I’m also a firm believer that “getting organized” is a skill that anyone can learn with patience and practice.
I have heard Dawn Falcone‘s name for many years as we live in the same neighborhood, but didn’t have the pleasure of meeting her until recently. She’s smart, warm, funny, stylish, and fantastic at what she does– helping you clear clutter and get organized to liberate yourself from chaos and stress and have more time for the good things in life! This can be especially life-saving when you are reorganizing your living space to bring home baby or want help setting up a cute and efficient nursery.
Here is a little bit more about Dawn, her work, being a mom, and how to find her!
1. What drew you to organizing? How do you approach this work?
I’ve organizing since I was a kid. I spent many a rainy Saturday clearing out our family fridge, kitchen cabinets, and junk drawers. Keeping things organized wasn’t my mom’s strong suit so I jumped in and took over in that area.
I approach this work from the inside out. I try to get to the root cause of the clutter so my clients can see their patterns and we can work from there. I’m also a firm believer that “getting organized” is a skill that anyone can learn with patience and practice.
2. What surprised you most about becoming a parent?
How truly exhausting it is – especially in the beginning. Friends and family told me it was but I didn’t believe them. Take naps with your baby, delegate, don’t stress about having a perfect clean house. Take time to bond, heal, and get into your parenting groove. [here’s where a postpartum doula can help!– Rachel]
3. What would be your #1 piece of advice for a new parent?
Go with the flow. Let go of the vision(s) you had about how parenthood was going to be. Things don’t always go according to plan but it will all work out and most of the time it’s even better than you imagined.
4. What are some things you and your son love to do in NYC?
We both love visiting the MET. He loves the Egyptian rooms and suits of armor. We’re a baseball family so trips to Yankee stadium are always a hit. My Monkey Boy is very active so we explore playgrounds and parks. NYC really has so much to offer kids and families.
5. If someone would like to find more information about working with you, what should they do?
Once upon a time, my husband (then boyfriend) and I were able to spend time taking short trips around Europe. Since we were vegetarian at the time, and most places in Europe weren’t super veg-friendly, we learned how to ask for a cheese sandwich in every language.
In Spain, where they like to slap some pork on everything, we were sustained by tortilla. We ate SO MUCH tortilla. I had never heard of it. Tortilla Española is not the flat flour or corn-based circle we are used to here in the US for quesadillas and such. No. Not even close.
It is great for any meal or snack. It tastes amazing. It is probably impossible to mess up. I couldn’t get over the deliciousness. What is in here? I wondered. Is it REALLY vegetarian? It just tasted so rich, I thought there MUST be something else there that the Spanish were keeping hush-hush.
But no! It is a deceptively simple concoction of potatoes, onion, olive oil, eggs, and salt. That is it. While I know potatoes are sent from heaven, I never would have believed that something so yummy came from this short list of common ingredients. Thus, the Spanish tortilla is always what I think of with regard to the phrase: the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.
Because that is exactly what I think whenever I try to explain doula work to someone! It can appear that a doula is just someone to hold your hand, whisper encouragement, get you a snack, and so forth. And it can be all of those things, or at least, it looks like that on the surface.
What you DON’T see is how I’m carefully watching you and your support person. Reading how you’re feeling. Figuring out what might be helpful, and if the time is right to suggest it or if silence is best. Thinking about HOW to say something in a way you’ll find useful. Finding the balance between fading into the background and being a strong presence. Willing the right words to come out of my mouth at the right time. Remembering that what worked like a charm for a previous client might be annoying as hell for you. Knowing when to use a supportive touch. Translating labor and your needs for your partner, and letting your partner interpret you for me.
After digging deep into my knowledge, experience, intuition, and tuning in to your unique family, your preferences, and your particular situation, squeezing your hand might be the end result. That’s the part you see.
A good doula is greater than the sum of his or her parts. The best doula makes it deceptively simple. You might think I’m just a standard issue Idaho potato, but you’re gonna get a tortilla that will blow your mind.
My grandmother died Monday morning. I want to talk about her as I knew her, as her granddaughter.
Nana was a wonderful grandma in that she was always so full of life and energy and fun. We would go visit her in Miami frequently while growing up in the Midwest, where she lived for over four decades. I have so many fond memories of days at the beach, walks to feed ducks, playing in her pool, getting manicures with her, having the run of her apartment, playing on the balcony and scaring the old folks down below. I can still remember the smell of the building lobby, and the garbage chute, the hallways and her home, and Miami in general. We’d fight over the right to push the button to her floor so my dad would suggest selecting 13. I remember playing with her cats, Sheba and then Rocky. I remember how my legs would stick to the white vinyl dining room chairs around the glass dining table. There were mirrors everywhere— my brother ran into one full speed in the lobby once. I remember meeting her friends, and her third husband who we called Grandpa as he was the only grandpa we’d ever know. I remember my brother Danny and I hiding behind her couch and making a list of every word for “butt” that we knew. I would raid her giant stash of perfume samples in those tiny glass vials. I was her first grandchild, and for nearly 2 decades, her only granddaughter, so she called me Princess until my cousin Sarah came along and the crown was passed down.
