I’m going back and forth regarding our decision to send Emory to school three days a week. My emotions aren’t to be trusted, however. Because a lot of how I’m feeling can easily be attributed to my fear of letting him go. But I know that some of my thoughts at the root of the situation are legitimate.

How important is it to socialize children early on in their development? Because, when it comes right down to it, that’s why we’re doing what we’re doing. I know I complain from time to time about not having any “Me Time” but that’s because I’m an awesome complainer (you know, like most bloggers). When it comes right down to it, I love spending my days with him. I’m just not sure he should be spending every single day with me.

Em doesn’t get a whole lot of interaction with other children. Sure, I bring him to the playground and I take him on walks, but it’s getting increasingly colder here and the weather keeps us (and others) from venturing out much. I have brought him to a place called Mamalu’s here in Williamsburg, but now that it’s cold, it gets way too crowded and the bigger kids make him uneasy. He also always seems to get a new cold every time we go.

About a month ago, Toby and I started talking about ways to get Emory around other children—not only other children, but the same children. That’s how we ended up signing him up for school. (Well, that and I complain a lot about having no life—pathetic.)

But he’s not even two! He’s 17 months old. That seems so young! Is he ready? I know I am not, but is he?

I keep coming back to the fact that I was at home with my mother until I was five or six. I had my older brother around and we are very close in age, but he didn’t have anyone before I was born. And he’s relatively normal. (heh) My younger brother was even further away in age (six years), and so he spent early childhood alone. (I think. But only my mother could answer this definitively.)

We probably went to church groups growing up (CCD and the like), but not at aged two. And I know we went to camp but, again, not that early. I reckon my mother had other mothers over and perhaps they brought kids close to our age, but that’s not really an option much anymore (especially here) because most families around here do not stay home with their children and instead hire nannies. Many of the nannies around here are Tibetan. They know each other and tend to stick together.

What I’m trying to say is that I know of only one local mom who stays home with her daughter. That’s not to say there aren’t more, but that’s been my finding. Every other local mother I know works. So playdates are difficult.

Both Toby and I feel that socializing Emory is important, which is why we chose a school. But are we doing the right thing? Are we being over zealous? Are we possibly pushing him too early?

How important is it to socialize these little dudes at a young age? What are your thoughts on the matter?

Five years ago today Toby Joe and I eloped to Niagara Falls. This is strange to me because it seems like it was just yesterday.

But Toby Joe probably doesn’t believe me when I say that. He doesn’t even think I know when we were married let alone what happened that day. He twittered this the other night.

I have always had trouble with the date because there are too many small numbers. (We were married on 01-03-04.) I always want to switch them around. And sometimes I just want to add in a DAMN TWO ALREADY!

I told him, “If I had the money, I’d buy us both bamboo silverware, since this anniversary is about wood and cutlery.”

And he said, “Well, actually, bamboo isn’t a wood. It’s a type of grass.”

So I think I’ll just find a stick with a few extra branches and beat him with it.

Due to insufficient funds this year, I think we’ll have to honor wood some other way.

This post has been a long time coming. It’s been so long, and so much has happened, I am not even sure what the Internet knows, thinks or wants to know (if anything) anymore. But for the sake of history, I feel that this needs to be written.

Granted, trying to catch my blog up on everything that’s taken place over the last three months is like trying to update someone on Lost (which is precisely how I felt back then). But I have to try. The good news is, this story doesn’t include polar bears. (I have never seen an episode of Lost but I do recall someone mentioning polar bears on a tropical island. I think that’s the moment I decided that I’d probably go my whole life without ever watching that show. Sorry, lovers of Lost.)

But I digress.

We almost moved to Washington, D.C. in November. We came so close, we even looked at houses in College Park, Maryland. We even loved a few of them. But they were costly! And we realized that by moving back there, we’d be in the exactly the same position we’re in here (unable to afford anything and barely able to pay the mortgage.) You see, DC has become a lot more expensive since we left in 2003—at least in the places we wish to live.

