Skipping Town

We embarked on another exploration today. We’re coming to the end of these new-town investigations—there’s one more day trip we might do, but now we’ve seen all the options at least in passing and can start focusing in on our top choices. Today we drove north to Scarsdale, Chappaqua, White Plains, and Pleasantville. Scarsdale was pristine and lovely—like a magical fairytale hamlet—but those fairytale houses were so close together it was like someone had fitted them together into a puzzle. There were no yards to speak of with many of the properties, and everything was way out of our price range anyway. For some reason I’ve always associated Scarsdale with the kind of suburbia that would inspire Richard Yates—engendering a particular sort of existential despair rooted in disillusionment, isolation, burst dreams. I have no way of knowing whether this is accurate and suspect it is not. But with house prices in the $1 million+ arena, we probably won’t find out. There were some pretty proper...

Dear Littlest One, You marked your three-month birthday by hitting an exciting milestone: you rolled over from tummy to back today! In just a couple of days, you went from screaming bloody murder during tummy time to doing strong, prolonged neck lifting and, today, to actually turning over. I hadn’t even been practicing with you; you were just ready. You found yourself in the right position and over you went. Then you did it four more times as Lucia and I cheered you on. What a wonderful end to the week. (And your sister was truly excited: she grinned and laughed each time you rolled over and were concerned when you seemed to hit your head on the floor.) You continue to be a lovely, easy baby most of the time. You are still a champion sleeper: from 7 or 7:30pm till 7 or 7:30am, with just one night feeding—sometimes at 2, more often at 4:30. You aren’t the greatest napper, and the only time you take really good naps is when you’re in the Bjorn or in my arms—which is why it’s best when w...

Yesterday and today, Andrew had to go into work early and stay late (late as in out-for-dinner-and-drinks late, getting home past midnight late). This meant I was on my own all day for two days—and, more significantly, two bedtimes. These days were so different I just had to capture them in a post. I thought yesterday would be the easy day, since Kate, our sitter, had agreed to stay through bedtime to help me manage getting two babies to bed. But Greta chose yesterday to mutiny. She fooled us into thinking she was going to be the easy one by sleeping through the night—straight through, from 7:30 to 6:30. But then she napped badly all day—trying to nap, needing to nap, but napping fitfully and waking before she was ready. By 3:00pm, she was a screaming, inconsolable basket case. I passed her off to Kate and took Lucia to the grocery store for a little breather; she fell asleep immediately once we left. There was a 45-minute period of peace when we got home, and Lucia and I baked cookies...

We headed out to the burbs once again today, this time to drive around Montclair, New Jersey. And we really loved what we saw. We’d been to Montclair several months ago on a very preliminary exploration—it’s where we bought Lucia’s very first stuffed Elmo—but this time we were looking more specifically at houses. There are some beautiful, tree-lined streets, large, interesting houses, nice-sized yards, good parks, lots of places to walk to. The schools are, I’ve read, outstanding. We went to just one open house today but are definitely putting Montclair high on the list for future hunting. Once again the girls were great in the car. However, Lucia seems to have gotten it into her head that any time we get in the car, our destination is a playground. As soon as we get on the road, her chant begins: “Playground? I go a playground?” We did find a playground for her, since we had some time to kill before the open house; we stuffed her into her snowpants, hat, coat, and mittens in the back ...

Today Lucia, Greta, and I went out to lunch with a friend and her daughter. I was anxious about the plan—even though I’d proposed it, since I had a Groupon that was expiring tomorrow, and going out in the evening for dinner just isn’t realistic, what with Greta’s witching hour. Going to the playground by myself with both girls is pretty much the extent of our public excursions, so a restaurant was kind of a big step. We went early and sat in a booth, and the toddlers were content with the basket of tortilla chips the waiter brought over. No one else was in the restaurant. We ordered our meals, and some rice and beans for the little ones. Greta fell asleep in the stroller. Lucia stood happily in the booth eating chips. Though she refused it at first, eventually she even ate some rice and beans. I was feeling proud, confident, powerful—out in the world! with two babies! having lunch with a friend in a restaurant, having a conversation!—when, out of the corner of my eye, I suddenly saw Lu...

The ghost continues to make appearances in our kitchen. Yesterday, Lucia was about to enter the kitchen but stopped short and said, “I see a ghost.” She said the ghost was at the stove, cooking soup. When she said she saw the ghost, she actually hurried behind me, as though hiding. A day or two before that, the ghost was first in the kitchen and then outside: “Ghost outside, looking for stones.” (The ghost is often carrying stones while in the kitchen.) And also recently (can’t remember the specific days) she was running back and forth from the living room into the kitchen—until she said a ghost was in the kitchen, at which point she would come to a screeching halt at the kitchen threshold and refuse to enter. I’m really intrigued by all this, especially the idea that she somehow has understood that a ghost is something to be afraid of, something to avoid. Where did this knowledge come from? And just what is it that she’s seeing?

