NYC Moms

Caffeine Detox

So I recently switched to decaf.

It just seems simpler. Because I'm not a brew my own cup of coffee in the morning girl.

I'm a girl who needs to walk to the local coffee shop and order a large skim latte. Which was already taking a lot of time and then I got addicted to this coffee that is about a 20 minute walk from our apartment.  And there's always a really long line.

Better to just drink decaf.  I would never walk 20 minutes and wait in line for DECAF. 

At first, it all went marvelously. I had this tin of mocha flavored decaf left over from my pregnancy days. So at least I could still wake up and savor my heavenly coffee experience.

And it really wasn't that awful. I was a little cranky but nothing I couldn't handle. I started to feel a little superior. All those poor caffeinated souls, slaves to their $4 cappuccinos.

We Were Sort of There

So my husband and I witnessed history. Well, almost.

Very early Tuesday morning, we road tripped (without our children) down to Washington, DC to attend the inauguration of Barack Obama.  Just a few days earlier, we had been given tickets to the inauguration and despite concerns about crowds, cold and traffic, we had to go.

How could we not go?!

We parked our car in Maryland and took the metro up to the Capitol. And that’s where things got a little hairy. Because there were massive amounts of crowds.  Like “I’m getting really freakin' nervous” kind of crowds.

We HELD TICKETS but couldn’t even get to the security checkpoint because of the throngs of people pressed up against us and absolutely no crowd control. There was only one entrace to our purple ticket section and it was mobbed. There were no barricades or police officers to help manage the chaos.

Finally, one officer spoke to us through the steel fence.

"If I were you, I'd go home and watch it on TV. We've lost control of the crowds," said the officer.

"But we have tickets!" everyone yelled back.

It was futile.

Where's That 20-Something Girl?

Ok, can you stand just one more New Year's resolution?

Because lately I've been thinking of myself, or my former self really. That 20-something girl that somehow got lost in the shuffle of marriage and children and laundry.

Because there was a time when I would leave a bar in Madrid at 3 in the morning, jump on some Spaniard’s motorcycle and enjoy an exhilarating, high speed spin around the city.

Or another time, when I was headed to Charleston, South Carolina on a Friday night to hang with my best friend, when I learned the flight was delayed. I had the following conversation with an airline worker:

“Why is the flight delayed? I have plans to go out tonight in Charleston,” I politely but urgently ask. I’m a 20-something single girl and I have PLANS. To go out.

A Green Christmas

"Would you like that gift wrapped?" the sales woman asks.

"No thank you."

"Just a bag?"

"Oh no. No bag. I brought my own bag."  I pull a folded up tote bag out of my purse. "Just trying to save the earth," I respond as if I somehow need to explain my "erratic" behavior.

"Maybe just some tissue?" the sales lady offers.

"Nope. Nothing. Just the shirt and the receipt. Thanks."

She looks at me like I'm missing out on the best tissue paper on this side of the Manhattan.  I politely say goodbye and leave the store.

And so goes my seemingly one woman crusade to save this earth.

My Family of Five

I look at the pregnancy stick. The positive plus sign still so permanent and visible. Still so full of promise. But I know it's all over. It's no longer real. I throw the stick in the trash.

I've given birth to two beautiful babies.

And now I've had two devastating miscarriages.

I’ve known so many women who have experienced this loss. And my empathy has always been deep for these mothers. I just didn't expect to be one of them.

I keep straightening up the apartment, pulling the corners of the bedspread so it's perfectly even. I feel consumed by the need to control something. If I can't stop another miscarriage, surely I can at least make this bed correctly.

But it's futile. I'm crying again.

Kids Should Climb Trees

So lately I've been pretending to be some cool, hip urban mom while secretly scouting out wrap around porches and manicured lawns.

In Westchester.

And Jersey.

And can you even believe I am considering leaving Manhattan?!

For years my husband and I swore we would NEVER leave the city. Did you hear me? NEVER. We love the theater, the amazing restaurants and always having lots of fun, cool stuff to do. But suddenly, despite a great life with our two girls in the West Village, we are just sort of longing to leave.

Our potential dash to the suburbs is being spurred on by several defining moments.

