Reilly has never really liked traveling by car. I blame it on her spending the first year of her life in New York City. Being that we did not have a car, and took cabs rarely, Reilly knew not the confines of the carseat until we pulled up stakes and moved to Florida just after her first birthday.
To prevent the freak-out sessions that tend to crop up when Reilly is in the car, I keep a stash of gummy snacks on hand. When the gummy snacks run out, I hand her a book or a toy or any other loose object that might be in my car on that particular day.
Recently, that object was one of those cheap, imitation oriental fans. I have no idea how it got in my car, but I was grateful to find it there. To demonstrate its purpose to Reilly, I waved the fan in front of her face before handing it over. She was delighted.
As I watched in the rearview mirror, she waved the fan back and forth, pushing the fine hair from her forehead. She then looked up at me and shouted, "Daddy, I'm making wind!"
Showing posts with label The Move. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Move. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Like the guy in the wedding dress at Washington Square Park
This weekend at the Farmer's Market, I saw a woman—let's say she was 60—dressed in all white: white shirt, white pants, white hat, white sunglasses, and white shoes. Hanging from her hand was a white leash connected to a white stuffed dog that was standing on a white skateboard. She was weird and I loved her.
I loved her because she made downtown St. Petersburg feel a little more like a city—like The City. The market was mostly populated by the bland, safe people who make up the suburbs (including me), but when mixed with the homeless and punks and weirdoes, I truly felt like I was experiencing an urban moment, and it felt good.
Nearby, a Celtic band played, and Reilly spun herself in circles in appreciation of their music. Shawn and I stood on the pavement and absorbed it all, saying nothing. I looked back for the woman in white and saw her as she moved away, towing her dog on the skateboard, smiling at God knows what.
I loved her because she made downtown St. Petersburg feel a little more like a city—like The City. The market was mostly populated by the bland, safe people who make up the suburbs (including me), but when mixed with the homeless and punks and weirdoes, I truly felt like I was experiencing an urban moment, and it felt good.
Nearby, a Celtic band played, and Reilly spun herself in circles in appreciation of their music. Shawn and I stood on the pavement and absorbed it all, saying nothing. I looked back for the woman in white and saw her as she moved away, towing her dog on the skateboard, smiling at God knows what.
Monday, October 2, 2006
Good Fortune, and her sister, Guilt
I am sitting at the computer, looking through the sliding glass door to the deck outside, where the shadow of the oak tree shimmers with the breeze. The house is quiet; Reilly is taking her nap, and Leia is next to me on the tile floor, somehow hoping a crumb from my sandwich will fall to her. I am trying to enjoy these moments of quiet and freedom, since I begin a new job next Monday.
Last week I was hired on at a local nonprofit. I am truly thrilled about the job--it's a great fit for me, the people are great, and the pay and benefits are also excellent. Throughout the long and sometimes torturous job hunt, I had up to five different organizations interested me, and ended up with three offers on the table at the same time. I felt fortunate to have three good options to choose from, and also a little proud that I was valued at a potential employee.
It took me two months to find a new job. That seems to be a reasonable amount of time. Since the actual searching, applying, and interviewing only took up about 5% of my time, I had the opportunity to spend the majority of the two months with Reilly. As she approaches fifteen months, I feel fortunate that we have had this time to get to know each other better. She is such a great kid, so smart and sensitive and caring, and so full of energy and life.
Shawn's experience in the last two months has been the opposite of mine. She has been traveling for her job for long stretches of time: gone seven days, home two days, gone five days, home three days, and son on. True, she has had the opportunity to visit Finland and Denmark and Germany and Switzerland, but she has had to walk the streets of Berlin without her daughter, and that makes her sad, and it makes her feel guilty.
Still, her salary has kept us afloat, has helped us pay off our credit card, which was stretched thin in our last few months in The City. Yesterday, her salary helped us buy a new car.* With our good credit, we were able to get a good loan and quick approval. When I looked from the room we were in to the room across the hall, I saw another young couple. They were having trouble financing their car. Their faces were clearly pained as the salesman explained their dwindling options. Once again, I felt fortunate.
