How to make everyday life work

This week has been one of the craziest, busiest weeks in my life recently, with me trying to keep up with all my 4 jobs and get a lot of work out the way before Zoe gets here in less than a week. It has also been crazy because I let it: when Zoe is not here, I tend to work long hours, sleep too little and try to be social. To top things off, lots of little stupid things happened such as me getting a 100$ fine in the subway, by the police for walking in through the exit door without asking the attendant first (yep, not because I didn't have a ticket, because I have a weekly pass. I just tried to save time/energy from the turn stile rejecting me, I had gone two subway stations too far and needed to go up and over, entering the subway again before 18 minutes had passed) and the Instacard shopper forgetting my bagels (how could he? It was the most important part of my shop!). Bigger things such as teaching, conference chairing and paper deadlines were just standard parts the week. But it got me thinking that I need to write an updated "how to make it as a single parent in New York" since the last post like this was written in Stockholm (alas, it was "how to make it as a single mom in Stockholm").

• New York does not have the exact same concept as arstiderna.com, instead I buy groceries on Instacart (which is expensive because you have to pay for shipping plus tips) or FreshDirect. Instcart has the huge advantage that I can spend 10 minutes when I get to work, collecting my standard groceries and have them delivered in evening when I get back. They are always on time and they are good at providing exchanges when the item you ordered is not available. Except when they forget my bagels. 
• When I really don't have time to cook I get food from Munchery. They have great kids meals too and instead of traditional restaurant delivery which is always half-cold on arrival, this you have to heat yourself, for 10 minutes in the oven. It is prepared with that in mind and tastes really good, always.
• I do not have a cleaner here in New York, I simply can't afford it. Instead Zoe helps cleaning on weekends and I just care less than I used to.
• I have a score of fun babysitters with more or less flexible hours. There is the pole dancer (who I also helped getting a job in a bar) and the Danish college student. There is the girl who always bring her ukulele and the strict librarian type girl with glasses. But more importantly, I  prioritize spending time with Zoe and sometimes bring her to my office where she usually enjoys a bit of iPad time and free snacks. 
• Laundry is much less of a problem than in Stockholm. I simply take it out and pay 14$ for 10lbs. We drop it off on the way to school and pick it up on the way back the next day.

As for the things I hadn't figured out two years ago, there are still some things I haven't and probably never will:

•  Zoe still watches television (on her iPad) every evening when we get home while I prepare dinner. We have a rule that there is no television/iPad time before after 6pm because I don't want her to spend the afternoon watching television. But sometimes, it spills into book reading time and she is not happy about putting down the iPad. This doesn't mean she watches television every day, sometimes she just plays with her toys and forgets about it. 
• I'm still not a morning person and neither is Zoe. But we have improved our mornings tremendously, particularly after she started having to be in school at an exact time. We pick out her clothes the evening before, she can now get ready almost by herself. We braid her hair the night before so she can brush it herself (if not, it tangles and I have to spend 10 minutes brushing a screaming, crying girl). This doesn't mean I got it all down and occasionally things just break down. We still laugh at the thought of the morning when I placed a jar of Nutella with a spoon in front of her. "Sorry sweety, I have nothing else, this is your breakfast".
• Missing Zoe. I always miss Zoe terribly when she is not with me. This is something I will never get over, I feel cut in half when I don't have her.
• Having someone to share your day with. Two years ago I lamented not having someone to talk to about little everyday things, sharing the ups and downs and in particular the little cute things Zoe says. Living in New York has altered my everyday mood completely and honestly, I have nothing much to really complain about. More importantly, Zoe has grown and is now capable of more detailed conversations. We play the "tell me a funny thing about your day" game at dinner every night and I get to tell her about my annoying boss, the funny lady on the subway and that I talked on skype to a friend. She tells me about lunch, how another boy got kicked out of the classroom and that her teacher gave her a star for her letters.

All in all, things look slightly different than two years ago, but mostly for the better.

 

 

Hard work

After two weeks picking up Zoe from school at 2:40pm every day I finally gave in yesterday and sent her to the after school (which I have to pay for). She was not happy and cried in the morning even though her new best friend Lisa was going as well. I assured her it would be fun and she had sneaked her doll into her backpack in case they allowed toys in the after school. I got three hours more for work, which enabled me to actually write the whole study plan in my funding proposal but which also made feel guilty for most of the afternoon. When I picked up Zoe my guilt was reaffirmed: Already at 5:30 (I came slightly early), 15 min before they were to be picked up, the kids were lined up by the wall at the gym, backpacks and jackets on, instructed to sit still and wait. My heart broke a little bit as I walked in and saw Zoe just sitting there with her head in her hands, waiting for me. She immediately ran in to my arms, we hugged and she told me that it hadn't been so bad, but that she was not allowed toys and they weren't allowed to play freely. Instead they had played games and ate goldfish crackers. I could tell she was exhausted and I let her watch television while I cooked dinner.

