Belgian Christmas

We just got back from Belgium, and I'm pretty sure we've developed diabetes. The food was that good. By food I mean the waffles and chocolate and crepes. I won't be surprised if my unborn child comes out demanding waffle smoothies and chocolate milk. We had the best waffles we've ever had and Hershey's chocolate will never be good enough again. You would be shocked at how many chocolate shops were there. ...And how many tempted us in...

Belgian history lesson. Legend has it that Brussels was ablaze and this little fella* peed the fire out, saving the town. He became a hero and today foreign diplomats bring traditional clothing for him. They change his outfit every day, and he has more than 600 costumes. He has also been stolen a few times. This image of the weeing boy is seen everywhere, reminding Brusselians of their noble roots. Simon witnessed a man defecating on the sidewalk on his early morning run, so apparently this type of behavior is still considered acceptable.

Here's one costume.

The view from the top of the ferris wheel. We stayed in the middle of the Christmas market. People take it pretty seriously there.

Simon at the door.

We made one last stop at this place before we got on the train to come home.

Final Report: Brussels and Antwerp were fun, but Brugge was our favorite.

*I don't usually use this word, but I just saw Australia and think it's been burned into me. I wonder if we were the only ones who saw the really long version.

thanksgiving.

We were going to be sad kids if we didn't have Thanksgiving this year. I was having depressing visions of me and Simon sitting alone in the dark eating from a KFC bucket and calling that our first Thanksgiving together. I told him that I didn't want to cook a turkey or a feast. Solution: he cooked the turkey and we had a pot luck feast with friends. And it was great.

Simon was/still is so proud of his first turkey. He soaked it in a brine and babysat it in the oven himself. Such a big boy. Before we ate, he watched a video online about how to carve a turkey and did a great job. There was not a scrap left on that bird. He was working so hard that I had to pat his brow for fear of the sweat dripping into the turkey and making it too salty.

Stacey & Darrin's first home made apple pie.

Simon found the gizzard and his farm boy instincts told him not to fear those kinds of things.
I have no such instincts.
The boys also ate the heart, carrying on the Indian tradition of using all parts of the animal. They were so caveman-ly curious about it. All the girls protested. What is it with men and their desire for meat? Do they really like it as much as they pretend to?

Some friends.
We had representatives from Australia, New Zealand, New York, Germany, semi-Scotland, and other parts of America. For most, this was their first Thanksgiving. So we taught them all about it the way we were taught in first grade: that the pilgrims and Indians were best friends. We also went around the table and said what we were thankful for.

I've never known anyone more exact and precise than our new German friends. They called to tell me that they had 500g of mashed potatoes per person and our dishes have never been shinier.

jaunt in the countryside

This week we went to our friends' beautiful wedding out in a country manor. While the bride and groom were off romancing, we of course decided to take pictures of ourselves.

This is how they kiss in England.

My date and our French monsieur.
They clean up nicely..... because they both love to hunt for suits, and are easily seduced by chic designers such as Yves Saint Laurent. Much like girls and shoes.

bump

5 months. kicking. pizza. clementines at midnight. sleepy.

bits and bobs

In England there are silly terms that people often use to avoid saying something uncomfortable. For example, nobody here burps or has gas. They have wind. I've never heard anyone talk about pee or urination, but I have heard much about wee and waterworks. And yesterday we were lucky enough to get a glimpse of our baby and noticed the presence of dangly bits. There's no question about it. The ultrasound technician said they were instructed to tell us they were 85% sure of the gender, but this case was very obvious. I never pictured myself with a baby boy son, just older sons. So I'm getting used to this idea. I went looking at baby boy clothes today and it felt so unnatural. I never realized that I had always been looking at the little girl things in baby shops, ignoring the boys side completely. I did like the fur hats though. But I'm happy that we're having a boy; I think it will be fun. Simon is so excited to meet this "dude" as he called him last night. He can't wait to hang out with him all the time and see what he's about. We talk about how strange it will be to see a little person that we created—walking around doing stuff, saying things. I'm so relieved to know what it is so that we can move on with our lives and pick a name and start nesting.

I was trying to explain my need to nest to Simon and he didn't really understand. Whenever I'm talking about things he can't relate to, or can't apply logic to, he will say, "I support you and validate your feelings." Which usually makes me laugh and decide it's not worth trying to explain, but I feel better about it anyway.

I was also telling him about how animals will go into this weird unstoppable nesting phase right before they give birth, cleaning and preparing a place for the baby. Like cats- who will shred papers and make a little bed. I told him that humans do this too, and they'll have the urge to scrub the floors and organize things. He looked around our flat and said, "So... I guess the baby's not coming anytime soon." It is a disaster, I admit.


