I think I just invited my family to trick or treat with a group of other families in the West Village. I asked in innocent question about how trick or treating works when you live in an apartment tower, and she said that they go to the houses in the West Village as it has a nicer feel. I responded with a ‘Oh! That sounds great!’, which I think was interpreted as a ‘oOh- can I come too?’.
She graciously extended an invite.
(Next question is though- do parents here also take booze in their sippy, I mean coffee cups, or is that just something that happens in Calgary to keep the shivering parents warm? Or is that just something my family does? )

Is it that my pride has flown out the window since moving here, being so challenged and humbled, that I actually invited myself along to something?
Nah- it’s that it sounds so iconic and awesome, and it’s part of the reason that we chose to move here. To expose our little ones to these experiences, which, really, they probably will just take in stride, but Brett and I will truly understand the significance of.
That’s another irony. There are so many parts of the equation of the rationale behind our choice to move. But a big one was the breadth of experiences we’d be offering our children by living in a world centre like NYC for a part of their childhood.
The sadness and beauty of that is that I wonder just how much they will really understand about the exposure they’re getting. Of course they won’t really understand it, yet. But on the other hand, that’s what we also want- for them to be oblivious to the change, to be adjusted, to be adapted, to be happy and just going with it all.
We’ve had some pretty involved weeks behind us, and as I start to look forward to this weekend, I have a goal to keep things simple and relaxing for one weekend. (I’ve heard that before)

And I legitimately don’t know how to do that yet in a city like New York!
Lazing about the apartment will work for a bit, and we’ll gladly embrace that, but eventually kids get tired of playing in our cozy space and we all start to feel a little crowded. So that loses it’s relaxing feel…!
Maybe it’ll be a weekend of enjoying Fall in the city. Nice and simple.

Seriously- how can we go wrong?
http://mommypoppins.com/ny-kids/30-free-halloween-events-for-children-in-new-york-city

Just don’t. Over. Do.it…!

Yesterday marked the 4th annual Walk for Thomas, and the first where I wasn’t involved in the day-of organization of the flagship walk back in Calgary.
In spite of me moving my family and my life mid-way through the planning, a team of dedicated, loving, and passionate people still pulled off another amazing event, remembering the life of Thomas, and raising awareness for a rare and deadly disease.
Hours of preparation, of sadness, and hope goes into this event- I know it too well.
It is all worth it, and then some, of course.
As I was going through all of the posts of our extended Walk for Thomas friends and family, literally around the world, I was overcome with a warmth and comfort. So many good people. Good.
An awful, a sad, a painful experience uniting people by a common thread of… Hope? Of committing to appreciate your days just a little bit more? Of recognizing the fragility and injustice in so much? Of promising to be a bit more patient, a bit more gentle, a bit more greatful of our children?

We’d been here 2 weeks when I got the courage to invite coworkers to join us in walking this year.
With only 3 weeks notice, and only 2 weeks of knowing who the hell Brett and I even were, we were again amazed at these virtual strangers’ generosity and care.
We met bright and early in stunning Central Park, walked our walk, and enjoyed a breakfast together afterwards.
Such kindness. Such goodness.

There’s a lot of scariness in my days right now, to be honest. A lot of excitement and energy, sure, but some scariness.
Knowing that our little network of support has the chance to grow just a bit even with these kind of people is reassuring.

Bring it, Monday…;)

Well, technically I didn’t really do it this time. Shockingly. Tonight’s joy was brought to us by the Manhattan Transit Authority.
I’ve heard stories about delayed trains. Obviously.
I’ve heard worse stories about really bad things happening with people and tracks.
I’m still not really sure what really happened tonight, other than that my mother-in-law and I and the two kiddos were stuck underground in a crowded train for nearly an hour. And that sort of sucked.
Well, eventually it sucked, but there was a solid 80% of really pleasant, if not enjoyable moments leading up to the sucky 20%.

