LIVIN THE DREAM /  by Micaela

Years ago I worked on a shoot for a prom magazine (classy!) wherein I had the prop stylist buy about a hundred helium balloons.  As luck would have it that very same day my mom was having a 60th birthday bash so I volunteered to take the balloons home, not really thinking about the logistics of hailing a cab on a Friday at 5pm with several dozen helium balloons and then convincing said cab driver to take me to Brooklyn (it took a while).

As I guided my floating herd of balloons down the street I was treated like a rock star by everyone under age 10.  I handed out balloons to every kid I passed and their faces lit up like little lanterns of awe and joy.  It was pretty fabulous. The point of this long winded story is that walking down the street with all these helium balloons gave me an inkling into what it must feel like to be a fire fighter.

Aunt Aggie, who works for the NYC Fire department arranged for Roan to get a private tour of Hook & Ladder 148 in Borough Park (all other aunties - the ante has officially been upped!)  The job requirements of a fire fighter must read thusly:  willing to put life and limb at risk at all times for strangers, AND must be extremely tolerant and patient with small children asking you a million questions and tugging at your clothes at all other times.  Roan was completely star struck to the point of almost being shy. Shy!  Roan!  He got to climb on the truck, push all the buttons, and sweep the floor (his idea).  One of the firemen slid down the pole from the second floor and another even got dressed in all the gear just for the occasion. Every single guy we met there was fantastically generous and kind with us. 

I will note here that my photos aren't great or very thorough and that is because I wanted to actually experience the joy on my child's face firsthand rather than view the entire event from behind the screen of a camera, as I am often prone to doing. 


As if the day wasn't awesome enough, we started with waffles

The fire house

A beautiful old building

Fire truck!

Ladders!

A gong!

I don't know what's going on with Roan's shirt here, but this guy was so nice

Aggie helps Roan slide down the pole

Gear

Cones!

Thanks for the visit!


BBALL /  by Micaela

Current obsession:  Basketball

He can't sit still but seriously, how many other kids his age can do this? (I'm impartial I swear)


WILD BOYS /  by Micaela

My friend Kristy sent me this link to an article on a very apropos topic around here, about what the author calls AITP syndrome (Ants in the Pants syndrome), which Roan suffers from incessantly. 

Having grown up in a small Manhattan apartment my concept of a normal, spacious childhood is fairly skewed.  I pretty much didn't go outside unescorted by an adult until I was 10.  I hated gym class and favored hand clapping games over tag. But I am sure the contrast of city vs country childhoods resonates strongly with Sam, who moved to the Scottish countryside from London at age 7.  He had the kind of unfettered scale-a-tree or build-a-mudslide type of childhood that most city boys would envy.  There was far less structured lesson time and far more wander-in-a-field-and-hunt-rabbits time.

Roan is a kid who has to move.  All the time.  So it's been a challenge to find ways to give him the space and the freedom that he physically seems to crave daily.  I think the other issue, aside from space, is the value judgements that adults - especially teachers and administrators - place on physical expression.  It's almost as if they see no link between moving your body and using your brain.  We've already heard the complaint many times "he can't still", to which I replied "what is so important to him about sitting still?" to which no one has a clear answer.  It's important to them  because it's much easier to manage 15 or 30 (or 900) kids when they are sitting still, but that really isn't about what's best for the kids is it?

I went to NYC public school and always felt confident that my kids would go (and let's face it, there's no way I'm sending my kid to some school for $40,000 a year so they can learn to snort coke at the rich kids' houses while their parents are in the Hamptons).  But I am starting to become concerned that a kid like Roan is going to have a really, really hard time in a system that values stillness above all else. And where all acknowledged intelligence is associated with books and computers.  

To me Sam is the perfect example of how not everyone is meant to learn in the same way because not everyone is meant to have the same skills or the same jobs.  I took Roan to visit Sam's studio, which he shares with his business partner Ben, and he was enamoured of every single thing. 