The best part is—we're half way through! People have been offering me their seats on the tube, so I probably look pregnant by now. Either that or they think I'm hot. I'll post some pictures of me and my bump soon.

paris part deux

In Paris it's socially acceptable for men to be into art, fashion, and women—all at the same time. Simon sometimes says he wonders why he wasn't born French. France has all the things that he loves, techno music, pastries, and shopping, being a few of them.
I would be Italian myself, and then we never would have found each other, so it's better this way.

Simon's usual chocolatier was closed, so we had to settle for this place.
A few bites made you forget all your problems, though.

I'm sure all their photos turned out great on their blogs too.

Versailles

It's hard to notice any other art in a room- when this is in there too.

These pills turn you into a lion. I'm not sure if this ad campaign is happening in America, but it's totally happening here. Personified animals are probably just as effective as sex appeal.

More PDA.

This trip would not have been possible if it weren't for our dear friend JB, who lives in Paris and let us stay with him.

i musn't be left to myself

What I do in my spare time is probably obvious by now. And it should also be pretty clear that I have lots of it. Lately I've been averaging about 8 hours a day. Every day I wake up and somehow end up making a huge mess; and usually I clean it up by the time Simon comes home. There are days though, when he walks through the door and finds me sleeping under a pile of laundry on the bed. There are also days that I work like a normal person, in case you were wondering. But when the studio doesn't have any shoots going on, and the laundry is done, I will immediately start plotting my next creation. I didn't make this cheesecake. I'm not fond of cheesecake, but I did pick it out after deliberating at many bakeries.

Luckily I have a husband who loves cheesecake and already called dibs on it as soon as he heard I had one.

Two days ago I put some toast in the toaster and then forgot about it. It's featured here, in the bottom image. Now I don't feel like I disrespected kids in Africa by wasting it.

macarons

A few nights ago I had a dream that I photographed some French macarons on a French newspaper. As soon as I woke up, I emailed our dear friend Jean-Baptiste who was coming from Paris to stay the weekend with us. Understanding the seriousness of the situation, he brought me some French newspapers and magazines. So today I bought these macarons from Ladurée, and fulfilled this dream.
It had to be done.

A macaron is a traditional French pastry from northeastern France. I never knew of their existence until I had one in Paris last April. They're heavenly, and come in all colors and flavors, but I like the chocolate ones the best. We're going to Paris again in 3 days and I can't wait to explore more of the wonderful delights the Parisians try to seduce eachother with.

Top 10 signs I’m beginning to adjust to life in Britain.

10. I’m starting to greatly understate how I feel about things. Where I used to say, “I am so annoyed I think I might explode” I might now say, “I’m not impressed.” Or instead of saying, “I can’t handle this right now; I’m leaving” I might calmly say, “I can’t be bothered with this.”

9. It’s no longer shocking to see 15 year olds smoking. Even though cigarette packages out here are entirely covered with phrases like "SMOKERS DIE YOUNGER." These labels are not effective, and will honestly soon be replaced with photos of things like throat cancer, rotting teeth, and a corpse in a morgue. Simon thought I was kidding about this- but it's actually true.


8. I always order tap water at dinner. And no longer feel ripped off by tiny portions allotted at restaurants.

7. I’ve learned to take short shallow mouth breaths in the tube during rush hour, and now pretend that the smell doesn’t make me want to vomit. I used to just stand there blatantly plugging my nose between my pinched fingers in front of someone exhibiting terrible body odor. One time a British man asked me if I had a bloody nose. I laughed and nasally said, “No- it’s stinks in here.” He replied by telling me that it was not coming from the British because, “…we buy expensive deodorant.” Right.

6. People ask me for directions now, so I must look like I know where I’m going.

5. I lean in for the salutary cheek kisses without realizing it.

4. Now I “sort” things out. I only used to figure things out. But I’ve still never wanted to “sort anybody out.” I also top things up.

3. I don’t turn on the tele to find good entertainment anymore. I’ve learned that just doesn’t happen. I’ve switched to literature out of necessity.

2. Socialized medicine is no longer a bad word.

1. I used to secretly bond with the American tourists I ran into. It took me a long time to realize that I wasn’t on vacation, and I wasn’t going home, because I was home. But now I feel like I have less in common with them, because they’re just silly tourists taking pictures of Big Ben.

i must say

The other day, I was laying in bed very still with my hand over the bump—just resting. And then tap tap tap... I felt the first kicks! I had to call Simon in to make sure I wasn't going crazy. He felt it too! It was so cool. Baby's little hands and feet are the size of the end of your finger so the punches were very small. I have been fascinated with it ever since and I love to feel it. I'm 4 months now and finally starting to understand that this is real. I promise I'm not usually this slow to grasp concepts. But feeling the kicks made it seem connected to me, not just an idea, or an image on a screen. So I'm pretty happy about it and could not stop asking Simon, "Wasn't that cool when we felt our baby?" He's allowed to talk about business school as much as he wants as long as I can bring up the baby as often as it pops into my mind. We don't talk about anything else anymore. You would hate to be our dinner guest.