I'm the luckiest mom in the world and I am not complaining, but this is hard. I love every minute of my life with Zoe here, and I wouldn't want anything different when we are both here, but it is still tough. It's hard to manage to do all my work in 5 and a half hours while she is in school plus the 3 hours I might be able to squeeze in at night. In fact the night hours are the toughest ones because I'm dead tired myself but still have to try to write something coherent. I have managed the small things by having groceries delivered, getting Munchery one evening and generally trying to say no to things at work. And we are doing very well, Zoe and I, reading a new book every night, packing lunch for her together in the morning and generally having fun. We have not had a single tiff or serious argument yet (although I yelled a tiny bit at her today because she got scared of a dog and almost walking into the street). She does a lot by herself in the morning like putting on her clothes and brushing her hair while I'm doing something else, and she asks for and decides on activities (tomorrow we are going to family yoga for example). She makes everything very easy for me, because she is so sweet and fun to be with, yet, this is hard. But then again, it is nothing compared to being away from her, that is the hardest of it all.

 

All the other people

Being in Copenhagen and sensing the Danish everyday culture with the biking parents, buzzing schools and coffee drinking teenagers in quiet hip cafes reminds me of what an odd life I live. And it reminds me of what I could have had I had not been academically ambitious and had a desire for living in the US ever since I was little. I could have been the mother of 2 children, with a Danish husband making 50% more than I, despite us having the same level of experience after our university degrees, because I took the full year of parental leave with each of the children. I would have been the woman who happily picked up my kids from daycare and school every day, biking home with them in the Nihola bike compartment, covering their little heads with rain covers for 30% of the days.  Living in a 4 room apartment in the neighborhood where I grew up (Østerbro), the kids would share a bedroom because the apartment was structured with a living room and a dining room, leaving the dining room as my handsome blond husband's office. The apartment would be decorated with Danish design furniture in pastel colors similar to all the other apartments my friends would have, complete with a PH lamp over the eclipse dining table and Arne Jacobsen chairs. I could have been the mother talking on her phone, saying things like "Honey, I'm just gonna stop by Irma* to get a bottle of white wine, I think it will be good for my sore neck" (I actually overheard a woman saying this, while pushing a Bugaboo Cameleon with a cute little baby). My biggest problem would be how to make it from the oldest girl's dance class next Sunday at 11am to the youngest boy's friend's birthday party in half an hour, cursing that my husband always played tennis with his high school friend exactly during those hours on Sundays.

But I don't have that kind of life. Instead, I live somewhere between New York, Stockholm and Copenhagen, apartments in two of the cities, friends, phone numbers and bank accounts in all of them. Instead, I'm working during my vacation at least 4 hours per day, trying to keep up with my eight papers with ten people on four different research projects. Instead, I sit in cafes talking on the phone saying things like "Honey, I think you should get me a business class ticket because if I don't get my passport back in time, I need to be able to change the flight". Instead I read goodnight stories over skype to my daughter every second evening and text old Danish babysitters in an attempt to have them look after Zoe in Stockholm so she can maintain her Danish language. Because I'm also the person who has that kind of life where I cannot bring by daughter with me to New York where I now live and work unless her dad would agree. And her dad thinks it is more important to get some kind of revenge on me leaving and make sure that I will never have a good life again, than to actually think about what would be best for our tiny 5 year old. One part of what is best for her, is for her to have a happy mom. And the majority of that happiness lies in New York.

Perhaps I should have taken the easy way out in life. Perhaps I should have married the Danish handsome blond guy and had my 2 children, one during my PhD and another during my post-doc. I would have been a full professor by now, having slowly but surely moved up the ranks. Then at least, I would have been able to kiss my kids goodnight every night.

