When half is as good at it gets (2)

The first weekend without Zoe is always the hardest one. It didn't help that I hadn't planned much in terms of being social, only an adhoc drink with a visiting friend on Friday. After managing to buy a birthday present to Zoe and work out Saturday, by Sunday I was going into such mental disarray that I felt out of control. A final spur of energy made me turn on Eurythmics' "Sisters are doing it for themselves" and get out the door, walking to the Lower East Side in the pouring rain. And there I was, in my Tory Burch ballerina flats, having a double latte at El Rey (where they also happen to sit in Master of None, but by then I already had three stamps on my coffee card) feeling really stupid that I felt so sorry for myself. Yes, I didn't get all the things I wanted but I still got a lot. In fact, it was as if I have gotten exactly half of what I wanted in life.

I wanted a family but I have half, two of us to be exact, and that exactly half the time. I wanted to live in New York forever, but I got to live here for a year and a half. Not that that is half of forever, but perhaps if you round it down a bit? I wanted that nice professor job and I got a professor job in a country I hate. I got to kiss the guy on the top of the subway stairs. Okay, on some counts I definitely got less than half, but I got something. I put on a smile and thought about all the things I got instead of all the things I didn't get or will lose. Because that's what it looks like, I'll lose New York and get something entirely different. And sometimes, half is just fine.

Where are you local?

A comment I have recently stumbled upon in my general social media news feed is the point about how people shouldn't ask "where are you from?" but "where are you local?" It is of course relevant to not just to me (I usually add, "but I haven't lived in Denmark for nearly 15 years" to my answer to provide some context), but particularly to Zoe. She struggles with the questions that she gets about where she is from ("Mommy, where am I from?"), if she is in fact Danish (Danes are notorious for asking this if they detect a slight accent) and where she lives ("but mommy, I only live in Stockholm because Daddy won't let me live with you all the time"). I try to provide her with preemptive answers and explain that she is unique and that she can say she is Danish because her mom is.  But one place where we are both local, is in New York.

I was catching the subway to work rather late in the morning because I had had two phone meetings with people in Sweden earlier when I happened to walk into the subway car where a friend/colleague was sitting. We said hello and chatted, agreeing to catch up properly over coffee next week. As I walked out, I casually mentioned that this was strange, it happened to me all the time in New York but never in Copenhagen or Stockholm. I have bumped into friends here numerous times, from the actress sisters who live over on the lower east side to Zoe's friend's mom when we went to the upper east side for music class this summer. I even met a student's roommate on the subway without knowing him at the time, but he was reading the book that my student had written so I walked up and asked how he knew the author. I really enjoy that it is possible to casually meet people. New York is a very small world. And I'm local here.

Slow Subway Jazz

The slow saxophone jazz on the 2. Avenue uptown platform made me slow down my pace and reflect on how much I love the New York subway. Its busyness, its roughness and its friendliness without chit-chat. I have yet to get on a crowded train with Zoe without someone giving up their seat for her or moving over so I can sit next to her. The calming music also finally allowed me to laugh about my bad-mommy moment of the morning: Me reaching over Zoe to turn off my 5:30 alarm but forgetting that I had plugged in my phone last night and clumsily dropping it, straight in Zoe's face. She cried in her sleep while I whispered, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry". Her eyebrow was read from the blow and I hoped it wouldn't bruise. She slept for another hour and a half while I got up and showered. 

One morning where I did not get
up at 5:30

I squeezed into the overfilled subway car together with all the other blonde career women with their lattes in one hand and their Tory Burch bags in another, only distinguished from their upper west alter egos by their edgy hats and flats rather than heels. One of them let me reach my arm over to hold onto the rail and we exchanged one of those smiles acknowledging that we were all in the same boat, going to the same kind of office job, staying late to try to make it in our competitive world before it was too late. Except I couldn't stay late, I had a four year old to pick up and then feed and put to sleep. I would then be so tired that I would fall asleep next to her, tumble out to brush my teeth around 11pm and go back to bed, only to set my alarm for 5:30 so I could get an hour's work done in the morning instead. But at least I was still in the career game, only difference these days was that I made my coffee at home and drank it at 6 am before Zoe woke up. And right now, I wouldn't want it any other way.

A latte and a biscotti please

I ordered a latte while Zoe crawled up on the barstool so she could see better. "I'm hungry", she proclaimed and I asked the barista if they had something to eat. It was a minimalistic coffee bar that I had found via my new favorite app and no food was on the counter. "We have biscotti?", he said and I looked at Zoe who nodded. Latte and biscotti it was, and one minute later we were out the door with our breakfast heading down to the subway station where the E train could take us to work. At the station, Zoe asked to taste my latte and she proceeded to drink at least a third on the train. After three bites she put the biscotti in her pocket. I guess she is a true New York baby by now, simply having a latte for breakfast before going to work.

Because going to work she was. In-between dressing myself and Zoe, my phone had rung this morning, Maria from Zoe's preschool informing me that there was no school today. The water main had broke and there was no water in the whole 5 story building. And I should not bring Zoe over before hearing back from them, i.e. this could take days. I quickly sent two text messages to my babysitters well-knowing that they themselves had to go to work and resistance was futile. I had to bring Zoe into the office for my three meetings. We packed up a few toys and most importantly the iPad, some snacks and set off.

