It’s the last night of our first holiday since moving to NYC, and, like many others, I’m feeling that normal mix of rest, calm, and dread.
The fact that that normal feeling is what is in front of me, is again testament to the fact that we are feeling more and more comfortable and ‘settled’ with our new home; we’re continuing to progress along the path from foreign newcomers, slowly towards locals. That final ‘arrival’ is still very far off, but we are nevertheless travelling along this path…
And having had 10 consecutive days off, more or less, here, as a focused little unit, in our focused little home, has allowed (forced) for some more reflection… What does belonging feel like for a 5 and 3 year old? What does home mean to them? What do they need to feel the security they need to try new things, to learn new things, to grow?
And what does it mean to really begin to integrate into the day-to-day of a community, versus cautiously living on the edge and looking in? And is there anything wrong with living on that outside edge? On your own, maybe not, but with kids is that ok? Is that fair?

Like a lot of people this time of year, the minute I felt a bit of a lift in the weight that the last couple of months has brought ( really, all manageable, just with an extra noted girth), I got sick. Useless-couldn’t-get-out-of-bed for 4 days sick.
And that sort of sucked. In it’s own accord, but it had an especially new flavouring in an apartment where there was nowhere to go, either for sick, throbbing headache, body-hurting me, nor for the energetic, just-let-me-bash-a-dog-with-my-lightsabre-already kids…
It also taught a very important lesson in terms of what family-time, quality-time, holiday-time really needed to mean, this time around, anyway…
It’s a balance in going and seeing and experiencing actively as an engaged family…., and in allowing everyone to find comfort and happiness and peace in being at home, simply. Playing, pretending, exploring within the safety and calm of a home. Your new home.

Yowsa.

It’s been a roller coaster couple of months, and thinking back to the beginning stages of this adventure again returns me to the head shake.

This weekend brought 2 key milestones for me:

1. The kids started swimming lessons at the gym right below our building- we are legitimately part of this whole game of real enrolled activities here.

2. We bought our first membership here- to the f#*$ing amazing American Museum of Natural History . Cards and everything. Boosh. A goddamned lifelong dream come true for both Brett and I. So nuts.

Today we paid a visit to said museum and walked passed the the very first playground that we took the kids to upon moving here… And they both recognized it happily.

One wacky day at a time.
Saying thanks, doing the best we can, and taking it all in.
And enjoying some final Hawkins until healthy eating habits resume.

2014 was a big year for the Muellhorns.  Our little lives have changed in a big way!  Can’t wait to see what 2015 has in store.

Wishing all of you the best in the new year!

Nora in the Manhattan Youth Nutcracker – Back right!

It was also in the Tribeca Tribune:

I can actually say that tonight the words ‘that was really a dream come true’ came out of my mouth.
I made the move and gave myself a night out tonight on 5th ave. All alone.
No rush, no deadline, no attending to snacks/potty-breaks/negotiating toy turns/cold legs/she looked at me/I don’t want to’s.
Me. 5th ave. Some lights. And about 85 million other dummies.
And my goodness was it swell.
I forgot to eat today in a focus to really try to close a few things off for a few days of a break. So by the time I left work I was hun.gry. I’d debated eating somewhere out. But got too caught up in wandering, and instead delved into the whole experiencing, treating myself to $3 samosas from a street cart. They were really spicy. And awesome.

So- first stop- Bloomingdales. Interactive and mobile and awesome.
Then on to Barney’s. This was insane. Baz Luhrmann insane. Talking owls, mechanical suns, and skaters. Nuff said. So cool.
From here on to Bergdorf Goodman’s tribute to the arts, followed by a stumbling ( and near trampling, no joke) at Saks and Rockefeller. And a whole sprinkling of other pretty spectacular sights in between.

I was also lucky enough to stumble into St Thomas’ Church. The doors were splayed open, and I could hear singing. I stepped in and saw a choir of red-robed boys practising for a Christmas Eve service. I sat quietly and enjoyed on a pew alone…

Along the whole way I leisurely shopped- didn’t buy anything, other than a pretzel (Duh), and hopped into a few hotels to see if any felt right for a solo drink ( the St. Regis, the Peninsula, Sherry-Netherlands, the Plaza and the Waldorf Astoria) but something wasn’t quite right for me to settle down in any. They were all stunning and iconic, but I was shockingly not in the mood to sit still and drink.

