Maddie was almost two years old. She had beautiful almond brown eyes and chubby cheeks that dimpled with every smile, giggle, and laugh. And every laugh sounded like bells ringing out in an angel’s chorus; a high-pitched tinkling that warmed your insides every time your ears were graced with the sound.

She was a joy to be around. The Terrible Two’s? Please. Maddie was much too wonderful of a child to ever enter a stage like that. She was our angel. Perfectly behaved, with maybe one or two instances where she may have had a bad day or a tummy ache and had been a little more fussy than usual.

She was big for her age—not to be confused with chubby—but tall with perfectly round and wrinkled knees that I wanted to nibble on. God, they were cute. Every feature of hers was rounded; her nose, her cheeks, her belly. Holding her was a bit of a chore, but after almost a year of living across the hall from my best friend and her family, I built up the necessary muscle to withstand a day’s worth of toting Maddie around.

This was a great age. She was learning fast and growing faster. Scooting around like a little choo-choo train, I never dared take my eyes off of her for even a moment. She was very smart; observant and well-behaved. While she may find trouble, all you need to say is “Madeline Renee, no…” and she’ll immediately stop before you need to scold any further.

“Maddie,” I sat on Eliza’s bright blue and orange sofa, babysitting while she was at class, “where’s your nose?” She grinned from ear to ear, her brown eyes sparkling like stars and eager to fulfill any wish I had. Lifting a tiny, pink finger, she touched the tip of her button nose.

“Yay!” I squealed with delight and clapped my hands together, impressed. She turned back around, plopping onto the beige carpet to watch more Baby Einstein. I joined her on the carpet and held her close to my body. Her miniature heart pounded against my chest and eventually our heartbeats matched one another’s, pounding in the same rhythm. I looked down at her and she was fighting to stay awake, her dark eyes getting heavier with every breath. I scooped her into my lap and sat up so that I could rock her back and forth. She shook her head from side to side and looked up at me, blinking fiercely.

“Cahyyeen,” That’s how she said my name, “no nap!”

“Ok,” I smiled at her, knowing she would be asleep in 15 minutes. “Then tell me, where are your ears?”

Her eyebrows arched like two tiny worms, perking up at the challenge. Sending me a tired smile, she lifted her hand and touched her left ear with her palm.

“Good girl!” I gave a hushed cheer. The air conditioning switched on and chills crawled down my spine like an army of ants. The goose bumps made the hairs on my arm stand at attention. I shivered and beneath my soft cotton tank top. “Now, where is your belly button?”

She giggled, lifting her shirt and tapping her tummy with the same hand she touched to her ears. “You?” She loved to look at my belly button; actually, she loved to look at my belly button ring. That sparkly curved piece of metal hypnotized her like no toy I had ever seen. I lifted my tank slightly, revealing a silver heart with a sparkling pink jewel in the center that rested within the crevice of my navel. Maddie giggled more, her nose crinkling and her eyes squinting. She threw her head back, the folds of her skin pinching my arm.

“Whas dat?”

“That’s my belly button ring.” She looked back at it, eyeing closely. She’d seen it a dozen times before, but she loved asking questions for the mere sake of asking them. She held a finger out to touch it. “Be gentle.” I learned early that if I didn’t specify, she would tug on it, thankfully never hard enough to yank it out.

Gingerly, her fingertip grazed the center of the heart and stared in awe. I knew that look; she was picturing herself with her own belly button ring. Sometimes to satisfy this urge, I would put a sparkly sticker over her navel and tell her it was even prettier than the one I had.

She pulled away again, giggling. “More! Hawder dis time!”

“Harder?” I thought for a moment…she already knew eyes, ears, nose, mouth, belly button, tummy, head, knees, arms, feet, toes….what’s left?

“Cahyyeen?”

“Yes, babe?”

“Whot awe dose?”

She pointed at my nipples, erect thanks to the frigid air conditioning. I laughed to myself, uncomfortable with the situation. “Umm…well, those are called nipples.”

Immediately, Maddie lifted her shirt, showing me her own nipples. “Nipples!” She pointed proudly, waiting for my applause.

