Things I learned on my summer vacation

   

Our vacation this year was different. There were no passports, foreign language phrase books, no culture shock. There wasn't even a plane - Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Vermont are perfectly accessible by (rental) car. Our goals this time were different, too. Instead of exotic places and the thrill of "discovery" we hoped for time together and pleasure in timeless activities. Ride a boat. Walk in the woods. Swim in a lake. See some stars.

As always, I had all sorts of little thoughts and came to all sorts of new conclusions while on our trip. The big ones:

1. My identity is pretty fragile, apparently. I slip into a new one every time I leave home.

It happens every time. In Bavaria, I dreamed of owning a vacation cottage there and skiing every winter. This time, in New Hampshire, I decided that we need to have a vacation cottage someday. Something small and simple on a quiet lake. We'll furnish it with rummage sale finds, eat on a plastic dinner table. We'll escape! Weekends at the lake! No internet, no to-do lists. In Vermont I decided that we need to live in Vermont. Small towns and solar panels! Mountains and cool, quiet mornings. We could go hiking every weekend. Imagine that.

2. Escape is just as important as experience

We are normally cut off from our world when we travel. We had the option to stay plugged in this time... and I yanked that power cord as quickly as I could. Turns out I need to drop off the face of the earth from time to time.

3. The simpler we keep things, the happier I am.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss our old way of traveling. Every time I saw a pack of young, childless people setting off on some long hike, tents on their backs, I sighed to myself. Embracing this new way of vacationing though, I discovered real joy in slooooowing down. Keeping things simple and thrilling in simple things. Playing in sand under the sunshine.

Walking in the woods.

Plopping down in the grass and exploring at leisure.

Just being together. No interruptions. Nothing else we "should" be doing.

Swimming. Nothing beats swimming.

Tire swings. Those are wonderful, too.

We will never see every place under the sun. We can never have every experience. The moment I let go of these ideas, ideas I had never even realized I was holding on to, I freed myself up and learned how to just be where I am. What a wonderful feeling.

4. That being said, I'm still not going to do NOTHING.

My favorite quote is from Goethe. "Do not hurry, do not wait." While I think I did a good job with the "do not hurry" part this vacation, I also saw no point in waiting around. Carousel rides!

Rainy day science museums! (Body heat camera)

Hikes up mountains!

River bed exploration!

Climbing lighthouses!

Testing out the water!

Horse rides!

Milking cows!

Yeah, kid. You've earned that nap.

Out out out

    
Evenings. Not the best part of our day. As lovely as the morning and afternoon may be, the hours between 5 pm (nap time ending) and 8:30 pm (bedtime) are a bit tough for everyone.

Nils, having been rudely awoken from his (late, long) nap, is often struggling to keep it together. Liv, making her way toward her own bedtime, slowly becomes less and less willing to be on her own (Hold me, woman! How many times do I have to tell you? Aaaah!). And me? I have run out of steam and run out of ideas. I limp to the finish line.

This drives me crazy. How/can I keep them happy? Why can't I just suck it up and keep myself going a couple more hours? Is there any way around this end-of-day tanking? There has to be a way around this.

Today's experiment called for a change of scenery. I packed a light dinner and we headed to Underhill playground. It was exactly what we needed.

Nils rode a backhoe,

Liv batted at things in an exersaucer,

And I, after realizing that there were Korean tacos nearby, decided we had time to cram in one more treat. Bedtime routines be damned. Solo parenting at bedtime every night: I have earned this taco.

Have not

       

These poor, sweaty children. Trapped in an attic apartment. Won't someone help them?

Summer makes me feel like New York has sold me a bill of goods. 9 months out of the year I'm very happy here. Grateful even, to live in a city that offers us so much. Sure there are downsides and inconveniences, but that's part of the romance! 5th floor walk up apartment, mighty struggles with a stroller on subway station stairs, lack of outdoor space... these things are all a part of the experience.

And the money. The money that flies from your fingers when you do things like buy food, pay rent, and put your children in child care... what, you thought living in the greatest city in the world would be free? You get what you pay for.

I rationalize and I greet all the little struggles with a song in my heart... and then the calendar flips to July.

This place is horrible. There is something about the concrete and the heat spewing from all the vehicles on the street. It is a nasty, spiteful heat that saps my will to live. Night offers little relief. The sun may be gone, but the heat has nowhere to go. Don't bother going for an evening walk. Just lay there, listless and bitter, until September.

And somewhere in July, I realize that the romantic struggle of life in New York is not such a struggle for everyone. There are people with money here, and they have things like beach houses and lake cabins. They spend long swaths of summer with a breeze on their faces and the ocean on their skin. The "experience" of an urban summer is saved for those of us who cannot afford to escape. Lucky us.

I rarely want more than what we have. I don't want a car, a big TV, jewelery, gadgets, appliances, a big fat house, etc. Right now though, I would give anything for a little place where a stiff ocean breeze is blowing.

A brief description of a sweet little pork chop

       

She is 4 and a half months old now. How did this happen? Where is my floppy-necked newborn? Who is this bouncing, giggling baby?

As her personality emerges I find myself falling deeper and deeper in love with my sweet Liv. Liv, or Lovely Liv, Livly, Pork Chop, Livlet, Livstress, Livstress Liv-a-lot, Livsie, Livsie Lou, Girly Pearl, Pearl, Darly Bird... any one of the multitude of nicknames she has inspired. Her eyes are always wide open and her head is constantly turning from side to side. She doesn't want to miss out on any of the action.