*The nicest of the grocery stores here, not entirely unlike Whole Foods

Sharing Zoe

It is probably clear to any regular readers of my blog (as well as friends who have ever seen me in real life) that Zoe and I are very close. Since she was born and throughout her 5 year lifespan, we have spent the majority of time together; we have fun together, we travel together and we sleep next to each other. I am probably the luckiest mom in the world because she is so incredible easy and fun to be with. We rarely have any tiffs and honestly, if she does get mad at me, we quickly get over it. She actually doesn't like being mad or angry: last Monday, as we walked through Bleeker Street after returning milk bottles in Murrey's Cheese shop, she suddenly started stumping her feet and whimper. "Why are you mad?", I asked and she first didn't reply. "What's wrong?" I repeated. She said she didn't want to leave. "I don't want to be angry, but I'm so annoyed*. I don't want to go flying". I quizzed her more, why she didn't want to go flying. "I don't want to go back to Daddy. I want to stay with you here. I want your place to be my real home and Daddy's place to be a pretend home. And I just want to be happy**". At this point we had stopped in front of the door to the Bisou Macaron shop where we had planned to get coffee. I didn't know what to say because as much as I wanted the same, it was not that easy. In fact it was very complicated. We went inside and a very milky latte and a chocolate macaron made her bad mood better.

"I love you Zoe"

When Zoe's father and I first split up, I had taken care of her for the majority of time until then. I never minded that because tiny babies mainly need their mom, for food and care taking. Besides, I was the one with a non-permanent job that could be put on hold, so even though I didn't want that, it was the "obvious" option when we didn't have daycare for a couple of months after moving to Sweden. As we started sharing her officially 3days/3days, I still took the majority of the time with her. It just ended up being like that because he was busy, needed to travel, go to meetings and I often traveled to Denmark to see family with Zoe. I tallied the first year and a half at one point and Zoe had been with me exactly 66% of the time. He tended to go on vacation without her, I tended to go on vacation with her (not that I went on much 'vacation', because I could never afford that after the split, but I would bring her to conferences and to see family). The following year, the split became slightly more even, but the tradition of me bringing Zoe on vacation and her dad going on holiday without her, was still alive. I took her to doctors' appointments and the dentist. I arranged play dates and communicated with the daycare, even being the parental representative for her group. When I talked to the teachers last time (phoning from New York), they informed me that he did not show up to the last teacher/parent meeting.

Her dad's demands surfaced when I got the opportunity to move to New York, first for one semester, now for potential renewal.  Zoe was not allowed to go with me for long. The first demands were that she could only go for one month. Then I got it negotiated to two months. I managed to make her stay with me 2 1/2 out of the six. The two months we were apart in May-June were the toughest months in my life, and undoubtedly also the toughest in Zoe's life too. The first times we talked on Skype after she had returned to Sweden she could only cry. She didn't want to hang up, he had to take the iPad away from her in the end.

I'm trying my best to suggest options, possibilities, testing different formats for sharing her time between us, but I am only being met with demands and now threats. Threats that he will sue me for custody. I broke down completely when he insinuated that; just thinking of Zoe not living with me at least half the time makes me terrified. She would be heart broken. I cannot count on both hands anymore, the times she has leaned in and whispered to me "Mommy, I wish I lived with you all the time".

*I'm trying to translate the Danish word "sur", which is somewhere between angry and annoyed
** "glad" is somewhere between happy and being in a good mood

The Danish way of Parenting

This week marks the end of our "dance/theater camp and full time working mom" month and so far it has been a success. Earlier today I came home to an excited Zoe who played sleepy house with the babysitter and her dolls, after a day full of drama camp, sand and water at the playground around West 100th Street. She was exhausted but also excited about the final show tomorrow. While she finished putting her dolls to sleep I had a chat with the babysitter who ran me through the afternoon. She told me about Zoe insisting on noodles for lunch and my well-behaved child who had accidentally called her mommy a couple of times. We bonded over our Danishness and I realized exactly why Zoe has been so extra happy with this girl. She trusts that Zoe is doing what she is supposed to, she treats Zoe like a person, and lets her make a lot of choices herself. The playfulness more than emphasis on 'teaching' and the respect for the child as a person. Not that only Danes treat children like this, although my new book is hinting in that direction, my friend pointed out the other day that this was more a non-American perspective than anything and that he (who is Australian) had also used such strategies with his children. I never gave this much thought, to me an equal, trusting, explaining attitude was always the foundation of being a good mom. But I have been very lucky, because with two brothers much younger than I, interaction with children has always been a big part of my life. So when I had Zoe, I had already thought about many things in terms of children and I knew pretty much how I wanted to raise them and treat them. But I also knew that I had to improvise and think about things as I go along.

