Flat Clara...Flat Mommy.

First a disclaimer.  I had and still have no idea what Flat Stanley was or is.  A quick internet search informs me it's a child's book about a kid named Stanley Lambchop who is squashed as flat as a pancake when a bulletin board falls on him. He remains flat and goes on to be mailed in envelopes in order to visit his friends (for the insanely cheap price of a postage stamp) as well as being able to slide under doors.

I first heard about Flat Stanley when Clara's nursery school class voted to learn more about the post office when asked about which neighborhood building they would like to learn more about.  Losers included: The Library, The Police Station, and School.  Clara quickly became obsessed with mail.  She would draw pictures and clamor for envelopes and stamps,  and when she couldn't wait to get it in the mailbox, she would put it directly into our apartment mailbox for me to find upon my return, or sometimes just put it on the dining room table.

Her first attempt...addressed to Mom.

The contents of her letter.

A more sophisticated attempt.
 Clearly, sophisticated mail requires a hand drawn stamp in EACH corner.

Post Office/Flat Stanley fever escalated and the kids made their own "Flat" versions of themselves.  The teachers asked us to provide addresses of friends who lived far away for our children to send their "Flat" people to.  Our friends would then send photos of the "Flat" people visiting landmarks back to the classroom for the kids to discuss and learn about.

I tapped two of my friends for the challenge.  My friend Kim lives on Bainbridge Island in Washington State.  I asked Kim's daughter Lucy to show Flat Clara a good time and she did.  Apparently Flat Clara really likes castles, dragons and unicorns.  (Interestingly, Real Clara does as well.) Bainbridge Island is fantastically magical!

Flat Clara meets a unicorn and wears a necklace.

Flat Clara meets a dragon at the castle.

I then tapped my friend Ailsa who lives in London to also participate in the Flat Stanley project.  She enthusiastically agreed, and until I received the photos from the adventure, I assumed that Clara had made another Flat Clara to go overseas.  Generously, Clara decided that Flat Mommy deserved a trip to London.  Apparently you need a hat whilst in London (it does rain there a lot, bird) but not any pants - clearly just a shirt will suffice. And you mustn't appear too impressed by the wonders of London - hence Flat Mommy's skeptical expression.   That being said, I am absurdly touched that Clara sent a Flat Mommy out into the world. 

Flat Mommy and a famous Double Decker Bus in Piccadilly Circus.

Flat Mommy riding in  a famous London black cab.

Flat Mommy having tea.

Thanks to Kim, Lucy and Ailsa for hosting Flat Clara and Flat Mommy.

Why I am Raising My Child in New York City.

I am a native New Yorker who grew up on the Upper West Side of Manhattan long before the Upper West Side was fashionable and rich.  These days, I live in Washington Heights with my husband (also a native New Yorker), and our 2 and a half year old daughter.  I recently came across an article titled “Why I’ll Never Have Kids in New York City” written by Eudie Pak. (read it: here or here.) As a parent choosing to raise her own child in New York City I was initially interested in Pak’s ideas on the subject. Then I read the article.

Her first premise is how excruciating it must be to carry children in strollers up and down subway steps.  What Pak doesn’t consider is the incredible freedom that public transportation gives you in New York City.  Many people grow up in the suburbs, small towns, or the country.  These people are shackled to their cars.  Everything is far away.  Every place is a long drive bookended (for parents) by stuffing your children in and out of car seats. I will gladly take the subway stairs over the hassle of driving a car everywhere.  NYC transportation is also incredibly freeing for those under the legal driving limit.  As a teenager I wasn’t dependent on parents or older siblings to drive me everywhere. I didn’t have to count the days until I was old enough to get my driving permit because I could already get everywhere on my own with a token or,  (these days) a metrocard.

Pak is also offended by those hardworking mothers trying to wrangle their young children on a subway car.  After 39 years of living in New York City I have yet to see the scene she describes as commonplace: “…the little tykes hijack the train, running from one end of the subway car to the other, while temporarily making pit stops to swing on the poles as they almost knock your teeth out. Like deja vu, embittered mom senses she's been in this situation before but her rage overtakes all rationality. Spitting out pieces of soft pretzel as her Winstons fall out of her purse, she screams bloody murder (e.g. "Shut the hell up and sit cho a$$ down before I break them legs!"), indicating she's lived a damn hard life. In response the kids often blink with immunity and proceed to cackle at her threats, while holding an open bottle of Mountain Dew as remnants of potato chips and candy fall out of their mouths.”  All Pak needs to complete this unflattering image of the mother is to have her pick up her pack of Winstons, light up, and blow the carcinogens directly into her children’s faces.  I have found it far more likely to be bothered by a group of raucous teenagers (without adult supervision) than to be angered by tired toddlers and their loving mothers, or fathers for that matter. I don’t think any parent – in New York City or anywhere else – would want to be characterized as “barfing out obscenities” at their children.  Riding NYC public transportation is not that stressful for anyone.

