PLANES TRAINS AND AUTOMOBILES /  by Micaela

Now that we are back from our trip, I am frequented with the question "how was your vacation?", to which I answer A) It was great, but B) I wouldn't call it a vacation.  Let me just get this out of the way now; I hate traveling with my child. 

Setting up.  iPod? check. Snacks? Check. Pillows? Triple check.

Going anywhere with your 3 year old, especially if you are a full time mom, is more akin to a business trip than a vacation. But not all 3 year olds are created equal.  I have seen them, the ones who quietly doddle behind their parents in line for security or slumped in their stroller wistfully gazing at the fluorescent lighting above.  I always wonder what karmic mitzhav their parents had done to earn such peace and sanity.  Meanwhile my child is unhitching all of those retractable belt barriers so they snap like nylon whips, and knocking over the stacks of plastic tubs while the security guards glare at us, the parents of this undisciplined tasmanian devil. Travel and all of it's insane rules and restraints seems to magnify Roan's every mania.  When I can't take it any more I strap him into the stroller where he writhes like a fly caught in a web.  We are not even on the airplane yet.

Pack Mule

It is at this point that I start to contemplate drugs.  For him there are none, unfortunately.  Is it too early for me to dose myself with Xanax?  I am not afraid of flying, per say, but the claustrophobia of knowing that I somehow have to keep my child in a seat for 8 solid hours is terrifying.  My only hope is that he will sleep.

He does not sleep.  Instead Sam and I take exhausted turns trying to keep him in his seat. The brand new high tech entertainment system that equips his seat keeps him occupied for approximately half an hour and then he wants to run laps through the aisles like a lab rat in a maze.  This is our tete-a-tete for the next 7 hours.  Roan wants to move and he is not allowed to.  We try reading to him, giving him food and milk, stickers and matchbox cars.  We put on music and make him a cozy nest on the seats.  He wants to only can-can into the seat in front of him.  

At one point I look up to see Sam and a flight attendant standing over me with pity.  The flight attendant says "do you need a break?" Is she joking, I think?  I say, "are you going to watch him for me so I can sleep?"  She says "I meant do you want to take him for a walk to the back of the plane", which is a bit like asking a rabbit being eaten by a boa constrictor if he would like to take breather without removing the snake.

Seven miserable hours later we arrive at Heathrow to transfer to our flight to Prague.  He sleeps only when we have to be awake, such as when we wheel him around in his little red chariot. 

Finally in Prague!

The adjustment to Prague was difficult and why wouldn't it be?  Jetlag sucks when you know what's going on and why you are trying to force yourself to sleep when you don't feel like it, but when you are three and all of this is alien to you it must be bizarre.  And being a tourist must be even more baffling.  We are going to walk around all day with crowds of people in the hot sun and stare at old buildings and things behind glass that we can't touch and we can't run or yell or touch annnnyyything.  How's that fun?

The Prague tram/bus/subway system is great, btw

We spent much time in both Prague and later in London on buses and trains which meant that he felt the need to get out of his stroller and sample every possible seat, perhaps to assess the view, the quality of the molded plastic?  Every vehicle was a sensory adventure rather than a means to an end. 


With Grandpa Terry on the top floor of a red London bus
With Aunt Cis waiting for the Underground

When Sam and I visited my sister in Vietnam we did an overnight bus tour of the Mekong Delta.  I remember that there was a Scandinavian family, a mom and a dad and a little girl who was about 6 years old on the tour with us and about 20 other adults. We filed through narrow riverways in long canoes and toured a candy making operation and a small farm with pigs and chickens. Otherwise we sat on a bus for hour upon bumpy hour.  The entire two days this child did not utter an unpleasant or defiant sound.  She sat and watch out the window, chatted quietly to herself and her doll, and drew in a coloring book.  Her parents were equally sedate.  When the bus got stuck in traffic we all had to get off and walk amid a sea of motorbikes to a ferry in the dark of night with our luggage and very little in the way of explanation and they seemed to be fine that. That's just what I'm going to be like when I'm a parent I thought, and my children are going to be just like this angelic, peaceful Scandinavian vision of manners.  Don't ask me why I thought I could avoid passing any of my personality traits on to my child but I guess these are the things you tell yourself when you are in the process of convincing yourself that you would make a good parent. 