After the babysitter had left, Zoe watched an hour and a half of television while I cooked, we ate and I cleaned up. I figured she had spent all day being very active and just needed to relax. Then we brushed her doll's teeth (and Zoe's) and read three books in bed before talking a bit about family. At one point she realized that while my mom has three children, my step-dad only has two, but my real father died four years ago and Zoe started crying, hugging me. I comforted her and told her it was okay and I would take her to the island where he had lived one day. She asked me about his life, what he did and it was nice to be able to tell her about that now that she is old enough to understand. I said, he would be looking down and be very proud of his grand daughter. She disagreed and told me that he misses me more than her because I am his child. Which was actually very insightful of a five year old. She then fell asleep while I caressed her back. 

Summer in the City

One of my vices this summer is drinking cold read wine. It came about after our 4th of July picnic in Brooklyn Bridge Park where we last minute realized we weren't allowed to bring alcohol. My friend (who is Scottish and therefore never short of ideas of how to smuggle alcohol) poured a bottle or two into a large coke bottle. As it turned out we were five people short (for various reasons ranging from food poisoning to obsessive compulsive disorder) and hence had a full two litter coke bottle of red wine left. I promptly put it in the fridge and it has been sweetening my evenings on occasion since.

Summer in New York is hot. To cool us down, Zoe and I discovered a small pool within the confounds of a playground just a couple of blocks from us. We went over one day almost too late but managed to dip out bathing suit clad bodies in the cool water for ten minutes before they closed. Zoe was ecstatic. She loves water despite being scared of it and not being able to swim yet. This is an activity for her and her dad though. I rarely swim although I like it and am quite good (fast) at it. When it all comes down to it, I'm more of a gossip-in-the-hot-tub-with-a-drink kind of person. Gotta wait a few years for Zoe to join in on that. 

The summer weather reminds me of the past two summers where we also spent significant time in New York. The main difference back then though was the better state of my finances. This summer I prioritized babysitting and summer camp for Zoe, which has cost me more than half my (sorry Swedish) paycheck. As I bought cheap generic goldfish crackers for Zoe rather than organic cheddar cheese bunnies for double the price, I thought about how I could have done it differently. I could have gone to Denmark for the month of June with Zoe, missing out on a whole month's work, which would eventually affect my career significantly because my main conference has paper deadline mid September. Then I could have come back to an empty office in August working my b** off while all the Americans were on holiday and while Zoe was with her dad. Probably the most depressing situation I can imagine. I love my life with Zoe in New York. It keeps me energetic, happy and optimistic. And Zoe has been overly happy with her different day camps, as well as her new Danish babysitter. If I had to make that choice again, I would do the same. And enjoying the cold red wine. 

Everyday structure

This morning, as we were about to leave Zoe looked puzzled at me: "Mommy, we did not do what we used to do today?" I looked at her to get an explanation. She said that I had watched TV (iPad) with her while having breakfast. I agreed. While eating my morning granola I had watched some show with a Frog teaching basic concepts of math (plus and minus) and wondered if Zoe was picking up on anything in terms of actual numbers and counting or just enjoyed the cartoons and the songs. I like the Danish math shows much better because they are more silly and weird, adhering to the Danish sense of humor. But we had watched 5 of those the previous evening.

Which got me thinking about just how much our everyday life in New York has changed and become more messy. I find it really hard to admit, but it is true: Zoe has not eaten dinner at the dining table since she came back here in the end of June. We eat while watching a show on the iPad on the couch. Part of my giving in is actually that our dining table is squeezed in along the wall with too little space for the chairs and it is so unstable that a small push makes it wobble. It is not cozy to sit there. Another part is that I don't think of this as everyday life. Since we came here it has been an exceptional time. New York was (officially) a temporary space and everything we did was temporary. I made exceptions for everything. On top of that my intense work meant that I relied on a number of babysitters (to the downfall of my finances) and still do now that she is in half-day camp. No day is the same, sometimes I come home 6:30 pm to a Zoe who has already eaten, other days we come home at 5pm and I scramble to make some dinner out of what I can find in the cabinet (pasta with butter with a side of cucumbers being a favorite).