Pak then goes on to describe the endlessly annoying upper class children who complain about organic food and yoga while being pushed around in double-wide strollers by foreign nannies. She chastises these rich families with bratty children and foreign nannies.  “Just imagine all the emotional displacement going on between the rich parents, their ugly baby, and the nanny who's spending all her time with junior in order to send back moolah to her own young kids, who are thousands of miles away craving her love and affection.”

Whether or not her criticisms are justified her critiques only cover a very small subset of children and families in New York City.  What about low income and middle income families?  New York City is an expensive place to live but it isn’t entirely populated by the 1%.  There a many of us who take our children to wonderful free events hosted by local libraries, or to the city parks. By hopping on a train we can take them to world class museums, cultural institutions, and zoos - every day if we want to. We meet other parents in the playground and form playgroups.  In Washington Heights a local parent formed a Yahoo group that makes our large community suddenly smaller.  Parents swap clothes, used toys, cribs, high chairs, and parenting advice.  They post about local events and classes for kids.  They discuss what local schools are the best to apply to and how to navigate the newly instituted UPK system.  In short – we aren’t all absent parents who have emotionally abandoned out children – regardless of your economic class. We are all doing it how we think best and trying our hardest to raise healthy, happy, balanced children.

Pak’s final critique is over the often competitive process of finding the best school for your children in New York City.  First, Pak erroneously links New York City public schools to the system of paying lots of money on test prep, tutoring, and practice interviews.  Parents eager to spend money to get their children into the “best” schools are likely prepping their children for the ERB which many elite private schools use.  Those same elite schools cost upwards of 30-40k a year which makes them hilariously out of reach for most New York families.  It’s another dig at those parents in the 1% which may or may not be true but certainly is not representative of most New York families.

I went to New York City Public schools from Kindergarten through high-school with a brief need-based scholarship stint at a private school from 2^nd-4^th grade.   I attended my local zoned school for K-1^st grade then applied to and was accepted at a local magnet school for 5^th through 8^th grade. Yes, they considered my grades, and I was interviewed by a teacher. It wasn’t an automatic ‘in’ to the school of my choice but luckily there are thousands of other schools with different specialties to apply to. I went to LaGuardia High School for Art, and yes they considered my grades and my art portfolio.  No one I knew could afford test prep for the Science and Math High Schools and yet magically – most of us still got accepted.   Today there are a lot of schools in my district I would like to send my daughter to and most of them are lottery based.  Like this system or not, my daughter has about even chances of getting in with everyone else.  And if she doesn’t get in?  There are literally thousands of other schools to choose from.

New York City is not a small town with one local elementary school and one local high school that everybody goes to.  It is a city of millions with thousands if not hundreds of thousands of children that need to go to school.  Sure, the NYC school system is a bit of a madhouse to navigate but I wouldn’t trade the experience of growing up here (for me or my child) for anything else.  I grew up going to school with children of every conceivable race, religion, country of origin, and economic class. That is what makes urban communities, and New York in particular and amazing place to live AND to raise children.

Cookies in the Rain.

I have been trying to come up with ideas for indoor activities as I eye the impending winter season with shivers of dread.  Last year there was so much snow I sometimes went days not going outside.  And now I have an almost two and a half year old that is constantly looking to me for the NEXT GREAT IDEA.  Who knew being someone's playmate could be so tiring.

As a practice run, we were hit by a two day epic rainstorm that kept us huddled inside.  We made this dollar store craft.  Clara chose the jaunty angle of the buckle on the Cat Witch's hat...

And that was thirty minutes well spent...

So I decided to try cooking with Clara for the first time.  We got the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies and settled down on the floor of the living room.

Stirring the dough.

Measuring the baking soda.

Measuring the salt.

 It went pretty well.  Clara stirred for a while and then realized how good the dough tasted and just wanted to eat it.  She measured out a teaspoon of baking soda and got a cup more on the floor.  Ditto with the salt. 