Having not yet learned to speak, she is often silent. Her sweet, quiet presence contrasts so nicely with Nils and his boisterous, constant chatter. I look at her sometimes, looking at him with big blue eyes and raised eyebrows (surprised!), and I just want to take a bite of that tiny, upturned nose (my nose!). She is delicious.

Liv cries when tired, hungry, or bored with her baby gym. Otherwise she is happy and mild. She likes baths, and laughs hysterically every time I take off her clothes - tickles her neck, apparently. She wakes up from naps smiling. She does not like to snuggle, preferring instead to face away from whoever is holding her. Too much to see, I suppose. She adores her big brother.

Honest to goodness, I cannot believe there was ever a time that she was not a part of our family. How could she ever not have been here? How did I ever manage to enjoy myself, not yet knowing her?

Tumbling

   
I've got this beautiful image going through my head, over and over again. I'm in some vaguely tropical place, swimming deep underwater off the coast. Maybe 20 or 30 feet. Diving, perhaps. The current is pulling me and pulling me, then is suddenly like a tidal wave passing on its way to the shore. It tosses me, I'm tumbling and tumbling. Head over heels, my fins arc over my head. The water is a clear, bright blue and I can hear it bubbling all around me. There is nothing to grab and so I let myself spin and flail. There is no danger.

Then suddenly I'm at the surface. I take in a big gulp of air. Good lord, that was incredible. I look to the shore.

                    *                    *                    *                    *                    *                   *

I've spent the last two and a half years tumbling. The disorientation is more powerful right now - having an infant in my life seems to do that to me. For some reason I have babies and suddenly everything is up for grabs. What defines me? How do I feel about everyone around me? How do I want to spend my time? What makes me laugh? I thought I did all my major re-orienting with Nils, but here I go again.

I love it, feeling off kilter like this. It's as though I could wake up tomorrow and something new could click into place. "You know what? The culture of irony falls flat with me now." Or, "I think I'm losing my itch to travel."  Little things, big things... everything is swirling around me, just out of reach.

I imagine things will settle at some point soon. When I pop up for air and look to the shore, what will I see? Will the landscape be completely transformed? What landmarks will I still recognize?

Having my children has made me feel so beautifully unimportant. There is, of course, the shifting mf my focus from me to them. There is also though, a new understanding of just how powerful the force of life is. I can put together
a view of the world and hold to it as tightly as I want; no matter. It is ripped out of my hands with ease.

The uncertainty... wow. I am so grateful for it.

What I wonder now is this: what other "tidal waves" await? What other events will throw me off balance and force me to remember that I am not a finished product?

Hey there / Livknits

   
Whew. Hey, it's been awhile, right?

Things are nuts. Totally, beautifully nuts. Wonderful, but not exactly conducive to leisure activities (i.e. blogging). I miss my little blog. I like posting pictures and organizing my thoughts. Thoughts... organized ones. I used to have those...

Where do I even begin? And how much time do I have? Both my children are asleep for the night, which means that one will wake up screaming, oh, any time now. How many minutes do I have to sit here and enjoy this down time? Should I enjoy this down time? Would it not perhaps be better to sit here and think about all the other things I should be doing?

I read a Real Simple magazine 10 years ago that had a little collection of time saving tips. One woman had written in a real gem: "I used to write in my journal. Now I put that time to more efficient use: I clean!" My eyes bugged out a little when I read that, and I knew that would never be me. Never.

Yup, 'cause that's not at all what I'm doing right now. Not at all.

It's just that I'm so stinkin' adaptable. Within weeks of Liv's birth I had lost all desire for activities beyond childcare and housework. Reading? Pfffft. Sewing? Whaaaa? Activities outside the home with other adults? Okay, now you're just being weird.

I thought I would look at moments of solitude the way a man dying of thirst looks at a clear, cold stream. Oddly enough, I just end up sitting on the couch, confused and a bit bored. (Should I start cleaning?)

In recent weeks though, I've been really trying to "normalize." I'll take some small thing that fell away when Liv was born, and add it back into my life. Using G diapers instead of disposables. Cooking real food. Reading an article in a magazine. And so forth. Maybe this blog post, as choppy and badly written as it may be, is a step in a good direction. Gol, I do miss thinking.

Oh, and Liv knits! Before I forget!

First, the little pixie hat I made for her. Look at that little nose! And look at her, conked out in the baby carrier (she was just a month old in these photos). Oh, such a darling.

Next, her little blue cable sweater. Alas, no indulgent photo shoot this time. (Oh, second child!) Just a fuzzy shot taken at the pediatrician's. 5 days old!

My personal favorite, the "In Threes" cardigan. I will absolutely be making this in a larger size come fall. 

And every child deserves to wear the "manly baby vest". Best sweater vest. Ever.

More soon? I'd like that. I don't want to be a woman whose only hobby is cleaning. I can see myself going there, and it's a dark place.

So how are you guys doing?

   
I've been getting this question a lot lately. "How are you doing?" It's a good one and one that, were time travel possible, I would come from six months ago and ask Today-Me. We're doing really well, thanks for asking.  We're sleeping decently, no one person is crying too much (though we have all shed a few tears), and the days are hectic but completely do-able.

Make no mistake, there is chaos to spare. At any given time a portion of my home, brain, and life look like this:

but the other part looks like this.

There seems to be no way around this. I simply cannot have all my ducks in a row right now. I suspect this is normal, and I choose not to feel bad about it. As long as I can answer some of the more pressing emails, can put food in our mouths at some point each day, and can walk from one place to another without stepping on too many cracker crumbs... awesome.

Honestly though, bring on the cracker crumbs. I've got the better end of this trade.