and snacks.

I walked up to it, late because Bodhi had had a late nap and taken an hour and a half to get to sleep. It turned out it was just as well, as when I got there at 9.30, a small group of parents, more mums than dads, were collected nervously at the far end of the hall.

As I walked in to the school, I was struck with how exactly it felt as if I was going to a school disco. And not a secondary school disco, a primary school one.

I cracked open the wine and worked hard at catching up. There was tasty chips and dip, and cheerful mothers vacillating between enthusiasm and amusement, along with a definite regret that this is what a night out comes to these days.

Before I was a glass in, the self conscious mum dancing started, in a little circle in the middle of the empty  floor, disco ball flashing (ha, Bear in the Big Blue House potty training DVD is on in the background, and I just wrote 'splashing' instead of flashing).

I sat and watched and waited for the dance urge to come upon me. You can't force these things.

On one hand the whole set up was sort of touching and heartwarming and fun, and on the other hand it was really... pathetic.

Still, as one of the organisers  and I said, it's music, and nibbles and nice wine and company, and you don't have to dance, and unlike the old days, there is no pressure to get off with anyone. I'm sorry it was so badly attended, I don't really get it. We presumably send our kids to an ET school because we want that sense of involvement and community,  but then feck all people show up. It's depressing.

As it was, I nearly killed the whole bottle of wine, and had a happy dance, and talked to a lovely Chinese woman who'd also been to the Pixies the week before and was married to a member of Toasted Heretic, a band I remember from the heyday of the Irish music scene.

So I can't say it was cool, but it was what it was. Feck it, you have to take your drunken fun where you may.

another post about this...

Blogging is a double edged sword.

I started Infantasia as a place to vent all the crappiness I was feeling, and to rant and share about birth issues.

Back then nobody read it, so it was easy. Now I know lots of people who read, assuming they still read, or I get to know them and the whole blogging process has become social, instead of venting into a public void, as it initially was.

So now I'm kind of tied - If I do vent what I'm feeling, I'll get shut up and get off your arse comments, and I can give myself that response quite vehemently without it doing much good, to be honest. Or I'll get sympathetic, understanding comments which don't necessarily do anything more than the flaming (while being far, far nicer to get).

But the thing is, if I thought talking to someone would help I would... writing it down can help, or just bolster the negative, self pitying conclusions I come to, but since I started posting (publishing) instead of diary writing, it's hard to go back. The power of the 'publish post' button is strong. A secretwhinging blog? Ugh. The thought is kind of repellent, somehow, even if no one finds it, isn't it?

I don't know what the answer is. I'm going to try to channel it into cleaning. But am also wondering about mood medication for the first time in my life.

Positive experiences, anyone?

I will put you in a truck!

Bodhi was awake from 7 am this morning. Not too bad but not the first time he'd woken and I went to sleep about 1.45.

And he likes to leap on us, and poke us, all knees and elbows. Finally Axel lost it and shouted out in frustration when he got hurt.

Bodhi turned to me.

'Daddy shouted me! I HATE Daddy! I will put him in a truck! I will drive him away.'

This is Bodhi's gun totin' persona. In our house we have a Pirates of the Caribbean musket that makes a crackling noise, and a couple mini waterpistols. As soon as Bodhi picks one up, he points it in my face, stony faced, fierce, and often says, I. hate. you. And then this mystifying threat: I will put you inna truck. I will drive you away!

Where did he get it from? I have no idea. It's menacing though, isn't it? And how does he know about guns? It's all very thought provoking.

thoughts that occur

Crunchie should do a crunchie malteser.

I wonder should I write to them?

wrong side of the bed

I went to bed last night after writing the kind of blog post that never shall be posted, and today is a day that starts with standing in dogshit.

When I struggled out of bed this morning and walked out of the bedroom door, my bare foot met with something cold and squishy. Yep, I hadn't let the dogs out last night, thought Axel had done it. And then I didn't close the kitchen gate properly. So one of them (and I know which one, the evil little fucker) came and made a point, right outside my bedroom door.

This does not seem to be a good way to start the day, symbolically.

ahem

How often have you checked the blog today to look at the pictures of the hot naked guy?

Or is that just me...

Oh, all right then...

Disclaimer: this post is not for all. Hot gay love enthusiasm warning. If that's not so much your thing, look away, for god's sake look away now, normal service will resume shortly.

Ok, so I have a developing gay pornstar man crush (or do you have to be a man to have a man crush, I don't know, but you know what I mean) on Logan McCree (I just love the sensual lovemaking quote). I mean, my god.

Strangely, Axel was less than moved. Not even a little bit. I don't understand it. I mean if he found a hot gay tattooed lady pornstar I would be happy to appreciate her with him, but sadly in a brief search for an example, I only turned up skanky ones. Ah well.

Anyway. I've just been having a happy hour, or, em, two, googling Logan. Here he is with his boyfriend. Aw!