I made rules and structures like we had back in Stockholm except they were different rules. There we had a rule about having dinner at the dining table without watching TV. Now we have a rule that says no TV until after 6pm. I used to be strict on breakfast, now I let her grab the last part of the chocolate cookie because it was there and, I, myself, had the last half of a macaron for breakfast, so who am I to judge? I truly don't think that bite of cookie is going to be Zoe's downfall to doing drugs at 14 (or becoming obese for that matter) but I'm starting to worry that I'm using the "single mom" as an excuse. I have never wanted to think that I couldn't do an optimal job being Zoe's mom, just because I'm on my own. In fact, I think I can do a better job without being with someone else that I constantly have to negotiate with in terms of what to let her do and not do. Her dad is way more strict than me, he keeps special days for candy where I let her have a little bit most of the times she asks (which is really not a lot) and he says no a lot more than I do. Instead I have no choice but to focus on her when we are together (not that I would ever want to do anything less) and I don't agree when people say "well, it's nice to have a bit of time on your own too" in relation to her spending two months in Stockholm. I don't need that kind of time on my own. I need to work during the day and I need an hour at night after she is asleep. Other than that I need to be Zoe's mom.

I think it is time for a couple of new rules. But I also think I'll talk with Zoe about them tonight. If anyone should help making them, it should be her. 

Keeping your problems

For the past year or so, this saying has keep popping up in my head. It goes something like this: If everyone took all their problems and put them in a big pile, we would all take our own problems back.

One of the nice things about me being in New York is that I have many friends here. Being in Academia I have friends around the world but for some reason it turned out that I not only have some really close ones here, I also have good friends stop by and wanting to hang out with me. And you never know anyone's situation before you have actually talked face to face and then you realize that yes, you would take all your problems, including your extra five kilo, wrinkles around the eyes and money issues back. Those problems are mine to keep.

My friend asked me about how I'm dealing with being away from Zoe and I said it as it is: It's like having my arm cut off and I cry at least once per day by now. But I'm managing. She smiled compassionately and said that it must be somehow nice to also have a bit of freedom, like just being able to work a lot and see friends at any time. I looked her in the eyes and reflected on my walk over to the cafe where we met: I had overlooked a little boy, Zoe's age, screaming and crying because he wanted candy and the dad had to drag him along the sidewalk. It was clearly not a comfortable situation for either of them. And all I could think was how I wished Zoe was here, crying and screaming over not getting a doll, me not giving her more toys, candy. At least then she would be here with me. So no. Not at all. From my perspective I would gladly have her all the time including the screaming and crying, the babysitting scheduling, the bringing to work, the flying to conferences. This is obviously easy for me to say because fact is that Zoe is probably the most well-behaved 5 year old girl in the world and our tifs are tiny and rare. But no. As much as I take advantage of being here on my own now and go out as much as I can, it merely covers up the numbness in my stomach and distracts me. 26 more days. 

Interviewing Zoe

Occasionally my research involves interviewing people and transcribing those interviews. For a particular project, I conducted five interviews last month when Zoe was here. She happened to be around for four of them, partly because one had to be on a Saturday, partly because her school was closed one day and I had to take her to work. Today I had to listen through them and write notes which was with a nostalgic and sometimes heavy hearted feeling. She came and disturbed be through all of them, though nothing major, just little "Mom, I can't find the scissors, can you help me" (she proceeded to make a paper princess crown, painting it all by herself during one interview), or "Mom, my video is scary, can you help me find another". I missed her even more listening to her voice and wished I could hug her during that scary part (I remember doing, but you can't hear that on the recording) and help her with the crown.

It got me thinking how she has always been part of my work life. How I somehow have managed to work quite a bit when she is around. Not the work that requires sharp thinking but the lighter parts, such as interviewing (I once had her with me in a stroller and managed to schedule it during her nap time), reading academic materials and preparation of teaching. I just never felt I had a choice, I am not willing to give up spending a lot of time with her. She is still little and I want to enjoy the time we have together because it is short.

As I went through old voice recordings on my iPhone later this evening I found a very old interview of Zoe herself from when she was 2 1/2 years old. I don't remember any details but I ask her what her name is, where she is going and she is hesitantly answering. Her voice is the cutest, sweetest and I can't believe this was just two and a half years ago. It was a different world. I recorded a little message for herself and snapped a picture of the Empire State Building, sending it to her dad. I have promised her a picture for every night when the building is a different color and that is what she will get. Hopefully, the days will go fast until she comes back to me to stay again. 