You can see their work at http://samandbenmakethings.blogspot.com/


Going for a ride of the freight elevator

This is the first thing I saw when i got there.  Charming

Band saw

Paint and more paint

Safety first

Studio Mantra

Everything is organized in such a "Sam" way

Diaper change on the table saw (pre potty training)

Daddy's boy

Every inch of the space is used cleverly

Studio art

Another day at the office

Sam gave Roan a tour of all the tools and toys.  Not a bad "Take your Son to Work" experience.


Then Sam put Roan to work in the back yard.


AH, CHILDHOOD /  by Micaela

Upon emailing my mom about potty training progress, she responded with this little nugget of history that I just couldn't keep all to myself.  

Peach (that's what she calls me - OK now you know, don't tease me),
I forgot to say congratulations on the way potty training is going.  Pooping in the potty is a big deal, and believe it or not, I remember the first time I pooped in the big potty.  I was very proud of myself, and then my Mom flushed.  I remember feeling devastated that something that belonged to me had just disappeared forever.  Ah, childhood.

Love,
Mom

My mother, the woman who still occasionally gets lost on the way to my house from the subway but can remember this moment from when she was a toddler.  The mind is mysterious indeed.

Also, let it be known that she was potty trained at 16 months by my grandmother who, as a farm child at the tail end of 12 kids probably potty trained herself, and I assure you there was no "No Cry Potty Solution" shit going on there. 

Grandma Soup, when she was still little Susie Odgers, and Mr. Chips

PRACTICE /  by Micaela

Today was day 1 of potty training.  It was a long day but we got through it.

Nerd that I am, I made posters with lists of potty training tips- techniques to lure, encourage, and cajole the little man to the loo. I thought they would be handy in the coming weeks to occasionally refer to when we are having difficulty. We ran through all of them in the first hour.

Here is one of our finer moments.  I know this is way TMI and Roan will kill me when he's a teenager, but I can't resist. Video courtesy of Sam.

A DAY TO MYSELF /  by Micaela

I had the most divinely luxurious day all to myself. There was no school for spring break and the idea of 5 straight days of unstructured time with Roan made me queasy, so I booked my mom to watch Roan on Friday (thank you mom).

I met my mom at Grand Central Terminal for the handover.  She took him to Nick Cave's horse exhibit there while I started my day of decadence by hitting Jo Malone up for some free samples.  Then I went uptown to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  It was a perfect, crisp spring day. The Met is my old stomping ground.  My elementary school was a block away and my best friend Cecelia and I used to go to the Met during lunch period and run around the exhibits until we got shooed out by the guards.

There was a Willian Eggleston exhibit that I was intrigued to see because he's not someone you would expect to be at the Met.  It was a nice show but I'd already seen most of the prints elsewhere. The piece I was really blown away by was Street by James Nares.  It was completely mesmerizing. Any description I give will not do it justice, so all I will say is that it is amazing how compelling ordinary life is when you slow it way way down.  I wandered through the insane medieval gates and into the meticulously recreated European palace rooms, where the tea sets are out on the gilded tables as if waiting for guests.

Grand Staircase at the Met

I needed a bit of an antidote to all the high art so I left and went to H & M (I am amazed at how much time I used to spend wandering through shops not even buying things, just perusing,  before I had kids.  Such a luxury!) and then to the famous Grey's Papaya on 86th and 3rd Ave for lunch.  I was inspired to take some photos in homage to Eggleston.



Next I went for the ultimate in Upper East Side indulgences - although on the UES they're not really a luxury, they're pretty much standard issue.  However, I made a pact with myself that I could only go for the mani/pedi if I did some reading I have been putting off - desperately overdue!


Lastly, to maximize my ultimate "me" day I went and saw a matinee movie by myself.  It was perfect- not an earth shattering movie but a decent psychological thriller.  I even got Reeses Pieces. 


After, in a daze of day darkness and refined sugar I went to pick up Roan at my moms.  He had blue hands from dying Easter eggs.  She let him have pancakes AND waffles for lunch.

Magnified

To all you busy moms and dads out there, I cannot recommend having a day like this enough.  Call in sick from work, blackmail the babysitter, anything you can do to get an entire day to yourself and just do it.  It helps you to remember that you are a person, an entirely separate entity from all of your beloved dependents.