We flew 3 more times on the trip and he became a bit better on each one.  Prague to Edinburgh and Edinburgh to London were both quick flights and he started to get the drill: Stay in line, don't touch anything, do whatever they tell you, sit down and stay put until the pilot says you can move, which is never.

Killing time in Edinburgh Airport

Settled in (finally)

The final leg home he made great progress, managing to accomplish something I never thought I would want him to do; sit down and watch TV for 7 straight hours.  It was hard for him but he managed to do it and then fell asleep, blissfully, half an hour before we landed.

Sleeping beauty

WE'RE BACK! /  by Micaela

We've had an epic 3 and 1/2 weeks of travel through Prague, Scotland, and London, but we are back in Brooklyn.  I have 2500 photos to tackle and a mountain of laundry, but I will be posting forthwith.

Skerray

MOVIE TIME /  by Micaela

It has been so miserably, blisteringly, meltingly hot in New York the past couple of weeks that on Friday I couldn't even muster up the energy to take Roan to the pool.  Everyone in this city is fed up and cranky, myself included. 

I had been suggesting to Roan all week that we go to the movies but I think I freaked him out when describing what a movie theatre was like.  I think he thought that rather than watching Despicable Me 2 we were, in fact, going to the main villainous characters house.  Funny when you realize how difficult it is to describe something so familiar to onesself.  

Finally on Friday he took the bait when our neighbor Claire offered to join us.  We went to a giant multiplex in downtown Brooklyn.  Roan squirmed in my lap for the first half hour but I think mostly because the movie was so damn loud.  I am not sure who decides on decibels for films but I can only imagine that they are suffering from significant hearing loss.

The movie was pants (Scottish for "it sucked")  Why why why does Hollywood insist on recycling the exact same archetypes and gender roles and story lines in every kids movie?  Seriously the structure was pretty much a g rated version of any James Bond plot.

ANYhow, Roan enjoyed it and apart from a trip out for a pee and popcorn managed to stay put the whole time.  After we took this little photo booth memento.


BESTIES /  by Micaela

I think it's safe to say that Roan officially has his first best friend, his classmate Suraiya.  Today is Suraiya's third birthday.  HAPPY BIRTHDAY SURAIYA!!!

I would like to think that his best friend is a girl thanks to Lula and the fact that he shared the womb with a little girl.  Perhaps he will always want to have the good influence of a female companion  around because of Lu.  However, in reality I think he found the prettiest girl in class and discovered she was every bit as rambunctious as him and that was that.  These two are partners in crime.  Let's just say that Tasneem (Suraiya's mom) and I are no longer letting them go unescorted into another room and leave it at that.

They ask after each other every day and look for each other first when going to the playground.  Last night I got a text from Tasneem that said "Suraiya just said she loves Roan.  Let's just plan the wedding now".  SO CUTE!  Although I think they are a bit more Bonnie and Clyde than Wills and Kate.

Here's Suraiya.  I know, right? 

Monkey see monkey do

Free music and hula hooping

Don't ask

Cuddle!

Suraiya sat here and Roan kept bringing her things to eat

There's a lot of snacking with these two

First and last time they had chocolate ice cream cones before bedtime

They are pretty much always right next to each other

Even with other kids around (with Oliver and Nico)

My guitar for your bubbles?

Note the matching gold sandals

SPRAY IT DON'T SAY IT /  by Micaela

This is something that all NYC playground rats must learn how to do sooner or later.  It is essential to fending of advancing troops in water balloon fights and to staying cool in general. Roan has been watching the big kids techniques for some weeks now and is perfecting his method.  




COOP SCHOOL STYLE /  by Micaela

Today is Roan's last day of school for the year, his last day as a ladybug.  There have been some ups and downs for him (and us) in his very first year as a student but I think in the end the Coop School has been an absolutely amazing community for us to be a part of as a family. 