In my mission to chill the f$&” out living here ( that is just riddled with irony , but I know what I mean, and it relates to being a bit more conscious and controlling of my stress points , in order to preserve my calm for the craziness involved in living here with kids), I was very cautious in planning tonight’s activities with Nana visiting the grandkids from a far.
An iconic, memorable, and celebratory moment. That’s what I was hoping for with her and my kids. That’s what I wanted to give her, and that’s what she deserved. Brett and his Dad were realizing a mutual dream by stepping on the hallowed grounds of Madison Square Garden tonight, and I wanted his Mom to have an equally special moment.
Which grandparent would not jump at taking kids to FAO Schwarz, only the greatest toy store in NYC?
Don’t answer. That’s a terrible idea, but I’d assumed that going Friday night would be substantially less awful than going on Saturday or Sunday.

Needlesstosay, the whole one hour under ground thing threw a sizeable wrench into things.

We ended up still making it to the Boathouse in Central Park for dinner, with one kid falling asleep at the table, the other kid entertaining himself with 2 goldfish crumbed cars I scrounged from the bottom of my purse, and 3 ladies ( I generously include myself in that mix, and willingly adorn my amazing and generous sister-in-law and my calm and fun-living mother-in-law with that title) enjoying ( no, really enjoying) a delicious taste of Pol Roger. And fries we scammed from the kids’ plates.
I must go back to that place as it was absolutely breathtaking. Really.

We gathered ourselves after our meal, tossed us all in to a cab, and made our uncarseated selves home. Smiling, head-shaking, yet again.
This place is awesome. And insane…

FAO will happen Sunday after all.

Today is a really sad day.
It marks the painful anniversary of the passing of my brother and his wife’s beautiful boy, Thomas.
3 years ago.

We think of Thomas every day. We see his zest, his spunk, his sweetness, his tenderness, his humour, his kindness, his enthusiasm, his curiosity, his bravery, his strength, his hope… Everyday.
Sometimes in the actions that we take, sometimes in the actions our own children take… Sometimes in our memories.

It’ll be different this year, not being physically close to where Thomas was. Seems obvious enough, but it marks another change in how I reflect on and remember someone gone… all from a very changed vantage point.

It is comforting as well to see the amazing team behind Peloton 65 back in Calgary carrying on the gruelling fight, while also preserving Thomas’ memory. Those are some strong people…

The other day at school Nora came home with an assignment. We were asked to tell the story about how she got her name. This is a bit of what I sent back to her teacher.
Miss you, little man…

The story of Nora’s name

Nora is our first child and we decided not to find out if we were having a boy or a girl.
Thankfully she was a girl, as we were having a really difficult time finding a name that we liked for a boy!
Nora was due 2 days before her cousin Thomas’ birthday, so we made a deal that if she was actually born 2 days late on his birthday, he’d get to name the baby…! His 5 year old self decided on ‘Lightning’ for a boy, and ‘Sophie’ for a girl- while Sophie is a beautiful name, is was also the name of his Jack Russell…

Thankfully for the baby’s sake, but not Nora’s Mom’s sake, she was actually 10 days late, so Thomas didn’t get to chose the name.

It’s even getting a bit overdone for me saying this, but, really, moving here has been consuming. It has had to be in order to make sure that our little guys are looked after, that we minimize the anxiety, and that we enjoy ourselves… We’ve been extremely self-absorbed, with the best of intentions for all of us, and I’d say we’re adjusting really well and enjoying ourselves.

But I must admit. Being preoccupied by finding out the best way to get my kid new rubber boots (where’s the Superstore that I can get in my giant car and drive to at 8:30pm on a Tuesday night?), or picking up a new garbage pail for under the kitchen sink (do i just order off of amazon or find a 2 foot wide hardware store that carries the most random of things, from potting soil, to screws, to chains?), and learning that I can get wine at the drugstore, but not at the grocery store, to learning the ins and outs of an awesome, but intense new job- it all comes at the cost of not having a f*&%ing clue what is going on in NEWS.  I am by no means making excuses. Just recognizing my limitations.

So when people back in Calgary were asking how the city was with the Peoples Climate March, and then asking how things were 2 days later with the UN General Assembly going on…. and I had to actually google WTF was going on here, outside of my insular (how ironic is that in a city of 8 million), I realized just how much I’d been focusing on the move of my little unit. We’re so tiny, and so insignificant, and so fragile…! So I’ve since done some reading. I’m more aware.