SO, THIS HAPPENED /  by Micaela

We have a bit of an architectural dilemma in our apartment, which is that in order to get to the back yard you have to go through Roan's bedroom (First World problems, I know).  Now that it's spring I have been trying to spend as much time as possible in the back gardening (which for me mostly means picking up 4 months of leaves and dog poop), so I've been putting Roan down for his nap in my bed. 

The first few times worked great, I created a sort of nest out of foam pillows,  but yesterday when he woke up (unless he never actually went to sleep) he must have gotten a bit curious.  I opened my bedroom door to find him sitting in the middle of a tornado of bedsheets with all the lights on, one of my bras hanging around his neck, hair like a firecracker, and the whole entire room reeking of Vicks Vaporub.   I found the empty jar of Vicks as well as an empty jar of my face cream (which was brand new).  I said "Roan, where did you put all the Vicks and the lotion??"  to which he joyfully replied "EVERYWHERE".

I was so stunned that it didn't even occur to me to take a picture, so I have used my skills as a photo researcher to find you an approximate illustration of the scene I was met with.


WE ARE FAMILY /  by Micaela

When I was pregnant a funny thing happened more often than not when I told people I was having twins; they would say "do twins run in your family?" At first I thought it was a sort of benign question (ie "do you know if you're having a boy or a girl?"),  and I would reply "oh yes, they're are lots of twins and actually triplets too".  Over time, of course, I realized that people were fishing for IVF.

The more I became immersed in the culture of pregnancy, the culture of multiple births, and into the myriad of ways that babies were created, I felt this rift in the acceptance of those who had "natural" births and those who didn't.  Many people were fixated on the notion that if it didn't just "happen naturally" that maybe you weren't meant to have a child, or maybe God didn't want you to have a child, or that you were selfish for trying so hard to populate the earth when children were starving, etc etc. Somehow, saying that I had twins in my family felt like I was "defending" something I didn't think needed defending. I didn't want to hide anything, but I didn't want to affirm anyone's prejudices about how other people made their families.

I always wanted a family.  Even at my darkest, most pierced, and grungy I knew I would probably have a husband and kids some day.  The scenario in my head went "meet a guy, work on my career, get pregnant the moment I feel like we're ready, have a couple of kids, have a happy family, maintain career seamlessly throughout". I took for granted that this would happen.  Obviously that didn't work out the way I wanted.  Lula was the baby in mind, but not her illness, not her pain, and not her death. But she is still my family as much as Roan and Sam and always will be.

The truth is that, genetically speaking,  Sam and I are not meant to be together.  Although we have been together for 16 years, since I was 20 years old, nature made us incompatible.  Because we each carry some mysterious recessive gene, the odds of which are in the millions upon millions, we will always have a 25% chance of creating another Lula. Darwinistically speaking, we are to be weeded out 1 in 4 times. 

Does that mean that we aren't meant to be a family?  I don't think so.  I think Roan's mischevious seawater eyes are my answer to that every day.  I think Lula made Sam and I better parents, and better as husband and wife because we had to fight so hard only to have her taken from us by the same nature that created her.  If we ever decide to have another child it will have to be IVF.  It will be as unnatural as they come, geneticists combing through viable embryos to find the ones that are unlike my beloved baby girl.  Or we could leave it to chance and run the risk that God or the universe or nature intended for us to suffer twice. We may never even get there, but if we do my money's not going to be on nature.

In the end it doesn't matter how a family is made, only that the people who define themselves as such are committed to taking care of each other in the most profound and sustaining ways.  People who are not allowed to do that because it's "unnatural" are made to suffer for no good cause whatsoever.  Lonely people do not make for a better society. 

I am sure there are some people out there who married their high school sweetheart, and they were the exact same race, class, and religion and the exact opposite gender.  I am sure they got pregnant the first try and never got morning sickness, and had the exact number of kids they wanted.  I am sure there are families where everyone is healthy and not one single family member struggles or is different or challenged in any way.  But I've never known one.  And if they are the only ones who are entitled to have families in this country there will be very, very few families indeed.

