This is the view we will miss

This is the view out our living room windows. Do you see the snowy courtyard fountain down below? So peaceful, right? And look at those lights off in the distance! Jersey. Maybe Bayonne? I've never figured out exactly what it is.

I love this view. The night view, especially. I've always had a thing for the lights of a city at night, and those Jersey lights make me feel calmer when I'm anxious, more inspired when I'm blah, and luckier when I'm frustrated. Look at those lights out there. Are they twinkling? All that humanity in this great big city. Millions and millions of lives worth. What a world.

How can we be leaving this magnificent place? We are leaving, and more importantly we want to leave... but how is this possible? What about our amazing friends? Our playgrounds, our museums, our subway, the energy... the views?

Off to Frankfurt. Language, home (for one of us), adventure, (ironically, at a time in my life when I have never placed a lower value on adventure) here we go. I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that we are doing the right thing, and I say goodbye with no hand wringing. But oh...

Nothing to see here

   
Ach. So much to say. Soon. You know what I'm talking about, right? I know you do.

In the meantime, a couple recent photos:

Traffic jam on the "window tracks," which probably doesn't even make sense. Whatever. Talk to him.

I continue to be surprised at his insistence that he sit in the back. Um, don't you know that's the crappy seat? I was going to keep Liv there until she started complaining.

The boy loves his snow. Because he is my son.

It is so stinkin' cute when a tiny Liv does "big kid" things. It is also terrifying. I feel like I have mere minutes of "baby" left, and I can barely get through the fog to enjoy them as it is. Sometimes I want to whisk her away... somewhere, I don't know. The "where" doesn't matter, I guess. I just want to whisk her away and drink in every second. (Liv ended up eating some of this play doh, so... all's well.)

Speaking of "big kid" stuff: someone suddenly loves sippy cups. Wait, are you sure? You know, we could just keep doing things the way we used to... no?

Gratuitous mother / daughter selfie. With another sippy cup.

Ikea Monday

    

Monday morning. It was cold and energy levels were low. We had no social plans, and things at home were already starting to get out of hand. As much as I love having help in the kitchen...

A: Nils, what do you want to do today? Library? Playspa-

N: Go to Ikea!

A: (double take) Uh, really?

N: Yeah! I want to go to Ikea!

A: (Shoulders feel lighter as I realize I don't have to say no to this) You know what, kid? Sure. Let's do it.

N. Ikea! Ikea! (jumps up and down)

I'm not sure where it comes from, but Nils loves Ikea. We go there a couple times a year, and one of those trips must have really made an impression on him. I'll give credit where credit is due too, because it's actually a pretty nice outing.

You get to ride the bus there. If you're Nils, that's a big plus.

You can eat there. The food is cheap, and the Monday-at-11:30a.m.-cafeteria is nearly empty. The views are pretty awesome, too. Statue of Liberty and lower Manhattan out one window, and a parking lot full of school buses out the other. Again, if you're Nils that school bus lot is a pretty big plus.




You can play with kids' toys and furniture. I don't think Ikea actually wants you to play with the toys and furniture in their children's department, but whatever. Eat it, Ikea. I'm out of ideas today and my daughter likes this crinkle book.



When the children's department gets old, (or crowded. Ha! You guys look exhausted too!) there's the rest of the store. You can open every closet door in every sample bedroom. You can sit on sample sofas. Touch everything. Go to town, kid. No one's here to be annoyed by your shenanigans.

Outfits Liv was wearing whilst mistaken for a boy

Three things right away:

1. When Nils was a newborn I struggled mightily with breastfeeding. Things eventually worked out and I was grateful - grateful to start out mothering with what I knew was the illusion of control. Even if it was false and I knew it was false, I wanted that illusion.

2. "Men are people and women are women. Always." That line keeps going through my head.

3. A friend and I were chatting about how much of a non-cuddler Liv is. "That's so great," said my friend. "Because the world is going to beat it into her: "be nice! You're nice!" Maybe if she's really, really tough, she'll be able to keep some of that intact."

