My Fellow Borough Dwellers, it’s been a long time.
Seven months have passed since the last publication of the
Seventh Borough News, which covered the fast approaching birth of my daughter,
and said child has been keeping me busy.
It’s not so much that two children take up twice as much time as one
child does, even if you had 19 children, you still only have 24 hours in your
day. But it’s the sheer exhaustion of
managing a two-pronged front, the shifting between sweet, slow baby-speed, and
the zip-zip-zip of a fully mobile, fully opinionated 2.5 year-old, each day
that will wipe out even the smallest shred of creativity. And then there is the other reason why people
sometimes just drop off the face of the Earth, if you will: being in love. I’ve been smitten with this little baby girl
and all her baby-isms and tiny baby feet and sweet coos. She’s easy to love, she’s an affectionate
soul and I think she will grow up to be a warm-fuzzy sweetheart. Or I’m totally wrong. Not that I don’t love the rest of my family
very much, but as I write this, my four-legged Rita is walking all over this
keyboard and the now three-year-old is as demanding as a diva and is always
willing to negotiate for one more TV show or one more bedtime story. Nick’s negotiations are always one-sided so
I’m not even sure that counts as a negotiation.
It’s a battle of dictators. Mommy always wins in the end, but at what
cost?
During these last seven months of exhaustion, I’ve written
partially finished posts, jotted down notes, collected ‘souvenirs’ for blog
input and done some research as needed, even though no entry has been
published. Though it may seem like radio
silence on one end, I’ve really been trying to pull things together on my
end. A few weeks ago, a friend of mine
quoted from one of my posts verbatim and I admit, I freaked out. It made me nervous not because a friend read
something I wrote, but as this stuff is basically non-fiction, it’s floating
out there in the World Wide Web and I feel I end up with drafts that have been censoring
everything out to the point where there is no story. Like one big sheet of paper filled with
redacted, blacked-out text, the more sanitized the blog, the more boring it
is. It’s a balance. I’m working on it. Also, that fact that my friend quoted my post
made me think that people actually read this rag. I mean read it and remember it months
later. I feel as though my approach to writing
this blog is like that phrase on every piece of Home Goods wall décor “Dance
like no one’s watching, Sing like no one’s listening, Love like you’ve never
been hurt…” and then the lights came on and I realized people (or at least one
person) was/were watching. They were
listening. I was kind of shocked. This is not a #humblebrag. This is a
momentous day for a shy girl.
That being said, let’s aim high. The Seventh Borough News welcomes you to join
our Facebook site (group site). Posts
will still be originated on Blogspot, but also posted through Facebook, where
we can post photos more easily. The
Facebook page will host three categories of blogging: The Seventh Borough News (it is non-fiction, even if it’s not
cutting-edge journalism); Lakeview
Gardens, will cover posts about gardening, beginning in the spring; and The Focus, for photos and photo editing.
That’s the Seventh Borough’s agenda for 2015, photos and
social media, in other words, stuff ten year-olds can manage. Two year-olds can handle Netflix; I’ve
witnessed that first-hand. It’s brand
management, of sorts. Something I’ve
only studied and read about, and now we’ll try to put it into practice.
Now that our agenda is set, let’s discuss the State of The
Borough. Last year I published our first
State of The Borough, while actually watching the State of the Union on TV. This year, as I was finally getting posts
wrapped up, I thought I’d refresh the blog with the State of The Borough on the
same day as the State of the Union, which of course, in my mind was to take
place next Tuesday, so I’m late. Getting
messed with by the gub’ment. What else
is new? This year I did watch the State
of the Union, and by watch, I mean the TV was on for about 15 minutes and I was
awake for about 6 of those minutes, but in that short amount of time, I noted
two things: the Speaker of the House is seriously, seriously orange, either the
camera adds a few shades of apricot to Mr. Boehner, or he needs to swap
districts with the New Jersey representation if he is such a serious champion
of fake tanning. And secondly, the
President chooses this year to highlight our collective lack of maternity
leave. Um, Barack, my 2014 State of the
Borough was all over that topic when I was 16 weeks pregnant last January. 7th
Boro: 1, POTUS: 0.
But really, what’s the State of Borough number 7 in
2015? Let me take you through a (sort
of) typical outer-borough day:
Wake up at 4:30, go back to bed. Wake up at 5:15, Rob’s
leaving at 6 for a week-long business trip.
Put on the news. News says two
planes were evacuated at JFK due to a bomb threat. Rob’s flying out of JFK, fantastic! Feed baby, say good bye to husband, get
dressed, get Nick out of bed, ‘negotiate’ how much Scooby Doo he can watch
before getting dressed. ‘Negotiate’ with
baby gate at top of stairs. Leave kids
alone in the house for 10 seconds to start the car and warm it up. Freak out about leaving kids alone in the
house for 10 seconds. Understand an
automatic car starter is not a bad idea if you park in a driveway. Note to self: next car = automatic car
starter. Return to house, realized kids
made it through ten seconds, Rita was ‘babysitting’. Cat = babysitting = Cat snoozing in bouncy
seat. Make coffee, put coffee in
thermos, put thermos in handbag. Message
contractor. Contractor replies he will
come and fix the hole in my kitchen ceiling due to bathroom leak last
Wednesday. Leave front door unlocked for
contractor. Leave house, ‘fake lock’ the
door, yes, motion as if locking the door, just in case any neighbors would
willingly come out of their house in 20 degree weather and spy on my front
door. That kind of paranoid. Yes, I’m from Brooklyn. Put two children in five-point harness car
seats. 2 x 5 = 10 clicks. Kids snug, back out of driveway, go to day
care. Small chitchat with daycare
peeps. Have a nice day, kiss, kiss,
mommy loves. Come back home, park car,
eyeball my ‘fake locked’ door, decide everything looks ok, hustle to train
station, get on 8:05, secure seat on train, take coffee thermos out of purse,
use inside voice to tell coffee how much I love it. Read Wall Street Journal, there’s Orange John
on the cover of the State of the Union issue.