Being a single mom is hard. Being a single mom in a city where I have peripheral friends and no family is really hard. But I also know these kind of things will happen and that there is absolutely no reason to panic because there is nothing whatsoever I can do. I don't have friends I can call up and ask for a favor, I don't have extended family here who can help out in a pinch. Wherever I go, Zoe follows. And this is great, we both enjoy it. We chat on the way to the subway, we walked all the way home through Greenwich Village, talking, jumping, buying fruit and a princess Pez. In my office, Zoe made a book on printer paper with a black and a red ballpoint pen about a naughty mom who turn into a dragon and blow fire (I don't want to put too much into that!), an activity that took the better of an hour where I got to review a student paper.

In the end the babysitter stopped by after work and looked after Zoe for 2 hours while I went to a coffeeshop to review a few academic texts that are due Thursday. She had done the dishes and Zoe was in her pajamas when I came back up, so all in all a pretty good deal. And I'm sure Zoe can't wait until another plumber messes up the preschool building again so she can share my breakfast latte. 

New York (full time working) mom

Today was my first real day as New York full-time working mom. Until now, my parents (who brought her over), have been here helping me out with Zoe and as much as it can be a bit tedious staying four people in a small New York apartment, it has in fact been blissfully easy. Mostly because it has enabled me to go out for the occasional drink late at night when Zoe is asleep, and transitioning into the daycare was taken care of while I could go to work full days. My mom has had several cozy days with her, just playing at home, eating cracker bunnies for breakfast, lunch and dinner, which they both thoroughly enjoyed.

But life must go on and after picking up Zoe at my friend's house (a friend who helped me out in a pinch between me having to stay at work, Zoe not allowed to be at daycare the full day yet and my parents having to catch a flight), my parents took off. It is just me and Zoe now, which is nice but also introduces the reality of being the real New York Full-Time Working Mom.

So between 10:20 and 10:35am today, between answering administrative email and writing on a funding proposal, I managed to grocery shop with delivery in the evening. At 3pm, after a very interesting talk at work about data science, math and journalism, I rushed over to pick up a still sleeping Zoe who had been scarred for life by the noisy Chinese New Year festival show in preschool, and consequently been invited for a playdate by Lisa's parents, since Lisa had apparently comforted and bonded with her. Obviously Zoe's own mom had to work on all day today when parents were invited for 11am (at least in Sweden the Lucia train is at 7:30am to catch the darkness and for parents to catch work hours). But I guess it is not a bad sign that your child is invited for a play date within the first week of her preschool attendance. Then Zoe and I had to hurry over to ballet class, a class Zoe has looked forward to since the end of the previous class two weeks ago. We waited for the subway that would take us to another line but it just didn't come. I cursed the Z and J line a bit and dragged Zoe up to catch a taxi. In the taxi I realized I had the wrong address but when we got off it took me another five minutes to realize that the first address was correct. When we reached the studio it was already ten minutes into class and while Zoe and I threw off her clothes and hurriedly put on her tutu and slippers, I told her to apologize to the teacher and tell her that her mom was terrible in fining her way around Manhattan. Or writing the correct address in her calendar. Next time I'll pick her up at 2:30 and we will have to wait for the subway so the 50$ classes don't turn into 60$ classes each time.

After the dance class I naively asked Zoe what she wanted for dinner. Sushi was the obvious answer and I agreed. Let's find a little place where we can take some sushi home. But Zoe wasn't buying it. "I'm hungry now, I want to sit down". I quickly looked up sushi places around us, partly embarrassing myself because we were virtually on top of three. We walked into one after I had checked that the menu was decently priced but they were not open yet. We crossed to street to yet another place and since that was open we went in and quickly got a seat in the small restaurant. It was very nice and the sushi was as overly priced as a restaurant in Tribeca would be. So there we were, mother and daughter having upscale sushi for dinner on a normal Friday afternoon. It was amazing, both the food and the company. Zoe is old enough that we can have great conversations and she is always fun to chat with. She was telling me about all the new things at preschool. She downed twice the amount of salmon rolls and miso soups as I did. As the waitress took away her empty plate at the end she exclaimed in her cute British accent: "Thank you for the food!" Not one guest in the restaurant did not smile or chuckle. And I thought: "I have the most adorable daughter".

We ran home, catching the red 1 that stops close to our house, just in time for the delivery of the groceries. As I put away the veggies and fruit, Zoe "read" the song that we had written on a piece of paper in the morning. Later before bedtime we played teacher and pupils, she being the teacher and teaching me about boats. "That's a good one", she kept saying in a teacherly voice when I tried to answer her complicated questions of how boats sail and what they are made of. It was clear what they had taught her in preschool these past few days.

My first day as a New York Mom ended up with me having a cup of tea on the couch trying to plan how I'll be able to read at least one article tomorrow while being alone with her. And still live up to the level of activities and quality. Or perhaps it is just a television day tomorrow. I can't be the perfect New York mom every day.