 She liked portioning out the cookies on the baking sheets but kept sneaking huge blobs into her mouth when she thought I wasn't looking. 

Note the lonely, unused potty under the chair.

Sneaking a blob of dough. 

I was multitasking at the time, doing laundry downstairs, so we popped the cookies in the oven and ran down to put everything in the dryer.  When we came back up Clara loved looking at the cookies in the oven and wanted to take them out immediately.  

 

We took them out, let them cool, and then had a tasting together.  By together, I mean theat Clara tasted the cookies and thought they were delicious.  When I tried to sample one she swatted my hand away and said: "No Mama.  These are mines."

The process start to finish including going to the grocery store took a little over an hour.  (Not including the hour of cleanup I had after the cookie bomb went off in the living room)  Next time I'll make sure Clara helps with the cleanup but this time - she really loved making cookies.

Clara Withdrawal.

So this week Gerald and I went on our long awaited, belated honeymoon.  Belated, you say?   Well yes...belated for a few reasons.  One - we  dated, got serious, got pregnant and had a baby daughter all before getting married this past year when Clara was almost a year and a half.  And then there was the whole thing about us not wanting to leave our little girl, our little girl who looks less like a baby and more like a little kid every day.  Gerald has broached the idea of a vacation a few times over the nearly two years since Clara's birth. 

His first idea - Let's Take a Vacation With Clara.  Every time I thought about it all I could see was Clara in hotel rooms that weren't baby proofed without all her "things" that make her happy - like toys, and cribs, and routines. Never mind the fact that friends of mine had taken their baby son to Puerto Rico and had managed not to let him toddle off into the jungle to live with the animals. The whole idea seemed less like a vacation and more like an invitation to visit the Emergency Room. 

Gerald's second idea - Let's Take A Vacation Without Clara. Also problematic because whenever I thought about Clara being "old enough" to handle an extended separation from her parents the "safe" age for this to happen seemed to be somewhere around ten, or twelve or thirteen. Never mind the fact that my other friends had just taken a week-long, baby-free vacation to Mexico and their daughter was fine during and after their return. I just couldn't conceptualize the reality where I wouldn't see Clara for days.  The world where I didn't have a baby and just ran around doing things like going on vacations seemed impossibly far away.

Good thing Gerald said: We're doing this.  And the planning began. We decided on a three night stay in Atlantic City and lo and behold Gerald's parents offered to take care of Clara for the entire time at their house.  I worried about Clara in a new place - would she be up all night?  Would she fall down the stairs?  Would she pull down fragile things from reachable places and smash them?  And most worrying, would she cry and cry and cry?

So what happened?  I explained to Clara that she was going on an adventure with her grandparents and then we got on the bus to Atlantic City and Clara got in her car seat for her drive to upstate New York.  And then Clara proceeded to not realize even one of my fears for her.  Instead she slept the first night from 6:30 pm to 8:30 in the morning, allowing her grandparents to luxuriously sleep in. (A privilege she does not extend to her own parents I might add)  She then spent the next few days discovering her passion for lo mein noodles, eating organic cereal and bananas, practicing climbing up and down stairs without cracking her skull, hanging out at other people's houses, playing in the yard, and playing with a basketful of schnauzer puppies.  Hard life.

Clara meets a schnauzer.

Clara having cereal.

Clara trying Lo Mein for the first time.

Thanks to Clara being bold and brave on her adventure, and thanks to her loving grandparents for tackling the daunting task of entertaining a 22 month old for four days, Gerald and I got to go on an adventure of our own.  We slept in every day until 8:30 which felt like waking up at one o'clock in the afternoon. We wandered aimlessly, lounged, ate good food, talked to each other and made each other laugh.  And so what if thirty percent of our conversation was about our amazing daughter?  

Midday nap.

A slightly disturbing exhibit at the aquarium.                  Gerald and Skunk.

Jeannine and Red Fox.

Channeling our inner "Mad Men" with gin martinis.

We had a great time away, and a great time coming home to see her.  When we walked into our apartment, Clara broke away from coloring with crayons to give us each a hug, then went back to drawing as if to say: "See, mom and dad, you had nothing to worry about."  That night when we sat down to dinner Clara ate her spaghetti and salad and then politely asked for some lo mein.

Conversations with Clara. Episode One.

Clara loves salad - especially cucumbers.  And she calls cucumbers: pickles.   The other night I made a salad with cucumber, tomato, cilantro, lettuce and some salad dressing.

