California I'm Coming Home

Last weekend I realized once again that connections are out there waiting to be made in the least likely of places.   It turns out that the father of a friend went to high school in a town neighboring mine in the middle of nowhere, NY.  We were both fairly stunned to discover this some 3,200 miles away in Berkeley, CA.  No less than three of my friends turned to me in unison to say, "I thought you were from New York City."  Well, no.  I used to live in NYC before moving here (and before moving to Los Angeles before that).  The straight truth is that I'm a hick.  Tire swing and broke down car in the front yard and all.

It took a long time for me to embrace my country mouse roots.  Only after living in Manhattan for a few years did I come to truly appreciate the beauty of the "country."  Having the opportunity to slow down and get down in the dirt became a wonderful respite when I started feeling the city's mania in my bones.  I always knew it was time for me to go upstate when I found myself wanting to push people down the subway stairs just so that I could get to work faster. A few days in the mountains was like hitting the reset button.

Now, although technically within the bounds of San Francisco, I find myself living a relatively small town life.  This truly is the littlest big city.   Ours is a particularly residential, family-friendly part of the City that suffocated me for at least the first year of my residency.  After living in the East Village, I couldn't understand where all the people went at sundown.  I was far more terrified to walk around my block with my dog at 9 pm than I was stumbling home drunk on Second Avenue at 3 am.  While I've come to enjoy and respect the quiet, I do still stare wistfully out the window in our living room, looking for "action," as my husband teases.  There is no action, other than the occasional fender bender or screaming child (often mine).  Thankfully, downtown and it's various sights, sounds and naked homeless people are just a short ride away.

As much as I fake complain about it to my husband (if anyone wants a lesson in fake complaining, I'm quite the master), I love that I see no less than three or four friends on any one of my many daily outings with my tiny boss.  We know our neighbors, our dry cleaners, our favorite farmer's marketers.  It's so cute, it's a little nauseating. Nearly five years later and I'm finally starting to see why people love San Francisco.  It's nice living.  Now, where do I find it on the East Coast?

It's not just me

The other night my brother and I were treated to a fancy, schmancy dinner at Jean Georges by his extremely generous and pretty much spectacular girlfriend. The meal was all sorts of buttery and delicious. I should be not surprised that all of my clothing suddenly appears to be a wee bit tight. This morning I felt all Chris Farley as I wrestled with the buttons on my now uber fitted winter coat. The dinner, which was in celebration of my brother's birth, consisted of eating, drinking and desserting for hours. Let your eyes linger on this vision of beauty that was my chocolate dessert platter.



We consumed this, and two others like it of the caramel and orchard persuasion, along with numerous chocolates, candies, marshmallows...and my mouth just started watering.

After gorging ourselves with wine and fois gras (actually not my thing, but when at JG...), we rolled ourselves back to the apartment where we are staying for the week. The building's front door was open and we all struggled to find a working set of keys when the apartment lock flat out refused entry to all the ones we had. We went through each of the sets that we were given, laughing loudly at our dilemma. How rude! Did the locks change? Are we that drunk? Finally, as we were just starting to get the tiniest bit frustrated, I questioned whether we were even in the right building. Um, no. Turns out we were in the building right next door that conveniently looks exactly the same. It's amazing that no one came out of the apartment after we spent at least a good 5-10 minutes fiddling with the lock and cursing at 11:30 pm. Needless to say, we hauled ass up and out immediately and found our proper home. Apparently, this is a family thing.

I miss home!

Good thing I'm going on SUNDAY to see my family! Yay!!

Circle of life

I've been feeling alternately so happy and so sad for the past few days that I'm beginning to forget how to function on an even keel. After traveling for a week and a half, running around to a wedding, a baby naming, delicious dinners out and homemade, hospital visits, dropping an air conditioner out of a window, meeting new babies, numerous trips to whole foods, train/plane rides, oh and hosting a Thanksgiving dinner in a teensy NYC apartment, I think the baby is starting to think that one 45 minute nap per day is acceptable. Nope, not even close, buddy.