*

Liv wears a lot of gender-neutral clothing. Reds, oranges, greens, yellows. She wears nothing boyish, but I am also not in the habit of doing bows or barrettes, or head-to-toe pink. She is a crawler, and that means that dresses will just get in her way right now. I like dressing her each morning. She wears vintage sweaters, sassy little shoes, striped leggings. She has this kickin' little green hat with a knot at the top.

"What a beautiful boy!" All the time.

*

I have a boy and a girl. Gender and its consequences color a fair amount of my parenting. "It's okay to be scared," I told Nils last week. "Sweetie, you're always so kind and gentle with your friends," I told him just the other day. "That's why they love playing with you." Our world puts a lot on boys as well as girls... but the talk I picture having with Nils someday is along the lines of "with great power comes great responsibility." He's a man. It's all there for the taking.

It feels so much different with Liv. I've always been a "women's issues" kind of person, but having my daughter ups the ante dramatically. Steubenville. Maryville. Delhi. Tahrir Square. Much less extreme: Be beautiful! ... but don't spend so much time shopping and primping, you shallow fool. Be sexy! ... but NOT sexual. Minifigs. Sexist kids books. Google searches. And so on.

And smile! Would you like to know how many times in my life I  have felt entitled to approach someone and tell him/her to stop looking so serious? Yup. Zero. Would you like to know how many times I have been approached by a man and told to do just that? Many. Many. I have my father's demeanor; we both tend to look a little stormy while just thinking regular thoughts. Get over it, random guy. I don't owe you cheerfulness.

All these things are on my mind every time I look at Liv. This ridiculous world and all the things it will try and do to her. I want to build her a shield and teach her to call bullsh*t whenever she needs to, and to never, never look to someone else for validation. And then I walk into a Baby Gap and see a wall of pink. Hearts, princesses, "so sweet"s. Men are people and women are women. You are a woman.

Liv owns some wonderful pink stuff. I want to stress this. We've gotten some lovely gifts. I've bought her some little pink things. There is nothing wrong with being feminine. It's not even the clothes I'm really talking about. That's obvious, right?

That wall of pink tulle... the hearts... it reminds me of how little control I have. Who am I versus that whole world?

I'm her mother, that's who. If any one person can be a powerful influence, isn't it me?

Ah, that illusion of control.

Lately

Oh, those two. Update?

Liv is mobile. Mobile! God help us all. Especially Liv. She started crawling about two weeks ago, moved on yesterday to pulling herself up to standing, and actually stood in place, look-ma-no-hands, tonight. I swear she'll be walking by Thursday. She is growing up way too fast (cliche, anyone?), but still manages to do painfully sweet baby things like fall asleep in the baby carrier with a finger in her mouth.

She is smiley enough that we occasionally get comments like "how old is she? Wow, she is really smiley for an 8 month old." Whatever that means. She still wakes up every three hours at night, but dangit all  if she isn't so sweet and accommodating about going right back to sleep. She also still refuses to cuddle, which I think is just fabulous. Shine on, you crazy diamond! We love your independence.

And Nils? Such a little card. He continues his passionate love affair with vehicles. Time for a shirt? Make sure it has a bus on it. Put together a puzzle? How about the puzzle of a cement mixer. Sidewalk chalk? Hey, let's draw a dump truck. People say toddler boys have such short attention spans... I beg to differ. Come watch my son play with his trains.

Such a little builder, he is. Tunnels, towers, cranes, etc. Puzzles, too. He can do some pretty big ones with assistance, and simple 12 piecers? He does those with his eyes half closed... that is, while he's supposed to be napping. Hard to chide him - "Now Nils, you're supposed to be laying down" - look at all those little puzzles! So sweet.

The days are such a blur. I looked at Liv recently and felt like I had blinked and missed months of her life. Quiet moments alone with each child are rare, so I'm doing my best to give each of them all of me in whatever small way I can. The "all of me" is usually doled out in 30-second parcels, only to be abruptly snatched away when a sibling does something that requires immediate, emergency-level attention. All in good fun.

