Raw Drip

Less than a week into our Florida relo and we seem to have landed the best daycare provider ever.  Seriously, this place is awesome.  The price is pretty close to what we were paying in NJ but the quality of the staff, the cleanliness & order of the facilities and the structured curriculum are outstanding. 

The kids began attending last Wednesday, but since last week was spring break, Adam’s new permanent teacher was out.  This meant that we had a handful of subs in his room who were polite and capable but didn’t provide us with a lot of feedback on how Adam was transitioning into his new environment. 

When we arrived at daycare yesterday, we went through a new round of introductions meeting his permanent teacher, Ms. C.   Seeing Adam bounce obliviously past her warmly outstretched hand I could already hear the parent/teacher conversation in my head; the one where we talk about his not listening, his not sharing, and his not respecting other people’s boundaries.  

So, you can imagine my hesitation when Ms. C approached me this morning.   I was expecting to get the dreaded laundry list of behavioral issues to focus on at home.  I steeled myself for the inevitable, painful critique of my son’s coping skills – a notorious character trait that has earned Adam the title “Drama King” at home. 

But it was with surprise and relief that I heard Ms. C detail all the ways in which Adam is the ideal student.  I wanted to smack myself in the face a few times to get over the shock.  Whose kid are we talking about here?  I’m suspicious.

It seems the little boy attending her class listens and offers his insightful and surprisingly mature opinions using his real, big boy words – no toddler nonsense words.  And the obedient, friendly little guy in Ms. C’s class possesses an incredible ability to focus and apply himself to the task at hand.  This boy never fights or argues with the other children.  This little boy is a playground peacemaker and caretaker who just wants to see everyone get along.  Ms. C describes him as being delightful. 

Sadly, hearing her heaps of praise, I couldn’t believe we were talking about my son.  How can this be?  All of his past teachers told me stories about his lack of focus and his inability to listen or follow simple instructions.  While I never believed that there was anything developmentally wrong with him (after all, his father isn’t so good with focus or listening either) I was certain that I’d NEVER hear an experienced teacher praise my son for these very attributes.   Part of me wants to scoop him up and cover him with thankful kisses (”I guess I haven’t totally screwed you up…yet!”) and another part of me wants to pin down Ms. C and make her reveal all her super sneaky secret teacher techniques for making him act like the kid I always wanted him to be. 

But maybe I’m shocked by the praise because my perspective of Adam is warped by my close up view of the behavioral forest, if you will.  Maybe if I spent years upon years teaching and nurturing dozens of 3 & 4 year olds, I’d be able to identify the kids with the more serious issues versus the ones who are just going through normal developmental phases.   Maybe Adam really is the fabulous little boy I always knew he could be.

Today is day two of life with Adam in Ms. C’s room.  I can’t help it.  I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.  I’m convinced that soon she’ll look at my little chatterbox of a boy and realize what a disaster him and his parents are and she’ll regret having offered such effusive praise.  Or maybe I’ll force her to admit that she’d mistaken my boy for some other mommy’s kid.  When I point out to her that my son is the boy in the blue Hawaiian shirt and khaki cargo pants she’ll spontaneously offer up her true feelings in the form of an unrepeatable utterance that will confirm all my suspicions about the impostor kid invading Preschool II…

While, technically, we didn’t leave New York City behind (we were in Northern NJ after all) it still feels like the city and I have parted ways once again. 

The first time Dick and I lived in NYC we were there from January ‘99 to August ’02 B.C. (Before Children).  As a young single couple, we embraced our NYC experience by living in a Manhattan high-rise apartment with expansive views of the Hudson River, midtown & the twin towers of the World Trade Center.   With a car being exceedingly unnecessary and impractical, we absorbed the city through long walks.  Our weekends were often spent walking north from downtown to see what we could see along the way - no map, no schedule, no emergency provisions, no destination in mind - the city always provided for us.   

City life was fairly uncomplicated but often lonely for me.  The problem I faced with the city was, ironically, a sense of isolation.  I soon learned that if you’re young, single and living in the city, you’re probably absorbed in your career.  I was definitely lacking this kind of ambition.  However Dick was in a serious career growth spurt which often meant traveling for business or working long hours at the office.  With Dick gone I planned to live out my SATC (Sex & the City) fantasies of girlfriend chatter, shopping trips, great restaurants and high fashion.  But living in the city exacts a toll from those who dare to dwell within her silvery bounds.  You learn quickly to either make peace with paying that toll or you move on to the ‘burbs.

One toll I paid was sacrificing convenient shopping.  Surprisingly, shopping in a large city is NOT necessarily convenient.  This seems odd, right?  After all, when you’re in New York City, you’re in the shopping capital of the world.  What could be more convenient?  Well let’s say you want to hit your 8 favorite stores in the course of a day.  When you map it out, you realize that 3 of those 8 are on Madison Avenue between 51st & 67th, 2 more are on Amsterdam between 72nd & 81st and 3 more are on Bleeker in the West Village.  To cover those 8 stores is going to take some serious strategery (as Dubya would say) - at least an entire day and it’ll cost you a small fortune in cab fare.  The mall rat in me was annoyed by this dichotomy.  Because, while I loved the idea of the shopping trip, all that planning was too much like work.  The sterile, soulless convenience of the mall suddenly seemed like a brilliant idea. 