We are so fortunate to have the time and the mental capacity to tour along the east coast to see our dearest (not so nearest) people. Like clockwork, the day before we leave, I break down in tears and sob to my husband that I hate living across the country and I want to move baaaaaack. This time it happened yesterday, a little earlier than normal. We've been negotiating the return policy for about three and a half years now. Today is the four year anniversary of my move to San Francisco. And yet I love my life there and feel so lucky to be this torn.

I've actually been crying a lot this week.

My sister's friend passed away on Thanksgiving day. This strong, beautiful and courageous woman was only 25 but suffered for the past year from a rare form of cancer, small cell cervical cancer. Although I didn't know her very well, her sister is my sister's best friend so the family has been in our lives for decades. I thought of this brave girl nearly every day for the past few months. Her struggle put so many things into perspective and inspired me in countless ways.

There is something so incredibly disturbing about someone dying so young. When I was in my last year of law school a close friend of mine died. Losing him when he was at his most vibrant and on the precipice of greatness was shocking and raw. I can't stop thinking about the family of this young woman. I hope it is of some comfort to them to know how deep an impact she's had on the world. During her illness she raised awareness for this disease and encouraged others to donate money to fund further research. Her life had meaning beyond just those who knew her personally. She changed this world for the better. I can only hope to have someone say the same of me one day. If you're feeling generous and lucky, please consider even a small donation or just start talking about this awful disease so that more preventative measures are taken and, hopefully, a cure will be found.

I also found out about three new and wonderful pregnancies this week.

With thanks

The entire house smells like garlic and onion (my mom's stuffing prep work) and I couldn't be happier. Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. This year is a bit strange in that we're not spending it with my entire extended family, or thirty to forty of my closest aunts, uncles and second cousins once removed. But, I'll be enjoying some turkey manana with my the immediate family I was born into and the one I've created and that will be ever so special.

Tonight I went out on the town with my man, my bestie (who introduced my husband and I) and her husband. They had a baby three months ago and it was hilarious to see that although they are crazy in love with their gorgeous girl, the four of us can still kill a pitcher of sangria in under 10 minutes. Granted, we were far too pleased with ourselves to be out past 11 pm, but some debauchery and many laughs were definitely had. Check out this resto next time you're looking to spice up your NYC eve.

For those of you with kiddos in or around the NYC area, head to the newly relocated Children's Museum of Art. It moved to a big, beautiful, bold space and is pretty damn awesome. Even though Mr. Monk was a bit smallish and shortish to enjoy all the art opportunities-and was nearly thrashed in the ball pit-he still did have himself a good time. I think children two and up would LOVE the opportunity to get down and dirty with the paints, crafts, clay and other assorted creative goodies.

Definitely wearing sunscreen

I'm just going to go ahead and say that I fear I've gone too soft to live in the NYC anymore. At least with a toddler tearing ass all over town. Yesterday we went to a local playground and after he spent ten minutes crawling through puddles, over rocks and in dirt mounds, he started to lick his hands. I'm not usually a germaphobe (the five second rule has elapsed into a 50 second rule in our world), but even I freaked about that. At least he managed to keep his hands and his tongue to himself as we rode the subway.

After visiting with three couple friends of ours with kids in the past two days and spending this morning immersed in this awesome manic mecca, I am starting to get how much confidence (craziness?) it takes to raise a baby in a city as dense and intense as New York. Some of our friends live in one bedrooms and have completely given over the bedroom to the baby for the sake of wakeless nights. Their clutter was making me anxious and overwhelmingly appreciative of our washer/dryer.

Then again, the constant frenetic pace does have its benefits. Since I haven't touched any of the work out gear that I laughingly toted along, it's fun in a masochistic way to test my She-Ra power lugging the baby, plus stroller, plus (slightly less gigantic than in previous infant stages but still relatively large) bag of crap up the multiple flights of stairs that exist in every single building. Why is nothing ever on one level in this city and how did I never notice that before? Being here makes me realize once again that San Francisco, particularly the little corner of the 7x7 that we occupy, is hardly a city at all.

Despite all the difficulties, I can't help but think how cool it would be to grow up right on these crowded blocks. These kids are exposed to so much just walking out the front door. Art, music, speech and all other forms of creative expression are in your face here-you practically have to go out of your way to avoid them. Literally, I have been crossing streets to avoid the big crowds around street performers and various occupiers. Speaking of kids + art, tomorrow I think I may take Mr. Monk here. Why not let him explore his inner Picasso, especially when someone else is on clean up duty. Or maybe the mister and I will leave the babe with his grammy and go have ourselves some museum fun.

