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?

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.

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?

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.