I remember when I was in third grade and innocently drawing swastikas not knowing what they were— just copying from a kid in school who probably also didn’t know what they were. The ferocious lecture I got left quite an impression. She would later tell me how awful it was to live through war time, how happy everyone was when WWII was over.
I remember going with her to interior design shops and later to Raymond’s various places— some rich guy she worked for as an assistant for a time. We even inherited some of his furniture along the way. Her life seemed glamorous. Her hair was always red and her make up always perfect. In the morning, she had to “put on her face.”
I would share her king sized bed with her when I’d visit. She’d snore like a jet engine on ‘roids. There was usually a Reader’s Digest in the bathroom. She took bubble baths.
She could obliterate you in Scrabble. Sadly, I did not inherit the Scrabble gene (also sadly, I did inherit the snoring gene). In fact, she was sharp til the end. She played bridge several times a week and read voraciously, especially mysteries. She was always ready to talk and kid around. Just days before she died, she was asking me what I thought about Trump and telling me that the hospital food was a joke. She had a HUGE infectious laugh. Her favorite book was The Diary of Anne Frank.
When I had a short hospital stay in second grade, she sent me a flower arrangement of lilacs in the shape of a poodle.
If you mentioned that someone wrote a book, she’d say, “I guess she had something to say.”
She lived a long life and had her ups and downs. She was widowed with 4 young children. She also buried a daughter and later a grandson far too young, and of course her parents and older siblings and a niece, and friends. When I explained to her about doula work a few years back, I was curious about her births. She had no memory of any of them. It was the era of twilight sleep.
Like most of us, as I got older, I didn’t see her as often. I did visit one New Year’s in the late ’90s with my friend Betty and her sister. Nana let us stay with her and do our own thing. I saw a whole new side of Miami, with South Beach and Cuban dancing. It was wonderful.
I also went down once to help her out after a cataract removal. I remember being so exhausted that I literally started falling asleep over dinner. She didn’t take it personally and just wondered why I didn’t say anything.
Marc and I went down in the spring of 2007 to visit her and take in some baseball spring training games. I was pregnant with Jonah. We went again four years later with Jonah and I was pregnant with Leo. I’m glad we had those visits. She usually came to visit around Thanksgiving. But this past Thanksgiving, she was unable to make it.
I’m a little surprised at how hard this is hitting me. I wouldn’t say we were particularly close, but we did keep in touch and saw each other once a year at least. It was hard to carry on a conversation as her hearing got worse. She was a huge part of my childhood, and the only grandparent we got to see regularly. As a kid, I didn’t understand why she would cry whenever it was time to say goodbye at the end of a visit. I would think, “What’s the big deal? We’ll see her again soon.” Now I get it, and know we’re only on this earth a short while. To state the painfully obvious, there’s something about death that is just so very … final. You can never hug them again or hear their voice or make a new memory.
Luckily, I had a work trip to Miami last week and added on a few days to visit with her. I didn’t get time with her as I’d hoped since she was unwell and in the hospital.But I’m so glad I got to see her and help a little bit. She was happy to see me, and I am happy I got to see her.
In the months and weeks leading up to your first baby’s arrival, it can feel like your to-do list is a mile long and there are 5,000 baby supplies that you MUST have and what do they do and where do you put them? Add to that the emotions and unpredictability of this major life change and it can feel like a bit … much.
Somewhere on most people’s lengthy list is taking a childbirth class. Maybe you are hoping for a certain kind of birth or maybe you just figure you should know a little more about what the hell’s going to happen on the big day or maybe your friends suggested it. In any case, you find one, pay up, and hopefully find it useful.
On an online message board for parents, someone was recently seeking advice about which class to take. Some people replied with strong recommendations, but most thought that the classes were a waste of time, that anything they learned flew right out the window once labor set in. This caught my attention as I now offer childbirth ed and I sure don’t want anyone to feel they’ve wasted their time and money. New Yorkers are busy as fuck and have no time for bullshit. This is why I chose to train with Your Birth Experience. I wanted to be able to offer clients something tailor-made, worthwhile, a perfect fit for anyone’s budget, availability, and questions. Something that cuts through the crap and offers the best information to support them through their birth experience.
While every course is individualized, it’s still helpful for me to hear what worked and what didn’t for others. Whether you took a class or not, it would be great if you could take and share this survey! You even get a chance to win an amazon gift card! My clients and I thank you for your help.