WINTER WONDERLAND /  by Micaela

Maybe it's just a factor of age, but I am so over winter.

For the first time in my life I have an inkling as to why people move to places like Sun City in Arizona, where old people toot around on golf carts down the highway and have orange trees in their front yards whose oranges you aren't allowed to actually eat. Such a thought, and the notion of missing the magical winter wonderland of the intrepid New York snow storm, was bizarre and depressing to me just a few years ago. 

The only way to survive is to experience it vicariously through my jubilant little boy, which I know is cheating.  I always swore to myself that I would not turn him into a proxy for my own feelings because it was not fair to him, but fuck it, it's winter and I'm tired. The last bitter days of cold are stubbornly hanging on here even though the daffodils have peeked their stalks up through the snow and I feel as though I am just holding my breath until I can peel off one more layer.

Even Sam- who is from Scotland for gods sake and a fervent snow sport enthusiast - has been lacking in love for the winter.  We did manage, however, to have some utterly joyous moments in the snow in the past few months, before retreating for hot coffee and bagels.

 The first big snowstorm we went to the park with Roan's friend Cole. Cole is a classmate of Roan's and as luck would have it we knew his parents through a friend and they are great, which makes playdates all the more appealing.  Roan and Cole get along so well and Cole seems to inspire better behavior in Roan, which is great.

Fort Greene Park is perfect for sledding

Roan and Cole get a lift

Cole and Roan

Last month Sam planned a mini vacation for us.  I think I can safely say that this was the first time in nearly 16 years that he planned an entire vacation by himself with only minimal nagging from me.   We just needed to get out of the city desperately.  Sam found this crazy, fabulous place called  The Roxbury Motel in the Catskills.  It was quite something and really quite perfect.  We got one of the simplest, smallest rooms and still had glitter wallpaper and no fewer than 5 polka dot pillows on the bed.  It had a spa and a jacuzzi and was near skiing.  They arranged for us to have dinner at a nearby restaurant called The Peekamoose, which I have to say was as good as any restaurant in Brooklyn, but with an impressive kids play area and an outdoor fireplace where you could toast marshmallows.

Roan in the lap of luxury, snacking on the bed with the iPad
First Jacuzzi experience.  He loved it!

Then we went off to the mountain for skiing, which I always slightly dread. All the set up, the gear, the schlepping, the cold, the cost, clumping around like Frankenstein in boots that garotte my ankles only to be terrified of death or serious injury hardly seems worth it. Sam, on the other hand, could live on a slope. Which way would Roan go?  I think it's obvious.

We borrowed his friend Zephyr's tiny snowboard

Going up at Belleayre

Two peas in a pod

It was insane what a natural he was.  I promise not to be one of those braggy parents who is convinced that every crap their kid takes is a work of genius, but I have to say I was blown away.  The instructors on the mountain were blown away.  When we went skiing in Hokkaido in Japan every third person blowing down the mountain was about 3 years old but I guess here it's not so common, thus the fuss.

Check me out!
Balancing act


He practiced for a good 2 hours the first day.  For a kid who can't sit still for 5 minutes I think this level of focus is remarkable. 


Sam got a little over ambitious and tried to take him down an entire run which was a bit exhausting and stressful, but only for Sam.


Thanks to the very knowledgeable guy on the ski rental department I actually had a great time myself.  He asked me what kind of skier I was and I said "Terrified.  I like ambling down gently and I'm petrified of going fast or falling" and he said "OK I'll give you short skis then"  and he gave me short, fat skis that were half my height.  They were a revelation.  So much easier to manage and not get all tangled up, and I sauntered gently downward on every run.  It was really lovely.

The next day we went to another mountain, Plattekill, and did something called Snow Tubing.  The snow had hardened into sheet ice so holy shit it was fast.  The only part Roan didn't like was getting snow in his face so Sam lent him goggles.




We linked our tubes together and went flying downhill. You can hardly feel the cold at this speed.