It's also seriously the hippest, coolest group I've ever been a part of.  The expression "too cool for school"  is totally irrelevant in these parts.  Check out this video that fellow Coop School parents produced on school style. Roan isn't in it but many of his friends are.

ROAN AND CHARLIE ARE THREE /  by Micaela

Excuse the lateness of my birthday posting but Sam and I were yet again the victims of a vicious 24-hour stomach virus (me on my birthday, no less) and it's taken us a minute to get back on our feet. 

The weekend before last we threw a joint birthday party for Roan and his buddy Charlie since they were born only 3 days apart.  Roan, Lula, and Charlie all had their first birthday party together and they were all due on the same day so I will always think of them as being sort of siblings. 

We got really lucky with the weather and decided to have the party in the playground directly across the street from our apartment.



The theme was robots.  We went to town with that - it's so much fun because you can make robots out of literally any old thing you have lying around your house.  Robots rule!

Fruitbot

Sam made this.  Those are circuit boards on their chests.

Sam also made a rocket ship. Showing off, as usual.

Elizabeth and her mom made the best party bags!

My favorite part, however, was that Delores, she of Toddlers Songtime, who is one of my mom's closest and longest friends, provided the entertainment.  She is a marvel to watch.  First of all she remembered every single kids' name there after asking their name only once!  How? How does someone do that? Second of all it was extra special to me because she also performed at my third birthday. 

I got my mom to dig up a picture:

Delores (I'm in blue with the pink lei) circa 1979
She has the same captivating energy and goofiness.  And the same wicker basket for her instruments (now with packing tape all over it)!







The kids were pretty much spellbound for a good 45 minutes, and the whole thing ended with a musical birthday parade finale:


To top it all off Charlie's mom Elizabeth made the most unbelievable cakes (and she has a 6 week old baby.  AND I already got a thank you note from her for hosting the party.  Martha Stewart, you're on notice!)


We had such a blast.  We had an after party that was supposed to be more for the adults but the kids were having such a good time that we wound up letting a bunch of them play basketball until 1:00am!!!! I don't know what we were thinking except they were all being so well behaved and the adults were content so why rock the boat?


VERMONT YEAR TWO /  by Micaela

Back we went to our sweet spot in Vermont for early June. 

We avoided all highways and drove straight up sleepy Route 22.  Hard to believe that any road connected to New York City  (via the Hutch) could possibly feel so easygoing.  

A little of topic, but while on Route 22 we drove past an immense stretch of abandoned buildings that looked like the setting for every horror movie ever made. I looked it up later and for 70 years it was the Harlem Valley Psychiatric Hospital.  I was totally transfixed as we drove by.

Anyhow, moving on. We stopped here for lunch.



Here we are.  Aaaaaaand relax.

This time our friends Ben and Ali and their little ones Charles and Cecily joined us along with Cecelia, Jason and Bo, who was there last year but in utero.

View of the house from my feet

Commando swimming

Gracie and Wally jumped in immediately

Cecily

Ali, Cecily, and Charles

Breakfast

Jason and Bo

Charles and Roan

Bo!

Cecily was so taken with Bo

Sam is quite taken with Cecily

Sunbathing

There were lots of story times and a bit of couch lounging.




Sunday it rained for a bit, but really for only an hour or two, and it was still warm so no one was too bothered.  The chefs prevailed making steaks, and even the fishing was successful.  And then, ridiculously on cue, we got a rainbow for our troubles.



Obligatory dad uniform


This little guy went back in

Fishing in the rain

I mean, come on, right?



Us

Monday was perfection. Apparently Brooklyn was roasting, but Vermont was delightful.  The water was actually pretty warm, especially for this time of year.



Cecelia with Hat

Jason with Dog

Boys

Bug
Bo and Cecelia

Cecelia and I

Bo and I were really into our hats

I can't believe it took us 2 whole days to get there but we went for ice cream at Wahoo's Eatery one day, and then the next day Cecelia and Jason discovered the Creemee Stand which was a little slice of ice cream heaven.  It was like the ice cream stand that time forgot.  There really is nothing more nostalgic than an ice cream stand, but this place was so adorable and it had the most incredible ice cream.