This morning, Reilly woke up and I brought her into bed with me for a little snuggle. When she saw Shawn wasn't here, she slid off the bed and walked around the house looking for her. A short time later, she gave up. She didn't seem sad or concerned, but the scene made me feel sad, and a little guilty, that Shawn has been financing my free time; my busy afternoons at the playground, and my quiet moments, such as this.
(*We didn't actually buy a new car. We bought a new used car, a 2003 Toyota Camry LE, white, with 23,000 miles on it. If you're in the market for a used car, try Carmax. We were very impressed with their operation.)
Last week I was hired on at a local nonprofit. I am truly thrilled about the job--it's a great fit for me, the people are great, and the pay and benefits are also excellent. Throughout the long and sometimes torturous job hunt, I had up to five different organizations interested me, and ended up with three offers on the table at the same time. I felt fortunate to have three good options to choose from, and also a little proud that I was valued at a potential employee.
It took me two months to find a new job. That seems to be a reasonable amount of time. Since the actual searching, applying, and interviewing only took up about 5% of my time, I had the opportunity to spend the majority of the two months with Reilly. As she approaches fifteen months, I feel fortunate that we have had this time to get to know each other better. She is such a great kid, so smart and sensitive and caring, and so full of energy and life.
Shawn's experience in the last two months has been the opposite of mine. She has been traveling for her job for long stretches of time: gone seven days, home two days, gone five days, home three days, and son on. True, she has had the opportunity to visit Finland and Denmark and Germany and Switzerland, but she has had to walk the streets of Berlin without her daughter, and that makes her sad, and it makes her feel guilty.
Still, her salary has kept us afloat, has helped us pay off our credit card, which was stretched thin in our last few months in The City. Yesterday, her salary helped us buy a new car.* With our good credit, we were able to get a good loan and quick approval. When I looked from the room we were in to the room across the hall, I saw another young couple. They were having trouble financing their car. Their faces were clearly pained as the salesman explained their dwindling options. Once again, I felt fortunate.
This morning, Reilly woke up and I brought her into bed with me for a little snuggle. When she saw Shawn wasn't here, she slid off the bed and walked around the house looking for her. A short time later, she gave up. She didn't seem sad or concerned, but the scene made me feel sad, and a little guilty, that Shawn has been financing my free time; my busy afternoons at the playground, and my quiet moments, such as this.
(*We didn't actually buy a new car. We bought a new used car, a 2003 Toyota Camry LE, white, with 23,000 miles on it. If you're in the market for a used car, try Carmax. We were very impressed with their operation.)
Saturday, August 5, 2006
All in Time
The boxes are unpacked. We have Reilly’s crib up, with Elmo sitting in his corner, and diapers are stacked and ready on the changing table. The cabinets have been baby-proofed. Reilly’s toys are all over the living room. Yet, despite getting things in order, we all feel a bit out of sorts. Shawn and I are still adjusting to what should be a vacation, but isn’t. I miss the City. Shawn misses the City terribly.
Reilly loves her new home. Like our old apartment, her favorite place is still the bathroom. She likes to go in, shut the door, and pull the TP off the roll. I let her do it because it makes me laugh. At some point, I know I’ll have to undo this habit, or at least start keeping the door shut, but for now, unwinding the TP roll is entertainment for two.
Reilly’s new best friend is Leia, our old dog. Reilly loves to feed Leia her dog food piece by piece, while also trying to sneak a nugget or two into her own mouth. Leia is extremely patient with this little invader, and tolerates Reilly’s shrieking and crying and tail pulling. For her part, Leia likes Reilly too, especially when Reilly is eating Cheerios. Since Reilly drops three Cheerio’s for every one she gets in her mouth, Leia follows her around to keep the floor clean.