CHRISTMAS IN THE SUN /  by Micaela

We went to Barbados for Christmas because we just couldn't stand the thought of being home this year.   In true modern family fashion, "we" was my sister, my mom, my dad, my stepmom, me, Sam and Roan. I was worried I would miss all the tradition and festivity.  Nope. I am now, forever more, a worshipper of the winter sun.




































ONE YEAR IN /  by Micaela

A friend who also lost a child once said that one year after was the darkest time in her life.  I couldn't fathom how any time could be worse than the immediate tangible loss of the days after Lula's last breath, but now I know exactly what she meant. The adrenaline that flushed my body in the aftermath mixed with grief like a surreal cocktail that made me drunk with a flourish of gratitude and earnestness.  It's a hazy vacation in a horrifying parallel universe where nothing seems like it's a part of your own life anymore.

In a year the buzz has worn off.  Now I am here and she is not.  The only experience that seems parallel to me is that of soldiers returning home from combat. It seems absurd to try to go back to a "normal" life, but there is nothing else to do.  I am no longer the same person, but there is no other play for me to act a part in than the one that was written as my day-to-day life before Lula.

In some ways there is nothing more overwhelming for me than the good intentions of other people.  I can sense the tightness, the gently prodding urgency from those who care about me to feel from me that I am OK so that they can be OK. A new job? Or grad school? Or maybe a new career?  Maybe a new baby?  I've had 3 different people ask me if I was pregnant within the last year.  Isn't that amazing?  That anyone could fathom that possibility just shows how wide the chasm is between where I am and where others would imagine I might be.

In the space of 2 1/2 years my world shrank from the world to my apartment and further still into myself.  I'm like Russian nesting dolls; there's a smaller me inside of every me and the more I open myself up the smaller and smaller I become. But what else it there to do?  Keep busy?  I will tell you that doesn't work.  That catches up with you when you have busied yourself into total distraction. 

I took a freelance job as a photo editor at a news magazine and thought I was doing fine until 20 children were killed at Sandy Hook Elementary school.  I had to find the photos of twenty dead 6-year olds almost exactly one year after Lula died.  I white knuckled it through work every day that week and sobbed on the subway home every night.  I was still feeling what all those parents were feeling and knew how much worse it would get.  I barely made it through that job and haven't worked since. 

The literary device, "a willing suspension of disbelief", is defined by Wikipedia as this:

...the willingness of the audience to overlook the limitations of a medium, 
so that these do not interfere with the acceptance of those premises.  These fictional 
premises may also lend to the engagement of the mind and perhaps
proposition of thoughts, ideas, art and theories.

Suspension of disbelief is often an essential element for a magic act or a circus sideshow act.
 For example, an audience is not expected to actually believe that
 a woman is cut in half or transforms into a gorilla in order to enjoy the performance.

Actually, I think we need this trick to get ourselves through day to day existence.  Once the illusion that you are assured a measure of safety, that the universe is somehow looking out for your well-being evaporates,  your whole story collapses.  How do you build on to anything after that? You are left with a minefield of your own making.  

I don't know what to say to all those who want me to be OK.  Right now I'm standing in a mine field trying to find a path and everyone is going to have to wait patiently until I map a way out.

GREAT EXPECTATIONS /  by Micaela

"Your blog is great, you should really do something with it". 

It was a well meaning directive of a friend that managed to achieve exactly the opposite of its intent.  I thought the blog was doing something?  Still, it made me think; what am I doing this blog for?  What is it's purpose?  Who is the audience?  Where is this supposed to take me?  What was it supposed to do?

It is the kind of reckoning that I have never been comfortable with.  I seem to be much better at things before anyone has any expectations about whatever it is I am endeavouring to do (including myself).  My first love, photography, began as a completely self-motivated exercise.  Since I went to a brainy math and science school my little hobby was of no consequence, which was just how I wanted it.  Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.
 
The more involved I became, however, with the career of photography, with the industry, with the million other visions competing for the same few eyes, the more I retreated.  I am aware of how petty and immature I sound to say it, but the more people ask me to show them something the less I want to do anything worth seeing.