We almost moved to Boston, too, and probably would have had our landlords not informed us we had to be out on the 31st. Originally they told us we had until March, which would have given us enough time to figure out how to move there, and where to move to. Naturally, we were a little blindsided by their having changed their minds. But perhaps that was a blessing in disguise. Toby Joe and I have always had a hell of a time making decisions. We can’t even decide what to eat at night let alone where to live.

Boston seemed like a perfect option because the firm Toby works for is based there. That particular transition would have only included one major life change instead of two, which is what the DC option would have held. We read that the public schools are good, it’s relatively safe, and we know people there.

But we didn’t really have the time to do it right.

Out of frustration and worry and uncertainty, we even talked about moving somewhere small like State College or Media, PA. Both of us have this dream of living somewhere sweet and quaint, but neither of us can find jobs in these idyllic places. We’re tied to a city of some sort. And I do like the city—particularly New York, Boston and DC. But I also wish my kid could play outside and we could afford a house (within an hour commute). I also kind of like the idea of country and/or suburban life (ease of parking, shopping, getting the most basic things done), as bizarre as that may seem.

We realized right away that places like State College and Media are going to remain idyllic because they are unattainable to us—at least for now.

But that’s OK.

All of our indecision was taking place alongside one of the worst financial eras our country has ever seen. It seemed that every day we got word of yet another failing business or crumbling financial institution. Naturally, I began to freak out. I used to be terrified of nuclear disasters. (I lived about 10 miles from Three Mile Island when it leaked. I was six at the time. I had reoccurring nightmares well into my teens.) Now my fears surround money (or lack thereof), our society, and the fact that I am now accountable for another human being.

The news and our uncertainty made me do things I am not very proud of. Instead of internalizing it, writing stuff down, working it out on my own, I began dragging other people into it—people I have known for a long, long time. I ran around like a chicken with its head cut off. No joke. I am embarrassed by my behavior. The damage I have done to some relationships is astronomical. And I will probably spend years trying to repair it, if I have a chance at doing so at all.

I have had now what feels like a 2-month long hangover. It was like one of those hangovers where you wake up the next day and you think, “Oh my goodness, I have to call everyone and apologize for the way I acted!”

It’s like that. Only I was drunk on fear.

The last week of November was spent scrambling, and so we decided—three weeks before our lease was up—where we’d be living.

Toby Joe loves his job. I have said from the get-go that he probably works for one of the best companies I have ever known. I think I’ve even said as much here before, so we decided staying put was our best option. Had we decided this months beforehand, however, I’d have a lot fewer mistakes under my belt and we’d probably been able to find a more affordable apartment. (As it is, we’re cutting a lot of extras out of our lives but that’s OK. We should have done that a long time ago.)

In the end, we moved 10 blocks away from our old apartment into a new building with an elevator, a washer and dryer. Plus, the walls are level to the floor. It’s nice. For now. But it’s not ours.

The irony of all this is we were trying to save in order to one day buy a place. And every single option we faced (after finding out we could not renew at our previous place) required spending at least 10 grand in savings. (Security deposits, plus moving costs add up.) And to make it even further absurd, we are now paying so much in rent, saving isn’t going to be possible, not until Em’s first (and only) semester is up.

This post, I can assure you, is not me complaining. I am far too embarrassed and tired to whine about any of this. Our problems are relatively small compared to what much of America is going through right now. I know that we have it really great.

We’re lucky. I know this.

But I figured that maybe if I put this out there someone might learn from my mistakes. Because I made a lot of them and they didn’t only affect me.

Maybe if I put this one out there I’ll figure out how to become a better person and find a way to apologize to all those I included in our 3-month long drama.

I don’t know.

But I do know this, if I were one for making New Year’s resolutions, I’d make this one my own: Be a better person to your friends and family. You are lucky to have such great people in your life and you simply do not treat them like you know it.

So, where does this leave us? Well, we’re broke again, but used to it. And I think there are a lot of people in our position. Not that that makes it any better for anyone but misery does love a little company. We like where we’re living now and we’re happy to stay here until we really can’t afford it any longer.