I knew I wanted a “natural birth.” I didn’t know exactly WHY I wanted that, or WHAT it meant exactly, or that it would be such a BIG DEAL to want that. I had a lot to learn. I knew that birth could be unpredictable and potentially complicated, but I wanted to do everything possible to increase my chances for a positive, healthy, natural birth.
The way we approach birth says so much about our personalities, families, cultures, and histories. Maybe you asked friends and family about their experiences (or you didn’t have to ask because they bombarded you with stories and “advice”), maybe you jumped in and forged ahead following your gut, maybe you went solely with advice from a trusted midwife or doctor. Maybe, like me, you read 101 books and solicited advice from online forums and a few select friends.
Following these practices are no guarantee, but they greatly increase your odds of having a birth that’s positive, safe, and healthy for you and your baby. For me, following these steps worked well. I knew I couldn’t control it all, but I wanted to feel in control of the things I could. Just like life.
One key step that isn’t mentioned here (but is addressed in the book) is to do your best to find a midwife or doctor and birth location that you trust. Ultimately, you’ll be working with your care provider to make decisions and having a trusting relationship will be critical. Good luck!
In 2002, I was planning a wedding and looking for the perfect dress. I went to all the main places in Manhattan, Brooklyn, and Queens. I finally found one I loved at a wonderful boutique shop, but the price was … high. Very high. Like $3K high. My very generous parents were covering the wedding and told me not to worry about it, they were happy to be able to pay for it. But it felt so gross to pay such so much for a dress to wear for one day.
So, I kept looking. I met with a dress maker and corresponded with another seamstress to see if they could make something similar. I felt embarrassed and silly but my mind kept coming back to that dress. I really did love it. My parents continued to insist that I just get it, but I felt extremely anxious about the whole thing. Who knows how many hours I spent hand-wringing about it. I finally rationalized the purchase deciding that I would sell it through eBay or consignment after the wedding and at least be able to reimburse some of the funds to my parents.
When all was said and done, the dress cost over $4K. I still felt bad, but went ahead. I loved the dress and am so happy I got to enjoy it for that day.
After the wedding, we went on our honeymoon for nearly 3 weeks. When we stopped by my parents’ place for a night on our way back to New York, after catching up on our trip, my mom got a tragic look on her face and told me she had some bad news.
Mom had taken the dress to a bridal specialist cleaner to do a professional cleaning and storage set up while we were away. When she called to see when she could come pick it up, they kept putting her off. Finally she just went in and asked to see it. They acted all weird and mortified but finally brought out the dress. The dress looked like it had been attacked by Cinderella’s stepsisters, run over by some monster trucks, and used to clean a few public bathrooms. It was bad. No one knew what had happened.
Mom was furious on my behalf. My new husband was so upset that I wouldn’t get to wear it again for more photos (dude, once was enough). But I was THRILLED. The cleaners were insured, and I had saved every receipt. We were able to submit them and my parents got back every dime. And I got to enjoy a dress I loved.
I just love how things work out like that sometimes, don’t you? It’s like it’s all being handled.
The dress designer was Peter Langer. I’d never heard of him before, but I still think his stuff is gorgeous. Someday, I’ll have him design all of my gowns.
Twenty odd years ago in my early twenties, I experienced the breaking up of a friendship that was the most deeply traumatic experience of that kind that I’d had before or since. It was a painful lesson that no matter how much you love someone or how good you are to them, it just might not matter at all in the end. If they have some other shit to deal with, and think they cannot deal with said shit with you around, or maybe believe that the shit is attached to you somehow, it can be quite easy for them to cut you out. And you’re sitting there completely bewildered, stunned, crushed. Neither your heart or mind can grasp why or how someone can turn like that.
For over a week, I cried myself to sleep alone in a hotel room. I was between apartments and was meant to stay with this friend until my new lease started but it quickly became evident that this was no longer possible. I could have stayed with other friends, but felt like way too much of a disaster. I needed the alone time, too, to try to start to make sense of what had happened and to grieve.
On one of those rough nights, I decided that I would no longer make decisions based on fear. It hit me that choices made out of fear wouldn’t save me, help me, protect me. They wouldn’t help me grow, to be a better person, to have a happier life. Choosing to be with someone because you’re afraid to be alone, or choosing to keep a shitty job because you’re afraid of taking a new risk, or choosing to stay in a city you hate because the devil you know… nothing good will come of this. From then on, I would make decisions based on love. Love for another person or myself or for adventure or for the planet, whatever it was.