The ground, pre washing by Mr. Monk's tongue

He's got places to be and people to see...


Lights!

Clearly the most awesome toy in the whole museum was mommy's purse

Ready for greatness

Tomorrow we leave for an almost two week trip to the east coast. Atlanta-New York-Maryland to see some friends get married, visit some newly hatched babes, reunite with beloved family members and GO OUT IN NYC WITHOUT HAVING TO WORRY ABOUT NURSING. Hip, hip hooray for built-in family babysitters. As much as I enjoy living in San Francisco, the thought of being nearer to family and close friends is a delightful one. I miss my people.

My husband and I each chose to get Mexican for our respective lunches today because we knew we'd crave it while away. This is love, people.

While playing in the playground sandbox yesterday, Mr. Monk was digging away at the world's problems with his shovel and uncovered a treasure trove of cat poop. Apparently, my son's personal nirvana is just one giant kitty litter after dark. I scooped out what I could, got my baby the hell out of there and alerted all the other nannies/moms about the contamination. Most agreed that it was pretty gross, shrugged, and went back to gossiping while their kids continue to pour the sand down their pants, in their mouths, and in each others hair.

Speaking of hair, today was the first time I had my hair professionally colored in almost two years. Holy moly, so that's what it should look like. The greys were staging a mutiny. And now they are dead. For 6-8 weeks.

So...flying across country with a 13 month old that can't seem to sit still/be held/keep quiet for more than 45 seconds? Thinking this might be the trip that we order drinks for all our seat neighbors.

Many, many thanks to Irene from I'm a Silly Mami and Roxanne from Not Winning Mom of the Year for my Liebster Awards. Just knowing that my musings and rantings amused you both is reward enough. But, feel free to send chocolates too. Seriously, the blog community is so supportive and welcoming that it's almost therapeutic to be a part of it. And it's free! One of these days I'll get around to posting some of my faves too--procrastination is my strong suit (as evidenced by the fact that it's almost 11 and I haven't even packed)!

Who needs a playground filled with cat poop when you have a laundromat with its own coffee shop?

Greener Grass

I spent the morning with an old friend who was visiting from NY and her two children. She recently had a second baby and was telling me about life in Brooklyn with two under three. It sounded hectic and hard yet very exciting. I felt relieved not to be dealing with subways and walk ups and still seriously jealous. When she left, I realized how much I miss NY and my family and friends. The dull ache has escalated to a searing pain. It must have something to do with the fact that it's been almost four months (!) since I've been there. That is a darn long time for someone who averages 6-8 trips per year. Why yes, I have considered looking into flight attendant work.

Of course, as I was waxing nostalgic on my time in NY, my friend looked wistful herself and noted how lucky I am to live in such a beautiful city. It is beautiful here. Over the past few months, I have really been enjoying our west coast life. Things are generally slower, calmer and overall easier here than they would be in Gotham. I appreciate that, although we live in a major city, our little neighborhood is as quaint as they come. I know the people at the park/grocery store/library hour and they know me. Notwithstanding the extremely high cost of living, San Francisco is a wonderful place to raise a child. A young child, that is. All hell starts to break loose when you consider the schools, but I can't even wrap my head around that now. In the meantime, I'll just appreciate our little impromptu beach trips at the end of October. Tony, our little water dog just needed a swim.






Present enjoyment aside, I still need my family, friends and frenetic NY energy fix. Immediately, if not sooner. Thanksgiving, I'm looking at you.

The Real World

When two people go from living across the country and seeing each other once every few weeks to living in a house together, they stop being polite and start getting real.

I moved to SF almost four years ago and have spent most of that time trying to convince my husband to move back to the East Coast. When I moved, we had been dating long-distance between NY and SF for over a year and one of us had to give. It made sense for me to go because I was the more portable party (didn't own my home; didn't have an established business) and, amazingly, my job agreed to let me work remotely. As hard as it was for me to leave NYC and my family/friends, I was excited for the new adventure. Mainly, I was excited because I thought of it as a short-term thing. I figured we would be here together for 2-3 years, then I would get pregnant and we'd head back to be closer to our families since neither of us have any out here. Never mind the fact that we weren't even engaged when I moved.