I’m happy. I think. But I’m not able to brag about it because the chemistry in my brain is boasting otherwise. Once those levels get worked out, I will say definitively that I am happy.

The forecast looks really good. That’s all I can say at this time.

Taken last night as the sun was setting on 2008.

Happy New Year, my friends! I am grateful that you visit, read, comment, chat, suggest, smooch on Murray—just grateful.

Thanks again for everything.

Today was the last day we had access to our old apartment, an apartment we lived in for four years.

The picture below was taken the first few days we moved in, before our furniture arrived from San Francisco. Tobyjoe was hijacking the neighbor’s wireless network.

That same network is open and available today.

So much happened while living at Russell Street. I saw my early 30s under that roof. I got a job on Madison Avenue and quit it too. I met some lifelong friends. I got pregnant and had my first child while living under that roof. I said goodbye to a dear friend, as well as a beloved member of our family. I became a mother while living there, a fact that still blows my mind.

All in all, it was a nice home. Sure, its walls were totally uneven to the floor and everything leaned to one side. Our son’s toys often rolled north. But nothing in Brooklyn is perfect.

This morning I went over there by myself to finish cleaning and to remove the few remaining items. I went alone.

It was nice being there by myself. I spent most of that time lost in thought, walking from one end of the railroad apartment to the other—a physical timeline—inspecting our years with my hands, trying to remove our fingerprints, erase any proof of our having lived there.

A person can build up a heckuva lot of proof over four years. And that much proof is almost impossible to erase. But I tried.

Change, whether it be good or bad, has always been a funny thing for me. It almost always brings with it a side order of depression. So the last couple of weeks have been difficult. I admitted to Toby Joe just yesterday that I haven’t felt this sad, this emotionally troubled, since the months following Emory’s birth.

This is chemistry I’m talking about here. I have no control over it.

After we hand over our keys today, I imagine that soon they will coat the place with yet another layer of paint. They will cover up Schmitty’s paw prints that sit underneath our old bedroom window. They’ll cover up the holes we drilled into our bedroom door in order to install a latch. They’ll paint over the ghosted picture frame edges, our fingerprints—proof of our having been there at all.

But I reckon that no matter how hard one works to cover it up, pieces of us will remain there forever.

And so I think it’s time I move along, albeit sighing slightly.

Goodbye, Russell Street.

And hello, 2009.

Emory received his MMR immunization last Monday. We were told that any side effects associated with this vaccine would kick in after 7 to 10 days. We hit day seven and nothing happened and we thought, “Awesome! We’re in the clear!”

We were wrong.

Yesterday I noticed a few red spots on his face—just four—and lifted his shirt to check for more. Sure enough, there were a few more spots on his torso. At that point I took his temperature—a solid 100 degrees.

He was cranky all day, but it wasn’t any worse than whenever he cut his molars. We gave him some Tylenol and he was fine by morning. He’s back to his usual, insane, toddling self.

But we did notice something regarding the MMR and its apparent side-effects. They won’t tell you about this. So I am going to take the opportunity to do so. I hope you’re prepared. You may even want to sit down.

The MMR makes babies speak. It’s true! I watched it happen.

Prior to having been vaccinated, Em said a few words such as Mama, Dada, (a warped version of) Kitty Cat (that sounded like “Keecah”), Night Night (that sounded like this: “Nighnah”) and Hi. That’s pretty much it.

But since receiving the MMR words have been flying out. He’s like a little tape recorder! He now says Cracker, Blue, Blueberries, Mama (clear as day), Kitty Cat, Daddy, Hi, Elmo, Baby, Finished (not very well, however), Bubble and One, Two, Three.

I have deduced that the MMR vaccine makes babies speak. It may sound absurd, but then again, so does suggesting it causes autism.

Speaking of the MMR, there is a fantastic This American Life episode about a family who refused the MMR for their child. At age seven, he traveled overseas and brought the measles virus back home with him. The episode is about how he and his family brought an entire town to a screeching halt.