The twenty-one year old girl inside of me wanted to laugh and teach her other inappropriate parts of her anatomy; teach her how to moon someone and play the butt bongos like my brother taught me when I was four. But the responsible side of me refrained. She got it right though…those were her nipples. And at least she was using correct language and not saying, ‘Boobies,’ right? I supposed that this one circumstance was ok, as long as she didn’t learn any other or more graphic body parts. I made an executive decision and clapped my hands together, only not nearly as excitedly as the other times. “That’s right, Maddie!”

The bronze bell around Eliza’s front door jingled as she entered, three bags thrown over her bony shoulders.

“Mommy!” Maddie cooed, suddenly not tired at all.

“Hey Liza,” my gaze lifted to hers as Maddie broke free from my grasp, running to her mother. “Mommy!” She held her hand out, palm up waving. Clenching two little fists around her shirt, she lifted it to her chin revealing her chest. Then, pressing a finger into the skin around her sternum, she yelled, “Nipple!”

Liza dropped her bags to the floor and glared at me from over her eyebrows. “That’s going to come back to bite you in the A-S-S, Aunt Colleen.”

*             *             *

Fast forward two weeks and I was babysitting again. It was 7:00 pm and neither Liza’s fridge nor my fridge had anything worthwhile for dinner. I decided to take Maddie to one of our favorite cheap restaurants; a very popular fast food burrito restaurant that was always heavily populated with my fellow students. I pushed through the heavy glass doors with Maddie on my left hip. I balanced the weight by carrying my bag on the opposite arm. We could barely step through the door before joining the long line of patient customers. There were at least 11 people ahead of us with only two employees working at a slow pace to piece together the made to order burritos.

Sucking in a deep breath, I allowed it to escape from my parted lips in a sigh.

“Whot’s wong Aunt Cahyeen?”

“This might be a little wait, Maddie. Do you want the baby burrito or do you want to go to somewhere else?”

“Buwwitto!”

“Ok, burrito it is.”

“Aunt Cahyeen, where’s your nose?”

I smiled. The game had advanced in the past couple weeks. She would now ask me to point to things as well as me asking her.

I pointed at my nose. “Where are your lips, Maddie?” The couple in front of us in line started to take notice of our little game. They turned to look at Maddie, smiling, arms linked. The woman’s head tilted to the left, her ear grazing her boyfriend’s shoulder and she placed her hand over her heart suppressing a small sigh.

Maddie grazed her lips with her three middle fingers.

“Yay! Good girl! Ok, your turn…”

“Where awe your nipples, Aunt Cahyeen?”

The couples smiling faces turned confused very quickly as they tried to decipher if they had heard correctly.

My stomach turned and I could feel it twisting into a knot.

“Uhhh…”

“Your nipples, Aunt Cahyeen! Point to your nipples!” Maddie’s voice grew louder, assuming that my not answering meant I hadn’t heard her.

She continued, “Nipples, where awe your nipples?”

At this point, half of the line and a few people sitting at tables eating were looking in our direction. Some were disgusted, but others found the situation humorous. I knew one thing was for sure…Maddie was not going to stop asking me where my nipples were until I pointed to them. Reluctantly, I lifted my left hand and attempted to discreetly point to my breast. My fingertip grazed the soft cotton of my shirt and Maddie shrieked with delight, clapping her hands together. The half of the restaurant that was amused at our display started clapping as well; cheering, which only made Maddie squeal louder.   While the more reserved patrons of the place stared disapprovingly.

Lesson Learned: No teaching children about any body part that you would be embarrassed about in public.

Sean and I saw Star Trek. Why, you may ask, did I decide to pay $15 to see a movie based on a show I don’t even like? I have one word to answer that: Compromise. And it’s a bitch.

Back around Christmas, I got to choose a movie to see in the theatres. If you recall, there were several decent movies out in late 2008 (well, decent by my definition). There was Coraline and Gran Torino and Marley and Me (ok, maybe this won’t win any Oscars, but I loved the book)….but no. I chose the movie: Four Christmases. The most terribly, awful movie of ALL TIME.  It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t well written. In fact—it was seriously depressing. And as we left the theatre that evening, Sean leaned into me and made the simple statement: “You owe me.”

