Okay, we've been back for a while but there's been some catching up to do. Mister stayed in New York while Bama and I flew out to California to go camping for a week (!) with my family at family camp. He waited, and waited, and waited for our furniture. Ten days alone in an empty apartment with no me, no Bama, a mattress on the floor (new sheets! because I packed ALL of them for shipping. Yea), an 8-inch skillet, a baby fork, and his chef's knives. Guess how much fun he had. The highlights of his week was going to Bed, Bath, and Beyond and getting necessary odds and ends, including our awesome new garbage cans. Yes, I said it, awesome garbage cans. Side by side, mice and cockroaches aren't welcome.
Did I mention the cockroach that sauntered across the kitchen floor our first morning? Haven't seen it since. We'd like to keep it that way.
I have some catching-up to do, with pictures and stories, but I'm going to start where we're at and do the catch-up over the next couple of posts.
Welcome to downstairs. This is the office area between Bama's room and our room. Really? It doesn't look like an office? Don't let the boxes fool you. I've cleared it out a couple of the boxes, but unpacking is a bit like those puzzles (I'm showing one from ThinkFun) in which there's one empty slot to let you move parts around, hoping for a picture. I suck at those puzzles.
We'll get there. This weekend is a push-to-unpack weekend. And then a where-the-hell-are-we-putting-the-extra-stuff begins. I think we're going to have another storage unit, a small one, down the street for the things we can't fit here (like bins of clothes and diapers for baby #2. and what are we going to call that baby?).
I've had one crying jag, a couple nights ago, so I guess that's not over yet. Neither of us is convinced about New York, but we also know we've been here weeks and have a lot of time to figure out whether New York works for us. I don't know about Mister, but I am having a hard time putting my finger on exactly what is unsettling about life here.
Is it that the produce is so watery, mediocre, feh compared to home? I asked a farmer at one of the so-called Green Markets if her blueberries were organic. No, they are lightly sprayed, she replied. Some things need to be sprayed. Huh. Tell that to the farmers in California and Oregon who don't spray at all.
Is it that most of the mamas I see are put together, manicured, unsweaty while I'm schlepping along in Bay Area frump?
Is it the fear of decaf at nearly every ladeda coffee house (Third Rail included)? (The coffee guy at the Hester Street fair, while grinding Mister's beans for his per-cup, said decaf was too difficult. Really? Do those little beans give you a hard time when you try to get them in the grinder?)
Is it that Bama needs a few friends to play with? There are no drop-in places? Is it that New Yorkers, by my friend Bryan's description, are always in a hurry, live exceptionally busy lives, whatever?
It's another universe and we're adjusting, but it will take a while.
Things I'm appreciating and, in some cases, love, love, love:
The plethora of parks, many of which have water sprays for kids. Weekend markets like the Hester Street Fair.
Movies in the park (free), slow weekends with Bama and Mister, the subway, and fireflies.
Activities for kids like art in the park (courtesy of the Battery Park Conservancy, why don't California parks have conservancies? Services and cleaning at your park, funded by you, sure, but wow!). Two weeks ago, Bama was given a tie-dyed shirt at Washington Square Park, made for her (if she was older, she could have dyed her own).
Did I say we'll adjust?