While all of that may sound really serious, it’s actually very funny. It’s well worth the listen.

(I know! Can you believe how much I’ve changed when it comes to immunizations? I am shocked by my transformation!)

We’ve been in the apartment now for almost two weeks. Things are coming along. We’re slowly unpacking and getting things in order. It’s been hard, because they are still not finished with the actual building, which has been contentious. We feel we’re paying a lot of money to live here. The elevator still isn’t working (we’re on the fifth floor), there is still a great deal of construction going on around us (a problem whenever Em is napping), we’re still waiting on lights, and we still have no idea how to get our mail.

But we’re making due. And don’t get me wrong, there are a lot of great things about it, and those great things far outnumber the problems. (I don’t want anyone out there to think I’m ungrateful.) We’re slowly getting to know, understand and love our new home.

There is one person in our family, however, who is having a great deal of trouble warming up to the place.

Murray hides from 8 AM until 5 PM, Monday through Friday. It’s almost like he has a full time job. Between those hours, Murray is out of sight. He doesn’t visit the litterbox, he doesn’t come out for scritches, he doesn’t even eat. (I know! A SHOCKER!)

But that doesn’t mean we don’t know exactly where he is, quite the contrary. Between 8 AM and 5 PM, you know exactly where to find Murray—in a little mound underneath our bedspread.

He knows when the construction workers enter the building long before we do. He knows they’re here before we hear the first hammer hit its first nail, before we feel the first boot slap the hallway floors, and before they fire up their buzz saws, drills, or whatever.

Sometimes we see him take cover. Suddenly, his legs will deflate, he’ll lower his belly to the ground and run commando style into our bedroom.

I am hoping that this is only a phase and that it ends soon because I miss his daily antics.

... and so little time. So here are a few pictures. I will be back soon with a proper update.

This was taken during our first snowfall, or shortly thereafter whenever the snow turned to rain and the whole city became one slushy puddle.

This is Em’s new room, although, it’s not quite finished yet. The Wall Candy Dots were taken from his previous bedroom. (For those of you who have ever wondered if the dots can be taken off of one wall, stuck on top of one another, and later peeled apart to be placed on another wall across town, the answer is yes. You can save them. They aren’t as perfect, but it sure beats spending another 50 bucks!)

This is of our living room, which isn’t quite finished yet.

And here is a shot of Em I took this morning while we were at McCarren Park collecting sticks.

I hope you all are having a wonderful holiday. I would also like to wish you a Happy New Year just incase I am unable to update before Wednesday. (Not likely, though. Things are settling down nicely.)

Also, thank you!

Murray has always enjoyed playing fetch. But in the new place, with the sleek bamboo floors and all, he’s really into it. I think he likes to slide and then fall down. I think he thinks he an action hero from a major motion picture. I think he thinks he’s a lot more badass than he really is. I think he knows that we adore him.

This was taken this morning. We were doing morning things, enjoying it, enjoying one another’s company.

I hope you enjoy it too.

Thanks to everyone who stops by to visit Murray each and every week. Your comments and email mean a great deal to us. I love that he’s loved.

Thank you.

Emory is starting school in January. He’ll be there Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. This comes as bittersweet news, naturally. On the one hand, I would love to get back designing and writing again. On the other, I’m really going to miss him. I think this will be good for him, though. My feelings aside, he likes to be around other kids and at this particular school, he’ll be with the same ten kids each day he’s there. Plus, they have music class, language class and art class. Which is awesome. I’m really excited for him.

I am worried about the food situation, however. Emory is not an eater. He is very picky. Generally speaking, if it’s not a fruit or a vegetable, good luck getting him to eat it. He will eat bread sometimes, as well as cheese (but not too often) and meat tends to freak him out (although, we’ve only tried chicken, fish and turkey). We’re working on the eating thing. He loves his milk. He lives for the milk. I haven’t ever seen a creature drink and desire so much milk! He’s picky so I got a little worried whenever I read over through manual.