So I promised to see Star Trek.  The nerd mecca. A promise that I made thinking my scatter-brained boyfriend would have forgotten about by the time the movie came out in theatres. I was wrong. Sean has a supernatural memory when it comes to Star Trek—not so much when I tell him three times of my schedule—but Star Trek, that he’s got down to muscle memory.

Sean has shown me a few episodes from The Next Generation and I’ll admit it…a few were even fairly decent. (I like the one with Famke Jansen).  I even like a few of the Voyager episodes (I KNOW, I know, it’s the “worst” Star Trek Series).  But the thing I hate about most versions of Star Trek (TNG included) is that very few of the characters have distinct personalities. They all speak with the same tone and the same inflection and then there’s the low humming noise of the ship they’re on…..and all that white noise simply puts me to sleep. In fact, I usually request Star Trek to help lull me into a sleep at night. But in Voyager, there are a lot of different characters. There’s a strong woman captain (who admittedly isn’t always the best actress), and the charming doctor hologram dude, the ridiculously sweet Nelix and the super sexed up 7….there are tons of different character dynamics to relate to and keep me interested.

So, despite Voyager, I was somewhat dreading going to this movie, knowing how dull the other seasons of the show were. I dragged my feet the whole way to the theatre, taking a few shots of jager to help get me through the night.  Sean started reminding me of all the things that I DO like about Star Trek to help me “shut the hell up” as he so gently told me:
1) The movie has some hot eye candy.
2) It’s gotten great reviews, including a recommendation from Derrick, (Dustin Nguyen’s kick ass inker).
3) No previous knowledge of the plot is needed to understand the movie. (IE – You do not need to be a total geek to follow the plot)

I thought about these things a moment, all the while picturing the new Capt Kirk…naked.  After clearing my throat, I said:“Well, I do like the holoport.”

And you would have thought Sean’s head might explode. “HoloDECK, Colleen! It’s a holodeck, not holoPORT! How many times do I have to tell you? It’s a deck of holograms where the Star Fleet goes to act out earth-like scenes. Not a place to park your boat!”

Whoa. Geeks get really picky over the semantics of their shows. It’s a good thing I didn’t say this in the theatre…there may have been some sort of geek uprising which would have involved pasting pointy ears on me and exiling me to some snowy unknown land. (If you understand this reference, you are totally a trekkie)

“Ok, fine. Holodeck. Sheesh. I guess I would have known that if I LIVED AT HOME AND PLAYED LIVE ACTION ROLE PLAYING IN MY FREE TIME.” I crossed my arms over my chest and sighed dramatically.

He looked at me and spoke quietly. “Besides, the holodeck wasn’t yet created in this timeline.”

Now it was my turn to explode. “You mean to tell me that my favorite part of the show is not even in the movie?” I threw my hands up in exasperation.

“You didn’t even know what it was called! You thought it was a holoport.”

“Holodeck, holoport….they’re practically the same. Deck, port…boats come in to each.”

Sean just stared at me, blinking. “Boats dock in a deck? How is that even an argument?”

“It’s not.”

In actuality, the movie was pretty good…even without a woman captain and without 7 of 9’s tits, and the holodeck.  But don’t take my word for it because…I’m a doctor, damnit, not a movie critic!

Red enjoys fishing. Whenever we pull up to Sean’s parent’s lake house, the first thing he does is dive into Lake Winnepesaukee head first looking for fish. He’s never actually caught one, but the dog seriously becomes obsessed. So, today while hanging out in our neighbor’s apartment, Red noticed their fish swimming around in the pitcher. And that was it for Red…he literally did not move from this position unless the fish swam to the other side of the pitcher. Then Red would run to the other side, following it, trying to stay nose to nose. I think we should feed Red sushi…see how he likes it.

A couple weeks ago, the weather FINALLY started getting better. Sean and I took Red for a walk in Prospect Park and came upon this lake with a ton of geese. And as badly as Red wanted to run toward the birds at full force, we made him resist.

