Skipping Town

We got the house, our glorious house, and here it is: My lesson in real estate: let’s not do this too often. We got the house, but we had a couple of weeks of craziness to get here. After a day of seemingly normal, successful back-and-forth with the seller on a Tuesday two weeks ago (we offered; they countered; we countered back), negotiations went haywire, and suddenly no one was responding to our bid; it seemed the sellers were trying to find another buyer and that we would ultimately be forced to make a blind bid. It was all a lot of real-estate jostling, with our broker angrily threatening to withdraw our offer, accusing the seller’s broker of acting deceitfully, and the seller’s broker responding with a lot of explanations and mild panic. All we knew by late the next night was that we likely weren’t going to get the house unless we offered asking price or higher. Which we just couldn’t do. So I spent that night crying on the couch, feeling robbed, because if we’d just accepted the...

Lucia, when I went into her room after she woke up from her nap today: “A bat was in my nursery. It scared me while I was sleeping.” There was no bat. But all the vestiges of Halloween—bats, ghosts, witches, pumpkins, and monsters—have become regular characters in Lucia’s world lately. When we make a house with a blanket draped over her crib, ghosts and witches regularly come to visit, usually bearing a gift of “new markers.” Bats fly all around her nursery and the rest of the apartment. “I see a bat!” she’ll exclaim at random times. She’ll dramatically whip her head from side to side, as though following a bat as it swoops wildly around the room. Much of this is just her leftover—and lingering—interest in all the Halloween decorations she saw in October. Some comes from books we read, and some comes from the Olivia episodes she’s most fond of. The pure, scary ghost sightings are a thing of the past. Now she’s as likely to say “There’s a ghost coming through the window!” or “I see a wi...

Dear Littlest One, Five months! If I were miscalculating your age, as I did with Lucia, I’d probably be starting you on solid foods right about now. I haven’t miscalculated, and you’re not starting solids, even though you’re verging on being ready. When I eat now, if you happen to be nearby, you watch me so avidly that it’s like you’re willing the food into your own mouth. I was holding you yesterday while eating a banana, and I really though you were going to reach out and grab it. Also, you’re getting up at least once a night and eating for a long time, and during the day I feel like I nurse you all the time, so I know you’ll be ready soon. I’m in no hurry, though. Six months will be our starting date. If possible, you’ve gotten even cuter over the past few weeks. You are screeching, shrieking, cooing, gurgling, and babbling all the time. You have a riotous laugh, which you bestow almost exclusively on Lucia—you especially love when she jumps up and down. You have an intense, penetra...

Whew. Knock on wood, it seems we’ve turned a corner in the paw-paw withdrawal. We hunkered down at home on Saturday—played on the stoop for a while, but that was it—and by Sunday Lucia seemed more her old self. A couple of funny, funny things from the past couple of days: When we were out on the stoop on Saturday, a woman in a black burka walked by. “OH!” Lucia said at the top of her lungs, perking up and staring after the woman avidly. “A GHOST!” Andrew and I were speechless, mostly because we were laughing too hard (silently) to say anything. Hilarious. (I finally told Lucia that no, it wasn’t a ghost, it was just a woman wearing a special robe.) Lucia continues to sing more or less continuously throughout the day. Today, however, for the first time, she decided to join me in my lullaby-singing as I put Greta down for her morning nap. Greta was on the brink of sleep when I laid her into her crib, softly singing to her. Lucia, who was, of course, playing in the room the whole time, ra...

Friday was one of the hardest days I’ve had as a parent. First of all, Lucia’s paw-paw withdrawal has intensified in the past couple of days, leading to extreme meltdowns in the morning when she gets up, more acting out during the day, and some nap- and bedtime resistance (though she has, knock wood, ultimately slept each time). Friday dawned with an epic meltdown that just wouldn’t end. By the time Andrew left for work, she’d been crying and/or screaming and/or whining for two hours. I’d planned an outing for us that day: the zoo with a friend. Through her tears/screams/whines, she kept saying she wanted to go to the zoo, so I felt sure getting out of the house and to a fun place would snap her out of it. Indeed, once I’d lugged the double stroller down the stairs, loaded it up, carried Greta out to put her in, and corralled Lucia outside and gotten her to stand on the stroller’s riding board, Lucia was in a much better mood. She loves the double stroller and each time she gets on say...

The phasing out of paw-paw continues to go surprisingly well, knock on wood. Lucia carries it around with her, putting it near her at her art table or with us on the couch when we read, but more often than not she just forgets about it. A couple of times today she said she needed a new paw-paw, but she said it calmly and didn’t push the issue at all, as though she felt she had to say it but wasn’t really invested in the answer. It took her about fifteen or twenty minutes to fall asleep at naptime; I heard her in her room, singing to herself a song from Music Together: “My lady wind…My lady wind…” She had a meltdown late this afternoon over her desire to simultaneously have and not have honey-graham bunnies, and she refused to even begin her bath until I was done putting Greta down, but otherwise we had a nice day. Before she went to bed tonight, as we talked about all the things we did today, she said she wouldn’t cry about paw-paw because she was going to get a new toy. “That’s right,...