Jumping on hotel beds

"You are my favorite travel buddy", I whispered into Zoe's ear after we had settled into the shared ride at exactly 2:50am, taking off for Newark airport. She had woken up immediately as I gently touched her, put on her skirt and sweater herself (she had slept in the rest of her clothes to make this easier), and taken down her little owl suitcase from 4th floor herself. Without as much as a whinge. We chatted about houses and cars and lights as the driver took us to our way-too-early-but-cheap flight.

Zoe and I are off to a conference in Vancouver where I have a paper, and a workshop to attend. Since I'm alone with her in New York, I have no option but to bring her, which is also my preference. There are two simple reasons for why I like to take her 4000 miles across the country and pay close to a 1000 dollars for her to be with me: Firstly, I don't want to lose out on any time with her these days. With her dad wanting her 50% of the time, I am making the most of it, even if it means having to go home early from the conference dinner and see few actual research presentations. The other reason is that not only is she easy to travel with, she is simply a delight (to paraphrase my 90 year old aunt) to travel with. She hardly ever complains and sees everything as fun exploration and reminiscing with me because we have most likely been on that type of plane, in that specific airport and bought that type of airplane snack before. She cried exactly twice, once when she squeezed her finger in-between her suitcase handle and the suitcase, and once when I interrupted her and asked the shop assistant if they had a different type of sushi rolls. Zoe wanted to explain to me exactly what she wanted and I just overruled her, leading to her frustration. I apologized and we were good again. She got the sushi she wanted (we flew via SFO, which has a great sushi place where I have been many times) and we ran to the gate, boarding as the last people.

Onboard the first flight, she quickly fell asleep together with me, her cuddling up on my lap, me nodding most of the way. When we woke up the plane was shaking from turbulence and I hate that. The big secret about me, (and yes, I recognize the irony) is that I actually *hate* flying [blush]. I am just plain scared to fall down. This also feeds into the desire for me to always fly with Zoe because the thought becomes slightly more bearable that we should both fall down together. But Zoe held my hand and comforted me. She suggested we watch some tv on the iPad because that usually helped her, she said and we did. I was very relieved when we hit the ground safely.

On the second flight we reached a milestone. Normally, my attention has to be devoted mostly to her, even if she is watching cartoons or playing on her iPad, and if she is sleeping it is mostly on my lap, limiting my movement. This time, however, she watched cartoons (with my noise canceling headphones) so focused that I pulled out my computer and proceeded to write on a journal article that I'm working on at the moment. I managed to write almost a page, something I have never done on a plane with Zoe before.

We landed and walked the kilometer and a half from the gate to immigration where we had to take the non-resident queue. It took us 30-40 minutes to reach the front, which Zoe patiently waited out with only a bit of complaints. I cursed the officers and fellow passengers for not pulling out the mom traveling with two kids, one 1 1/2 year old who did NOT have 30 minute's patience. But obviously everyone in front of her felt it was more appropriate to listen to the little one crying for most of the time. Finally, it was our turn and I proudly walked up with our rainbow passports. "Where is her father", the young attractive officer asked. "New York", I answered shortly. "Do you have a letter from him?" I froze for a bit. I normally always travel with a letter, I make sure other people traveling with Zoe have a letter but this was just a short trip within the same continent and I had not even thought about bringing passports until two days before. I sighed. "You are actually the first one ever asking for that", I replied honestly and received the obvious "you should always travel with a letter" but after a few more questions he let us through. I joked with a friend later that I was now the child-smuggler.

Zoe jumped eagerly on the hotel bed as we finally got in and we both went to bed early after a long successful travel day.

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.

The crib

I teared up as I carried the pieces of the white Stokke crib into my apartment from the elevator. The paint had chipped off some places on the top, evidence of a baby biting into the edge while calling for her mom. The wooden bars had screw marks by each hole on each level. The crib had been used at each level from top to bottom. Each piece I carried in reminded me of the days in California when we lived in the two story condo and the crib had been upstairs. It had moved from our bedroom into it's own bedroom, back into our bedroom and back to the baby room again. It was on wheels and I knew how to quickly screw off the side so it could go through the just too narrow doors. It had been dismantled by the moving people and moved to Stockholm where I had put it together again. But the last adjustment I hadn't done. The last adjustment of taking off the side panel so the little girl could get out herself was done by her dad. Because by then I had moved out and the crib had stayed. I couldn't bear taking anything because I wanted Zoe to feel that at least there was something that was the same. But girls grow and recently her dad bought her a 'big girl bed' even though the crib could have been extended with a new mattress. I don't think he knew.