As I mentioned, I’m crazy busy with this new job, but I thought I’d try to throw in a few updates. And on Saturday night, I was at the Red Horse Cafe photographing Marc Barnhill and the Sorely Missed. They were great and I had an awesome time meeting everyone!

For the next couple of weeks, I’m going to be a little more absent than normal. But overall, it’s a good thing! I just got a new job and I am officially the new events and marketing coordinator for the Red Horse Cafe in Park Slope. This position essentially means that I’ll be curating the gallery space in the coffee shop as well as booking the weekly performers and musicians. I’m also trying to institute some other events, so any suggestions you all may have, feel free to send it along! Likewise, any local talent who is interested in performing or exhibiting art should email me.

So, anyway, this combined with a few photography projects I had taken on prior to knowing I got the job has made me a crazy, busy person. Unfortunately, this leaves very little time to update my website. But once I get more into the swing of things, I’ll return with a vengeance. I know you will all be waiting on the edge of your seats…

Not too long ago I received The Double Daring Book For Girls by Miriam Peskowitz and Andrea J. Buchanan. I was so excited to finally get a chance to read one of these books because for a couple years now I’ve heard about them and seen them in all the book stores. I’ve wanted to buy the book, but it seemed like it was meant more for younger kids. Which, technically it is….but I’m essentially a big kid and I love this sort of stuff. Clearly when this book arrived, it did not disappoint me.

Miriam and Andrea has filled it with tons of cool activities, stories and history ranging from optical illusions to stories by Harriet Tubman from the underground railroad to explaining how to tie a sarong to how to go to the bathroom in the woods. Because seriously, people…EVERY woman should know how to pee in nature without tinkling all over her clothes. It explains activities and the history of cultures in a clear and concise way…and let’s face it, most of this stuff I should know already…but I don’t.  I couldn’t tie a sarong the correct way around my waist if my bare butt depended on it.   And peeing in the woods? Please…I’ve lost many a good pair of shoes in the attempt to pee without a potty.

That being said, I immediately started flipping through the book when it arrived, deciding what it was I wanted to try first. Candle-making? Nah, not enough leftover wax laying around. Surfing? Already learned how to do that (the hard way—by face diving into rocks and shells) back in college. Make myself a dream-catcher? Not so sure Sean would want a homemade dream catcher hanging within the bedroom. And then I found it…a description of how to waltz and the history behind it. I’ve been on this big kick watching Dancing With The Stars (Gilles TOTALLY should have won!) and perhaps it was time that I, myself, learned the dances that I judged so harshly every week on ABC.   I yelled loudly for Sean, who was working in the other room, to come quickly.

He came running in with his inking pen still in hand. “What?” He looked worried…oops.

“Um, I need your help writing this article.”

“Right now?”

“If you don’t mind.” I smiled sweetly. He sighed dramatically and went to wash the ink off his hands.
By the time he returned I had already found a good song on iTunes….I have no idea the name or composer, but it was a classical song. I had the book propped open on the floor in the middle of the room by my feet.  It took a few seconds before he realized what he needed to do and before he could turn and run the other direction, I grabbed his arm pulling him into me.

I thought that getting into position would be the easy part, but surprisingly it’s more complicated than holding hands and waists while facing each other. As the woman, my left hand lies on his shoulder and my arm is supposed to rest on his arm…only Sean is a LOT taller than me. This was way more difficult than I thought it would be. And of course my other hand was in Sean’s. But that’s not all—in the waltz, you don’t actually FACE each other. The position is more of a “V” shape and you step in between each other’s legs…which makes perfect sense and is therefore easier not to step on each other’s toes.

So next, we focused on the steps. For me (the follower), I begin with my right foot backward, left foot to the side and right foot together. Then left foot forward, right foot to the side and left foot together. You think that’s all, don’t you? Not so much.

“This is easy enough,” Sean looked up from his feet and smiled at me.

“But we’re supposed to be alternating when we’re on our heels and when we’re on our toes.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means we’re supposed to look like this,” and I started rising up and down like some sort of weird pop-up toy.

Sean looked at me curiously. “We’re supposed to look like THAT while dancing.”