Another toll exacted by the city was on fashion.  Surprising, eh?  But let’s say you’re going to head out for a cross town walk to your favorite dining establishment.  You want to look city chic so you don your favorite pair of kitten heels, a fetching pair of black trousers with a white, fitted button-down shirt, a cherry red over-sized handbag and a pair of Jackie-O sunglasses make for an easy, pulled-together look.  After schlepping 4 blocks your feet are starting to ball up like the Wicked Witch of the East after Dorothy’s house crushed her.  Your heels feel like they’re being scraped of their flesh by tiny razor blades.  Even more annoying, your kitten heels keep getting stuck in the scary grates that cover the subway ventilation tubes, so now you have to constantly scan the sidewalk for potential pitfalls – what Dick calls “route planning”.   After 2 or 3 more blocks, the spandex in your trousers begins to hold in perspiration and you’re sweating like a pig in a sauna.  Your sweaty lower half is soon joined by your equally sweaty upper half as your fitted button-down shirt starts to adhere to you like a second skin – or a straight jacket.  Hair, once neatly combed into a french twist, has been unforgivably blown into a stringy mass from the wind tunnel formed by the adjacent buildings.  And that over-sized handbag you coveted when toted by Katie Holmes?  That bag weighs about 15 pounds empty and feels rather like carrying a bowling bag with a toddler inside.   This is when you realize that the glossy image of a sweat-free, well-dressed, impractically heeled and accessorized Carrie Bradshaw strutting the streets of NYC really is a fantasy.   The city demands that you think more practically.  From choosing comfortable, durable footwear to selecting reasonably sized handbags.  You and your wardrobe are going to be put through the paces.  Physical exertion combined with exposure to unpredictable weather elements and a complete lack of personal space will get to you and high fashion is for those that can afford to take cabs everywhere. 

Still, for all the planning, the hassles and the effort it takes to appreciate New York, its treasures are revealed in all sorts of little ways that remind me how fortunate I am to live in its hyper-reality.  My mind wanders back to the corner of Chambers & West Broadway where my favorite comfort eating spot “Kitchenette” resides.  So many breakfasts over the NY Times and a cuppa. 

For me, the sight of the Statue of Liberty takes me back to the bench facing the Hudson river where Dick proposed on bended knee at sunset.   Even now I can recall the green smell of the river water mixed with the faint odor of exhaust from the nearby ferries. 

Perhaps my heart both soars and falls with these memories because of the guilt & loss I feel over that part of my life being so completely and profoundly gone.   Our time in NJ – our last attempt to recapture that city magic - left me feeling unsatisfied.  The city offered up its gems to us, but we’ve changed and found the fussiness of it’s baubles unappealing.  It seems by leaving the city, I’ve paid the biggest toll of all because now my old dreams are fading and the new ones are costlier.  The dreams we have for our children are considerably less glamorous and more long term and they come with all new sacrifices that are far more complex than the mere inconvenience of cab fare or truncated shopping trips. 

From now on I’ll look back upon the city as our place – Dick’s and mine.   Florida may be home and our heart is certainly here.  But there’s a special part of our hearts that will always be in New York City.

In case you ever find yourself in the position of doing a cross country do-it-yourself move with 2 kids, a dog, and a house full of stuff here are some lessons I learned:

1. Beware of the last-minute basement clean-out.  Not only does sorting through it take twice as long as you thought it would, but it uncovers all sorts of stuff you forgot you had and now need to get rid of  immediately (see lesson #2).
2. If you post a curb alert on Craigslist on Easter Sunday saying, “Free baby & kids’ stuff at the curb by 8PM tonight” expect an enormous turnout because people will show up for free stuff no matter the holiday or how late it is.   More importantly, these people will show up with their entire family and all of them will be equipped with  industrial strength flashlights.  They’ll yell loudly to each other saying things like, “Ma! Look these crazy people are throwing out a talking potty chair and some perfectly good Darth Vader lip balm!” and annoy the hell out of your neighbors who are already pissed off at you because of all the crap on your lawn.
3. When you’re driving a 27 ft truck with a car in tow it’s really hard to find good parking (don’t even think about going in reverse) and you can’t really go faster than 55 mph on the highway.  Oh, another important fact – the truck engine is REALLY LOUD so you won’t hear your cell phone ringing when your wife is calling to tell that you’re driving the wrong way down a one-way street.
4. Traveling south with small children? Chick-fil-a is your friend.  The indoor play areas are awesome for helping kids get some energy out and all the kid meals come with ice cream.   While the children are away playing, you can eat their ice cream.
5. Call the bank before you leave town and tell them that you’ll be using your debit card in all sorts of strange places for odd amounts that are out of your typical spending pattern.  Knowing this will prevent you from standing bleary-eyed and confused at a gas station in Tifton, GA at 2:30am repeatedly swiping your card and wondering why it isn’t working and thinking your identity must have been stolen by the shifty clerk at the roadside inn you stayed at last night.

I hope these tips will save you some heartache in the future.  

In the meantime, let me just say this: I am NEVER moving again.  Seriously, they’re gonna have to remove my skeletal remains from this house because once I’m unpacked, I’m here for good.