Fast forward past the puppy (Tony), the engagement (Big Sur), the wedding (New Orleans), the honeymoon (Paris-Kenya-Zanzibar), the baby (cute) and we're here. With no real plans to leave. We are so fortunate to have a great community of friends that almost makes up for the fact that we have no family here. Almost. If we weren't so close with our families I think the distance would be less of an issue. But, I hate to think of only seeing my baby nephew every couple of months and the same for Mr. Monk with the rest of our relatives. Yes, I realize that traveling across the country every couple of months is going to be untenable soon and basically already is. Given that we're spending a fortune on airfare, (hello $500 roundtrip flights. I hate you) I am not sure how long we can keep this up.

Our main issue, aside from the general loveliness of our life here and the whole not wanting to leave it, is that we don't know where to go. We can't seem to think of a city that is similar to San Francisco in terms of access to great food/culture/music/farmer's markets/progressive and mostly not aggressive mindset. While we don't yet feel ready for the 'burbs, we have also come to accept that my husband just can't deal with life in the NYC. After about four days, he starts getting twitchy, agitated and yell-y. Even in Brooklyn! For a man who is so laid back he makes Jack Johnson look uptight, this is not a good look. So, where does that leave us? With the suburbs and NY out, we can't seem to swallow moving to DC, Philly or any of the other smaller cities on the EC right now.

All of this to say, we're here. And this is where we will be. For now. I know that we will in all likelihood make our way back to the Atlantic at some point. I can't admit to myself what I sometimes think, which is maybe we should stay. In the meantime, I am going to retire my "why I want to move" speech and enjoy the scenery. I've spent far too much time obsessing over what's next and what will be that I'm not paying attention to what is. It's a pretty good life, when you're willing to live it.

So, I'm a Californian?

Thanks for the cry, Alan Ball

Another day, another HBO series finale (can you tell we just switched from Direct TV to cable with on demand?). Seriously, the last ten minutes of "Six Feet Under" might just be the most perfect ending of a television series. Ever. I was obsessed with this show when it was on and bawled hysterically the first time I saw this finale and again just now. It's just so satisfying to see what happens to these beloved characters. For a montage about death, I found it pretty life affirming. Wouldn't it be great if every tv show, movie, book showed you the full character arc all the way through until their deaths? This show and this ending has stayed with me for years.

Every once in a while it's good to be reminded that you only have one life. This is the time to make the most of it. Not tomorrow, next week, or next year. I am guilty of always thinking that things "will be better when..." I've been trying to live more in the moment and appreciate all the beauty of now, however absurd and annoying it may be at times. Writing this post, six years after this show aired, knowing how much more love I have in my life makes me feel so very, very lucky.

This is clearly the week for oversharing about celebrity meetings--I met Chris Messina, the guy who played Ted, Claire's love, at a bar in Brooklyn the year after the finale. I recognized him from the show and we spent the next few hours chatting about the program, life in Los Angeles and stocking fetishes. So as to diffuse any potential flirtation, I told him straight up that I had just started dating someone. At the end of the night he asked me if I was going to marry this guy. Without any hesitation, I said yes. And I did, two and a half years later.

Now I want a cosmo

My husband is out of town and I am already watching "Sex and the City" on demand. I'm like a caricature of a bored housewife. This episode I'm on is from the last season, with Aleksandr Petrovsky, Miranda's wedding and Samantha's breast cancer. Not my favorite season, but it'll do. And, Carrie's hair is pretty, wavy awesomeness. As I watch this, it has just occurred to me that I am now frighteningly close to the age of these characters, at least much more so than when I initially enjoyed the series almost ten years ago.

Back then, I was in my early twenties, living in Manhattan-Los Angeles-Manhattan, spending four to five nights a week in bars/lounges/clubs. In almost four years, I've been to less than five clubs in San Francisco. My, how the mighty have fallen. This show, unrealistic though it was (exactly what kind of writer buys those shoes and lives in that apartment?), always makes me miss New York. New York and brunch. Brunches that lasted hours, dissecting dates, careers, travel plans, families. I wish I had that time again to chat with my girlfriends, children, husbands and geographic distance be damned.