And along the way this week, I’ve taken in some hilarious experiences that have rattled me out of my little world, and have started to open me up to some wacky New York experiences:

1. Nora and I stumbled across our first TV filming while walking the dog the other morning. ‘Excuse me ma’am. Please just wait a minute. We’re just filming a scene. CUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUT. Ok. You may proceed, ma’am.’

2. Later this week I was purchasing a sandwich at a place near work, and as the girl was ringing it in asked me ‘and do you work at the UN?’ I looked entirely bewildered. And she replied ‘If you do, there’s a 10% employee discount. So do you work at the UN?’ I shook my head. For more than one reason.

3. I was late getting home the other day, because 2 roads on my way to the subway were entirely blocked. And lined with dump trucks full of sand. And loads of suited guys with curly wires hanging from their ears. Forsure Secret Service. Or something.

4. And then on the way home from dinner, a perfectly harmless guy in a slightly worn tweed jacket and chucks approached us with a full on notebook, of the paper variety, and asked if we lived in the neighbourhood. Because we live a few blocks over, and are trying to be respectful of the very distinct neighbourhood deliniations (our misread, not anyone else’s), we say, ‘well, technically, no. we’re just a few blocks over, but what can we do for you?’ (that was Brett being much friendlier than me.) And he replies ‘Oh- i’m a journalist with the New York Times and I’m writing a piece on how residents of Tribeca feel about Taylor Swift now living here.’

5. And then there’s Leo.  Allegedgly he lives near us. Who cares. This is rad.

1. Good quality, supportive, comfortable flats.

2. Small to medium sized backpack

I transitioned from sandles to boots today, the weather starting to show signs of shifting to fall, I mean Autumn weather.
It’s beautiful outside, and I am looking forward to seeing this version of the leaves changing. Someone at work yesterday talked about fall being her favourite season, because it’s her strongest wardrobe…! I agree. Layering is so much more fun than exposing…
But the shoe situation must be amended with my new commuting plan. I didn’t realize how much i’d been givin’ ‘er while charging forward to work in my flat sandles.
Today as I hobbled along uneven cobbled streets, teetering forward so very awkwardly and feeling my shins tightening with my precarious navigating in (NOT stilettos even) heels, I realized this was not sustainable. So a few shoes will be in order. Such a cliche. But my shins and hips and ass, and probably my head, will thank me.

As for the backpack, perhaps the need for this will be lessened when I am more stable on my feet, and my current imbalanced shoulder bag situation makes walking less of a challenge. But I still think that for weekend kid stuff a backpack is in order. And not the 86 gallon Himalayan tracking pack that Brett brought. With waist straps. And whistles and inflatable flares and shit.
Small enough so that I won’t kill my back by wearing it all day, but big enough to hold the water bottles, wipes, toys, pens, notebooks, snacks and whatever random artifact that the kid is attached to that day, that I would have previously jammed into the bottom of a stroller, or my backseat of the car. The stroller works for housing this crap until we hop on the subway, when it needs to be collapsed to make it up and down the stairs. Collapsing something that has layers of kid crap in between the metal bars is not an awesome thing to attempt on a hot, crowded, and noisy subway…

I’ve done some evaluating, and I’ve decided on a Hershel.
Then I’ll fit in with these adorable little nerds

I took the wrong train home last night.
I got confused as to which stop I was at, and made the mistake of assuming both tracks at this station were going in the same direction. Turns out, that happens at a different station.
And so, already leaving work later than I’d hoped and making it through an intense day, and anxious to shift gears into Mom and Kid mode, I daftly boarded an express train going in the complete opposite direction.
Instead of 2 very quick stops to my express train that would have had me home in 20 short and uneventful minutes, I went 20 minutes whizzing through Manhattan and over in to Queens. Those easy 20 minutes slipping through my hands…. Imagining me getting further and further from home.
Pull it together. Remember the logic of the subway system, turn around, and start over.
Funny the moments that almost break you for a second. It didn’t last long, but I felt for a brief time like crumpling to the dirty floor in the subway car…
Some people do sudoku to give their aging brains a work out. I just move to NYC and exercise the shit out of it getting to and from work…
(Kind of a sad truth.)
Note to self- I really need to figure out how to decipher the signage for the 7 train; the tracks look the same- clearly they’re not.

