Guest Post from Erika: Flying with a Baby vs. a Cat

We finally arrived in France on Thursday afternoon after a VERY long flight. I couldn't help but reflect on flying with Peter vs. flying with Pawlene. The verdict: Flying with a baby is MUCH harder. Although it's hard to compare apples to apples as there were several differences in the two flights. A 5-hour flight from NYC to SFO vs. a 15-hour journey from SFO to Frankfurt to Marseilles. Lounging next to the window in First class vs. languishing in a middle seat in Economy Plus. So maybe it's not fair to compare, but my concerns were almost exactly the same:

1. What if the cat/baby is too cold?
   
2. What if the cat/baby is too hungry?
   
3. What if the cat/baby needs to...err...void her/his bowels?
   
4. How the heck are we supposed to get through airport security?
   

When Pawlene got too cold, I could heft the entire carrier onto my lap for a while, and slide one hand inside to pet her, hoping that she would not escape and that neither my seat mate nor the flight attendant would chastise me. Peter also got a "carrier". A horrid, plastic suitcase-like thing that no doubt harbored all kinds of diseases from all the other miserable children it had held. However, it kept him very warm, especially after I lined it with with my very generous neighbor's airplane blanket (also probably disease-ridden) and a few of Peter's own blankets. The only problems were a plastic flap that kept falling into his face and waking him up and the unfortunate lack of room for such an object in the space below my seat. I ended up straddling the carrier with a foot in each (again, very understanding and generous neighbor's) space. No, I did not sleep a wink.

If Pawlene was hungry, too bad. She had to wait until we landed in San Francisco. I couldn't feed her anything, for fear of worry #3 becoming a problem. When Peter got hungry, I simply wedged myself sideways in my seat and put him to my breast. It was uncomfortable, but it worked.

The potential for bowel-voiding was definitely my biggest concern with Pawlene. Luckily, it was not an issue. We did make one uneventful trip to the bathroom together, just to make sure. It wasn't an issue with Peter either, but if it had been, it would have been infinitely more complicated to fix. YOU try climbing out of a middle seat while holding a wiggly/stinky baby and then attempting to open the overhead compartment, retrieving a heavy laptop/diaper bag with only one hand, and then walking all the way down the aisle to the bathroom without whacking any of the other passengers in the head.

Airport security was definitely the hardest part of both trips. It tied with #3 for being nerve-wracking. Pawlene clung to me with every last claw as we passed through the metal detector, which was preferable to the alternative (her making a break for it). Peter also clung to me, but after we passed through the metal detector, I couldn't just put him back in his carrier. I had to retrieve my shoes, laptop, diaper bag, purse, car seat, and stroller. Then I had to open the stroller and re-attach the car seat before I could put him down. All with ONE hand!!! I actually used my foot to open the stroller and got kudos from the security guard, who STILL didn't actually help me. We had a completely different experience going through security in Frankfurt, where we got our own personal line, metal detector and security crew! One kindly old security guard offered to hold Peter and spent the whole time bouncing and talking to him, and even correctly guessed his age! The others helped me put everything back together and wished me a pleasant day. Wow.

Did I mention it was all worth it? It is beautiful and warm here and my parents are loving and helpful and wonderful. Peter is perfectly happy. I am on my mother's patented French diet, which allows me only two glasses of wine per day, except on Fridays and other special occasions when it is okay to drink five glasses AND have a chocolate ice cream bar for dessert. Ah, France...

Edit to Last Post

Sources tell me that my picture is no longer showing up at the link in the last post. Here is what it looked like:

August in San Francisco

I am finally getting the house back to myself - Erika and Peter are off to France for the rest of August to visit Erika's parents and introduce Peter to Martin's father and stepmother. Martin is taking over Cat Appreciation Duty while they are gone. Erika is taking the laptop with her, so there won't be any more updates from me until September. However, Martin did help me get my fifteen minutes of fame, even if I do have to share it with the baby. If you don't get the joke, click Home and look at the other photographs or read about LOLspeak. Many of you will still not get it, and that's just fine. Erika thinks Martin spends FAR too much time with LOLcats anyway.