Reilly also has been enjoying the attention of her family, swimming with Aunt Morgan, eating applesauce with Papa Bear and Granny, riding in her Radio Flyer wagon with Nana, and going out to lunch with Grandma Donna. From Grandpa Craig, Reilly only asks for one thing: a bite of his sandwich. He always complies. What else is a grandfather for?
The car still presents a challenge for us, as Reilly hates being constricted to her carseat. We try to time car trips around Reilly’s naptime so that we can give her the pacifier. (As you’ll remember, under the Law of the Pacifier, this is an acceptable practice.) If we take her out and it is not her naptime, we brace ourselves for a good bout of frustrated crying.
We all have things to adjust to. Reilly to her carseat. Shawn to working from home. As for me, you’ll notice that I’ve yet to update my profile on this blog. I don’t quite feel ready to make the change because I don’t yet know what my identity is here—who I am, how I fit into this house, this city, this state. Still, I remain an optimist, as I know that all things come in time.
Reilly loves her new home. Like our old apartment, her favorite place is still the bathroom. She likes to go in, shut the door, and pull the TP off the roll. I let her do it because it makes me laugh. At some point, I know I’ll have to undo this habit, or at least start keeping the door shut, but for now, unwinding the TP roll is entertainment for two.
Reilly’s new best friend is Leia, our old dog. Reilly loves to feed Leia her dog food piece by piece, while also trying to sneak a nugget or two into her own mouth. Leia is extremely patient with this little invader, and tolerates Reilly’s shrieking and crying and tail pulling. For her part, Leia likes Reilly too, especially when Reilly is eating Cheerios. Since Reilly drops three Cheerio’s for every one she gets in her mouth, Leia follows her around to keep the floor clean.
Reilly also has been enjoying the attention of her family, swimming with Aunt Morgan, eating applesauce with Papa Bear and Granny, riding in her Radio Flyer wagon with Nana, and going out to lunch with Grandma Donna. From Grandpa Craig, Reilly only asks for one thing: a bite of his sandwich. He always complies. What else is a grandfather for?
The car still presents a challenge for us, as Reilly hates being constricted to her carseat. We try to time car trips around Reilly’s naptime so that we can give her the pacifier. (As you’ll remember, under the Law of the Pacifier, this is an acceptable practice.) If we take her out and it is not her naptime, we brace ourselves for a good bout of frustrated crying.
We all have things to adjust to. Reilly to her carseat. Shawn to working from home. As for me, you’ll notice that I’ve yet to update my profile on this blog. I don’t quite feel ready to make the change because I don’t yet know what my identity is here—who I am, how I fit into this house, this city, this state. Still, I remain an optimist, as I know that all things come in time.
Thursday, August 3, 2006
Rain Date
When the weather turns bad in Manhattan, most of the neighborhood nannies take their charges to Barnes & Noble. On a rainy or very hot day in the City, the children’s section of Barnes & Noble at Union Square could have up to two dozen children pulling books off shelves and pooping in their diapers. It’s pandemonium.
Today, the thunderstorms started early, so I decided to do the suburban version of the trip to Barnes and Noble and take Reilly to the mall. I rolled her around the cell phone kiosks, slowed down to sniff the soaps at Bath and Body Works, and even stopped to have lunch at the food court; I had Chick-Fil-A, and Reilly had Cheerios with milk.
As a whole, the mall was deserted. Being so used to the crowded sidewalks of Manhattan, it was a strange feeling to not have to maneuver around anyone. I just strolled straight down the concourse, the wheels of the Bugaboo humming on the smooth tile floor. As I cruised around the mall, I couldn’t help but wonder about the strange absence of other mothers and nannies. Was the square footage of their homes ample enough to keep their children busy on a rainy day in Florida, or was there some hideout that I was not yet aware of?
