Friday Oct 2 2009
I'm staying at the Harbor Court Hotel by the Embarcadaro on the bay. An already beautiful setting is enhanced by sensational weather, full of balm and charm, elaborated with white caps on blue waves. It's hard to beat this combination, particularly when some of the best food in the bay area takes place or is sold a nanosecond across the street.
A second day spent in the compay of young mothers and in some cases young fathers enacting their familial duties around others of their class as they swing and sway to an internal melody.
The various strands are thus: white mothers with Asian children, Asian caretakers with white children, Hispanic caretakers with white kids in tow, white mothers toting their Hispanic children, the occasional grandmother accompanying at least one of the parents. I think I saw twins of different races, but perhaps it was only a caretaker for youngsters from differet families. I've become obsessed with all the different racial and cultural combinations. So unimaginable many years ago in suburban St. Louis when my children, now parents on their own, were little ones and everyone looked the same.
Not only have the racial and social stereotypes been blasted since I was a young mother, but the equipment! Oh my god, the equipment! Strollers made to the specifications of Humvees, sturdy enough to carry the multitude of things, dozens and dozens of things, that accompany the children on their outings. Large insulated bags holding plastic boxes filled with snacks and sippy cups of all sizes, Mom's coffee in oversized mugs, hats, sunscreen, bottled water, towelettes, wash cloths, towels, dry clothes, cameras, cell phone...ooops, not just plain old cell phones but iPhones, Blackberries, and whatever brand has just succeeded those favorites. It's as if all the mothers in the Bay area are equipped and ready to organize a latter day landing at Normandy, but without the enemy at their heels. I'm exhausted watching this highly organized and sternly efficient parenting, and wondering how I ever pulled it off. But, then, perhaps I did it all wrong?
When the Discovery Museum closes its doors at 4, we leave, me far more exhausted than 2-year old Kiko. He's able to pass out as soon as his mother revs the car. I have to wait for a rest until we return to her house. Suitably revived a bit later, Debbie and I cap off a lovely day with a delicious dinner at Catch, a happenin' eatery in the Castro. Fried kalamata olives with feta cheese delish.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Today I visited a small children's park in Noe Valley with Debbie and Kiko. It was late afternoon on a beautiful autumn day. The park was crowded with young middle class children and parents. Usually mothers or sitters. Some fathers. One couple, with a crawling little girl, was in fact two fathers. What struck me most about the difference in being at an urban children's park today and being at them in NYC 10-12 years ago with my older grandchildren is cell phones. All the grownups used them, even the Guatamalan sitter pushing two children on swings. The tall good looking black father, all the blonde mothers, the Hispanic sitters--they all had cell phones and used them. A lot.