I am feeling a bit like that about blogging.  What started as a vague need to update people en masse about the endless goings on of the babies evolved into a mouthpiece for me. At the time I was experiencing a tragically unique situation and I was trapped in my house, so my need to feel connected was pretty desperate.  But I am not at all comfortable with sharing so much "me" so much of the time.   My posts started to feel a bit self aggrandizing. And while I was most happy to share the pain of my situation with other people out there who had experienced something similar, to everyone else I felt a bit like I was in the car crash on the highway being soaked up by the slowly passing eyes in other vehicles.

It is odd to ask this, it is ridiculous in fact, to ask for a bit of privacy on a blog that anyone can see. But ultimately I think it is good for my head and my heart to keep this process going, to fight the urge to swallow it whole when it begins to crumble. So I suppose what I am saying is that I would be most grateful to a silent audience, that I as I am struggling to figure out what private part of my voice I am able to share I have the privilege of no expectations.

Unless, of course, you have a book deal to offer me, then I will probably consider anything.

A DREAM /  by Micaela

The day after Lula died, someone told me a dream.  I keep it with me like the locket around my neck. Like my L and R tattoos, I revisit it constantly, retracing it with my thoughts.

Lula had several therapists who came to work with her at our house on a daily basis.  One of them I liked especially, a feeding therapist, but she had to leave because she was pregnant and a therapists'  job can be quite physical.  The day after Lula died she showed up at my door and I looked at her face - she has a beautiful, open face - and I knew she had lost her baby.  She looked pained, almost startled. She told me she wasn't pregnant any more.  She came inside and told me her dream.

When she was pregnant she and her husband discussed names for the baby, as all expectant parents do, and they could never seem to quite agree.  At one point her husband said that she could name the baby whatever she wanted but insisted, "just don't call him Pablo!"  So, of course, she started to call the baby Pablo, and they affectionately referred to the baby as Pablo after that.

There were complications and she lost Pablo.  It was agony.  She was devastated and frightened and sad. And so angry.  A couple of weeks later she had a dream about Pablo.  He was standing in front of a tree branch in the sky among the clouds.  He was a 3 or 4 years old, a healthy little boy. He spoke and said "don't cry mommy, it's ok, I'm ok". To his left was a little girl about the same age in a white dress with a scalloped collar and bangs. He pointed to her and said "she's ok too, see she can eat". She was holding a slice of cantaloupe.  She smiled as she ate it.

It was Lula.   She had never safely been able to eat very much by mouth in real life, but she loved gnawing on pieces of cantaloupe, which the therapist often gave to her. In the dream Lula was a happy little girl and Pablo was happy too and they were keeping each other company.

She had this dream two weeks before Lula died.  She hadn't worked with Lula in months. At the time the dream confused her but made her feel a little bit better.

When she told me this dream it was a moment of utter clarity.  I knew that Lula's life was meant to be exactly what it was for exactly as long as it was.  I knew that she was no longer in pain, no longer frightened or suffering. I knew we had done the right thing in letting her go.

I don't really believe in religion or reincarnation or spirits or ghosts.  But I believe in, I guess "energy" for lack of a better word, and I believe that we pass it like a torch to one another.  I believe that we all take care of each other even after we are gone from this earth.

THE LULA PROJECT /  by Micaela

This project is for Lula Neave Walker Murray, who died on December 4, 2011 after a challenging eighteen months on this earth.


Lula taught us that everyone has something to contribute, so we asked people to create a "Lula" in her honor and memory and send it to us. Thus far we have received over 100 Lulas from friends, family, and total strangers from all over the world.   If you would like to contribute to the project please email me a jpeg of your "Lula" with your name and location to mwalkerphoto@me.com

We learned from Lula that no ones' worth is determined by their wealth, talent, ambition, or status. A life of value is possible to anyone with a willingness to affect others lives for the better. Lula was a little girl who couldn't even hold up her own head, but could routinely galvanize others to see themselves and this world in a new light. 