We had a lovely visit this weekend with Willett cousins Andrew and Becky, along with Becky's wonderful husband Jason and their two sweet children. We spent an uncharacteristically sunny August Saturday in Golden Gate park eating burritos (the Willett cousins have been living outside of California for several years now, and MUST HAVE burritos whenever they are in San Francisco). Sunday it was back to freezing cold windy fog, but Martin, Erika, and Peter picnicked anyway, in the shelter of the visitor's center in the Marin headlands. I wisely stayed home and lounged on my kitty condo, dreaming of sun.

Erika did manage to slip out for a few hours on Sunday to see "WALL-E", which she enjoyed very much despite the fact that it is a Movie with a Message. It's a good message, and there is a very strong, smart female lead, both of which score big points with Erika. It was a nice antidote to Saturday night's movie, "The Taking of Pelham 123", a pretty good, suspenseful drama set in 1970s Manhattan in which women are referred to as "dames" or "broads" and one character (we could never figure out which one) appeared in the credits only as "The Homosexual".

Besides movies, much ice cream was consumed over the weekend. Mitchell's Ice Cream vs. Bi-Rite Creamery had a clear winner. (Bi-Rite, duh.) There was also much sourdough consumed, as Erika experimented with different ways of using the sourdough starter. The pancakes came out a little salty (bad recipe from the internet) but the crusty sourdough bread was not bad at all, despite a verrrrry long rise which produced a rather dense loaf. More experimentation is necessary, if the starter survives the month of August in the fridge.

In other news, Peter slept for 12 straight hours last night. A new record! I've still got him beat for total sleep time in a 24-hour period, but he's catching up...

No New House

I've been in the Dog House the past few weeks due to the work I did on the leather couch and chairs. They are less than a year old and I thought they were just too "new" looking. The distressed look is really In! Unfortunately Erika and Martin didn't like the artful shredding job I did on them, but Erika is finally letting me back on the computer anyway.

Regarding the dream house in Sebastopol, Erika and Martin passed on it, mostly because Erika's job would not allow her to telecommute 2 days a week, and the commute would be a killer if she had to do it every day. She wouldn't have any time to enjoy the fruit trees, the swimming pool, the dance studio...ah, well. Sebastopol is still high on the list though, so we'll see how the year plays out.



In other news, Peter has almost caught up to me in weight, now that he is 3 months old. See comparison image above. The beautiful airplane quilt you see in the background is from our dear friends in South Dakota, who tried to teach Erika how to quilt on her first road trip from New York to California back in 2003. Peter is finally able to hold and interact with toys, though he's been leaving my toy mice alone. He especially enjoys his soft Cat book (good taste!) and his flannel lovey from Mendocino. He is getting really good at blowing raspberries and making various cute noises. He laughs a lot more too, especially when Daddy plays airplane with him and lifts him over his head. Personally, I hate it when Martin does that to me.

I was abandoned for the weekend while the rest of the family checked out Butte County and had a very nice visit with Uncle Clifton and Aunt Carol in Chico. It was hot (in the 90s) and dry, but there are some nice properties that cost a little over half what one would pay in Sonoma County. Chico is a fun college town that has worked hard over the years to get past its reputation as a party school. Oroville, where Erika's mother lived for the first six years of her life, was a nice surprise. Its downtown area has started to come back after being eviscerated by WalMart and it will probably be a nice little town in a few years. It even has its own radio station! The Kosinas were tempted by a 5-bedroom Victorian Mansion for $549,000, which would get you a one-bedroom flat in San Francisco.

Still on the list: Clear Lake, possibly Sonora, and one more visit to Nevada City and environs. In the mean time, Erika is feeling like she has enough going on with a one-month trip to France, going back to work, and welcoming her mother in law to California, all in the next 45 days. The hunt for the dream farm will continue in the Fall. In the mean time, the Kosinas are pretty happy with city living. Erika has found a nice neighborhood mother's group, the farmer's market is peaking, and Martin finally has his plane back. He is flying it down from Portland to Palo Alto the first week in August.

Life is good.

Guest Post from Erika: Dream House

Happy Bastille Day! Vive la France!

I promise I'll let Pawlene get back to the keyboard soon, but she is pretty busy these days, showing Peter how to nap. He hasn't quite got the hang of the daytime nap yet, although he is doing GREAT at night, which is actually quite preferable. But still, Pawlene is such an expert daytime napper, I thought I would give her a chance to show him how it's done.