We have been turned off by the New York City private school application process. At one required "playdate," the Director of Admissions was just grilling my shy girl Dylan in this really chipper, friendly, relentless way.

So do you have a dog? Did you eat breakfast today? What's your favorite food? What's your favorite color? Can you make a snow man out of playdough? Can you count these little plastic bears?

Man, even I was starting to have heart palpitations.

I finally turned to the Director of Admissions and said, "She's only 4. This is too intense. We're going to leave."

Which is a polite way to say.... Get someone else to count your stupid, crappy plastic bears. In all fairness, the Director of Admissions called me immediately to apologize.

The Power of Doing Something

My dad has been complaining about our political leaders since I can remember him having a beat-up VW bug (the original) and a wild, curly do (that embarrassed me for years).

The VW is gone. The hair is mostly gone. But my father's discontent has lingered.

Yet my dad hasn't volunteered for a campaign since knocking on doors for Eugene McCarthy. Umm.... who? Yeah, that was 1968.

So he agreed on Sunday to end his 40 year hiatus and dive back into the political trenches with me.

If he was looking for gritty politics, this wasn't it.

We arrived at a super posh, west village duplex that has an enormous wrap around balcony, with gorgeous views of the city.

We were handed a list of potential supporters and given talking points. Oh and feel free to help yourself to the bottled water, fresh fruit and gourmet cookies.

Well, ok. Now I remember freezing my tush off in New Hampshire for Mr. Bill Clinton and I don't remember anybody ever offering me any damn gourmet cookies.

I was really nervous at first because of the whole cold-calling-strangers-who-might-be-really-mean-to-me thing. But you know what? After the first call, it's all incredibly easy.

I called North Carolina voters and they were so darn nice. One woman said to me in the sweetest, most heavenly southern voice, "I'm sorry sugar but I'm voting for McCain."

It's the Economy, Stupid... Again

The meltdown of our financial markets is panicking everyone I know. In my yoga class, the instructor added extra meditation time to try to calm nervous yogis. Great. Just what we need. More quiet time to focus on our rapidly nosediving 401Ks.

I think we're going to need more than a mantra to get us through this crisis.

Last week, the US Congress finally passed the $700 billion dollar bailout package and President Bush signed it into law. To unfreeze our credit markets! To save our economy! By bailing out the slimy millionaires who are responsible for all this!

But I guess it must be done. Because a bad law is better than no rescue package (Is that what we are calling it now?) and a crumbling economy. Rest assured, I minored in economics so I know what I’m talking about. I really did minor in economics. Whether I know what I’m talking about has yet to be determined.

This is starting to feel a whole lot like 1992.

Standing Up for Sarah Palin (Sort Of)

It is not my desire to defend Sarah Palin. Not in the least.

So far the only thing I like about this Republican Vice Presidential candidate is Tina Fey's impersonation on Saturday Night Live.

Palin's anti-choice, anti-environment, anti free speech, pro war agenda terrifies me.  It's hard to imagine that John McCain even thinks this woman has the right stuff for the Veep spot. But apparently he does.

That said, I’m still a bit unsettled by this grassroots effort, Women Against Sarah Palin. 

I just don’t like the idea of pitting women against each other.

A Tribute to Michele

The memories of September 11th, 2001 are seared into my soul.

The first video of the Twin Towers.

The aching, heavy, endless grief that followed.

I remember pouring over "The New York Times' Portraits of Grief" where the paper honored each and every victim with poignant, beautiful details of their lives.

And for some reason, Michele Coyle-Eulau always stuck with me. I didn't know her. Only what I read. She had three sons, 2, 5 and 7 years-old.

Matthew, Mark and Eric.  The children who were waiting for her to come home that day.

She was a working mom, who juggled a hectic schedule, including a three day a week job as a systems analyst. She worked one day from home and two days on the 96th floor of Tower One of the World Trade Center.  And one of those days was Tuesday, September 11th.

She was 38 years-old.

According to "The New York Times," often at night her husband would yell out to her, "Michelle, it's 11  o'clock! Could you just come to bed?"

And the piece ended like this...

What took her so long to get to bed? Packing lunches, making grocery lists, arranging play dates. "I never understood," her husband said. "Now I do."