Mwa, if you want more (she said euphemistically), I will send you naughty links! Mail me!

For some reason I was surprised to find he's German (perhaps it was the 'logan mccree' that misled me) and only a year younger than me. I'm less in love with him now that I've seen him giggling slightly camply in a German accent with his bf though, that was a gay step too far. Watching him getting blow jobs was just gay enough! Now I just want to mother him :)

That and stroke his bicep, obviously.

Friends of Breastfeeding

Friends of Breastfeeding the website is now live. It's pretty and it's purple. It has a list of breastfeeding support options nationwide. It has my bfing blog. It has loads of info on us.

Our two major projects we're running at the moment are the Pin Project and the Sticker Initiative.

The pin project is intended to create a show of support for mothers breastfeeding on their own, who feel isolated and nervous of feeding in public. Their mothers and sisters and friends all bottle feed and they've never actually seen another woman breastfeeding. The pins are subtle, just a beautiful design of our logo, and the idea is that people display them to show their positive attitude towards breastfeeding and as a subtle show of support for breastfeeding. Catching a glimpse might make an anxious mother feel less self conscious about feeding in public.

They'll be available online soon, but for the moment, you've got to order through email - it's awkward, so if anyone I know is interested, get one through me. If any American friends would like one, I'd be happy to send them on, provied you send me back a photo of you wearing one for the blog!

The Sticker Initiative is simply getting restaurants, cafes etc to put a sticker in the door, advertising their breastfeeding friendly stance. Fear of feeding in public is a major reason why mothers who want to continue breastfeeding quit early, or don't start at all.

It's still National Breastfeeding Week til tomorrow. We had some grand plans for this year, not al lof which panned out, but getting the website up live is exciting, as are the projects that are moving along nicely. It's hard work, and we are but a few overextended mammies, but I'm proud of us. Especially all the other members, who work harder than me!

interim post

Soon, a big post. With photos. But not til my work is done.

In the meantime, some cuteness:

I was tying up the binbag in the kitchen, a small one, it was full of air and puffy.

Enter Bodhi, who walks up to it, wee fists moving in and out illustratively, and asks,

'Can I punch it, with my punchers?'

spiritually baptised at the church of Rock

Well now. It seems I was right. I absolutely was meant to go to the Pixies, it was exactly where I was meant to be. And Andrew, my knight in a crumpled t shirt, messaged me to say there were still tickets available for Friday night (I didn't even know there was a Friday night gig). And then when I the Ticketmaster site told me no tickets were available, he bought some for. An act which left me feeling significantly taken care of.

And if I was grateful then, there are no words to how I feel now.

Ahhhh.

I went to check lost property before the gig, and went the wrong way, serendipitously, as we bumped into Mark McKinney, and old friend from way back in my youth, who has the sweetest smiling face and gives the best hugs of anyone. Always did, from back when we all used to hug each other all the time. So meeting him tonight, to grin with him in delight at where we were, it was just right.

The Circle filled up with people and the atmosphere was abuzz, tingling with delighted anticipation. It should have been a musical, we could have burst into songs of praise and elation.

And then the man who wrote the soundtrack of my teenage years walked into one of the boxes and sat down, all alight and aglow, leaning over the balcony with the same elated grin on his face that I could feel stretching my own. And everything from 1991 fell into place.

There was a wall of Marshall amps promising NOISE and the excitement and anticipation was thick enough to touch.

And they came on, to rapturous applause, living legend-Frank Black Frank Black-shaped and mooby in a baggy black t shirt, Kim Deal strangely gay-momish but still absolutely Kim Deal, and Joey Santiago as cool as ever and Dave Lovering all tall and older but the same.

And oh my god. They did four B sides, and I started wondering how I was going to stay seated. People were popping up around the place. The row behind the row behind me were standing, but the row behind me were all sitting down. Girls. I said to Axel that I didn't think I could sit still, and being the repressed Irish Catholic he is, he warned of blocking the view of the people behind.

Then they started into Doolittle, and after one song of ants in my pants I turned to the two girls behind me and asked them what their feelings on standing were.

'We really want to, but we're not brave enough!' they sang in lilting Cork accents.

Whee!

'Ok, so if I stand up, then you'll have to, right?'

And I bounced to my feet and danced til the end, interrupted occasionally by the ladies' enthusiastic thanks and well wishing. I couldn't stop grinning, the happiness spilled like high beams through my mouth and eyes and ears.


It's been years, so many years, since I danced my way through a gig, and got red faced and sweat soaked and filled from top to toe with warm musical glee. I'm sorry to anyone who doesn't know Doolittle , who didn't grow up with it ingrained in them, who don't hail the Pixies as the parents of modern rock... this babble and gush of exuberant hero worship, but stay with me.