This is how big our baby is now.
Those fingernails and eyelashes were hard work to grow—for both of us.

Just a note to any ladies who may be planning their first pregnancy: This definitely will affect more of your life and body than you think it will. I thought I would be exactly the same, just wearing a bigger shirt. This is not the case at all. Everything from my nose, skin, energy, strength, balance, and hair have changed. I can drink like a camel and I feel slow and heavy. And tired. Still waiting for that energy to come back. It has been really hard on me. I try not to think about all the sickness, back pain, absentmindedness, or 8 trips to the loo each night. But the simple feeling of some little taps from my baby, has made it all worth it. And now that my baby can hear me, I'm going to make an effort to start a habit of good communication. No lectures just yet. Mostly Baby hears, "Simon! I felt it again! Do you wanna feel?"

Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?

If you know the answer to that question, you get a gold star. Simon had no idea.

Today we were photographing child models at the studio, who were naturally pretty cute. Between shots a little 7 year old British girl came up to me and asked, "Are you American?" I responded with an excited "Yes! How did you know?" She acted like the answer was obvious, "Because I watch Spongebob Square Pants on Nickelodeon." Then she was called back to the set to continue posing. And I was left to ponder the meaning of that message. Do I look like I wear whitie tighties? Are all us Americans that obnoxious? Later I taught her how to blow over the top of a glass coke bottle to make a tune, so maybe. Does she know that all* the music she likes and the good movies are American too?

I'm the only American who works at a pretty large fashion house and so I've come across a few crazy perceptions that people have of us. For example, at lunch, I was asked why the fruit in America is so big and perfect and shiny. But before I could respond, someone else answered that we were only allowed to serve genetically mutated foods in grocery stores and restaurants. And then the rest of the table all shuddered at how despicable that was. What?! Wait a minute. I had to set the record straight that Americans care to search out the best option in all things, fruit included, and that we were pretty competitive about our products. By then, no one was paying attention as they raved about the gooseberry tart. Made of tiny, non-shiny gooseberries.

Yesterday I was at lunch with some lovely British girls and I told them how polite and civil I felt the British people had been towards me. They acted surprised. Maybe coming from New York exaggerated the contrast of cultures, but the townspeople in public have been very courteous and seem to know their place. But these friends of mine told me that may be true on the outside, but that the English also don't say what they really think out loud. ... And at that moment I suddenly became very self conscious. Were we having the sincere, light-hearted conversation I thought we were having? Or is there another conversation going on in your head too? Maybe I should stick to talking about how awesome Kylie Minogue is, or how dreadful the weather in London is. Or how much I would love some tea right now. Those are safe.

This reminds me of the time Simon let our landlord into the flat to repair something. And for some reason he brought up the fact that he is "afraid of American women," seeming to forget that Simon was married to one. "They're so aggressive."

Here's a photo of Simon and the landlord hanging a mirror. Landlord left, Simon middle, anonymous henchmen, right.

*Okay, 99%. The Beatles and James Morrison are pretty dang good.

BOROUGH MARKET

On the south side of London Bridge there is an enormous market held every weekend full of produce, meats, wines, pastries and pastas from all over Europe. It's a great place to go to try new things and also pick pocket, if that's what you're into. It is on my "Must Sees of Lonon" list that I keep updated in my head. Saturday was beautiful, so we spent our morning there. Feast your eyes.

I caught Simon checking these little beauties out. I'm going to make him wear horse blinders in public to help train those wandering eyes.

Who knew brussel sprouts grew like this? I thought they only came frozen in bags.

We are having a love affair with this pesto. It is so amazing and I wish I could mail you all a jar of it right now. It comes from Genova, Italy, which is famous for it's pesto. It makes anything taste better.
Like magic.

Simon always walks slower around the pastry displays.

Don't look at this if you think dead ducks are gross.

You say potato, I say potato. But it looks the same when you write it.

Not sure if I had ever seen a turnip before. Would you have known what those were?

I told you people here were serious about their cheese.

I'm not even grossed out right now that she's touching it with her bare hands.

Here we see Simon eating a Venison burger in one hand whilst purchasing one of his favorite London treats—apple strudel—with his other hand.

Mmmm.... that is special.

This one time some foolish young cherries got together with some raspberries and had a pretty wild night. And now we have Razcherries. What delicious little forbidden fruits they are. When you're in the mood for a good story, I'll tell you where Razapples come from.

When a chicken egg is just too much.
Can you imaging flipping a tiny fried quail egg on the grill? I do. All the time.

Sometimes Simon wishes he lived in a time where brute strength determined the leader. Or when arguments were settled by stone throws. Seeing him palm some of the giant fruits we saw reminded me about this little dream of his.