There are enough moments where I’m pretty tired or frustrated or scared or… Just not up. Like everyone. But tonight was just really nice. As vacuous or silly as that sounds. There are so many other elements that can complicate situations. I’m keeping tonight simple and am appreciating it for what it was. A dream come true, without evaluation, or analysis, or judgement.

Also, my one kid officially says ‘Santa’ with a new twang/slant. I’m simultaneously horrified and delighted.

We are celebrating Christmas this year on our own.
We made that decision as we were moving here, oddly enough, already panicking at the prospect of coordinating more travel logistics so quickly after arriving here.
Maybe it was the right call, maybe we took the easy way out, avoiding the stresses of travel while sacrificing time with family and friends. We will see.
Selfishly, it has allowed us to approach this holiday with a much calmer, less chaotic energy. There are only the expectations that I’m setting, so if I am getting anxious and panicked and hyper, it really is my own fault. I have my husband and kids alone evaluating my Christmas morning breakfast plans, and time has proven that they have prettttty low expectations. Not sure what that is a reflection of…

If I get consumed by what kind of dips and cheeses and bubbles I have, what scent of candles I have lit when, what table centre pieces I craft up from late night trolling on f€*# ing Pinterest, I really have myself to blame.
But really, that is always the case.
Of course we, especially as women and as moms, are judged, and judge each other. And of course it gets to us at busy times, at scary times, at weak times. But when we’re able to liberate ourselves from this judgement, you realize how much lighter, calmer, and happier you can let yourself feel…
So- I’ve ordered a shit load of food that will be arriving tonight (a few extra bottles of wine and baileys in there for me, and chips in there for the kids), I picked up some wrapping paper last night, and I have new pjs for the gang to wear as many hours of the day on the holidays as we like. We plan on making our way through the usual Christmas movie repertoire, maybe adding a few extras with some more NY flair. We are thinking about joining a Christmas Eve service at nearby Trinity Church, (should probably make sure the kids know what a manger is and who this God guy is first), and I miiiight try to sneak in an extra giant tree sighting or Christmas market,  while chugging hot cocoa (sounds so much more festive) or apple cider, if the gang cooperates. We are intent on ordering in Chinese food for Boxing day. That is the extent of my planning this year. In theory I am delighted. We’ll see how it translates…!

I know we will miss our families immensely. And I am complying with my default response of deny, deny, deny until I absolutely must confront the feeling…It’ll be a season of skyping…

So- our traditions will, for now, be founded on however we interpret the spirit of giving, saying thanks, and enjoying whichever family and friends you are near to. Or far from.

Here’s to rest, reflection, and…rum? (i needed an ‘R’, and it really is such a versatile drink, seasonally-speaking.)

I’ve always had a dream of being in New York for Christmas.
Until coming here, I wasnt exactly sure what it was about it that drew me to this experience, but now 10 days into December, I am basking in the Christmas glow that this city is come December. Well, technically by the 2nd week of November the term ‘holidays’ is being woven into nearly every interaction here…

It’s again a fine balance between actively plotting out our Christmas experiences, and allowing serendipity to play it’s role, allowing you to stumble upon Christmas markets, bask in the heavy evergreen smell of the pop-up Christmas tree stands around the corner, or dipping in to a dark and cozy pub for a warm drink, boughs and berries and candles enveloping you.

We have hit the usual suspects up, in one weekend making rounds to Santaland at Macy’s ( which was sadly ended abruptly with protestors- it was difficult to explain why this was happening and why they were chanting ‘ I can’t breathe’ and ‘black lives matter’ to a 5 year old. Difficult but important.), a $10 performance of the Nutcracker that Nora and I went to at a theatre in the Upper East, and then rounding it with a 9am performance Sunday of the Rockettes.
Phew!
But somehow it all felt manageable.
This weekend we have Nora’s dance recital for the Nutcracker… And then Sunday we’re planning on taking in some Christmas train activities… Not sure where the Christmas and train connection came from, but there are displays everywhere, so that’ll hopefully be something we can take in.
And- I stumbled along one particularly cozy looking pub that we will be sipping a warm drink at.