It's the twentieth anniversary (!) of the seminal album's release, hence the tour that started in Dublin. I don't remember finding the band, though this is the first album I heard. It feels like they have always been. My cousin's parents listened to a wide range of music, though the Cowboy Junkies and Kris Kristofferson were more their thing, and they bought Doolittle by accident, thinking the Pixies were a folk group (hee). I think they turned it on, then turned it off in horror. And my cousin found it and was blown away, gobsmacked, transported.

And to hear it live, undiluted by fresh air, or distance, or distractions. To be in a relatively small place, close enough to see the band's expressions, being part of the besotted, transported crowd... I can't explain it enough.

I may have been creaky of hip and sadly distracted by my upper arm fat scraping off my underwire in the confines of the Olympia's close seating space, but I still came out feeling like this again: 18, at Christmas time.

There was about a year or so when I was cute, but I didn't really know it...

They played and played, all the songs that are melted perfectly into my brain and my heart. They all stay still, quite static, and out of their stillness comes this huge noise, guitar with rocks in it, massive base and solid drums, and the inexplicably weird but perfect sounds of the lyrics. Classic after classic, perfectly welcomed and understood, and nothing to do but dance and smile and feel and remember. And the two girls behind me repeatedly touched my shoulder, and my hair, and leaned in to say thanks for getting them standing, and how happy they were.

They did two encores, the crowd giving standing ovation after standing ovation - it felt so hard to show them exactly what they meant to me, to everyone, was cheering and applause enough, to demonstrate those years of meaning, and the gratitude we felt for their being there?

They played Into The White, eerie at first, until its repetitive lyrics and rhythms became lulling and meditative and I stopped thinking about anything in particular, and was just calm, and there.





And then they did Where Is My Mind, and I could see Glen Hansard across the room, blissed out heart beeting out of his shirt like a cartoon character in love, and playing along to every note in his head (The Frames used to do perfect Pixies covers) and there it was, between the stage and his enjoyment that echoed my own, there was my teen-hood being embodied right in front of me, two of the most important musical representations of everything I felt and cared about. Perfect.

And here it is, god bless technological advancement. The sound isn't good, you don't quite get the song, but you can catch a glimpse of Glen in the middle box on the left, and! it's shot from three rows behind us and you can see the back of Axel's shaved head, and mine, fleetingly, and Andrew's, with the luscious curls! And you can see the love, and the adulation, and the commitment of the whole place. So, woo, for youtube!



And even though they did two encores, it ended, after protracted applause and adulation and I was left red and sweaty and pumped and blissed out, and feeling fifteen again. In a good way. And Axel was reliving his youth as well and even capitulated when I grabbed him and wrapped myself around him and smooched him outside the theatre. I mean, what else are you going to do with all that crackling teen energy that your thirty three year old mammy-assed self hasn't felt in so fucking long?

Tired, sweaty, happy happy Jo

And home through town, with my ears not quite ringing, but full of that cotton wool feeling that represents a great concert and possible long term hearing damage, dodging the blast of god awful comedy-Dublin-modern-folk-shite singing about 'sassiges', and the D4 girl complaining in her megaphone voice about the guy who had the nerve to ask her out even though he was doing 'sober October' and wouldn't be drinking. Close your ears, keep listening to the beautiful music in your head... 'with your feet in the air, and your head on the ground...'

Bye, Pixies, byeeee, come back soon!

wonderful world

I think I'll post this in celebration of my friend who posted it.

Her husband's just had a clear scan after being though a diagnosis, an operation, radiation injections and quarantine he had to do himself as his health insurance didn't pay for him to stay in hospital. And after enduring that he had a clear scan, and she posted this while he was prising the laptop from under her fingers. And the shadow puppets are cool but I `can't help but hear each burst of applause as being for them, and the celebratory love they're making and the the breaths they're taking again.

An also for my friend whose husband had the brain tumour just after their first baby was born and went through waiting and operations and radiotherapy and fear of redundancy and now they're having their second child soon enough.

And for the fact that when I reversed at speed into my neighbour's car this morning, so hard it bounced into the wall of her gateway, she wasn't actually hurt and seems to be still speaking to me.

And for the fact that me being in shock and near tears actually worked in my favour when I had to talk to Olivia's teacher for the second day in a row as yesterday she'd refused to move her from beside the boy who'd been bullying her because the tables rotate on Mondays. But that Olivia must always tell her when there's a problem. And she came home saying he'd dug his fingers into her arm, and it had hurt her arm, and the teacher had given out to him but that she'd had stomach pains about it all day.

So this morning I as able to state, in the middle of my little emotional breakdown, that I felt my daughter was being sacrificed for the sake of a seating plan, and would she please just let her sit beside someone else at the table. And then Olivia wouldn't have to get hurt and your man wouldn't have to get given out to every day.

And apparently she did move him, and Olivia was happy, and he wasn't mean to the girl he's sitting beside now. Not so complicated, was it? Gah.

Anyway. It's sorted. And I'm grateful.