Leave Grand Central, walk up Park Avenue, “take it all in”,
I tell myself, next week we’ll be in Queens.
Feel depressed, play Bon Jovi on iPod, feel less depressed. Find my breakfast wagon man, buy roll and
second coffee, it’s already a long day and it’s not yet 9 AM. Notice that my coffee wagon, once run
entirely by Francisco and covered in Italian flags, has merged with Uncle
Gussy’s Greek food truck and now sports the flags of both Greece and Italy and
a “Je Suis Charlie” poster. Who will be
next?
Prepare for a day of meetings. Step out of meeting for cell phone call.
Contractor calls me that he set off house alarm and I had to give him the
password. Freak out that despite all my
efforts in ‘fake locking’ the door, now the alarm will be disabled during the
course of this repair work. Note to
self: change the password on the house alarm.
Wonder if the police will be dispatched to my house. Go back to meeting
and watch phone like a hawk for a call from the cops and/or the alarm
company. Nothing. Focus on meeting. Leave
meeting. Co-worker approaches me on a
question about a change in methodology, mid-sentence, co-worker hears there are
cake pops in the pantry and runs out to get one. Co-worker comes back about 10 minutes later
to finish discussion. I’m distracted by
the crumbs on his face. Get a cake pop
later, it wasn’t that good. Text message from husband: Plane landed safely. Excellent.
Break for lunch; make some chitchat with other ladies in the
pantry, including the Bjork lady. Yes, a
woman who works on my floor (but not in my department) looks just like
Bjork. I don’t know her name, but she is
notorious for leaving her food in the microwave long after its finished
cooking. Note to self: if you are going
to be violating lunchroom etiquette on a regular basis, it’s best to not
resemble a famous person, so people can’t identify you so easily. Go back to desk, eat food, check out stuff on
my phone, including but not limited to: photos of “OPB” (Other People’s
Babies), adorable, fuzzy cats, seven hundred varieties of slow-cooker chili on
Pinterest, not totally sure what Zulilly sells, NKOTB at
MSG, what!!!!
Answer some emails, watch the Euro tank, borrow $95,000,000,
begin hoarding office supplies in anticipation of our move to Long Island
City. Surely there are no orange
highlighters in Queens. Wire $150,000,000
from a subsidiary to its parent, get a cup of tea, go to afternoon meetings,
notice conference room table is covered in cake pop crumbs. Assume the usual suspects. Pay attention in meeting. Stop paying attention and check phone that
the cops haven’t arrested my contractor (I need him to fix the leak in the bathroom;
I’ve been taking 90 second showers to avoid a re-leak and 90-second showers
SUCK!).
Done with meetings, check some emails, check phone, no
emergencies from contractor, no emergencies from day care, no emergencies from
traveling husband, no emergencies from my mom.
Work on PowerPoint presentation. One cubicle mate is playing Z100. One cubicle mate is playing ‘80s radio. Love both, just not at the same time. Leave
work and walk to Grand Central. Get to
day care, pick kids up. Get a talking to
because Nick’s been calling everyone a poopie head at day care. Totally take day care’s side that calling
people a poopie head is wrong.
Meanwhile, think poopie head is not really that bad in the grand scheme
of things, but maybe when you are 3, it’s pretty bad. Say ‘hi’ to other girl at day care, little
does she know she is my unofficial daughter-in-law because Nick has categorized
her as one of his wives. Do not ask 3
year-old why he has a ‘wife’ or how many ‘wives’ he has. Little girl speaks with a British accent
because she’s a marathon watcher of Peppa
Pig. Little girl tells me her daddy
is on holiday. Note to self: good he’s
out of town lest he find out we’ve become in-laws somehow. Reinforce that poopie head is not a nice
word. At home, Nick’s job is to get the
mail out of the mail box; he says there was no mail the other day (Rev. Martin
Luther King Day). I say yes, that’s
true, it was a holiday. Nick asks if
yesterday was Christmas. I say no, it
was Martin Luther King Day. Realize I
have no idea where to begin to explain to a three year-old the significance of
Martin Luther King Day. Note to self:
figure that out before the next Martin Luther King Day. Make baby a bottle, can’t wait for baby to
talk as much as Nick does. On second
thought, maybe I can. Position baby so
that I can smell her head as I feed her.
Ask Nick what he would like for dinner, given that the kitchen is
totally out of commission. Nick: Fruit Snacks.
Me: Umm, no, try again.
Get the shorties to bed.
2 kids x 2-legged fleece feety pajamas = 4 little legs bundled for
bed. Take 90-second shower, put on pj’s,
open fridge, find glass of wine I poured over the weekend and never had time to
drink. Ice cupcakes for day-care
birthday party, secure location to hide cupcakes from cat over night. Where is cat?
Lapping up my wine. Cheers!
Truth is, none of this is very exciting. We’re just a family
of four trying to make it to the weekend, and I’m just a Borough dweller trying
to report the humor in everyday life. That
is the state of our union, of our borough.
Just another buzz of the alarm clock, another train to catch, another
(five hundred thousand) cups of coffee to drink, another conference call,
another quarter end, another swipe on the metrocard, one more day care pickup,
a few more baby cuddles, a few more bedtime stories, and one more kiss good
night.
We’re back in business in the Seventh Borough.
