NYC Moms

Midnight At Our House

Our daughter has entered a phase that apparently most children enter at some point in their lives--she wants a pet, preferably a dog. Merciless reminders come to us day after day and night after night. Some days she says she'd settle for a cat. One day, she became so desperate,  she said that she'd be interested in getting a frog. (Although, in her defense, I saw the frog she wanted, and it was very small and kind of cute, for a frog.) She even takes on the pet persona of the requested animal du jour, sometimes asking to be walked, drinking water from a bowl on the ground (her request, not ours) and barking in the hallways.

So, we recently tried a little experiment.

Ask When

This is incredibly sad for me to write.  I hope writing about it helps. 

My brother's baby stopped breathing and died in his sleep, almost two weeks ago.

We were all in terrible shock. Sawyer was a sweet, beautiful little thing, only a month-and-a-half old. We'd just Skyped with my brother and sister-in-law and watched him sleeping contently in his mother's arms. I'd had the chance to hold him myself over Thanksgiving. Impossible.

And not fair. Especially not for my brother and his wife, who'd already lost their first baby due to medical complications. They then went on to have twins--a boy and a girl--now two-and-a-half--both adorable. But now this.  I can't imagine having to go through the death of a child once, let alone twice. 

 

I Am Not A Napkin

Around this time of year I generally do a bit of reflecting about all the things that I am...a mother, a wife, a sister, a daughter, a friend. I think about these positions, the expectations that come with them, how I'm filling them, and I look for areas where improvements can be made.

It's also inevitable that I think about things that I'm not. This year, there's one particular thing that I am not, but my child can't seem to get it into her head that this is the case.

My Daughter: "Momma, I need something to wipe my hands."

Me: "I'll get you a napkin."

My Daughter: (Silence. Walks over to me and wipes her hands on my pants or sweater or whatever article of clothing has been most recently dry cleaned. She's got an uncanny ability to pick that item above all others.) "Never mind."

Me: "Why did you just do that? Do I look like a napkin!"

My Daughter: "Yes."

Me: "Well, I'm not a napkin."

My Daughter: "Yes you are." (She then breaks into fits of giggles.)

The Kindergarten Bully

My daughter has been in public school kindergarten for a little more than a month. Every morning, I relish the short time in which I am allowed to go into her room, and join her in her early school routine, which includes hanging up her coat and backpack in her cubby, putting her picture up on an attendance chart, dropping off her folder and signing her name on a big sheet of paper. 

But the other day, as she'd finished with her classroom responsibilities and sat down to draw, one of the teaching aides quietly approached me and said, "I want to talk with you. Yesterday, I found your daughter Jade and her friend Emma out in corner of the school yard during recess. They were both crying. When I asked them what happened, Jade said a bigger girl told her she was going to punch her in the face. I asked her to point the girl out to me. I know that girl, she's much larger than all the other kids, and she can be a bully." 

A bully? In kindergarten? She's barely started to make her mark in the school world and already she's practically the lead in her own ABC after school special? I was floored. I was worried. I was saddened. I wanted the name of this kindergarten bully so I could go take care of her...myself. 

First Day of School

I'm not sure who was more nervous about my daughter's first day of Kindergarten, my daughter, or me. Neither one of us outwardly showed it, but to be sure, there was some anxiety about starting at P.S. 261. The morning of her first day, she jumped out of bed on her own, quickly put on the outfit she'd picked out with me the night before, and came out to the kitchen to find me making her requested breakfast of silver-dollar pancakes. Definitely NOT a typical weekday morning in our household. 

But, instead of drinking her milk and scarfing down her typical 5-8 pancakes (they're small, don't worry), she tentatively ate two and said she was done. Must be nerves. In my case, I kept up my cheerful and excited facade. Well, it wasn't a total facade, as I was cheerful and excited, but I was also melancholy and a bit scared for her. Scared for us, actually. Just walking past the school yard and seeing all the big kids lined up outside had me shaking in my boots with that "first day" anticipation. After all, this was the bigger, badder world of kindergarten. The ratio of teachers to kids had diminished drastically compared to her pre-school days, meaning it would be unlikely that there would be anyone with time enough to make sure her nose wasn't running, to heat up her lunch, to get her to "just try" using the bathroom even if she said she didn't have to go...o.k. stop this train now before I want to throw myself off. 