It was less difficult to pick it up than I had feared. I entered the apartment that we had bought together, where Zoe's dad still lives, and went straight to her room. Yet, I couldn't help peaking around on my way out. It is such a nice apartment, I mean, I chose it too. It was weird seeing the furniture we had bought together, some that I had even bought on my own like the red arm chair and the puff. I had never asked for it since none of it would fit in my apartment now. But I missed it, like I missed him and our life together. I considered for a moment if his friendliness earlier when he gave me the key had meant anything. Anything more than 'we can figure out how to be friendly co-parents'. I certainly know I am not over our marriage yet and concluded the other day that it was very likely that I never would get over our split. Just like you don't get over losing someone close. You move on eventually but you don't get over it. I'm doubtful I have even moved on. We still have a ghetto divorce*, so something keeps telling me he thinks the same, but then again, he is not the one to bother about paperwork so it might just be me.

I put the crib pieces in Zoe's small room because they would be picked up even before Zoe would get back in a couple of days. I took a deep breath and thought about how much that crib meant to me. I wouldn't know where to start. The arguments we had over me wanting this lovely crib that cost 900 $ and Zoe's dad not wanting to pay that, only for me to buy it anyway? The millions of times I sat next to it singing songs for a little baby who couldn't fall asleep? The way I would come into a the room with a baby girl standing on her toes to reach up and bite the edges, having paint around her mouth? In any case that part was over. I was handing it down to a dear pregnant colleague of mine who I felt was the only one in this world who should have this crib. I wouldn't sell it for money, I wouldn't give it away. Instead I told her she could borrow it as long as she would help me pray that I would need it back. Because that was probably the greatest sorrow right now, the fact that I didn't need it back myself. 

Instead my colleague will pick it up on Saturday and it will once again be used for a little baby now that my baby is not a baby any longer. 

*a ghetto divorce is a separation without actual paperwork; technically we are still married. One of the consequences is that if one of us dies the other still gets the money and insurance. I have no problem with that.

Home is where your duvet is

For the past couple of weeks I have been looking at apartments, each sunday as is customary in Sweden, going to 'viewings' with Zoe to see if we can find something just slightly bigger. Or that is, one with a bedroom for me too so I can get a proper bed and not have to sleep on a sofa bed. It was actually a comment from Zoe's dad that got to me and made me think about moving. He said, during one of our not so easy conversations about things that I also have this "strange apartment", as in, that it is not appropriate for me and Zoe. It is 34 square meters, roughly 360 square feet, one nice sized living room and a small room for Zoe that just fits her bed and toys. The kitchen is separate but open towards the living room. The large bay window faces east and it is on 5th floor, which means it is very light and I love having breakfast at the balcony. It is located smack in the middle of everything, 10 min from daycare, five minutes from 10+ cafes and restaurants. I love it and think it is probably the best apartment I have had (ironically perhaps apart from the one Zoe's dad and I bought, the one he took over and lives in now). In any case the comment got me thinking and I found myself going as far as to talk to my bank and get a maximum price, almost cry over one apartment that I couldn't afford and seeing five or six potential ones.

Today we saw the last one though. It was a slightly bigger one but not by much, it had a bedroom for Zoe and an alcove room for me. The wallpaper in the kitchen was hideous though and the built-in beds needed to be lowered. Worst of all though was the location, it took us 30 min including a bus half the way to get from daycare and as we walked away, I felt we had ended up on the countryside. No people, low houses, lots of trees and no shops. I knew this was exactly the one I could actually afford so if I wanted a bedroom for myself and one for Zoe that will fit a bigger bed, this was it.

Setting up a picnic

When we got home, I started cooking while Zoe went to play in her room. I handed her her doll through the gap between the kitchen and her room (probably made to let light into the kitchen) and she proceeded to bring her duvet out in the living room, setting up for a picnic. When dinner was ready she insisted that we sit on the floor, her bare legs under the duvet, and eat the edamame beans and the spaghetti I had whipped up. I let her because it looked so cozy. And then I realized what I should have realized several weeks ago. Zoe is completely happy here in our 'strange apartment'. She is in no need of more space, a different setup or even a bigger bed. She is entirely happy here and so am I. In fact this apartment makes living in Stockholm more acceptable. I can hear the buzz from the city and we can see the moon from the window. I decided not to look at any more apartments at all from now on and throw away the brochures I had gathered. This is our home. Our wonderful home. 

Where did I go again?