It wasn’t until I reached the west end of the mall that I found my answer. There, I came upon a 500 square foot children’s play zone, complete with cushioned benches that surrounded a spring-loaded carpet floor. Across the floor were the usual outdoor playground pieces: a slide, a tunnel, and a clubhouse. Since this play space was inside, it also came complete with books, toys, and other plastic playthings. There were at least a dozen mothers inside—and a few grandparents—all of them watching their kids as they ran madly across the floor.
I had conflicting feelings about the mall play zone. It seemed a little lame to be hanging out with my daughter at the mall, but at the same time, the air conditioning and the cushioned benches were nice. Reilly didn’t have the same misgivings, however; she was all smiles. She hit the ground running and didn’t stop until I carried her out of there an hour later, waving bye-bye to all her new friends.
Today, the thunderstorms started early, so I decided to do the suburban version of the trip to Barnes and Noble and take Reilly to the mall. I rolled her around the cell phone kiosks, slowed down to sniff the soaps at Bath and Body Works, and even stopped to have lunch at the food court; I had Chick-Fil-A, and Reilly had Cheerios with milk.
As a whole, the mall was deserted. Being so used to the crowded sidewalks of Manhattan, it was a strange feeling to not have to maneuver around anyone. I just strolled straight down the concourse, the wheels of the Bugaboo humming on the smooth tile floor. As I cruised around the mall, I couldn’t help but wonder about the strange absence of other mothers and nannies. Was the square footage of their homes ample enough to keep their children busy on a rainy day in Florida, or was there some hideout that I was not yet aware of?
It wasn’t until I reached the west end of the mall that I found my answer. There, I came upon a 500 square foot children’s play zone, complete with cushioned benches that surrounded a spring-loaded carpet floor. Across the floor were the usual outdoor playground pieces: a slide, a tunnel, and a clubhouse. Since this play space was inside, it also came complete with books, toys, and other plastic playthings. There were at least a dozen mothers inside—and a few grandparents—all of them watching their kids as they ran madly across the floor.
I had conflicting feelings about the mall play zone. It seemed a little lame to be hanging out with my daughter at the mall, but at the same time, the air conditioning and the cushioned benches were nice. Reilly didn’t have the same misgivings, however; she was all smiles. She hit the ground running and didn’t stop until I carried her out of there an hour later, waving bye-bye to all her new friends.
Tuesday, August 1, 2006
We-Haul
One of the aspects of packing up our apartment that I hadn't anticipated was how disorienting it would be for Reilly, who clearly seemed confused at what had happened to her living space. Still, she took it in stride, and made the best out of the situation by exploring the various boxes stacked around the apartment. Pictured below is Reilly climbing the plastic and cardboard mountain that had taken over our living room.
On Saturday, my good friend Seth joined me (and two hired movers) in the arduous process of moving the contents of our apartment down four floors and across the sidewalk to the U-Haul. It took us two hours and an awful lot of sweat and cursing, but by 2:00pm, the task had been completed. Seth and I celebrated the event by having a cold Budweiser out front on the stoop. Cindy and Abby, who had been watching the truck, made small talk with us. We said goodbye a short time later, none of us making a big deal out of it, but as the door closed on their final goodbyes, the gravity of the parting took hold.
I distracted myself by jumping into the final cleaning of the apartment. My dad, who had arrived a few minutes earlier, vacuumed the floors. I mopped the kitchen. Before we left, I snapped a picture of the space where Reilly had been in the picture posted above.
On Saturday, my good friend Seth joined me (and two hired movers) in the arduous process of moving the contents of our apartment down four floors and across the sidewalk to the U-Haul. It took us two hours and an awful lot of sweat and cursing, but by 2:00pm, the task had been completed. Seth and I celebrated the event by having a cold Budweiser out front on the stoop. Cindy and Abby, who had been watching the truck, made small talk with us. We said goodbye a short time later, none of us making a big deal out of it, but as the door closed on their final goodbyes, the gravity of the parting took hold.
I distracted myself by jumping into the final cleaning of the apartment. My dad, who had arrived a few minutes earlier, vacuumed the floors. I mopped the kitchen. Before we left, I snapped a picture of the space where Reilly had been in the picture posted above.