Beach Daze

When we arrived at the beach house late Saturday night, my daughter, who'd been asleep in the car, quickly woke up to take in her new, albeit temporary, home. She ran through each room, came back and asked, "Where's all the toys? I don't see much kid stuff." It might have been nice if she'd waited to mention that until after the woman who'd rented us the house, and who'd be staying in the upper level, had actually left the room, but no such luck. "Kids say the silliest things. Sorry," I said to her as I grimaced. Then Jade ran back into the room designated for her, yelled out that she liked the purple walls, that there were two beds in the room (!), and that she was going to test the springy-ness factor of both beds. Needless to say, no need to visit the trampoline park with mattresses like these in your home. Our landlord left, and a few minutes later, returned armed with board games, none of which were age-appropriate for a four-and-a-half year old. 

This was the first vacation my husband, daughter and I had taken on our own...by ourselves...just the three of us...(Did I mention it would just be us?)...since our daughter's birth almost five years ago. But work had us so busy that the days snuck up on us. A week before our time off was set to start, we had nowhere to go. And, despite the current trend in stay-cations, we really wanted to get away from the city. So, when my husband found a last minute Craig's List beach rental on New Jersey's Long Beach Island, we went for it--keeping our expectations low. 

Car Games

We recently returned from a trip to Liberty, Maine that required a solid eight hours of driving to get back to New York. We're in the habit of making long drives late in the day, knowing that most of the driving is done in the dark, hopefully, with a sleeping daughter in the backseat. But, for this trip we had to make a mid-morning drive. We were hopeful that along the trip she'd at the very least, take a nap.

As a result of never having owned a car in my daughter's lifetime, she's had relatively low exposure to driving in her four-and-almost-three-quarter years. She did take a trip to visit some cousins a while back.  They live in a small mountain community in North Carolina, and spend a fair amount of time in their parent's mini-van, as just getting to school for them required a thirty minute drive. But for my daughter, driving with them was like discovering the mini-van mecca. She returned from her trip raving about pillows on the seats, the fast-food chains where they'd "just driven up to a window and brought food right into the car!", and the piece de resistance-- of the movies they'd watched--"right there in the car, Mommy!"  It appeared she'd had as much fun with her cousins inside the car as outside, during that trip.

Ever since then,  when summertime travel with us rolls around, we never quite know how well she'll fare on a long drive.

The Dental Dilemma

There are a lot of things in New York City in which parents generally expect to spend "more than the norm". Birthday parties, babysitting, shoes, are a few that come immediately to mind. But following a recent visit to the pediatric dentist, as the receptionist handed me the bill, I wondered whether they use gold in the fillings here, instead of silver. 

We took my daughter to her first dental appointment at the age of three, as recommended by her pediatrician. The dentist kept my husband waiting for an hour with no explanation or apology, took our kid into the office and counted her teeth. That was it. And then she gave him a bill for $150-dollars. Huh. Evidently, I'm in the wrong business.

Not interested in further wasting our time or money, we began looking around for another pediatric dentist. Our insurance company made a few recommendations, but they were all in Manhattan, and as we live in Brooklyn, we'd hoped to find someone closer. 

Early Graduation

As I was cleaning out my daughter's lunch box recently, I discovered a note that had been sent home from her pre-school. "Your child's Graduation date has been moved up by three weeks. Please mark your calendars. Additionally, please send in 15-dollars for a cap and gown by this Friday."

After inquiring the following morning, I was told that the reason for the new graduation date was because her favorite teacher had to move to California. I'm not sure what bugged me more--the idea that my daughter's teacher was going to gone for the remainder of the school year, or that I was being asked to shell out money for a cap and gown for a 4-year-old's graduation ceremony. I pictured a bunch of little kids running about in their graduation gear, tassel's flying, causing mass chaos, while a bunch of stage parents cooed over how adorable their children were.

But, my daughter had been practicing for her early graduation, and in an attempt to make sure that she didn't sense any of my hesitations, I needed to fully commit. In order to guarantee that I would make it to the ceremony in time, I would have to take a day off from work. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound (or in this case, 15 bucks and a vacation day).

Recession Obsession

                                                 These days it's not unusual for me to come home mentally exhausted from the talk, the news and the statistics of the recession that I'm exposed to everyday. I work in the news business and I'm one of the many people responsible for making sure that we're covering all the angles of this incredibly important issue. As a result, I'm the recipient of more recession information than the average consumer would ever want to hear. Once I've walked through the door of our small, Brooklyn apartment, however, all the constant "recession obsession" makes me feel...grateful. 

     Despite the recession, my family has a roof over our heads, my husband and I currently have jobs, and we've socked away a little money in the event that things take a turn for the worse. We generally don't live beyond our means, and we never have.