Just stopping by to wish all of you boys and ghouls
a SPOOKtacular Halloween!!!
I am SUPER pumped at all of the candy I…I mean JOSEPH and ISAAC…are going to be getting tonight! This is one of the main reasons I had children, people!
I bet you can’t guess what Joseph’s going to be…oh wait. Yes, I bet you can!
Good News!
We are escaping from our hotel today and moving into our new home!
I’m not going to say exactly where it is (sorry to disappoint all the crazies), but it is in New Jersey- which means that, yes, I am going to be a REAL Real Housewife of New Jersey!
(Do I seem mysteriously, suspiciously richer, or is it just me?)
Sooo… hopefully we will have our cable/internet installed and running ASAP. Preferably before the Sister Wives question and answer time on Sunday. (anyone?)
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Until then, I bid you adieu, and I stick in a few random pictures of us watching the seals at the Central Park Zoo.
(A place that, overall, I thought was really cool, but Joseph voted a “meh.”)
A few weeks ago, Joseph got up and snuck out of the bedroom without waking up Brian or me.
He proceeded to eat a jar of jam with a fork, empty brian’s wallet, and then get down the camera to take some pictures.
Enjoy.
1) Rocks
2) Leaves
3) Joseph
4) A Homeless man sleeping
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Oh, Central Park, you have EVERYTHING!
I was blogging yesterday, and Joseph came over to me with a juice box.
He proceeded to squeeze it, shooting juice out of the straw and all over the carpet, while yelling, “It’s going pee pee! It’s going pee pee!”
So.
I figured that maybe this was a cry for my attention.
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Shutting the laptop, I asked him what he wanted to do. (Game? Coloring? Play doh?)
He replied “Watch me jump on this chair while i wear my batman mask and jump this tiny rope?”
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So, I did.
I sat and stared at him for at least 10 minutes.
Which made me wonder, when was the last time I sat and just stared at him for this long?
(And, more importantly, when did someone sit and stare at ME for this long?)
(Okay, that’s not MORE important. I was just mentioning it.)
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Then, I asked him if I should take his picture.
And he said, “Of course!”
and “After that, Mama, we look at these pictures on your computer.”
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So, here you go:
Joseph jumping on the chair in his batman
mask “jumping” a tiny rope.
Riveting.
(what? It’s a slow blog day!)
Recovering from a busy day at the Manhattan Children’s Museum, Joseph and I “snuggle in mommy-daddy’s bed.”
See the blankets, etc. on the ground? That is where Joseph has been sleeping for the past two months!
We are on the 14th floor, and the laundry is on the bottom floor.
Well, not the VERY bottom basement floor, because that is a gym (I’ve heard), but it is on the ground floor.
Which means that I have to cart all of our dirty laundry down the elevator, across the lobby, and into the laundry room. Then pay $2.80 a wash and $2.80 a dry, and cart it all back up to our room.
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This opens the door for what can possibly be a very awkward situation.
Can you guess what it is?
Underwear elevator awkwardness.
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Let me tell you more, because it just happened to me last night.
After picking up our massive pile of laundry and loading it into our stroller (which I use to transport it), I wheeled my way to the elevator.
I was followed by a young, muscular English gentleman with HIS laundry basket. (Not CUTE, Brian, just young, muscular, and English).
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The elevator opened and in we went. Then, they shut.
And we were alone.
And I was inches away from his underwear.
Not just any underwear- about 10 miniscule, shiny black briefs!
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I looked at them, then looked away. He saw me look at them, and look away.
Oh, the awkwardness!
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Then, I realized, Wait a minute! He is inches away from my underwear too!
And yes indeedy, there was the telltale hot pink color of a pair of my undies, shining like a beacon amidst all of the other blue colored clothing.
He looked at them, then looked away. I saw him look at them and look away.
He pushed the button for the 16th floor,
And the elevator began its extremely slow climb.
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So,here I am, basically married to this stranger on the elevator (doesn’t seeing someone’s underwear = marriage? My dad is SUPER happy to hear me say that…) and standing in complete silence.
Which means- yes, you guessed it- here comes the awkward babbling!
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“The laundry here still is expensive! Haha.” I start.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Where are you from?” (hear the accent Caitlin? England, obviously)
“England.” (obviously)
“Ah. That’s cool! Haha. Haha. Haha.”
He decides to jump in on the awkward-action “I know this looks like a lot of underpants, but I just leave the laundry in this basket, and wash all of it once a week.”
“Oh, ha ha.”
“Yeah, so most of it is still probably clean. I should probably just put it away when I get to my room.”
“Haha. Yeah, I used to do that sometimes when I was in high school.”
Which I MEANT to convey a kind of camaraderie- as in, don’t feel bad, I used to do that too.
But what really came across was, yes, I used to do that too…IN HIGH SCHOOL you loser!
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At this point we both gave up and opted for silence and averted glances.
Finally, FINALLY, the 14th floor came around and I began to make my escape.
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The man called out, “Cheers!” as I was leaving
I hear that a lot around here- it is an English thing?- and I am never sure how to respond.
Saying “Cheers” back seems pretentious and fake, but saying “Goodbye!” sound like I am ignoring their cheers, so…
“Thanks!” I call back.