***This is the first of a new series of posts that will highlight parenting firsts in the Littell household. Of course, there is the possibility that this post will be the only one in the series. But onward regardless.*** Last night, I went to the basement to get our laundry—a load of whites—out of the washer. When I opened the lid, I was horrified to see that the entire load of clothes was mixed with a snowdrift of gelatinous slime reminiscent of an exotic breed of translucent fish eggs. The slime was all over and in the clothes; it lay in piles at the bottom of the washer like an overabundance of priceless caviar. It dissolved when I touched it, leaving no soapy or slimy residue, and it fell free from the clothes when I shook them. Nearly gagging, I threw the clothes in the washer, having no other recourse: we were out of quarters, it was 10pm—and Lucia’s blankie (pulled from her sleeping arms under cover of darkness) was in this hideous load. We had to just see it through. When the ...

Dear Little One, What a run for our money you’ve given us this month. The holidays were hard on all of us: two weeks of visitors, a tree in the living room, an overload of presents—couple all this with some late-arriving sibling jealousy, an ear infection, and general two-ness and you have a recipe for an explosive finale to the year. Things are better now that we’re back in our usual routines, though some of the jealousy and two-ness remain. It’s immediately apparent when you’re starting to go into the “red zone,” as a parenting book described it. Your whole face changes; the look in your eyes is pure challenge and defiance. You lash out with your arms, trying to push away or hit whatever offends you. Your voice pitches higher and tilts into shrill screams. We try to deflect it when we can. When we can’t, we’re trying out other ways of halting things before they get out of hand. Fortunately you don’t direct your anger at Greta. She’s the source of much of your frustration, of course, ...

Greta is an easy baby. (Knock, knock, knock wood.) She is easygoing and calm, and if she prefers being held to being put on a playmat or in a bouncy chair, so be it; she’s a baby, and our apartment is quite cold, and if I were her I’d want to be on a warm person too. But Greta is also demanding, a true child of a mama who likes routine and regularity. If it’s time for her to eat, she begins screaming bloody murder with no warning whatsoever. FEED ME. NOW. The worst is when Greta gets sleepy. She becomes an insane screaming infant, face red, lips quivering with rage, crying so hysterically she ceases to let out any sound at all. She is then nearly impossible to calm, and even when she does fall asleep, she wakes up a couple of times and needs to be soothed once again. Greta’s witching hour begins promptly at 5:00pm, just when I need to start getting Lucia’s dinner ready and a good bit of time before I can count on Andrew walking through the door. It is the toughest part of my day. There...

Yesterday, Lucia was kicking a beachball around the living room while I nursed Greta on the couch. She was in a testy mood, and she kept kicking the ball dangerously close to me. Trying to deflect a confrontation, I suggested she kick the ball into the kitchen. “No,” she said. “Ghost.” She said it matter-of-factly. “There’s a ghost in the kitchen?” I said. “Yes,” she said. Further questioning revealed that the ghost is (still) a baby, and it was standing by the stove, cooking soup.

Early this morning, the four of us set out in the car for more explorations of possible places to live. On the agenda today: Mamaroneck, Rye, and Port Chester, in New York; and Darien, Rowayton, and Cos Cob in Connecticut. The outstanding school districts in both areas are extremely appealing, the commute humane, the taxes much more palatable than New Jersey. We expected our trip today to shake up our top new-home choices. But despite our enthusiasm going in, we were surprised to find that we didn’t much like Mamaroneck. There were some beautiful homes, but it seemed remote—and, in an odd way, there was a malaise hovering over the town. I didn’t see a cozy suburban life there—I saw isolation. Perhaps the gloomy day had something to do with it, but neither of us could quite imagine ourselves being happy there. Same for Port Chester. We felt differently in Rye: a really cute downtown, beautiful homes. It seemed livelier somehow; and we could better imagine a home there. It became clear ...

It’s begun: our house hunt. After saving for the past four-plus years, we are ready to buy a house. Well, we’re ready to start the process of preparing to buy a house, with the goal of moving by the time our lease is up on August 1. That seems like a really long way away, but it’s not when you factor in six to eight weeks for closing. So it’s time to start the hunt. Today we drove out to Maplewood, NJ, a pretty town that’s surprisingly close to NYC—we got there in about half an hour, which means Andrew and I could conceivably come into the city to do fun things on nights when we have a sitter or visiting grandparents. The commute for Andrew is humane, and the community for me seems, from preliminary observations, very nice. We were anxious about making the drive with both kids, but they did great: no carsickness from Lucia, only minimal fussing from Greta, and a manageable amount of whining from Lucia that focused on her desire to go either home or to a playground. Both kids ended up a...