In the years since, I have come back to this frequently. When I find myself at a crossroads, I make myself pause and really consider what is driving me to lean toward one choice versus another. If I find that underneath all of the logic and rationalizations and practicalities and intellectualizing is a big ole mountain of fear, I know that isn’t the correct choice. I know I have to go the other way. Maybe it’ll have to wait a month or a decade, but eventually I will have to go the other way. I thought I could cross this lesson off the list years ago…
Recently, however, I’ve been reminded of this as well as some other lessons I’ve been learning (and relearning) along the way. Some of us (like me) believe that saying that life gives you a lesson over and over until you figure it out already. I was smacked hard with the realization that while I know these lessons in my head– FEAR kept me from implementing them at critical moments. Life was all, LOL, let’s try this again, sweetheart. And now I’m like, oh fuuuuuuuuuuuckkkk. Right. I know this. Dammit. Ok. Try again. Learn again.
Some of these other lessons include trusting my intuition, being honest with myself and others– trusting that we can handle the truth because if we don’t, nothing good can come. In fact as I’m writing this, I’m realizing it all comes back to FEAR. Fear is why I didn’t follow the many lessons I’ve already learned.
People ask me all the time where the name “postmodern childbirth” comes from. I’ve probably been asked 3 times in 5 years, and I think 2 of those came from the same person. I thought it was time to finally answer this burning question.
I was in academia for a long time. Too long. (Hmm, that might be a theme with me– overstaying my welcome. But I digress.) One day while working in the beautiful Rose Reading Room of the main branch of the New York Public Library, I was daydreaming about being done with my studies and able to pursue doula work. I was reading yet another postmodern theorist and trying to figure out what the hell it had to do with my research. And while there are some postmodern writers who I truly enjoy (what up, Zygmunt Bauman), and I generally like the concept, there are many who are just spewing pretentious nonsense. It’s a real life version of The Emperor’s New Clothes.
I had started doing some doula work and wanted a name for the business. I didn’t want something place-based; it wasn’t interesting to me. I didn’t want to go the whole beautiful birthing belly radiant lotus yoni mother earth; it’s been done. Really done. I was trying to think of something unique and meaningful to me. It was one day, painfully slogging through yet another tome of dry academic blather, that “postmodern childbirth” came to mind. It was a nod to the world I was eager to escape, and also an acknowledgement that contemporary US women are, in fact, figuring out how to birth and parent in a postmodern world. I liked it.
Now both of you who have been dying to know the answer to this compelling mystery can finally sleep easy tonight. You’re welcome.
As for the elephants– I have always had a deep love for elephants. They are incredible creatures. I knew all along that I would incorporate them somehow. My talented friend Nicole Truelock designed my logo and color scheme.
I walked to the back of the elevator, heading up to my office. A flustered young woman came on after me, pushing the button to her floor impatiently. The doors closed and we dutifully faced forward and didn’t speak.
Her back was to me and I noticed a small simple tattoo of a bird hidden behind her left ear. I debated for a few seconds if it would be weird to comment on it, if she’d rather be left alone. The lyrics from an old country song popped into my head: A kind word never goes unheard, but too often goes unsaid. Cheesy but true.
“I like your little bird tattoo,” I said, pointing at my ear.
“Oh!” She reached up to touch it, but never met my eyes. “Thanks. I sometimes forget that it’s there.”
We reached her floor and the doors opened. As she got out, she paused to say, “Thanks again. You helped me to feel a little bit better.”
I’m usually a huge fan of elevator silence. But I’m glad I spoke up this time.
Only about 2 weeks to go. My family is lucky in that our work and school schedules allow us some real downtime over the holidays. We are so looking forward to seeing friends, no morning or evening rush, hanging out together doing not much of anything. Oh, the new Star Wars, of course. The grandparents have already given my kids everything Star Wars (merchandising! where the real money from the movie is made!), so a very merry Christmas to you, J.J. Abrams!
How’s your holiday shopping going, anyway? You know the whole thing about going for experiences over things, right? You don’t want your thoughtful gift to be konmaried right out of the house come spring cleaning.
The gift of a doula is the best gift I ever gave myself. It’s one of the most thoughtful, loving, nurturing experiences you can gift to the expectant parents on your list. The onesies are so cute, the tiny booties and softest blankets, the high tech strollers… but the postpartum doula is the one who will make sure the new parents are fed and rested. That the laundry isn’t piling up. That they are remembering to take care of themselves while everyone around them is asking about the baby. That they aren’t alone in the middle of the night and the baby won’t stop crying and they are too tired to see straight. A postpartum doula helps them figure out how they want to parent, the best approach for their family at that time. A birth doula cares for the family before and during that most intense and unique of human experiences– bringing a baby into the world, be it naturally, medicated and assisted, or surgically.
Every person, every family is unique in what will be most helpful to them. A doula can adapt to their needs to assist them in the best way possible. Pretty much the best gift ever.