Just about the most awkward choice out there.
Thanks for the elevator date, baby. And nice briefs!
The end.
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Isaac slept through the night last night!
I can count on one hand the number of times that has happened since he grew out of his “I’m the perfect sleeper” stage at about 2 months old.
And it is amazing how good I feel!
I didn’t want to collapse while putting on-off-on-off-on-off-on-off Joseph’s batman costume!
I didn’t have to eat chocolate to survive the morning!
Well, okay, I HAVE eaten chocolate this morning, but I didn’t HAVE to eat it- you see?
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This means that a thought has been a brewin’ in my head.
Maybe, maybe it is time to loosen the ole apron strings….
wait…tighten the apron strings…
tighten the purse strings… what is the saying?
In any case, what I am trying to say is that perhaps it is time for me to steer Isaac firmly into more “Independent sleep habits.”
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I have never been able to let my kids “Cry it out.”
I am NOT judging you if you do it- in fact I admire you. You are a tough cookie, and I wish that I could do it too.
But hearing him cry makes me physically ill.
Sweaty, anxious, stomach in knots, I practically sprint into his room to scoop him up.
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I try to tell myself, “Well, Caitlin, he is fine. It’s okay. He is just going to have to cry.”
And then the second he does what I call a three-tiered cry (not just “Waaaah” but “waaa-haaaaa-haaaaaaaaa!” ) I cave.
I snuggle, I bounce, I stroke his head, I nurse him a million times until he is finally asleep.
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The other night I went to nurse Isaac when he cried at 2 AM, fell asleep (My name is Caitlin and I can sleep while someone sucks on my boob) and woke up at 4 AM to find him STILL nursing.
So, we may have a bit of a dependency issue.
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From now on, I think I am going to try to be just a teensy bit tougher.
Like making him cry for 5 minutes instead of 3.
Or 4 minutes maybe.
And only letting him nurse ONCE before bed, and not over and over until he falls asleep.
Okay, fine, TWICE!
Baby steps, people! Baby steps!
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All I am trying to say is that I think I am ready.
CUT the apron strings! That’s it! That is the saying!
But doesn’t that sound a bit harsh?
Let’s stick with just loosening them a little.
Isaac is thrilled to be getting attention from his brother
Joseph is thrilled that he is able to push Isaac without getting in trouble (as opposed to the every-day-kind of pushing.)
I am thrilled to see my boys enjoying each other for a brief moment in NYC.
(see our shadows on that last one?)
Joseph doesn’t quite make it back to the hotel with enough “oomph” to eat his cupcake.
The next morning, some of it has mysteriously disappeared…
He is lucky that we had a few other kinds to tide us over…
PS Thank you readers for the Crumbs cupcake recommendation.
Clearly, these cupcakes are made with crack since I cannot stop eating them/thinking about them/bringing them up in conversations with Brian.
Let’s just say there are a few more sitting on my counter (and in my belly) right now, a mere 2 days since I had my first batch.
Luckily, it is a 16 block walk to get there which TOTALLY justifies eating one. Or two.
(or three?)
(refusing to walk one more step, AND refusing my offer to ride in the stroller, Joseph stages a sit-in.)
(these are unrelated to the post, but naughty nonetheless.)
Here is an example of what goes down at our house a million times a day:
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Joseph does something naughty.
Not color-on-the-walls naughty (that only happens on special occasions) but something more every-day naughty like dropping toys into the air conditioning vents.
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I ask him to stop.
He does it again.
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I tell him to stop more firmly, explaining why he shouldn’t do it (we can’t retrieve the toys, and I am pretty sure the hotel has a you-break-it-you-pay-to-repair-it policy on big expensive things like air conditioning units.)
He (without hesitation) does it again. Or says something charming like, “NO! I NOT STOPPING IT!”
I lose it.
Not as bad as I WANT to lose it, so kudos to me for that, but I yell and I punish.
And then I try to retreat into the kitchen or bathroom to give myself a minute to calm down before I lose it altogether. It is amazing what a difference a minute can make to my patience level…
But it is not to be.
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Joseph follows me wherever I am.
He asks, “you happy or mad? mama? you happy or mad? you happy or mad…..” (repeat a million times)
I beg my inner self to hang on to my last shred of good-mama sanity.
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When I reply “ I’m a little mad Joseph because you didn’t listen to mama” he starts in.
“sorry, mama, sorry. Sorry, sorry. Sorry mama! You happy now? You happy? sorry! you happy?”
I thank him for his apology, but explain that I am not happy with his behavior and hope that he will refrain from disobedience in the future.
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He has now attached himself to my body, preferably about my neck like a piece of 35-pound- groveling jewelry.
“Kiss, mama. I give you kisses. muah! kisses! you mad? muah! kisses mama! you need space? muah! you happy?”
I try to go about my business.
“You’re PRETTY! You’re PRETTY mama! You happy now? You’re super dooooooooper pretty! You happy?”
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This usually gets me, because what gal doesn’t love compliments?, and I tell him that yes, I am now happy.
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At which point he detaches himself,
goes into the living room,
and sticks something else into the vent.