My biggest regret throughout this mishap- not using the washroom at the office before heading out on the commute.

I don’t think this adjustment is going to necessarily be a linear process. There are some obvious steps that need to happen. But I am expecting that the overall gravity of the change is going to hit me again and again, in different contexts, with different triggers, and with varying degrees of both discomfort and excitement attached.

It’s all good. And this was the right thing for us to do. No question. We’ve been chased out of our cave, and while the bright lights and loud sounds out in this big world are exciting, they are new, unexpected, and a bit overwhelming at times.

My age is also a funny thing for this change. I feel like I have enough life experience ( read: humility) to not be stunned or paralyzed 100% of the time throughout this change. And yet I’m old enough to have some patterns, preferences and protections established. And a change like this inherently disrupts and challenges those safeties. Not bad. Just different.

One ‘involved’ mother at the school yard this morning asked if Nora had any siblings. I explained about Eli and she assumed he was home with… Well, probably a nanny. I said that he was at a preschool/ daycare and she replied with a ‘Oh. Wow. that’s really early to have your child in care.’ Thanks, lady. You should have seen her face when I let her know that BOTH his Dad and I work. Full time. Horror.

In a funny way, that type of an encounter of a moderately annoying, nosy, and judgey Mom (ok, ok, maybe I just need my Monday morning coffee to settle me down a bit. How’s that for irony) helped to normalize things again. There are going to be the amazings here- experiences, adventures, stories, sights… just as there are going to be the completely mundane and normal things.

Figuring out the new balance. Without it being a panic.

Funny times…

Weekend #2 Post-Move is approaching- what to do, what to do, what to do?!?!?

In a previous life I would have been almost entirely consumed (and anxious) at this point in the week in ensuring that the approaching ‘free’ time was thoroughly and actively accounted for.

50% of the time would have been taken up with ‘necessary’ activities; 25 % would have been ‘planned fun’ or ‘enrichment’ or ‘experience’ activities, and 25% would have been busy because I couldn’t imagine not having something slotted in. Needlesstosay, a lot of energy was wasted on the planning of planned stuff.  Plan, plan, plan.

I’m not suggesting that overnight I’ve transformed into a ‘go-with-the-flow’ free-spirit, instantly freed from my planning instincts.

But going through a change like we’ve done with this move has forced a reflection on what sort of activities your life involves. We’ve had no choice but to focus and simplify where our energies have gone, and many of the things that I was filling our lives with previously simply don’t work in this life <right now> where we’ve had to reestablish the basics, like ‘hunting and gathering’ in a grocery-shopping system that is unfamiliar and tricky to navigate, for instance.  Eventually we’ll figure out all of these new systems, but what do I do to avoid slipping back into a lifestyle where open, unplanned time caused a panic, a nervousness, an unease? How do I remain a bit more grounded in deciding between what we really need to busy ourselves with, and what i’m adding to my life to complicate, crowd and stress our family?

All that said, i’m still taking some time while I eat a delicious falafel for lunch to plan out at least a few things this weekend. We are living in New York, after all…

So that was nuts…!
Everyone warned me that commuting is ‘crazy in the rain.’
Of course I didn’t believe them. How much different could it really be?
Humbled. Again.
Think of how busy and crowded and bustling it is with a few million people lining, cramming, shuffling, sitting, standing, ascending, descending, turning, twisting. Repeat.
Then add slippery rain. And most importantly, wet, metal, pokey umbrellas to an already congested space. I nearly wiped out 3 times. Just on watery streets. And I think I had about 86 umbrella’s deposits of water dumped on my 5 foot 4 head by much taller commuters.
At least I turned around in the apartment lobby to grab my own umbrella. That helped a bit.

I am now going to the Duane Reade below the office to get a comb, and some more deodorant or something becuase I feel like I smell like a combination of wet dog and gym gear, from sporting 86 layers of non-breathable, but water proof clothing
And my feet are soggy and my pants are dripping.

I might treat myself to a Starbucks too…!!!