Incidentally, I actually met Sarah Jessica Parker when I was in college. Unbeknownst to me, I was babysitting for her niece and nephew and almost squealed with delight when she opened the door. She was as sweet as pie and teeny, tiny. That same night, the family's dog gave birth in their bath tub. I had to call the parents back for an emergency delivery. I helped to whelp!

Dun dun dunna...

Let The Games Begin

Imagine you are walking down a sunny block in the middle of New York City on a holiday weekend. The streets are almost deserted and you are sticky and happy after basking in the sun’s glory in Central Park for a few hours. You drank a beer wrapped in newspaper and ate berries purchased that morning at the Union Square farmer’s market. All in all, a fairly spectacular afternoon.

Now, picture this blissful scene gone horribly awry when you look down at your beautiful baby giggling in his stroller with his hands covered in shit. Yes, shit. His own shit, mind you, but that hardly matters. Apparently, somewhere between Park and Madison, my little love let out a gigantic poop that was no match for his diaper. The waste burst through both sides and left a nasty little puddle in his stroller that Mr. Monk was busy exploring with his fingers.

After my head exploded, I pulled the breaks on the stroller, grabbed the baby and immediately began the clean up process. Spreading the changing pad out on the middle of the sidewalk, I went to work trying to contain the damage before the fingers made their inevitable way into his mouth. Using every wipe I had, I managed to salvage the hazmat contamination. Unfortunately, I had gotten a little too comfortable in believing that Mr. Monk was past the blow out stage and left an extra outfit at home. Clearly I was not a girl scout. Given that it was about 90 degrees out, I figured we had about ten minutes before the smell of his stained onesie became unbearable. After wiping up the outfit and the stroller as much as I could, I came to the only logical conclusion that one could while walking with a shit-stained baby on 62nd street—let’s go shopping!

As we walked into Bloomingdales, I instinctively knew that Mr. Monk had orchestrated this whole fiasco just so that he could be in a giant store full of ladies. Apparently, everyone who didn't leave town for July 4 was in full on shopping mode. Thankfully his cute smile allowed the other elevator occupants to momentarily forget the foul odor coming from below. The salesladies took pity on me and gave me an extra 20% off the sales price for the snazzy new ensemble. Not the best way to get a bargain, but not the worst either.

While changing him in the bathroom, I met a woman who was trying to convince her 3-month-old that her breast and the milk therein was far more interesting than the wall he was busy staring at. As I was washing the poop off the stroller, I was telling her how much fun parenting is now. And it is, even on the shittiest days.

Mission Accomplished

On Today's Agenda:

1. Ignore friend's instructions about which subway stations have elevators and then need to carry baby + stroller + giant bag filled with unnecessary crap up three flights of stairs.
2. Forget to refill diaper stash in giant bag filled with unnecessary crap and therefore be unable to change baby as he sits in a poopy diaper in nice restaurant.
3. Pretend not to notice the foul odor eminating from baby while eating in nice restaurant.
4. Repeatedly hand baby back bottle, sippy cup, Sophie, blanket, spoon, puffs after he chucks them on floor/ground. Germs are good, right?
5. Watch baby flirt shamelessly with saleswomen in Sephora.
6. Parlay baby's flirtation into numerous perfume samples.
7. Stare unabashedly at waiter who looks frighteningly similar to an ex-boyfriend except with the addition of a strange little clark gable mustache.
8. Spend an inordinate amount of time wondering why anyone would grow a mustache.
9. Eat an appetizer, entree and dessert at dinner and still try to justify stopping off for a slice of pizza on way home.
10. Watch Mr. Monk enjoy all the action NY has to offer. A box of tissues might still be tops, but NY is a close second.

Watermelon is key

There is a major east coast summer storm raging outside right now. Thunder! Lightning! We just don't get this on the west coast. The rain we get, but not with all the fun accoutrements. Of course, if the power goes out while I'm typing this I may not be quite so appreciative. We're in upstate New York, near where I grew up. Though I lived in NYC for many years before moving to San Francisco, I am torn as to which area I miss more (at least in the summer). I guess I am just a country mouse at heart--I love walking around the general stores in these tiny towns, checking out the one fancy home goods shop and eating the local pie maker's fare. Life is slower and quieter around these parts and it's nice to just let time elapse. We're playing board games, cooking dinners and having face to face conversations instead of electronic ones. Mr. Monk is trying new fruits and crawling on grass. None of us could be happier.