It took my dad and I three days (two nights) to complete the 24 hour trip to Florida. It was great to have someone like my dad to make the trip with, and especially cool to stop and see my brother in Virginia. When you only get to see a sibling twice a year, adding another visit is priceless.
We drove a mixture of interstate and country highways, giving us a nice blend of convenience and authenticity. I saw an alligator swimming a muddy stream in Georgia, pecan plantations in South Carolina, and farm after farm of soybeans, tobacco, and corn in Virginia. The south has such beautiful country, and as the smell of smog gave way to the smell of earth, I felt calm and happy.
Still, I couldn't shake my doubts of what the future holds for us, the vortex of circumstance and chance which is so powerful when a family uproots their collective lives to start anew. Like speeding through the blur of a tunnel, the road stretches surely before us, but what lies ahead is uncertain and unknown.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Pack it up, Pack it in, let me begin...
In lieu of a pithy email about my daugther, I submit to you the fruits of my labor:
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
The BIG NEWS
Note: I wrote this entry in longhand a couple of days ago, but was only now able to type it up and post it to the web.
Yesterday, I returned from vacation. Today, I settled in and started the tedious process of unpacking, paying bills, firing off emails, and catching up on all those other parts of my life that ran on without me while I was away.
One of the things I caught up on was Amalah's blog. In her entry from July 10th, she broke the news to the internet that her family is moving from D.C. to Virginia.
For the last few months, I have known that we are moving away, but have not yet mentioned it in this blog. Not a word. Part of my reticence comes from the emotions linked to leaving the City. I forget who it was, but someone once said, “Once you live in New York City, every other place will be nothing more than second best.” So, as I’ve packed boxes and written resignation letters, I’ve also been in intense denial that any of this is actually occurring.
Shawn and I came to Manhattan five years ago so that I could attend The New School for my master’s. The plan was to be here for two to three years. I even named my blog at the time “Two to Three.” Like many people, Shawn and I not only found jobs, made friends, and scored an apartment, but we also fell in love with the City. When I got my diploma after just two years, we weren’t ready to leave.
I’m still not ready to leave, but I must. The demographics of our family have changed, and suddenly our one-bedroom apartment has gone from charming to cramped. More importantly, a vise has clamped around our finances; we have fit in baby food and diapers and daycare, but the thought of preschool makes my wallet scamper for the hills. Also important in the equation is our fatigue: we have worked hard to be the parents we expect ourselves to be and it has been a terribly hard task for two people to undertake alone. In the end, you can only burn the candle from two ends. You cannon splice in an extra wick for more money or an extra pair of hands.
From the start, we have had a list of pros and cons in our heads in the battle between Florida and New York City. Old home vs. New home. When people ask why we’re moving, I say that the scale has finally tipped in favor of leaving. Now, it’s time to go, and today, it is time to tell it: we are moving. To Florida. On July 29th, we are packing up a truck and driving our life back down to where we grew up, to where our family is, to the second best. Are we sad to leave? Yes. Are we happy to be leaving? Yes. But mostly we are afraid.
The city had defined us as people for the last five years; it has left an indelible mark on our personalities. To leave the City is to leave a little of ourselves behind. In some ways, that is a good thing. One more than one occasion, I have thought, The City is killing me. Of course, the City is also a place of much brilliance, a metropolis that defines the term “melting pot.”
Today, Shawn, Reilly and I sat in the waiting room of our pediatrician. In the room with us was an Indian man speaking French to his daughter, and a German woman speaking her native tongue to her two sons. While they waited, they made small talk with us in English. It was such a beautiful moment, the different cultures united by one common factor: we are New Yorkers. In the end, that is what I will miss the most: the tolerance of the people who live here, people from all over the world who live together in peace, as a model of what America is, what it should be, and what it will surely become if we are to succeed as a nation.
Yesterday, I returned from vacation. Today, I settled in and started the tedious process of unpacking, paying bills, firing off emails, and catching up on all those other parts of my life that ran on without me while I was away.