Seeking to participate in the dinner conversation, Clara delicately picked up a piece of cilantro that was covering one of her cucumber slices.

With a smile dancing on her lips she said: "Pickle hiding."

Gerald and I laughed and agreed - the pickle was hiding.

I then encouraged Clara to try the piece of cilantro that had so cleverly hid the "pickle." 

She carefully placed the cilantro in her mouth.  Made a  face, pulled it out and exclaimed: "Not good."

Kepit!

Clara loves ketchup.  Seriously.  She loves it.  She will eat lots of things but on meatloaf night or french fry night, her love of ketchup is revealed by her baby warrior cry of: "Kepit!"

Clara has no trouble pronouncing any other words.  Even (I would think) hard words like: butterfly, zebra, stinky butt, and purple.  Clara clearly thinks that ketchup has been horribly misnamed.  To her, that sweet, red ambrosia is Kepit.

Kepit.

Has a nice ring to it.  I would like some kepit on my hamburger.  Please pass the kepit. Maybe Clara is starting a new trend.  Kepit will replace salsa as the national condiment.

Also, Clara refers to Sour Cream and Greek Yogurt both as "Ice Cream."  She loves to eat both, and will crow for more "Ice Cream" if she runs out. 

 That's fine, Clara...you go on thinking that's what ice cream is.  I've got no problem with that.

Clara, post lunch. A tiny dab of kepit on her cheek.

The Wonderful World of a Toddler...What the @#!????

Is there anything more wonderful than watching a 19-month old explore a snowy wonderland?  How awesome was it that Clara got to be the first kid down this slide - covered in 5 inches of fluffy snow?  She slid down and laughed as she plopped into her own self-created pillow of snow.  Then she went down the other slide and laughed even harder.  It was fun chasing her around and lobbing snowballs at her that she would pick up and taste. And then I flash backed to the scene upstairs in the apartment a mere hour earlier.

I had received a call from work looking for some receipts.  As I talked at my desk, Clara was sitting on the floor to my right - in my extreme peripheral vision.  All seemed well.  She was babbling to herself.  I was on the phone for all of two minutes.  TWO MINUTES!  

I turned to my lovely little daughter and was greeted with:  Clara, no diaper on, holding out something to me which I quickly realized was a small, round piece of poop she had picked up from the big pile of poop she had just POOPED ON THE FLOOR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I scooped Clara up in my arms (ignoring the poop pile for the moment), brought her to the changing table, and cleaned her off.  All the while Clara happily said: P.U! P.U!

P.U. indeed, Clara.  P.U.

What Clara gets into...Merry Christmas.

I recently came across this blog on Reddit and laughed so hard I cried.  Read it HERE. In it, the blogger describes her 10-month-old's real present list to Santa.  I identified with almost every item on the list.

I will proudly  admit that I have done a really good job of hiding electrical cords from Clara but whenever I forget to close the bathroom door I return to the mayhem of a cloudy pile of unwound toilet paper, the items of the bathroom trash strewn across the floor, and the strong possibility of one of Clara's dolls posed in her potty, or (heaven forbid) if I have also forgotten to close the toilet seat, a soggy doll taking a bath in the toilet.

I would also love to know what aspect of our evolution has enabled small babies to grasp tiny objects - almost invisibly tiny objects - in their fingers and then carry them to their mouth for a taste.  Was food in the distant past so scarce that babies were crawling around under the tables fighting over tiny crumbs, Lord of the Flies style?  Because I find myself vacuuming the entire house every single day because no matter how clean the floor is Clara finds the one stale, ancient broken shard of Chex cereal hiding in a crack in the floorboard and pops it in her mouth before I can blink.  Ninja-style, Clara gets her hands on everything I think she shouldn't have.  Here's a picture she snapped with my phone after stealing it out of my pocket and running away with it, madly giggling and pressing buttons.  

At least she didn't purchase a ten dollar app like last time this happened.

Last week two of my Mommy friends came over with their children for a play-date.  18-month-old  twin boys and two 17-month-old  girls created a predictable cyclone of toys in Clara's room.  Us parents laughed as they pulled out every toy and book they could get their hands on, regarding it for mere seconds before tossing it in the growing pile in order to get something else.  Billie was digging around in Clara's crate of Duplos, pulling them out piece by piece with laser concentration.  That is, until her mother Sindy remarked in surprise: "Oh what's this?"  She reached over to Billie and pulled a perfectly preserved, dessicated Baby Carrot out of her daughter's tiny fist.