We also got to introduce Mr. Monk to his adorable new baby cousin this trip. He was born the last time we were in NY, but for some reason hospitals don't allow 6-month-olds into birthing rooms. You and your rules, hospitals. It was so incredibly sweet to see my son with my sister's. Mr. Monk thought he was the greatest toy ever! He kept batting at the baby and trying to launch off of him. Thankfully, the littlest one was nonplussed though he didn't much seem to enjoy the old finger in the eye trick. I can't wait to see them together in a couple of years. Something tells me we're going to need a bigger bubble.

This is our third stop in five days, which included visiting another cutey baby boy cousin, attending a wedding and many, many car rides (and an alarming number of u-turns). Thankfully, Mr. Monk has been sleeping well on so far, though he seems a little too excited for two-nap days. I mean, who wants to sleep when there are Grammies to play with and coffee tables to climb on? Tomorrow we head to the big City to see a mighty number of friends and family. Mr. Monk takes Manhattan!

Poor Ricky

Last night (this morning?) at about 4 am either aliens invaded my home or the battery in the smoke detector started failing. The baby monitor went all paranormal activity on us. There was a weird ringing and the video feed flashed on and off. Mr. Schneed and I both shot right up. What the hell? Of course, I wasn't much calmed by the fact that when I looked at the monitor, I couldn't see the baby in his crib. He seems to know exactly where to crouch so that he is out of view. After a few absurdly scary seconds (was he struck by lightning?), my husband realized that it was the smoke detector and promptly fell back asleep. I, meanwhile, kept checking the monitor until a wayward little arm appeared on the screen.

I just watched the wrong ten minutes of "Boyz In The Hood." Dayum, that was a buzzkill. Such a great movie.

In other news, I'm fairly certain that I have never enjoyed anything in my life as much as I enjoy kissing the underside of my baby's chin. Who knew?

We're leaving on Friday for an east coast tour. When you live on the other side of the country, you can't possibly visit one relative without visiting them ALL. Thus, we will embark on a two-week long odyssee, with 1,2,3,4,5 stopping points. Yippee! Call me crazy, but I am soooooo excited to enjoy some heat, humidity and homecomings. Mr. Schneed can only think about the crabs (he's a Maryland boy). Mr. Monk has no idea what's coming.

This Is The Time To Remember

I just got off the phone with my 96-year-old grandma. She was telling me how she hurt herself today. Swimming. She overswam the backstroke and now her back was screaming at her. She was thinking that she probably should skip the gym tomorrow so she could get back to swimming over the weekend. Are you kidding me? She is amazing. I wish I could bottle her energy. Not to be outdone, my husband's 94-year-old grandma, who had BRAIN surgery a few weeks ago is now up and at 'em. Florida's water must be the true fountain of youth.

Earlier today I heard from an old friend with whom I hadn't spoken in months. I love those random chat moments on gmail. Sometimes the internet is a heavenly place. Amidst our playing catch up, this friend asked me how I liked staying at home with my son. I lived with her back in the years that I worked as a big firm lawyer in NY. Work hard, play hard to the extreme. I'm pretty much the polar opposite of that now. Aside from my initial identity crisis at about 3 or 4 months postpartum, I have mostly loved being a SAHM and enjoying my son's fleeting babyhood. It is so very much more exhausting and more thrilling than I could have imagined. Though I still have a little trouble responding to people's questions about when I am going back to work, that's primarily because I have no idea. I will be doing some temporary, part-time work this summer for my old office, which should give me a sense of life as a working mama. I'm most excited about the thought of getting dressed before noon and having dinner waiting for me when I get home--that's the way it works, no?

Mr. Monk's playgroup went to the California Academy of Sciences today. It is a glorious place filled with neon fish, sea dragons and an albino aligator. Needless to say, the babes squealed with delight pretty much the entire time. Here is mine trying to become one with the fish universe.


Definitely a day to hold onto.

And "Footloose" is on tv now. Does life get any better?