One of the things I caught up on was Amalah's blog. In her entry from July 10th, she broke the news to the internet that her family is moving from D.C. to Virginia.
For the last few months, I have known that we are moving away, but have not yet mentioned it in this blog. Not a word. Part of my reticence comes from the emotions linked to leaving the City. I forget who it was, but someone once said, “Once you live in New York City, every other place will be nothing more than second best.” So, as I’ve packed boxes and written resignation letters, I’ve also been in intense denial that any of this is actually occurring.
Shawn and I came to Manhattan five years ago so that I could attend The New School for my master’s. The plan was to be here for two to three years. I even named my blog at the time “Two to Three.” Like many people, Shawn and I not only found jobs, made friends, and scored an apartment, but we also fell in love with the City. When I got my diploma after just two years, we weren’t ready to leave.
I’m still not ready to leave, but I must. The demographics of our family have changed, and suddenly our one-bedroom apartment has gone from charming to cramped. More importantly, a vise has clamped around our finances; we have fit in baby food and diapers and daycare, but the thought of preschool makes my wallet scamper for the hills. Also important in the equation is our fatigue: we have worked hard to be the parents we expect ourselves to be and it has been a terribly hard task for two people to undertake alone. In the end, you can only burn the candle from two ends. You cannon splice in an extra wick for more money or an extra pair of hands.
From the start, we have had a list of pros and cons in our heads in the battle between Florida and New York City. Old home vs. New home. When people ask why we’re moving, I say that the scale has finally tipped in favor of leaving. Now, it’s time to go, and today, it is time to tell it: we are moving. To Florida. On July 29th, we are packing up a truck and driving our life back down to where we grew up, to where our family is, to the second best. Are we sad to leave? Yes. Are we happy to be leaving? Yes. But mostly we are afraid.
The city had defined us as people for the last five years; it has left an indelible mark on our personalities. To leave the City is to leave a little of ourselves behind. In some ways, that is a good thing. One more than one occasion, I have thought, The City is killing me. Of course, the City is also a place of much brilliance, a metropolis that defines the term “melting pot.”
Today, Shawn, Reilly and I sat in the waiting room of our pediatrician. In the room with us was an Indian man speaking French to his daughter, and a German woman speaking her native tongue to her two sons. While they waited, they made small talk with us in English. It was such a beautiful moment, the different cultures united by one common factor: we are New Yorkers. In the end, that is what I will miss the most: the tolerance of the people who live here, people from all over the world who live together in peace, as a model of what America is, what it should be, and what it will surely become if we are to succeed as a nation.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
A strawberry candy as metaphor for an evening of lasts
Last night, I left the apartment, ran down the stairs, and grabbed a strawberry candy out of the Holy Food Box on the way out the door. The holy strawberry candy was calling my name all the way down 6th Avenue, but I waited until I hit 10th Street to open it. The wrapper unfolded quickly in my clumsy fingers—too quickly—and the candy fell to the sidewalk. Sad.
I was sad last night because I was on the way to my last book club. I wasn’t sad about the books, of course. In fact, I hadn’t even read this month’s book. I was sad because this would be the last time I would ever see most of the people in the book club.
As a group we came together randomly, yet grew to like each other deliberately. And it is rare for me to find people who are cut from the same cloth as me, who are witty and progressive and literate. To discuss books with them was to have a Master’s class in literature without the pretension; to replace study with wine, to turn classmates into friends.
I was sad last night because I was on the way to my last book club. I wasn’t sad about the books, of course. In fact, I hadn’t even read this month’s book. I was sad because this would be the last time I would ever see most of the people in the book club.
As a group we came together randomly, yet grew to like each other deliberately. And it is rare for me to find people who are cut from the same cloth as me, who are witty and progressive and literate. To discuss books with them was to have a Master’s class in literature without the pretension; to replace study with wine, to turn classmates into friends.
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