Taking it all in. It’s a silly magical feel… With all the crazy to ground it…

This weekend someone presented me with the idea of being ‘isolated’ and ‘sheltered’ from so much, living in New York.
Initially I was dumbfounded. Sheltered living in this wack-job of an awesome place? Isolated in a place that doesn’t have a space that isn’t connected to another place? I don’t think so.

But in an ironic way, I could see how there are some truths to this statement…
This place is so consuming. So intense and so… Itself. It makes no apologies for its flaws, it doesn’t make excuses for its ways, it doesn’t necessarily even celebrate it’s graces.
It just is. It pulses, it beats, it whirs along. And you’re along for the ride, as active or passive of a passenger as you chose to be.

There’s so much here. An embarrassment of riches, really. You just have to make it available to you with your own two hands. New York isn’t the kind of place that holds it’s hands out to you. It’ll point you along, or even open a door or two, but it doesn’t strike me as the kind of welcoming guide who will take your hand in hers, reassure you of your route, and wave goodbye at your destination, sending you off with a friendly and encouraging wink.

It is also a city of extremes.
At least once a day I remind myself to show respect to one of the many mentally unstable persons rocking himself on a street corner, by acknowledging him instead of turning away; or I have to resist the urge to shy away from a tired and hungry looking mom riding a train with her equally tired and hungry-looking child much too late at night.
And then on another day I scratch my head at the parade of orange-skinned oldies congregating at the south edge of Central Park, crisp shopping bags accompanying them in and out if their shiny black cars. I pass through stunningly picturesque streets, lined with ornate brownstones, and spilling over with shop and restaurant after shop and restaurant, little treasures waiting to be discovered.
And then the next day my kid squeals with horror/delight ( another extreme reaction) at the dead rat she sees on the road. The pretty road.

And I forget about the ‘rest’ of the world. I’m absorbed, and consumed, and overwhelmed, and inspired, and conflicted.
But all of it so immediate. And in my face. And shadowing what else might be going on ‘outside there.’

Maybe it’s all of that that can make it seem isolated, or sheltered, or removed…maybe from ‘the rest’ of the world, but certainly not from the extremes within this New York world..

Sitting at my desk today this little dude paid me a visit. 30 seconds after I took this picture a see another little buddy floating by.
Funny stuff.

It seems obvious enough, but man, weather is tough when you don’t have a car.

Three nuggets of wisdom for anyone else moving from one of the driest places on earth to a city that rains at least a few times a week.

1) Get a decent rain jacket for your entire family, including your dog.

2) Get good umbrellas.  Our HBC specials aren’t doing the trick.  Golf umbrellas seem to be the way to go.  The kids have awesome umbrellas from this company.

3) Don’t forget about your feet.  Rain boots or waterproof shoes are a must.  I’m still in runners and I pay the price at least once a week.

I’ll have one more nugget once I figure out how to keep my thighs/shins dry! 🙂

-Brett

I dropped my first f bomb today.
Not bloody likely, given neither the industry I work in, nor my heritage.

It was my first f bomb-dropping while travelling on the subway.

And entirely unnecessary.
I’m finding it interesting to navigate a much more… assertive environment than what I’ve been accustomed to for most of my life.
And I think I’m ok in calling it assertive.
Initially I’d maybe considered NY aggressive, offensive, and hostile at times even.
But I don’t think that’s it.
To grossly simplify, and really give myself permission to explore this every day that I’m here for the next while, there are just so many god damned people here, doing so much god damned stuff, and going to so many god damned places, it’s inevitable that people seem to develop an efficiency in operating that could be mistaken, or could slip, into an aggressive mode… It seems that it’s just a function of the intensity here though. In the time I’ve been here, I’m the only a-hole that I’ve heard mutter an f bomb while being hammered and jostled on the subway. People generally just seem to expect it, and take a shove in no way as a personal or aggressive attack. It’s just being efficient in getting to their next destination.
And a shove is just a way of clearng a path. No harm. No hurt. No ill will.
Aggressive? Assertive? Direct?
It’s still f$*%ing irritating and jarring to my generally reserved, cautious, stand-in-the-back-and-observe nature.
And it extends to other arenas of my life here.
It’ll be interesting to see how this pace and interaction and jockeying changes me over the next while…
Until then, I’ll calm myself down and chuckle at how me and the big dude who also managed to score a rare seat had matching pants tonight…

I’ll also do yet another head shake as I recall the concerts I heard on the platforms today. It was a real spread, ranging from happy Hari Krishnas, being heckled by punks ( no joke), to a Jimmy Hendrix inpersonator, and rounding it out with a Russian guy playing ‘La vie en rose’ on an accordion.