Late this afternoon, Andrew, Lucia, and I were all in the living room while Greta napped in her bouncy chair in the office. Lucia had just woken up from her nap but, nonetheless, was in a cheery mood. She was performing some acrobatics on the floor—spinning, splits—and giggling. Then, out of the blue, she looked at us and said, “Ghost in kitchen.” And then kept saying it, just as she did yesterday. “Ghost in kitchen. Ghost in kitchen.” She answered our questions consistently: “What’s in the kitchen, Lucia?” “A ghost.” “Where is the ghost?” “In the kitchen.” I asked her where the ghost was standing—by the island, the stove, the table? “By the table.” We asked if the ghost was a man or a woman, or a baby. “A baby!” “What is the ghost wearing?” “A dress.” “What color?” “Pink.” Then I asked if the ghost was carrying anything, and Lucia said immediately, “Stones.” This was all pretty freaky. But it got downright terrifying when Andrew asked if Gray Bunny wanted to say hi to the ghost, and s...

Lucia genuinely freaked me out tonight. It was around 4:30pm, dark outside, and she and I were in the living room; Greta had just gone down for a nap in our bedroom. Most of the apartment was dark. Since we play almost exclusively in the living room, by the end of the day we usually have lights on only in the kitchen and living room. I was sitting on the couch, and Lucia was playing with something on the floor. Then, suddenly, she ran into the kitchen, looked around, and said, "Ghost came through the kitchen. Ghost came through the kitchen." She ran back to me and just kept repeating this over and over and over again, staring at me with her saucer eyes. "Ghost came through the kitchen. Ghost came through the kitchen." She said it exactly the same way every single time. I kept asking her to explain what she meant, or say it a different way, or show me the ghost. At one point she ran to the kitchen doorway and called out to the ghost: "Ghost.....Ghost....Ghost......

Lucia’s been saying the funniest things lately. This weekend when Andrew and I were sitting on the couch and Lucia was amusing herself with something on the coffee table, she suddenly looked up and said, “I’m so happy!” That was pretty cute. She also says “I’m walking with a cane” and then limps around the room with her abacus as a cane; “Each one has a flower” when we’re reading Madeline; “She drank the whole thing” when she gives her doll a bottle; “Mama, where are you?”; “Where Dada go?”; and much, much more. Recently she ran into the bedroom, looked at me, and said, “I can’t find paw-paw.” It was just so clear. And yesterday we were both having some turkey breast and she said, “We both eating turkey.” Really fun to see this all in motion. Oh, and today there was this exchange: Lucia, randomly, while standing at her art table: “Happy birthday!” Me: “Whose birthday is it?” Lucia: “Markers’ birthday! They have a cake.” She then grabbed a handful of markers and observed, “Lots of them!...

Greta had her two-month checkup yesterday and weighed in at a hefty 11 pounds, 1 ounce. She’s 23 ¼ inches long. The doctor called her “robust.” Robust! I can’t believe I have a robust child, especially since this child was born three weeks early. I sort of wonder if she’s eventually going to catch up to and then surpass Lucia. Lucia didn’t hit 12 pounds till she was eighteen weeks old. More importantly, this all means that Greta is probably going to grow into six-month clothes this winter, and all Lucia’s old six-month clothes are sundresses and sleeveless onesies. So much for hand-me-downs. Greta is also smiling and cooing and just generally being adorable these days. She continues to run hot and cold with the pacifier, accepting it grudgingly now and then but always spitting it out just before or immediately after falling asleep. She loves to look at Lucia. And today when we were playing with her and making faces at her, she mirrored me when I stuck out my tongue, which Lucia thought...

I hate January 1. Always have, probably always will. Today, though, was a doozy. My parents went out to load their car so they could get on the road and head to Molly’s—and they discovered that everything in it had been stolen, despite the fact that the car was parked immediately in front of our apartment. Their GPS, their iPod, and, worst of all, their Christmas gifts for Molly and Ian. I called the cops, who came for their report, but obviously there’s nothing they can do. People who steal wrapped Christmas gifts are on the same low level of humanity as people who smash pumpkins. Happy New Year! Fantastic! January 1 also finds us in a new chapter of our life entitled Lucia Is Two. More will perhaps be said about this at another, less frustrated time. Happy New Year! Splendid! On a brighter note, my big novel revision is done, thanks to Andrew’s and our parents’ willingness to brave both babies on their own for the last two weeks. I became a regular at a nearby coffeeshop and might ju...