It seemed like the locals all knew that this was the spot

A baby cone.  50 cents!

Roan waits patiently

Roan has a penchant for chocolate with rainbow sprinkles

First of all Cecelia and I look like we are auditioning for Grey Gardens here.  Second, we had Peanut Butter Sundaes.  So delicious but I really thought I was going to barf after.

The dogs are totally in their element here.  I think they remembered it from last year.

Baby bath!


She's 10 years old and she swam for hours.  Not bad for an old lady!

Roan, I fear, is really meant to be a country boy.  I mean, what is this kid doing in the city?





One of his favorite activities was peeing outdoors.  By the second day he was like the dogs, he would just run outside every time he had to pee.  Liberating, I guess.  The only thing that might have topped it was getting a ride on a lawn mower.




Sigh, five days flies by, but we all felt so gloriously relaxed.  We drove back down 22 and found this organic farm with these wonderful animal diagrams.  They definitely don't make it any easier to eat meat because they are so cute.




We all had such an effortless blast, it's hard to justify living in the city after weeks like this.  But then I need a bagel, so it was back to Brooklyn.

BBALL WITH THE BIG BOYS /  by Micaela

I will forever have to eat my words about the snarliness of boys, especially teenage boys.  Since having a very eager little sports man myself, I have found that almost every boy that Roan has approached on the playground has been unfailingly kind and generous with him.  

I'm sure part of it is because he is so ridiculously young and yet seems to already have the cojones to try to play with the big kids, but they always humor him and even try to give him lessons. Here a group of boys tried to teach Roan how to do a jump shot.  They declared that he had "skillz in his blood".  My favorite is the five year old who, although barely older, was like a little mentor.  Thank you, boys.


THE FORGOTTEN BOROUGH /  by Micaela

I love staying in the city for holidays.  It's quiet and you don't have to deal with traffic.  Having everybody else leave is the ultimate staycation isn't it?

The Saturday of Memorial Day weekend poured buckets of rain, but Sunday emerged fresh as the morning dew, sunny and clear.  We decided to take a bike ride to Staten Island by way of a boat.  Sam, in his 13 years in New York, has never taken the Staten Island Ferry, so we set out with snacks and sunblock with Roan as copilot.



The one mistake we made was deciding to cross to Manhattan via the Brooklyn Bridge, which was 5 deep with lumbering tourists.  They ambled into the bike lane, slow to react to my shouts to GET OUT OF THE WAY.  Finally a fellow cyclist with an alarmingly shrill whistle came to our rescue.  
Moving on...
Riding to the terminal we passed the line for the ferry to Governors Island, which I think I have blogged about before.  The line was two hours long. What?  Insane. 

The Staten Island ferry might be the best public transportation this city has to offer.  It's free, leaves every half hour on the dot, and has incredible views.

Manhattan Skyline
 

Gulls ride the waves
Windy!

We actually had no plan for what to do when we got there, so we just took a left.  It started off pretty industrial and there was still a lot of damage from Hurricane Sandy.



As we neared the Verrazano Bridge we biked right into a place called Fort Wadsworth.  Wow.



Apparently Fort Wadsworth here was built strategically to protect New York Harbour but by the time it was completed it was basically obsolete. Frankly, I can't believe no one's turned it into a boutique hotel.

We ate lunch and tooled around for a bit before heading back to the ferry.



The ferry is the perfect place for a photographer because there's tons of people watching but since every tourist has a camera so you don't look like a creep.







Roan loved the ferry! Sam, I'm not so sure.


 



We decided to go back to Brooklyn via the Manhattan Bridge.  No boardwalk, thus no tourists.  Not so scenic but quick.  On the way through Chinatown we hit on one of those spontaneous, fascinating vignettes of urban life that make New York a remarkable place to live. 

The Eastern US Fujian Opera Troupe, complete with live orchestra.



