compression compression compression Expansion

I read somewhere once that Frank Lloyd Wright used to use compression and expansion in his architecture. You walk through a small room into a small, dark hallway, then on into a large room that's all windows and light and desert views. That sort of thing. Compression compression compression... expansion.

Compression compression compression expansion - that has been running through my head for more than two weeks now. We have two weeks before we can get into our permanent, "for real house" (as Nils and I like to call it), and we are feeling a bit, shall we say, compressed.

This place is even smaller than our first, teeny-tiny Brooklyn apartment. Most of our books and toys are still on the way, and that's hard for the kids. Nils especially, begs us to stay with him until he falls asleep "because auto blanket isn't here with me." Oops. Probably should have kept that one with us at all times. Everything is unfamiliar, everything takes extra work (credit cards! internet! phone! mailing a letter! getting cash!), and I keep trying to wholeheartedly enjoy this neighborhood but get routinely stopped by the angry Turkish dudes who stare us down because they think we're gentrifiers. (We're not, man. We're out of here in two weeks.)

You know what comes after this, though? Expansion! Our own place! Bigger and nicer than anything we've had before! With outdoor space! And our bikes will be here soon! We'll bike around our fabulous neighborhood and be happy! Look at those windows. Look at that desert view.

When you get down to it, I am hoping that Frankfurt itself will be our place of expansion. Frankly speaking, this last year has been hard. Going from one kid to two, for me, has been like a daily body slam into a brick wall. I've lost count of the number of times I have fought tooth and nail to keep from absolutely. losing. it. I won't tell you how many times I failed. I'm a different mother than I was a year and a half ago - and I like the old me much, much better. I know I know, two kids are harder than one. Obvious, right? Just trust me, this is different.

I'm praying it had something to do with our situation in New York. A husband who never saw his kids during the week. The sky high cost of everything keeping us from doing things like hiring a babysitter or putting Nils in preschool a couple mornings a week. A charming but small apartment that had few doors - this is actually a big thing for me. Did you know that Liv slept in our bedroom? And that our bedroom had no door? And that the wall with her crib (again, with no door to close) was right up against our kitchen? Essentially, once Liv-the-lightest-of-sleepers was out for the "night," we could do nothing but sit quietly. Not so terrible, but Nils-the-miserable-screaming-toddler-from-post-nap-to-bedtime didn't approve of me ducking away to take care of the dinner cleanup and dishes before she went to bed. Sooo... it all sat there. Every night. And when I woke up each morning to the dulcet tones of children howling for food, there were the dishes. Piled high on our 6 square inches of counter space and keeping me from as much as setting down a butter knife for toast. There was a voice too, and it said "you'll never get a handle on any of this. Just flail, woman. You will never do anything else again." Not the best way to start your day.

Our new place has a bedroom for Liv and a kitchen located far from the sleeping quarters. This has allowed me to fantasize about my future evenings. After the kids are in bed, I'll slip into the kitchen and turn on my internet radio. NPR, WNYC to be specific. If I'm cleaning up at 8 or 9, what will that be... Fresh Air? Maybe the beginnings of All Things Considered? I'll clean up the day's mess while listening to those soft voices talk about interesting things. Maybe I'll even get a little jump on the next day. Pack some snacks for an outing. Cut up some fruit for breakfast. And the next morning, in the rush of all those things that need to be done every morning, maybe I'll get to breathe a little more. Breathing - that's expansion, right?