The Hazards of the Suburbs

In November 2004 we thought about leaving NYC so my husband and I bought a house in NJ.  It required a massive renovation that only grew more massive as the work progressed.  What would be a six-month project took over two years.  I never truly wanted to move there, but we were romanticizing the notion of a back yard.  In January, 2007, the house was nearly completed and we were making the decision about putting it on the market.  The following took place in January 2007.

We decided to go food shopping at  Fairway Market on 125th Street.  My five-year old daughter refused to wear tights or pants, or a hat and figuring that we’d be in the car, I relented.  My three year-old  son was appropriately dressed in pants, hat, down-coat, but he wanted to wear his Birkenstocks.  And off we went.

First stop, Barney Greengrass!  The four of us sat at a table for two and gobbled up bagels and smoked salmon.  Several well-intentioned customers pointed out that our son’s Birky was on the floor and we’d smile, and say “Oh, your shoe fell off again.” As if we hadn’t noticed this for the nth time. The food was delicious.  We corrected the bill for a $10 over-charge and fully food-fueled, left for Fairway. 

At Fairway, we bumped carts with thousands of other New Yorkers, all scrambling for organic bok choy, artisanal tofu and nitrate-free bacon.  The children rode in the cart and happily ate Dora snacks.  On the way to the car, a large package of paper towels went flying out of our cart into the parking lot and David ran to catch it.  That was when David could still run.
   

Yes, all was fine then.  It was only 12:30PM on a freezing cold winter Sunday and we could have left things alone.  Gone home to unload the groceries and maybe do a craft with the wee ones.  But no, we had to go to NJ to check on the house.   The House.  Two years ago we bought a house in NJ.  The renovation cost twice what we anticipated and took two years.  The septic, the HVAC, the walls, central vac etc.,. Now, it is nearly complete and I am confronted with the reality of moving to it.  It reminds me of dating someone who is nice and attractive and interested, but somehow it just doesn’t work.  And you keep dating thinking it will eventually make sense.   My husband says, “It will only take ten minutes. They moved the washer and dryer.  It looks great.  You have to see it!”  So, off we go.

The first thing we noticed almost immediately upon crossing the GW bridge was something foreign to us that winter and that was snow. 
“Wow, there’s snow out here,” I say.
“YAY!!” the kids say.  My son’s Birky dangling from his toe, my daughter hatless (it would ruin her hairdo).
“Don’t worry, Joe ploughed the driveway.”
“Who’s Joe?”  I ask.
We wend our way down the street and get to our 700 foot driveway, all beautifully coated in pristine white snow. 
“SNOW!!” the kids scream.
“I guess Joe didn’t plough,” David says,

We debate whether to drive down the driveway or go back home.  And, of course, we decide to go down the driveway even though we don’t have 4-wheel drive and our car is famously bad in all weather, except 72 and sunny.  Down we go. 

The washer/dryer are sitting in the middle of what will one day be a laundry room. The water hook-up has been moved down the wall.  This means that when the washer and dryer are actually attached to the wall we will be able to open the door to the laundry room, unlike the previous configuration. Way better.  The kids run all over getting covered in neglected-house dust and screaming about their rooms.  Then my daughter begs to play in the snow.  Of course I say no.  She has no hat.  Nothing on her legs and she’s wearing Maryjanes.  She turns to her brother, “I don’t like my mommy.” So I say, “Ask Daddy.”  What a plan I’ve hatched!  HaHAHAAA!  She’s totally foiled.  He’s going to laugh at the very notion and then finally he will hear, “I don’t like my daddy.”  My daughter runs downstairs while I gloat.  Teeheehee. 

“MOMMY!  Daddy said YES!”  What?

“Yeah, sure, one time down the driveway.  It’ll be great,” he says. They all go outside.  Time passes and I don’t see them on the driveway.  I look out the side window and see my son wearing David’s gloves while David uses snow to wash off two filthy old toddler sleds. I open the window.

“Are you sure about this?”

“No problem,” he says.  A few minutes later, the three of them are beaming and hatless, while David pulls the children up the driveway.  David can still walk at this point.  I decide to get in the car to make a statement that it’s time to go.  There they are perched at the top. Sun beaming.  Smiles everywhere.  Then I think, ‘Look at us!  In the burbs!  Sledding!  We are so normal! Hey, everyone, look, finally, the Swerskys are normal! See us sledding?? Hey, guy walking a dog, are you a neighbor? Can I borrow a cup of sugar?'  And here comes our son tearing down the driveway with great momentum and then I hear David yell, “Steer!”  Steer?  Does he know what that means?  The kid is 3 and doesn’t drive yet.  He’s heading for a crash into our rustic rock wall.  I run out.  David reaches for him.  Our son flips over.  David falls.  I catch the boy.  He’s covered in snow and wet.  I take off his pants and put him in his car seat.  Next comes our daughter.  Yay! She’s whipping down.  I catch her.  Thud.  Oy, that hurt!  Okay, kids, let’s head back now.  We all load up and get in the car. 

We get about five feet up the driveway before the car gets stuck. Our first argument ensues.  David wants to back all the way down and with momentum barrel up the driveway.  It’s the Hurdle theory.  I want to go inch-by-inch turning the steering wheel this way and that and slowly, but mightily make our way up the driveway.  We both fight back and forth before the car starts going backwards while I am stepping on the gas.   I put our son’s pants back on and take the kids out of the car and we stand in the freezing cold at the top of the driveway watching David put cardboard under the tires and creep upwards. Finally, we decide to go back into the house and sit in the sunbeams and wait.  We sit in the sunbeams because there is nothing else to sit in.  The house is entirely empty.  There isn’t even toilet paper.  A while later, I look out the window and see David at the top! He did it!!!  But where is he?  I get the children back in their dripping, cold clothes and where is David?  There is a knock.  It’s David.  He’s hobbling. He thinks he’s hurt his ankle.  He fell on the way down the driveway. We walk to the car, each holding a child.  I know it’s serious when he gets in the passenger side for me to drive.

“OH, MY G-D, ARE YOU OKAY??” I ask.

“I think I’m fine. Ow!”  We drive back into the city.  Our son falls asleep.  I give our daughter a warm bath.  I put the groceries away. David ices his ankle. (It’s a torn ligament. His doctor wants to operate.  He’s getting a second opinion, but either way he will not be able to run for a long while.)
But we made it back.  And we’re in one piece.  Taxi!