In her brief time with us she taught us what is truly important; not your IQ, SATs, the pedigree of your college, the importance of your job, the size of your house, the speed of your car, the firmess of your abs, or the artisinalness of your tomatoes. All that is meaningful is that we take care of those we love and that we are good and generous to everyone. To us this project has proven exactly that.

Thank you, Lula Neave, for teaching us everything we ever need to know. 

Agata Adamowicz My Living Room, Brooklyn NY

Agatha Ponickly Glitter Tattoo, Brooklyn NY

Whitney for the Wangsten Family, Clermont Ave Brooklyn NY

Aunt Boo wearing Grandma Marions Ring, Prague

Becca and Ladybug Nahlia Howlett, Brooklyn NY

Becky Lichtenfeld Kitchen, London UK

Brian Hall, Brooklyn NY

Cecelia Rembert, Pier 6 Brooklyn NY

Charlie Adams, London UK

Claire Buchanan, Brooklyn NY

Clementina Fletcher Patio Doors, Bampton Oxfordshire

Corrie Moore Mums, Lawrence KS

Cousins Jamie Ronan Declan Dylan Lori Luca and Saire, Valley Forge PA

Amy Wegenaar, Brooklyn NY

Cristina and Ladybug William, Brooklyn NY

Dad Sawdust in the Woodshop, Brooklyn NY

Dave Cooper, Brooklyn NY

Deanna and Melanie Sanford Sewing Room, LucasTexas

Bret Sigler, Brooklyn NY

Jessica Torres, Canarsie Brooklyn NY

JoAnn Liguori Kisses in my Living Room, Brooklyn NY

Diana Oberlander, NYC

Karen Dumonet, Long Island City NY

Elizabeth Hutchison, NYC

Paul St.Savage Studio, Brooklyn NY

Eliza Factor, Brooklyn NY

Erin Prezkop, NYC

Eva Barash, Brooklyn NY

Forest Ray, Brooklyn NY

Gabe Banner, Calexico NYC

Grandma Soup, NYC

Claire Meidroth, Chicago IL

Heather Gray and Charles Kannair, Pittsburgh PA

Ingrid Goodwin First Snow, Budapest Hungary

Jessica Houser Christmas Cookies House of Houser Kitchen, Philly PA

Jim Sanford, DallasTexas

Joel Rachel and Ladybug Coco, Brooklyn NY

Kate Milford Extreme Kids and Crew Ballpit, Brooklyn NY

Kate Sigler Lulas World, Brooklyn NY

Katharine Heller, Brooklyn NY

Katie Schmidt, Radio City NYC

Aunt Cicely, London UK

Kia Davis, Tribeca NY

Ladybug Nico Yelling LULA! Brooklyn NY


Roans Class the Ladybugs at the Coop School, Bed Stuy Brooklyn NY

Molly Caruso Kitchen, Seattle WA

Leigh Hill Kader Kitchen Table, Brooklyn NY

Leigh Lumford, Prague

Lena Corwin, Brooklyn NY

Ana,  Brooklyn NY

Leslie Grossman Laser Pen on the Bathroom Wall

Libby Jagessaar, Brooklyn Bridge Park NYC

Lior Lev Sercarz at La Boite, NYC

Liz Galvin, Kensington Brooklyn

Lucy Matt Mimi and Esme Clermont Ave Brooklyn NY

Luke Wallace Marble Himalayan Pink Salt Kosher Salt Black Pepper, NYC

Jordan Kraft Garden, Cobble Hill Brooklyn NY

Lynisse Ladybug Cole Zara and Khemenic, Brooklyn NY

Jim Houser, Philly PA

Lynn and Harald Husum Appaman HQ, LES NYC

Ladybug Suraiya and Cherry Family, Brooklyn NY

Marina Naumovska Bedroom Rug, Brooklyn NY

Marisa, sister of Abby, an Extreme Kid!