My first reaction was to be completely mortified - what kind of mother was I?  The kind that left a  baby carrot mummify in the toy box?  But instead I just laughed.  Maybe Clara thought she would save that carrot for later...a month and a half ago.  Or maybe she has a squirrel's instinct to bury food for the winter.  Either way I think I can place the blame squarely on my almost 18-month-old. At least the floor was vacuumed.

I swear that Clara grows an inch a day.  She has figured out that she can stand on tiptoes and run her hands over tabletops to see what kind of treasures her little hands can grab and pull down for a look-see. She is also determined to bounce across the couch and try to pull ornaments off our tabletop tree.  And let me tell you people...as sad as I was to get a tiny tree this year, I am so happy not to have to contend with the smackdown that would occur between Clara and a giant tree resting in a stand on the floor.  Because believe you me, by the end of that battle Clara would be left standing (albeit covered in sap and probably wearing the tree skirt on her head) in the smoking pile of rubble that would be the toppled tree, broken ornaments, and billions of pine needle that had been ripped of the branches.

So far this Christmas, Tabletop Tree - 1, Clara - 0.

She's like...both of us.

It is amazing watching a baby become a kid.  Clara still has baby qualities but she is becoming more of a kid everyday.  She is starting to make up games and entertain herself - not always looking to me or her dad for inspiration.  Like when Gerald comes home from work and she smiles that clever little smile and bolts away, running on toddly baby legs, absolutely expecting her father to chase her all over the apartment.  Gerald happily obliges - often before putting down his bag or taking off his coat.

There are pieces of Gerald and me poking through. I can see how we influence her.  Clara loves books.  She loves to be read to.  She loves to read them herself. She loves to point to images in books.

Clara: (pointing emphatically)  "A-dah!"  "A-DAH." 

She either explaining what the pictures are or she's asking me to explain how the gorilla got the keys from the zookeeper. Either way, she is very excited.  That is totally me.  I love books.  I love where they take you.  It is my favorite escape and clearly, Clara loves them too.

She is also silly.  She is trying out comedy on us every day.  She thinks it's hilarious to tilt her head to the side and smile at us.  It makes her laugh even before we start laughing.  And that is totally her dad.  Gerald has always had silly little things he did to make me smile and laugh.  And now he's showing that to Clara.  

Interestingly, Clara has recently begun talking in her sleep.  It's amusing going in to check on her only to find her, butt up in the air, knees tucked under, totally asleep, happily babbling to herself.  What's even more hilarious is to go back to sleep beside Gerald, and hear him talking to himself (though lying on his back in a much more dignified manner).

She is growing up so fast it feels like we're on a speeding train.  Or as my friend Libby said: "It's madness! It's like we're on a flume slide to 18."  Well, I love flume slides.

A Halloween Update.

I was so excited that Clara was old enough to actually enjoy Halloween but I was worried that she would be upset wearing her costume or be upset by all the whole "knocking on doors and interacting with strangers" thing. Instead, Clara had a fabulous time.

We started off at our building's kick-off party.  Gerald got her into her costume with no fuss and she was happy to walk around with the bubble-wrap stuffed cone-shaped starfish top perched on her head.  (This from a girl who won't let a hair-clip stay in her hair.)  I also made some hats for me and Gerald from the same material I made her costume in.  I quickly found out that the polar fleece made me extremely hot.  Clara must have been very warm in her costume...but did she complain?  Nope.  Instead she happily ran around with the other kids in the courtyard. 

Clara and Lessia playing with ghost makeup...(flour.)

Max as Raphael. Clara as Patrick Starfish.

Then it was time to trick or treat.

At each door Clara went up and knocked.  When the door opened, she would take a pieck of candy in each hand and refuse to let go of it until we went to the next door.  When a bowl of candy was proffered, she would drop the candy in her hands and grab more.

Highlights:

At one door the neighbor said: "Who is it?"  Clara answered: "Cla-ra."

At one point we realized she was chewing on something.  Gerald pulled a foil-wrapped peanut butter cup from her mouth - she had chewed it enough to get some of the chocolate out.

At the last two doors we visited Clara got the hang of putting candy in her treat bag.

Through it all she was engaged, interested, and happy.  We have ourselves a Halloween-lovin' little girl.  (And she slept like a rock when we got home - 12 hours without a peep.)