They don’t allow nuts (makes sense), peanuts (of course), whole apples with any skin (Em likes the skin), grapes (unless they’re cut up in fours), string cheese (unless it’s diced up. Part of the reason Em eats string cheese is because he thinks it’s fun to pull apart), dried cranberries, or raisins.

We’ll make due with most of it. But raisins? Raisins? Emory loves raisins, like, they are the most awesome snack on planet earth. He lets out a joyous gasp whenever he sees the container.

He’s going to miss his raisins probably as much as I’m going to miss him.

As evident in the video above, we’re still trying to get settled into our new home. Naturally this is going to take some time, especially considering parts of it are still under construction, which has Murray in a tizzy. He just doesn’t like all the hammering on the 6th floor, the strange smells, the weird voices coming from the hallway.

We’ve had some growing pains with the move. Moving always comes with some setbacks, but deep down I know that things are going to be great. The cost of living here is almost double our previous rent and we had an overlap of rents. We’re entering the Christmas season. We owed the school its first installment. Murray had the whole vet fiasco last month. Things are hitting all at once, and this has put a huge dent in our savings. But I suppose that’s what a savings is for. There’s been some bickering. Transitions (for this family) don’t come without some fender benders. I owe my husband a massage and a night out with friends for sure.

I know he could use some rest.

So! If anyone out there knows of anyone who needs some design work done—production, layout, even dancing the Charleston—please let me know. I am all yours. I need to pull my weight somehow, especially now.

Edited to add: To those of you who emailed, called, and commented about how amazed you were at how delicate Em was with the can of raisins, this is how Em normally deals with his snacks. :]

The other night while I was putting away groceries, Em grabbed my camera from off of the kitchen table, placed it on the floor (lens up) and took about 70 pictures. The first 45 looked a lot like this:

After I realized what was going on, I got in on the action.

And then Murray walked over to see what all the commotion was about.

I thought I’d share!

Moving Day!

I have a question for you cat lovers out there. We don’t yet have heat or hot water (gas) at our new apartment. It’s not unlivable for a grown adult (the building is “green” so it’s quite insulated) but I am worried about the cats. Would you leave them in an empty apartment (we have the old one until the 31st) where it’s heated? Or would you move them to the new one where they are surrounded by their stuff but are a little cold? Either way, they’ll be alone for much of the day as TJ has to work and I will be in New Jersey with the baby (whom I miss like you wouldn’t believe) until this heat fiasco gets worked out. These guys are like family to me. I want them to be as comfortable as possible. Any insight you may have is greatly appreciated.

UPDATE: We’re IN! And the cats are fine. The apartment is tolerable with the use of a space heater. (Good thing NYC apartments are tiny!) Murray is a bit freaked out by the continuing construction. He hid for the first 5 hours. And then at around 9 PM he came strolling out looking for handouts. So we put him to work and then fed him treats.

I am in Jersey getting my Emory fix. (I spent a whopping 4 nights away from him!) I will be back in Brooklyn tomorrow, God willing.

Things are really great, Internet. Thanks so much for your help and words and suggestions.

I was getting a little tired of staring at myself making out with my cat. I’m sure you were, too. So, in order to push it down a little bit, I would like to introduce you to this wonderfully funny Web site. I think that so far this one is my favorite.

In other news, this week has turned out to be as crazy as I anticipated and it’s not over. I’ve been working nonstop, which means Em has been watching a lot of Jack’s Music Show. I feel bad about that. Plus, today is Toby’s birthday and I haven’t done ANYTHING for him. I feel terrible about that as well. I’ve also not gone to the gym in three days and the apartment is falling down around me. Again, terrible. Plus, it’s raining and my son hasn’t been outside since yesterday. Worse. Did I mention we’re moving this weekend?

Wish I had booze.

I can assure you, this isn’t how it looks.

I can explain. Really.