In the latest news on the city/country mouse front, Martin and I received news from the bank on Friday. Bad news. Our home loan was about to expire and the new terms were so unfavorable that it would be impossible for us to buy a house in California for the next few years. We have to get the paperwork started on a house THIS WEEK or go to Plan B. Or Plan C or D.

So, the Kosina family packed up for a quick yet exhaustive tour of every house in Sonoma County that met our top three criteria: in our price range, more than an acre of land, and an in-law unit for my beloved mother-in-law. We picked Sonoma because it is country living, it has houses in our price range, and Martin and I could still, ostensibly, commute to the Bay Area.

It was a long day, the highlight of which was a delightful picnic lunch at Wild Flour bakery in Freestone. We were all (especially Peter) exhausted after looking at only five properties. One had its own outdoor bread oven, but the house was depressing and dark. One was built in 1918 and was nearly untouched since that time. One belonged to a happy guy who was raising cockatoos, doves, three cows, umpteen rabbits, and an emu on the property, but could no longer afford to pay the mortgage and feed his large family. One was tiny, smoke stinky and a little scary (there was a dog lurking behind one closed door and the master bedroom door was locked), but it sat on 5 acres of flat pasture with a huge organic vegetable garden and an enormous chicken hotel.

And then there was our dream house. Not the dream house we had been looking for (an original farm house and barn set amongst rolling green pasture), but an entirely different dream. The 5-bedroom, 70s-era house is nothing special, although the floor plan is quite unique in a Winchester Mystery House sort of way. The kitchen layout is fantastic, although we would need to replace the electric range with gas. But the amenities are off the chart. TWO in-law units, one which was converted from a barn to a beautiful, light-filled dance studio. A secluded swimming pool (and hot tub, though it is not currently functional). A large vegetable garden. An apple orchard. 3 acres of all different kinds of land and landscaping. Lovely little spots to sit and admire the flowers and listen to the wind chimes. Room to park 5 cars and an RV. Plum trees, Nectarine trees, who knows what other kind of fruit trees...and not a single neighbor is visible from the property.

The location is great too - 8 miles from the airport (makes Martin happy) 3 miles from the Waldorf school (makes me happy), just 10 minutes from the town of Sebastopol, and about an hour and 15 minutes from San Francisco.

What's the catch? The price of living in California. We could get the same acreage for half the price in Oregon, a tenth of the price in Missouri. This galls Martin. And with raising Peter, canning all the fruit on the property, and taking care of the bees, chickens, goats, plants, and trees, I may at some point decide to abandon web consulting, which means abandoning a fairly sizable regular paycheck that would be contributing to our mortgage. Don't even get us started on housing values and mortgage rates and the economy tanking.

And so, for now, we are undecided. The clock is ticking, but it is a big leap and we need some time to sit with it.

Guest Post from Erika: Laundry as Love

Cats know nothing about laundry, except that it feels really good to sit on warm laundry that has just come out of the dryer, so I'm taking this one.

In many families (including mine), cooking is a way of expressing love. I've always known this, even if at first it was only on a subconscious level. But cooking has a mousy, less glamorous and not very much talked about younger sister — laundry. Now that I am a mother, I realize that doing laundry also can be an expression of love. When I look back to when I was in college (and, um, possibly for a few years after college) and I used to come home for Christmas or Spring break with two GIANT bags of laundry that my mother would do without complaint, it seems obvious.

When I first moved up to Portland to be with Martin, we lived for two weeks in a tiny apartment in the Northwest. I had nothing to do and knew nobody. And I certainly was not bringing in any income since I had yet to find a job. So we played house, and I took on the role of "Housewife". I did Martin's laundry, and it felt so intimate — like I was getting to know a whole different side of him somehow. I took great pleasure in separating out the lights and darks, hauling them down to the surprisingly clean and cheery basement, and folding the clean clothes ever so neatly for him.

After a few months of living together in a bigger place, when we both had 9-5 jobs, laundry and other chores became a source of contention. One morning at a terrible IHOP-style breakfast place we sat down and drew up a list that laid out The Division of Labor and whose job it was to do what. We tried various methods to share the odious task of folding laundry, none of which really worked. Occasionally our upstairs neighbor, who we shared a washer and dryer with, would actually fold Our laundry, which was always a pleasant and terribly guilt-inducing surprise.