(I could also be calling these posts : Why I Can’t Wait to Get Out of this Hotel Room, but I figured that I can only complain about my free living situation in Manhattan for so long before you throw your mouse at me, yes?)
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(Circled for your viewing convenience)
“Pee-pee” on the couch.
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(Not pictured)
Pee on the carpet in the living room
Pee on the carpet in the bedroom
Poop on the tile floor entry area.
Baby spit-up stains all over the carpet.
Joseph vomit on the comforter.
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If you ever come to NYC, you should probably pray that you don’t get our room…
(If you have kids and live in Manhattan, please disregard this post. Also, please be my friend.)
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The Subway
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I don’t have a picture of the subway, but I am assuming that you have all seen it in movies at some point at least, yes?
It is fast, it is loud, it is…a giant death trap.
Seriously, folks the subway platform has no railings! No railings I tell you!
Basically this means that someone (read: Joseph, Joseph, and Joseph) can run (/fall/jump/trip) right onto the tracks in about 4 steps.
But, I am getting ahead of myself.
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First up: Stairs*
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There are only a few stops on each subway line (the path that each train takes) that are wheelchair accessible, and I would have to walk quite a ways to reach one from our hotel.
So that leaves 2-4 flights of stairs, depending on the station.
I’m not so good at math (I had to have ONE weakness, you know), but 1 mama + 2 kids + a stroller + stairs = not good.
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This is what I do:
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I have Isaac strapped to me in a chestpack.
I get Joseph out of the stroller,
I put my backpack (diaper bag) on my back,
Joseph holds the stair railing with one hand (eewwwww I know!) and my hand with the other.
With my free hand (the one not holding Joseph) I pick up the stroller.
You following so far? The ENTIRE STROLLER in one hand! Can I get a “WOWZA?!”
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And then we descend into the ground.
This takes about a million years.
Joseph says goodbye to New York City and all of the buildings, then talks about how we are going “down down into the hole!” and takes his time on each step.
When we make it to the bottom, I am covered in sweat. Well, since I am breastfeeding, I sweat most of the time, so I should say that I am covered in MORE sweat than usual.
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Next, if I don’t have any money left on my Metrocard, I get a new one, while Joseph pushes about a million buttons on the Metrocard kiosk next to me. (eeeeew again, I know!)
At this point I strap Joseph BACK into the stroller, because we are about to enter the death-trap-subway-platform.
.
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Remember that this station is not wheelchair accessible, and I can’t push the stroller through the metal round-about things you use to get in (like at an amusement park, you know?).
I have to get the attention of the person who works at the ticket booth (heaven help me if no one is there- luckily this has not happened yet) and signal that I need to go through the Service entrance. (a door next to the round abouts)
I then swipe my card at the roundabouts, rotate them as if someone went through, and then walk over and wait by the service entrance until the attendant buzzes it open for me.
We go out to the platform and I
a) hug the wall
b) try to attach myself in some way to the stroller so that it doesn’t roll away from me and onto the platform. (imagine the worst much?)
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Then, the subway comes screaming into the station about a million miles per hour and comes to a screeching halt.
I now have a VERY short window of time to find a car that has room for me and my stroller and get on before the door shuts.
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At this point, I have a lovely air-conditioned break.
Someone almost ALWAYS gives up their seat for me/the baby-tumor on my chest/the stroller at my feet. New Yorkers are really nice, I tell you!
I sit in the seat, and Isaac leans out of the chestpack, smiles at everyone, and tries to grab the subway pole (eeeeewwwww! Isn’t this whole process just so disgusting?!)
Or else, he grabs the people sitting next to us. And their purses, headphones, zippers, hair, etc.
This can either go well, or horribly, depending on the type of person sitting next to us.
Serious businessman or a homeless person = horrible,
people on vacation or ladies just back from shopping = well.
Meanwhile, Joseph sits in the stroller and talks about the train ("Are we on the 1 mama? Is this the 2? The R?” ) and wants to know if every single stop is our stop. (“This one, mama? This is our stop? This one?”)
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Finally, we reach our stop, and I follow those same steps in reverse.
After we reach the surface, I walk to our destination. We have a wonderful time (or, you know…not so much), walk back to the subway station and then it is stress, sweat, repeat.
Ta da!
You have successfully navigated the subway with 2 children!!
Now who wants some birth control?
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I tell you, if it wasn’t for all of the awesome pizza/cheescake/indian food, I would weigh about 100 pounds.
But I would be SO hungry.
So there you go.
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* 8 times out of 10 someone helps me by carrying the stroller down/up the stairs for me. Isn’t that wonderful?! I thank them by talking to them the whole time we are going down the stairs about what a great help they are and how much I appreciate it and about the weather. Remember that in awkward situations I just can’t shut up…
Breakfast dishes on the table (I thought about editing them out, but-hey!- it’s the view!)
Joseph talking about Batman,
Isaac pulling himself up on whatever he can find that is near his big brother. And wearing Christmas jammies in October (whatev.)
Me sitting in a chair trying to check my email, talk about Batman, make sure my baby doesn’t get a concussion, and soaking in a typical morning.
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