Matt Holly Annie and Maisie, Brooklyn NY

Mom and Lulas Twin Brother Roan, Fort Greene Brooklyn NY

Aidan and Hazel McNary Magnetic Blocks, NYC

Mindy Dulberg at By Brooklyn Store, Brooklyn NY

Mistura Bashiru Lulas Favorite Nurse,  Brooklyn NY

Nadine Westcott Beckys Beach Brant Point, Nantucket MA

Dennis Sanford Woodworking Tools, TX

Grandpa Terry and Crandma Cam, London UK

Noemi Bonazzi and Claire Buchanan Island Neave Embroidery, Brooklyn NY

Nora Wojiechowski, Iron River MI

Olivia and Ladybug Conor Burgess, Brooklyn NY

Paloma Sanchez, Savannah GA

Cristina and Ladybug William, Brooklyn NY

Lisa and Lior Lev Sercarz Page from The Art of Blending, NYC

Penny Fyman, West Hempstead NY

Katharine Heller Above Barney's, NYC

Rachael Shapiro, Syracuse NY

Aunt Boos English Class on Saint Mikuláš Day, Prague

Granny Jos and Grandpa Neil on Murray Tartan, Cleish Hills House Scotland

Kristen Mulvihill, NYC

Rob Schipano, Oakland CA

Ryan Sanchez Bathroom Mirror, Savannah GA

Sacha Vega,  Brooklyn NY

Sharda Sekaran High School Necklaces, Brooklyn NY

Slavica Naumovska, Oakland CA

Sonya Rhee, Brooklyn NY

Stephen Mary Connor and Alexander, Grace Church On The Hill Toronto

Raymond Oberlander, NYC

Tim Hutchison Vegemite, Brooklyn NY

Vanessa Dumonet, HongKong

Lulas Twin Roan and Mom, Fort Greene Brooklyn NY

Dad in Flames, Brooklyn NY

Jean Louis Dumonet Kitchen, NYC

The Wallaces, Greenpoint NY
Cousins Erik Hailey and Joel Living Room, Colorado

Laurie Siegel Mullodzhanov's Kindergarten and First Grade Class

Michelle Zack, NYC

Rob Schipano, Who Stopped Traffic to Take This Photo, Toronto Canada

Whitney Bedford, Kauai HI
Bella Lincoln and Her Owner Jennifer, Edgewater NJ

Tina Layton, Brooklyn NY
Suzan Tom Devin and Serra Akyali, UES NYC

Ladybug Alexandra Hartmann, Brooklyn, NY

REQUEST TO ROAN AND LULA READERS /  by Micaela

I'd like to ask you all to contribute to a short, simple public art project of sorts in the days leading up to the anniversary of Lula's death a year ago.

I would like you to write, paint, scrape, sew, arrange or otherwise imprint the name "Lula" somewhere, anywhere, take a photo of your "Lula" and send it to me by Monday evening (December 3).

You can tag it on a subway tile, write it in noodles on the kitchen counter, scrawl it in the sand, or arrange post-it notes on your office wall. Any size and composition you want. Whatever inspires you, where ever you are.  Uppercase or lowercase letters are all good. Bonus points to anyone with an airplane who can do that sky writing thing. 

You don't have to spend much time on it at all- 5 minutes is plenty (although feel free to spend as long on it as you want). You can do as many as you want but one is great.

Please send me the image(s) as a jpeg if possible.  Please include:
Your Name
Where you took the picture (ie my Living Room, Dayton, OH)

Email me by 9pm EST Monday, December 3 at:
mwalkerphoto@me.com

Please Facebook this, forward it, and pass it on to any and everyone who might want to contribute.




VISIONS OF LIGHT /  by Micaela

We did a great light writing project this weekend at Extreme Kids and Crew.  We set up a seamless, a camera on a tripod, put Outkast on Pandora, and gave the kids all sorts of light-up things to express themselves with.  We did 15 second exposure images and let each kid or family do their thing.

I was a little worried beforehand that using flashing lights in a dark room might be a bit too much for the kids but they totally loved it.  It was so much fun for us too - a big shout out to Kia, Sharda, Kate, and Sam for helping me make this idea come to life.

Here's some of my favorites!

Caleb and Lauretta

Julian

Kieran, Gael, and Gillian

Carmen, Yahaira, and Luz

Carmen, Yahaira, and Luz

Augie and Emmet
You can see them all here!