This is a sad post to write. After gearing up for weeks, I finally did it: I snipped holes in Lucia’s paw-paw. A few days ago, I poked holes in her orange one with a needle; she didn’t notice. The next day, I put very small cuts with scissors in her green one; she peered at it a moment, then just went on with her day. Finally, yesterday in the late afternoon, I put two dramatic snips in her orange one. She put it in her mouth, spat it out, studied it, repeated that process a few times, and then said clearly, “I need a new paw-paw.” And I, feeling like an evil traitor, had to tell her that this was her only paw-paw and it was time for her to carry it instead of put it in her mouth. She is handling this unexpected turn of events with surprising equanimity. Yesterday, she said a few times that she needed a new paw-paw but seemed to accept my ridiculous explanation that now that she was older, it was probable that paw-paw just felt different in her mouth, and that was okay, she could still...

On Sunday, we headed to Montclair, crossing our fingers that we’d find something we loved that would turn our eyes from the Maplewood fixer-upper. We saw five houses, and, alas, none were perfect the way that the (unperfect) fixer-upper is perfect. We saw one beautiful home that had an inground pool (terrifying to me, with babies around), no garage, and no playroom. We saw a large, newly renovated home that was on a very busy road and had a tiny yard. We saw an interesting farmhouse with nice woodwork and a great yard, but the ceilings were low, the upstairs felt very tight (no hallway), and the whole place smelled intensely like the dog that was barking at us from the screened-in porch. (Note to future self: When selling your home, get it thoroughly cleaned first.) We saw a gorgeous, charming Victorian that had everything we wanted—but it was surrounded by apartment buildings and two-family rentals. It’s been on the market for six months, so clearly we’re not the only ones scared off ...

Fueled by urgency to see as many houses as possible in order to get our minds off the fixer-upper—or to decide definitively that that’s the house we want—Andrew took Friday off and we headed to Maplewood to continue our house hunt. First we went back to the fixer-upper and looked at it with one question in mind: Could we live with it as it is, for a little while? We were surprised to find that the answer was yes, with the exception of the second-floor bathroom. Our love for the house renewed, our broker took us to several more houses. The most promising one was a four-bedroom, fully renovated home with all the high-end finishes a home buyer could want. The rooms were quite small, but there was a large finished basement and a decent-sized yard. Beautiful kitchen, wonderful bathrooms, even a master en suite. And…we didn’t like it. It felt airless, suffocating. It was too perfect, too done, just too finished. Our broker said there will likely be a bidding war for his home, but we won’t be...

There are so many reasons why we’re moving to the suburbs. As the weeks and months go on with our search and eventual move, I thought I would document these reasons in a series of posts called Reasons. I’ll start tonight, after a particularly grueling late-afternoon playground trip. Going to the playground in the morning is great. Lucia is energetic and excited; Greta sleeps; there are snacks to eat, lunch to have, friends to run into. We almost always go to the playground in the morning, unless we have music class or are getting together with friends. Of course, now that the weather is nicer, every single nanny and mom in Park Slope also goes to the playground, and it is just ridiculously crowded. For two mornings in a row we failed to snag a swing even after an hour or two, unwilling as we were to wait in the swing line. (The line for the swings will, perhaps, be its own Reasons post.) But I digress. Crowded or not, it’s still generally fun. The late afternoon is another story. The d...

Dear Little One, Well! So close to two and a half, you are. And you have become just unbelievably funny and cute. It’s a rare day that you don’t make me laugh out loud. The things you say, your facial expressions, the funny things you notice and do—it’s all just fun and great to witness. Our days are often long, especially on the (now-rare) days when you’re in a surly mood, but each one really is unforgettable. I always expected you to be talkative, and you are. You pick up new expressions all the time, and are becoming very skilled at expressing your thoughts and feelings. On Tuesday, we were invited to a friend’s house for playgroup, but you’re getting over some sniffles and had a pretty tiring weekend; when I suggested we go, you gave me a serious look and said, “I just want to stay home. I want to stay right here.” So we did. Lately, when I ask what you’re doing or if you want to do something other than what you’re engaged in, you say casually, “I’m just playing with sticks, Mama.”...

We returned to New Jersey today to see some houses in Maplewood and South Orange. It was not a successful day. We saw three houses, and we didn’t like any of them. One had a weird sunken living room with two or three stairs to all other rooms of the house—a true toddler death trap. And there was a new addition off the kitchen with depressing-looking linoleum that just seemed bleak and soulless. We didn’t even look upstairs. Another was enormous—like something out of Gone with the Wind—with all the ornate details that go along with a “period” home. Our Ikea furniture would look just…silly there. And the realtor said the heating bill is probably around $15,000/year. It's rare when even I will admit that a house is too much house for us. The third was sterile, too newly done, and though it was pretty in the technical sense, it left me cold. The realtor said it was on the market because of a divorce, so perhaps that was part of the unhappy feeling of the place. The dislike was purely o...