Edited to add: Many, many moons ago I read something someone posted on an “I Love My Cat” Flickr group. The question was: “Do you kiss your cat?” I thought, “Who doesn’t kiss their cat?” I kiss my cats every chance I get. (If they’ll let me.)

In related kitty news: Lisa and PJ of Empty Cages Collective are holding an adoption event this Saturday at NYC Pet (PARK SLOPE!!!! location) from 1 PM until 6 PM. Please stop by if you can!

There’s the usual stink going on about mommybloggers writing about motherhood (and their children) online. Many skeptics feel writing about one’s child is damaging to them. I won’t dispute that claim at all. In fact, I consistently battle with this and have written as much before. I even vowed to quit the mommyblogging part entirely, which I haven’t done. Does this trouble me? Yes, greatly.

So why do I do it?

On the one hand, many of you saved my butt when I was going through postpartum depression (which up until fairly recently I wasn’t able to admit that that’s precisely what I was experiencing). My goal since “getting through all of that” has been to write about motherhood and reach out to others in hopes of paying it forward.

On the other hand, I’m putting my family on display without the consent of my child.

Again, why do I do it?

As silly as it may sound, it really does take a village to raise a child and in our culture that village (or lack thereof) consists of people with full time jobs, people who pay other people to watch their children (whether they want to or not) and then send spies to the playground to make sure they’re “doing it right.” (True story!) For those of us who suddenly lose our village—who can’t take their kids to the playground in winter because it’s too cold and are met with dirty looks from restaurant owners and patrons because we’re seen as a potential nuisance—the communities we discover online are (in some cases) all we have.

I choose to keep doing this—for now—because it makes me feel a little less secluded. I go days and days without using the creative part of my brain—the part I have exercised since before I can remember. I’m not complaining about my new career; I love raising my son. But transitioning from “full time creative person” to “full time mother” has taken a great deal work, work I could not have done alone.

As mothers, we are scrutinized for ignoring our children. As mothers, we are scrutinized for how they behave. We’re scrutinized if we let them watch TV. We’re scrutinized if we don’t breastfeed. We’re scrutinized if we do. We’re scrutinized if they cry in public. We’re scrutinized if they move too slowly. We’re scrutinized if we dote on them. We’re scrutinized if we stay at home. We’re scrutinized if we hire someone to care for them. We’re scrutinized if we homeschool. We’re scrutinized if we send them to private school. We’re scrutinized if we take too long lugging a stroller up the subway steps. We’re scrutinized if we write about them.

What I have come to realize is that there’s always going to be at least one person who is annoyed with how we how we perform each facet of the job.

I once compared becoming a mother with being on house arrest. It’s a drastic statement, indeed. And some people have responded by looking at me like I’m a terrible person for saying as much. But there’s a certain degree of truth to it. And my son has nothing to do with it. (Make sure you read and digest the last line.) The sentiment has everything to do with our culture, the people around me, and my inability to let the nasty looks and disparaging comments roll off my shoulders.

Is writing about our jobs online selfish? Sure. And if you suggest otherwise, I think you should sit down and give it a little more thought. But! I think it’s born out of selflessness, seclusion and frustration. We seek out community wherever we can find it. We look for comfort from other mothers, whether it be right here in our own neighborhood or online. So if you find that you have a problem with mothers writing online—and many people do—how about using that energy to come up with solutions? At the very least, the next time you see a mother dealing with her screaming child, offer her a warm smile.

Do I think writing online is the best way to handle the problem? No, I don’t. (And, yes, I do feel that we as a society have a growing problem.) Is throwing Wellbutrin, Prozac, or Zoloft at a new mother the solution to dealing with her being thrust into alienation? I really, really don’t think so. Becoming a mother shouldn’t be treated as one might treat depression or mental illness (unless, of course, it’s chemistry we’re talking about) and that seems to be the growing trend as of late.

I would much rather live in a society that’s more tolerant of its mothers (especially since we all have one) and easier on its families. And until that happens, I probably won’t be able to shut up about it.

^{(Murray lovers: TWM will be back either later today or next week, probably later today.)}