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?

There and here

   
Last Friday was a big day. It started out at my parents' house in Wisconsin, moved on to the airport and a flight to New York, jumped next to a few hours at our empty Brooklyn apartment, then ended with another trip to the airport and another flight - this one to Frankfurt. The whole day I kept thinking "this is big, isn't it," but I couldn't put it all together. I saw nothing but fragments. I'm on a plane right now. I'm in a cab right now. I'm saying goodbye to some people right now, and in a few minutes I won't be saying goodbye to them anymore.

This whole move has been like that. I was out with a friend one night - my very last night in New York - and I told her that I felt like Mr. Burns in an early episode of The Simpsons. Mr. Burn's doctor took a handful of rubber toy "germs" and tried to stuff them through a little model doorway. You have every disease imaginable, was the message. They are all trying to get through the door, and they are blocking each other. For weeks I waited for the panic to come and the real tears to flow, but the germs were all blocking each other. I carried on.

And now we're here. Frankfurt. We have a temporary place in a crummy-ish neighborhood, and a lease on a for-real place that starts April 1st. We're living out of suitcases, washing the same 4 plates over and over again, and looking forward to the day we again have conveniences like a hair drier, pens, a coffee maker, and a place to call our own. All in good time. 3 weeks time, that is.

The little ones are handling this so much better that I thought they would. We are all sorts of out of sorts, but dangitall if we aren't doing okay.

These first days in a new place are so raw. Experiencing them reminds me of my other big moves and how I woke up bawling in the middle of the night, night after night in Beijing. I cried myself to sleep my first night in New York. Nighttime is a beast, am I right? Your guard is down and everything comes at you like a hammer. I spent a full 30 minutes last night - say from 2:00 to 2:30 - mildly panicked that I had never made one last trip to Coney Island. And to be honest, I still feel a little terrible about that. Oh, New York! Maybe I'll be able to write about it sometime, how much I loved it and why it was okay to leave. How amazing it was to be a young mother there - how the friends I had more than made up for the challenges New York throws at families.

For now though, I'll just think about Nils and I as our flight took off from JFK. I wanted to distract him, and we ended up with a pad and pen in our hands. I started writing letters, and it quickly turned into Nils wanting me to write the names of all his friends. I did that for him, big block letters. JOEY. ELIZA. JACK. WOLFGANG. It was an 8 o'clock flight and the lights of the nighttime city were in full force out our window. I looked out at them occasionally with tears in my eyes. MATEO. MADELINE. The lights gave way to the darkness of the ocean. Was that Coney Island beneath us? AVI. JACKSON.

And we were gone.

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.