When we moved to New York and revised our Division of Labor, Martin drew the Laundry card. No small feat in a 5-story walk-up with no facilities in the apartment. Heck, we didn't even have room for a kitchen in that apartment. It was rumored that we had access to the machines in the basement of the building next door, but we never used them. After an initial squeal of displeasure at how much it cost, Martin quickly succumbed to one of my favorite things about living in New York City — the Wash and Fold. When I lived in NYC in 2001-3, most of the time I either did not have a job or had a very low-paying job, but my one consistent luxury was the Wash and Fold. It is a beautiful thing. You haul your big heavy bag of soiled Whatever a block or maybe a block and a half, weigh it, and leave it there. When you pick up your clean laundry the next day, it is folded into perfect, stiff little squares and packed tightly into a plastic bag, inside your newly washed laundry bag. Virgo heaven. Or, if you were feeling REALLY decadent, you could have it delivered. I loved it.

One of the requirements for our apartment in San Francisco was laundry In The Apartment. Not in the Building, but walking distance from the laundry basket. We figured this was going to be mandatory with a new baby, and at that point we had visions of using the cloth diapers that you clean and wash yourself (ha!). Since the washer and dryer are located in Martin's (ahem) office, Martin had initial responsibility for the laundry. But since Martin is at work most days during the week and since I find myself VERY frequently needing clean blankets, changing pad covers, onesies and something from the very limited pool of the wardrobe that currently fits me, I have turned into The Laundress.

The funny thing is, I don't mind it. Watching the laundry pile up is like watching the tide come in...a natural, inevitable thing. When the basket is full, I actually take a little bit of pleasure in flushing it out, watching the tide recede, and gathering up a new basket of clean laundry. Folding is easier now too, since I simply don't bother folding Martin's button-down shirts, since those are just going to get hung up, or Peter's teeny tiny little t-shirts and onesies (sorry mom). Really, it doesn't make a difference to Peter. I do pair the eensy-weensy little socks though, because otherwise I would never be able to find a matching pair. I still fold Martin's collection of jeans, t-shirts, and undies and make neat little piles of them for him to put away.

It feels good, knowing that I am taking care of my family in this small way.

This and That

Well, in the excitement of Peter's 2-month birthday a few weeks ago, everyone seems to have forgotten about MY birthday on the same day (June 21)! I turned 8 years old, (in people years...not sure what that is in cat years). I think I look pretty much the same as I have for the past 3 years, give or take a pound or so:

But that Peter on the other hand has DOUBLED in size in only 2 months - he's almost caught up to me! Just scroll down to the May 22 entry for a comparison of one day to one month to these pictures of Peter at two months:


His favorite activities have changed as well - Kicking Off of Blankets has moved up to number 3, right behind eating and sleeping. Too big to be effectively swaddled, Peter can now kick off all of his blankets in less than 5 seconds. Which means that with speedy re-blanketing by his concerned parents, he is able to kick off his blankets about 6 times a minute or 360 times an hour. That last number is just theoretical. Erika can only stand about 120 blanket repatriations before she loses it and picks him up to sit on her lap.

In travel news, Peter slept all the way to and from San Luis Obispo, the latest possibility in Erika and Martin's "Buy a Farm" scheme. It has since been scratched from the list for two reasons: land is too expensive (about the same as Sonoma County) and it feels more like Los Angeles than San Francisco. The town of SLO itself was completely charming, but Paso Robles and Arroyo Grande, where the land is, were not very appealing. However, the weekend was not lost because Erika was able to take a very interesting goat cheese making class. Making fresh chevre is EASY! Anyone know where to find raw goat's milk in San Francisco? Stay tuned for Butte County, next weekend's destination.

And of course I can't post a blog entry and not talk about food...Having Martin home for 4 days, due to the 4th of July holiday, made possible a brief but successful Baking Frenzy on Erika's part. Take Two on Esalen's sourdough rye bread recipe produced two near-perfect loaves. Next attempt it will be perfect, Erika is confident. Which is a good thing because Esalen is in serious danger of burning down right now. The fires are raging in Big Sur - it is pretty frightening. The last of the season's cherries went into a cherry and nectarine clafouti that I tried to taste this morning before I was swatted off the dining room table AGAIN. Erika said it was delicious.