Greta had her four-month checkup last week, and it seems my scant few months of having a "robust" baby are over. She is still quite tall--25 inches, 75th percentile--but is now 13 pounds, 25th percentile, down from the 50th. The doctor said she's slimming down and was unconcerned. I wasn't surprised. Lucia was in the 25th percentile for most of her first year, until she plunged into string-bean territory, where she (cutely) remains. I have no doubt Greta, too, will be long and lean. For now, however, her cheeks remain so chubby that sometimes when I look at her in profile I can barely see her little nose. She's just so roly-poly. I kind of want to pinch these words, since she's sleeping and I can't pinch her actual cheeks.

Today was our first official day of house hunting: it’s now March, and if we see a house we love, it’s within the realm of possibility that we could, and should, buy it, since we need to move out of our apartment by the end of July. We saw three houses today—and loved all three. Today may very well have been the beginning and the end of our search. We saw one in Maplewood, one in Glen Ridge, and one in Montclair. All three were enormous—six bedrooms, finished basements, large decks, decent yards, living room, extra living room, dining room, etc etc etc. Space! We can afford them all, more or less; we’ll only have to eat ramen noodles for about twelve to twenty-four months. One package a day. Split four ways. Anyhoo, the Maplewood house has fully captured our imagination. It’s on a gorgeous street, one of the town’s loveliest, and is just huge. Old and huge. It has all the charm and character we could ask for. The downside: it needs a LOT of work. A couple of things—like asbestos tiling...

We had a couple of springlike days this week, and we headed out to the playground in spring jackets. Lucia had such a good time, running around without having her little fingers get frozen. Collecting sticks remains the primary playground activity, though she also went down the slide about a million times and ran back and forth over the shaky bridge with a little boy we know from music class. It’s so funny to me when toddlers recognize each other, especially, as was the case this time, when the toddler is with a sitter and not the parent I’m familiar with. “That’s Lucia,” I heard him say, and Lucia recognized him, too. They played and shared a snack until he left. Greta spent much of our playground time napping. And being cute. Greta proved last night to be quite the little strategist. Gone are the days of sleeping from 7 to 7. Now she’s waking up once a night at least, two times lately. And last night, she woke up at 4:30am. She didn’t cry—she just began doing her raptor screeches, ha...

As usual, Lucia has found no shortage of things to do around the house lately. She’s been playing with her cars. When Andrew’s mom was here, Lucia loved going into the living room in the morning and playing on her “mountain”—the pile of couch cushions displaced when Kris turned the couch into her bed. One morning I had Greta “climb” the mountain and sit at the top with Lucia. Lucia loved it, and Greta even laughed out loud when I made her “climb” back down. She’s been playing with Play-Doh. We discovered that off-brand “Dough Pâté” from the dollar store becomes transparent when spread thin, so I made “stained-glass amulets” for Lucia to stick to the windows. It was all-consuming for a very, very long time. Greta, too, has found new amusements, such as holding and chewing toys and kicking around her little feet. And, of course, she's just busy being cute.

Lucia is just talking and talking and talking, throwing out new phrases and words all day, every day, and it is hilarious and marvelous to witness. Just in the past couple of days, she’s started saying, “You know what, Mama?” and then going on to say some piece of information. Or not following it up with anything at all. In the bathtub the other night she kept exclaiming, “Oh! I know what I can do!” and then seizing some toy from the side of the tub before saying it again and focusing on another one. And today she was sitting in Andrew’s lap, and very purposefully she patted Bibi and said, “So, Bibi…” as though preparing for a serious talk. And the funniest one, in my opinion: Yesterday we were both snacking on Cheerios at the table. She would take a bite then sort of ooze down from her chair, saying “Bye, Mama…Thanks again!” in an exaggerated, sing-songy voice before running into the living room. Then she’d dart back, climb into her chair, eat another bite, ooze down, and say it again...

In the weeks and months to come, I plan to write extensively on all the reasons why I’m ready to leave the city and excited to move to the suburbs. But today I’ll give a brief thought on the subject. Lucia and I took a walk this afternoon (Andrew’s in India this week, so his mom is here, and I’ve been trying to get out with just Lucia when I can). It was a cold day, but she was happy to be outside, and she immediately engaged in her current favorite pastime: collecting sticks. I love her collections. I love that she likes to collect things, and I love that she’s picky about it—she doesn’t pick up just any stick, stone, or what have you; they have to be the right size, color, length. Our house is full of small, smooth brown seeds she’s found at the playground; for a week or two, she played with them constantly, cooking them in her pretend kitchen, pouring them from one small cup to another, arranging them on various surfaces. She loves to tramp around and find stuff. It’s cute, it’s fun...