Choices, consequences, root beer floats

     

                                                          Leaving for work in 5 minutes... time for a quick bulldozer puzzle

I put the kids to bed most nights. I get them ready in the morning too, with the exception of Oliver and Nils's ritual of Rice Krispies and cups of milk / coffee at the breakfast table. I do just about all childcare solo throughout the week, and Oliver often comes home, tired, after Nils and Liv are asleep.

It's strange to think that this is a choice we have made, to have almost nothing of a family life during the week. It is a choice though, and we made it, long before the kids were born, with an eye on future financial security. "Why are we doing this?" I ask myself sometimes when Nils asks if we can call "Papa" at work, or when Liv follows Oliver everywhere with her eyes in those 20 minutes they have together each day.

Oliver came home early one night the other week just as I was turning out the lights for Nils. "Let's go out," he said. "It's so beautiful outside."

I wasn't interested. It was already after 8, they were both just about to go to sleep, I had so much to do to get ready for work the next day...

But no, we had to go out. This was our chance to steal a little time. To walk across the neighborhood with a cool breeze on our faces, to get hamburgers and root beer floats. Nils wore his monster truck pajamas and lined up all the condiment bottles on our table. Liv stared at the baseball game on the screen above us and tried to eat a napkin. Oliver shared his fries. I tried to convince everyone else to try malt vinegar instead of ketchup. The restaurant's other patrons probably thought Oliver and I were terrible parents (sugar, fat and salt at 9 pm!), but good lord. We could not care less.

Every choice has a consequence these days. I am constantly balancing the cost of one decision against another. We had a family hour and treats, but that meant I rushed around frantically the next morning filling bottles and packing bags. If I decide to make a nice-ish dinner, that means I will have to sit with a kitchen full of dirty dishes overnight (the joys of a light sleeper who goes to bed shortly after eating!). If I want to restore order to my living room, it means I play less with the kiddos.

It's a mental thing, too. Nils and Liv take up almost all of my bandwidth, so any attention turned to any one thing (eating carefully to shed some baby weight) means other, random things fall to the wayside (clipping tiny fingernails, studying a bit of German). I say "yes" to one thing and know that it means saying "no" to a half dozen others, just because there's no room. 


Thank goodness there is still room for root beer floats.
   

Good to be here

  
About 6 months after Liv was born I read a book. A real book. Hundreds of pages and full of things that had nothing to do with either of my children. I stayed up late three nights in a row while we were in Vermont, glued to the book. After we got home I started looking up videos on YouTube of speeches and events detailed in the book. It was just about the best book I have ever read... possibly because it was the first "real" book I have read in what, a year and a half? Doesn't food taste that much better when you're starving?

Some weeks back I also started noticing that I was thinking again. Nothing earth shattering of course, but it was like I had rejoined the world. I watched chess players in Washington Square Park and had this little epiphany vis a vis I can stop feeling bad, deep down in the place where feelings are never clearly articulated, that I'm not a part of all New York's wonderful subcultures. Old guys who love to play chess. Chinese immigrants who dance in Chinatown's parks. The West African guys who play soccer on the weekends in Prospect Park. No one can have every experience. Knowing that these other groups are here, that's enough.

I woke up a couple Saturdays ago and a voice was screaming in my head: "Make all the food! Make it!" I've got a list on my fridge now of things I want to cook. Because I want to cook again! Who knows how much I can actually do (a teething Liv does not usually make me more productive), but who cares. It no longer seems hopeless. It seems do-able.

Oliver and I went out on an actual date too, which was, just like Passage of Power, mind-blowing. We had a conversation. We didn't rush off in two different directions to take care of two different problems. First date in um, 8 months? And my goodness, there's a whole city out there! Stuff happens at night! Stand-up comedy, jazz concerts on side streets, Katie Holmes sightings. Food... better... starving.

Good lord, my children have owned me these past few years.  Hormones? Nature? Just me? Whatever the cause, those first 6 months or so (and the nine that precede them) just wipe me clean. Greatly diminished mental capacity, no familiar sign posts. Just babies and some weird, primal drive to serve. It's lovely and I'm glad I can drop everything to care for them... but maaaaaan. Is it good to be coming back.