You’re killing me, NYC.

Nothing remarkable here. Just a moment of pause. To remind me of how I want to try to live right now, from moment to moment.
Who knows if that is the ‘right’ way to do it, but it feels as close to right as anything…

It’s been a demanding and busy week. Crowded, and hectic, and a bit chaotic. And tiring.
Nothing at all dramatic, just life in this moment feeling a bit- busy.

So waking this morning, rallying myself for the immediate tasks filling my inbox, I was lacking in a vim, in a brightness, in a hop.
Focused on doing what needed doing,  and trying to use that as a motivator to raise the energy levels.

An extremely crowded and delayed train ride nudged me to treat myself with a coffee. Starting to feel a pick-up, I step out and see one of those classically New York scenes on the street. Suspicious (anywhere else but here it seems) van parked on the corner, doors splayed open and random clothes, boxes, shelves and shovels spilling on to the street, people busily sorting and shuffling said gear- and a line of bald plastic heads lined up on the roof. I’m sure they’ll eventually get hats or wigs or sunglasses to warm their cold heads, but at that moment, there they ‘sat’ looking down on my stunned and tired little face, as horns honked, people hollered, and the air whirred around them.
And I instantly was filled with an excitement, an energy, a reminder of the little moments that lift you, that fuel you, that give you a buzz to get from one slower moment to the next. Bald heads on a  rooftop.  That’s what it took.

Maybe the key that I’m thinking about is managing the swings. Taking it all in for what it is. But managing just how much you feel ready to take in, good or bad. Giving yourself permission to feel to the max if you want to, but also letting yourself walk away or put your head in the corner if you’re not in to feeling it.
Remembering what fuels you. And making that one of your missions in life- to spend as much of your valuable energy on the ups, and doing your best to be as strong and calm with the lows. And looking at things through the moment-to-moment lens, a reminder that nothing is permanent, and everything will change. Like it or not.

Moment to moment.
Beer to beer. Bald head to bald head.

Like many parents I’m sure, I struggle to not get ahead of myself with worry and fret about what’s next for my kids.
For me it’s not about anticipating what they’ll learn next- I have no problem seeing them take in new experiences one day at a time, especially here in our new home. I really do relish seeing them squeal with pure delight at something, oftentimes, ironically, oblivious to the fact that it is something new and broadening for them; it’s these more organic, more spontaneous, more personalized experiences that really fuel me as a mom. To suggest that they’re unintentional experiences, however, is entirely inaccurate, given my tendency to plan and plod, and methodically and very intentionally craft these… It’s still in my control, and still with my vision guiding it. And that all settles me.
Instead, I have a hard time not worrying about whether or not I’m preparing them and me for their academic and their formalized ‘skills’ development like music, swimming, soccer, chess club, banjo interpretive dance theatre class, and mandarin literature study, architecture analysis lecture hall… Or whatever.
I worry about the disservice I’m doing in not having them enrolled, enlisted, engaged in all of these formal programs, wondering what lessons they’re not learning, what confidence they’re not gaining; what damage I’m doing to them.
Logically I know that they’re good. They’re happy, they’re sweet, they’re kind, and they’re learning. I think back to all of the formal and informal learning that my parents guided us through. Lessons and teams and groups. But also many special lessons that happened through focused, respectful, and timely interactions between parent and child.
I realize how much we’re exposing them to with this experience here in NYC, and I realize too that parenting is fluid and evolving, and news flash, we can make changes to what we’re doing with them…

Just when I worry about how I’m letting them down and am convinced that I’m raising two self-absorbed, unaware, little brats, N looks at me while at Rockefeller Plaza the other day, eyes bright with delight, hands flickering with excitement and pronounces that she has the BEST idea for Daddy’s birthday. She describes with very intentional detail the full day, connecting everything to the thread of making her Dad’s day ‘very special’. And then E announces today that he ‘loves me very much this Tuesday.’

There are days when I’m sure I am breaking them, and other days where something is sinking in and they’re growing into socially conscious, kind little turds. Who are also learning the days of the week and the geography of the city.
Thank god.