“Well, not this EXACTLY. But that’s the gist, yeah.”

He didn’t say anything but just stared at me.

“Ok, FINE,” I continued, “Let’s learn how to turn.”

This also proved to be more difficult than we anticipated and resulted in tripping a few times. We never quite got the rising and falling part of the waltz, but we did learn the steps and we even managed a few turns.

The awesome thing about this dance is that once you learn the basic steps, it’s fun and easy and you can talk and laugh while doing it…not like tango when Sean and I took those lessons. It was so hard that if I was doing anything other than thinking about the steps, I’d fall. And the great thing about this book is that it describes the history of what it’s teaching as well in a fun, light and informative tone.

Amazingly, we made it through 2/3 of the song before we made a mistake or stumbled…which for the first time waltzing…I’d say that’s pretty good! Does anyone else out there know how to waltz? Care to learn? I challenge you to make it through a whole song without a stumble! Seriously….leave me a comment, tell me how it goes.

They’re twins. I think I’ll call them Francesca and Paola. Because they are so obviously Italian.

Here’s hoping that they won’t end up giving me blisters!

I’ve hit the proverbial wall with writing. Well, I actually hit it a while ago…but I’m finally now addressing the issue. There’s a scene in Run, Fat Boy, Run where Simon Pegg’s character hits the runner’s wall. And he literally, in his exhausted delusional state, sees a brick wall in front of him which he peers through the cracks and sees himself on the other side urging him to break through. That’s how I feel. There’s a brick wall in front of me and on the other side I can see myself sitting with my laptop urging my other self to hurry up and start writing quality stuff again.

I used to spend much more of my days writing. And not just little descriptions of what I did that day, but short stories based on what had happened to me. I miss those…I feel like I had really hit my stride with that type of story telling.  And I want to make an effort to find that again.

It’s tough though…when I first moved to New York, I was very lonely. I had no concept of how little people actually saw each other…unless you worked together or lived within the same few block radius. Friends whom I had hung out with every day in college, I ended up only seeing once a month. If I was lucky. No one at work was my age, I didn’t like my roommates (at the time…not you, Lindsey!) and most of my friends lived either in Harlem or in Brooklyn. A lot of times I would go sit in Union Square and watch people. Watch everyone else with friends. Yes, I know…a bit self-deprecating, but aren’t we all at sometimes?

And then I discovered New York coffee shops. You weren’t expected to meet any friends there. No one cared if you were drinking alone or if you were meeting with a whole table full of people…they only cared if you sat at that table for too long taking up precious space.  And this is where I started writing. I had always been drawn to coffee shops, but here in my loneliest moments is when I used it to take myself back to times when I wasn’t lonely–whether that was earlier that same week or years earlier in college.

And now that I have many more friends and a very busy freelance job and a boyfriend/roommate whom I see and hang out with constantly and two dogs to care for…I guess that empty space that used to be there (that empty space which had to be filled with writing) no longer exists. And I think my art has suffered for it. I need to find a way to regain the need and the passion to write without sacrificing my happiness. Has anyone else hit these sort of walls? I mean, I’m sure we all have…but I’m curious if anyone has any suggestions.

I was walking home from walking a dog (Yes, I dogwalk to make extra cash) Thursday morning, when I saw this amidst flashing lights:

That’s right. It’s a car. That drove through a deli in Park Slope. Now let’s rewind about 30 minutes earlier before I had walked the dog.

I was walking to the person’s house a little before 9am that morning. Literally, it was probably 8:57am. I was famished. My stomach was cramping, I was so hungry. And I passed this deli…Deli In The Slope. I desperately wanted an egg sandwich, but I had promised to be there by 9am and didn’t want the poor dog waiting any longer to pee. Plus, the place didn’t look open, which I thought was odd for a Thursday morning. So I forged ahead…and it’s a good thing I did. If I hadn’t, it’s very likely that I would have been on the sidewalk at the time this car crashed through the window.

I don’t know all the details, except that the man driving had a heart attack when he crashed and is currently in critical condition. But I do know, according to one report, that he crashed at 9:02am. I  missed this by a matter of minutes. Which is terrifying.