It should be no surprise for the observant reader (someone who for example reads the title of my blog) that I travel a lot. In one month (October) I was in the US twice, and in-between, I was in London. All for work. The nice thing is that I am around other people who travel a lot too, since academia, and particularly my branch of social science, bases knowledge exchange on conferences and workshops, often international since my field is rather small. There are probably not more than a couple of thousand people in Sweden who are truly working in my broader field, PhD students through full professors. So today when I had coffee with a colleague who had just returned from three back to back trips and we exchanged journey experiences, I suddenly blanked on where I had been while he was also away. Not just blanking for a couple of second, but no I simply could not remember where I had been. At all. "I know I was flying somewhere!", I said and my colleague laughed and reassured me this also happened to him sometimes. After a couple of minutes and changing the topic, I finally remembered. I was in Florida. For two and a half days. In a resort for the conference the whole time. No wonder I couldn't remember.

Next week Zoe and I are off to India, a completely private trip for the leisure of both of us. My brother and his wife live there and I am so excited to go visit them and see parts of India for the first time. I am less excited about having a 2 and a half year old on a plane for 12 hours, but grandma brought 8 new books last time she was here and I am borrowing an iPad with movies on. I have also taken out my old baby wrap, which I can still carry Zoe in, hoping that the excitement of 'Zoe little baby in carrier' will add calmness to the trip.

Polishing the heirloom silverware

I moved to a new apartment a week ago and opposite the one I had over the summer this one is unfurnished. I am not going into the details of the housing market in Stockholm, other than mention that it is brutal and unlike any other in the world due to very specific Swedish housing rules. When I saw the mini one-bedroom very bright apartment with an elevator to its 5th floor, located 5 minutes from Zoe's daycare I jumped at it. Or that is I wrote a very detailed plea to the subletting guy who then apparently felt I seemed like the best candidate for this expensive 355 square feet (33 m2) apartment and let me rent it. So now I have a place for 6 months. It might not have furniture, it might only have a bedroom big enough for Zoe's bed and toys, a kitchen so small that the freezer door doesn't open entirely, leaving it impossible to use the top drawer but an apartment with a little nook with giant 1920s windows where we can sit and eat our breakfast. Except so far, Zoe has insisted on sitting on the kitchen counter for all her meals, dangling her little feet over the edge and asking for babyccinos because she shares space with the espresso maker.

Breakfast at the kitchen counter

In terms of furniture I have had to be creative. I have taken the furniture I felt that Mark could do without, such as the table we had stored in the basement, extra chairs and kitchen stuff. The whole setup reminds me of our early days in our mutual apartment, before our furniture arrived from the US. In fact, I have taken into use my old heirloom silverware again because that was the only utensils I had. I bought a used bed for Zoe on Blocket and I am sleeping on a borrowed mattress on the floor. I splurged on two things that I am waiting for: A BoConcept convertible sofa bed that looks great and a Bestlite lamp. For all the used and borrowed stuff there is something about choosing a few key pieces for my new life. And as long as I have somewhere to sleep, my espresso machine to make babyccinos and silver forks to eat with, I think Zoe and I will be okay.

Taping the banana

One of the things I thought I would be good at when becoming a parent was to be firm. I believe in limitless love of your children but I also think they need a bit of structure and that sometimes they just need to do what you tell them because you tell them. I am willing to ask what they want but they need to take what they get. Very common thinking for future parents to-be. Especially parents who think that family life is idyllic with two parents present. Great thinking in a situation were a child does not have to experience moving home five times in one year or has to witness hostility between her parents on a weekly basis. But things don't always turn out that way and all things considered I think Zoe is doing amazingly. She cries for me when I am not there sometimes (Mark says) and yesterday she answered very clearly to my simple question of if she wanted to bring anything over to daddy (a book, her doll or something): "yes: Mommy!" And who can blame her. She does love when she has both of us, like most 2 year olds. But occasionally she is a mess. These are the times where she has a fit over having to walk home (because Mark forgot to bring the stroller to daycare, he lives much closer than I do) or where she simply can't express her feelings and desires and break down because I can't understand what she says. And these are the times where I patiently tape up the banana which I cut in half for her, only to realize that she certainly didn't want a half, but a whole banana that she can peel herself and eat from the top. I realize that sometimes life just needs a bit of taping up and all the firmness and structure cannot make up for the fact that her life has been cut in half and she needs extra love and attention. So I think I'll have to keep taping bananas for quite a while longer.