All told, including the ferry ride, we clocked about 13 miles.  We were fried when we got home.  Sofa time was needed.




FROM THE MOUTHS OF BABES /  by Micaela

NB: Apparently no one else can understand what Roan here is saying, which is "oh my God!"

I've had to be SO restrained with my penchant for cursing since Roan started to talk,  so it comes as a relief to me that this one (I am pretty sure) is all on Sam. And it's not too bad (twice, right at the beginning).  Plus he seems to have nailed usage in context.



Video courtesy of Sam too.

MOM /  by Micaela

I doubt it is apparent from this blog how my mom and I SO did not get along in my teenage years.  I believe, in fact, that we did not utter a kind word to each other for the entire year of 1990.  We were two bull moose locking antlers.  And yet, ironically, I think she kind of meant it to be that way. My mom had every intention of raising a girl who was as strong willed, outspoken, and opinionated as she was, although I think she got more than she bargained for.

Saying that my mom is a "personality" is like saying that Sybil was a bit of a personality.  My mom is ALL Susan ALL the time, which I found exasperating at fourteen.  She had blue and purple spiky hair and a mouth to match.  Why couldn't she just be my mom and blend in to the mom wallpaper behind all the other kids? Mind you, I had flaming red hair but this was supposed to be my prerogative as an expressive adolescent, not hers. 

Behind the scenes of all of this quirkiness and bravado I was oblivious to what my mom was really doing, which was taking care of other people all the time.  She worked at a homeless shelter for people with disabilities. She went back to nursing school in her 40s, which meant tackling algebra again for the first time in 30 years (of course, she was nominated to give the speech for her graduating class at NYU). She raised an angsty teenager and a small child in a crowded apartment with my dad who, awesome though he was, worked all the time. She had to usher her ailing parents and aunt through long, slow declines of alcoholism and Alzheimers and death pretty much by herself.  She faced this all with a directness and humor that I now understand to be the only practical way of dealing with a tragic situation without going crazy in the process.

At the time I think I misinterpreted the goal of all of this strong female will to be conquering a successful career.  But when I think about it now I realize that she was after something bigger, namely for me to be able to cope with any shit the universe threw at me.  To not hedge, to not avoid or hide or backpedal as so many are apt to do in the presence of fear and the absence of coping.  I don't think without having this fortitude ground into be from birth that I could have survived Lula's life and death.  And without my mom, who dropped everything, retired from her job and pretty much moved in with us, Lula would not likely have lived as long as she did.

Being a mom really is a terrifying responsibility.  In the natural order of the universe everyone's mom is their first and last line of defense. One of the most frightening realizations I had as Lula was dying was that that my mom didn't have her own mom to lean on any more, that all of her strength, which built a wall of love and safety around me, came from her and her alone. I don't know how I will ever be so strong without her. 

She still drives me crazy.  She's a chronic over-sharer and occasional busybody.  She tends towards vanity and obsesses over everyone's thinness and fatness like a walking US Weekly.  I have never had to own a scale because I know my weight by her inferences.  I refuse to be her Facebook friend because she has a way of teasing me that I don't have a sense of humor about.  But I can only imagine what irritates her about me, with my incessant requests for babysitting and relentless nagging to quit smoking and eat some vegetables. She is still my hero, she still shows me all the time how to keep living on this devastating and mystifying of planets.

Grandma Marion, Me, Mom (this photo is a repeat but it's my favorite so here it is again)

CLASS PICTURES /  by Micaela

Roan has had his very first class pictures.  I, of all people, am especially sympathetic to the plight of any brave photographer who endeavours to photograph toddlers.  It is impossible.  I am really quite happy with Roan's portraits and grateful he isn't posed like a taxidermied air hostess in front of a hideous marbled backdrop. Photos by Stomping Ground Photo






I am a little disappointed with the group photo since he is hidden, but what can you do?  It's a good thing he has so much hair or you would hardly see him at all. Also, his friend Suyaiya didn't make it to the session, which is a bummer.  Roan's friend Cole, however, is the rock star in the blue shades.  Nice one, Cole.