Super Mom

So despite my life being as messy as always (heart broken, uncertain work/living future) I managed to have the most amazing New York Living week, partly because Zoe's babysitter was away. After our usual yoga Monday I was the super mom and went with Zoe's kindergarten class to the Zoo on Tuesday. It was wonderful to get to know her classmates better and to be that mom who has the time and energy for this. I had to stay up past midnight to finish work but it was worth it all. Wednesday evening I went to the ballet with a good friend and because we are both working moms, none of us had had dinner so we had to go for burgers and wine afterwards, making me tipsy and hungover the next day. Thursday, Zoe had a play date with her good friends whose dad took them to the playground, fed them sushi and let me pick her up at 7:30pm meaning I got a lot of work done and was able to go to bed early. To top the week off, Friday night I went to a benefit dinner party for Zoe's school, with open bar and 10$ babysitting. I danced with the other moms and traded gossip, before picking up a sleepy Zoe. All in all, a week of New York Living at its best.

New York confidence

The Christmas tree we rolled home and decorated

One of the things I love about New York is the friendliness that is all around you. I walk into a bakery cafe and the cashier talks to me casually about laundry and rain. He now recognizes me and always says hi in a super friendly way. Another guy walks in to buy coffee and although I'm just sitting there with my croissant, he tells me to have a beautiful day on his way out again. This is just me on my own. When I'm with Zoe we, particularly she, gets an overwhelming amount of positive attention. Not just the "oh that so cute" comment when we try to roll home a small Christmas tree on her scooter but also the acknowledging smiles when she walks out with her baby doll (now finally with a name: Cutie Pie) in her doll-seized baby carrier. People come up and talk to her (almost never inappropriately) and give her the attention that helps build her confidence.

If I could give her one thing that I always lacked it is self-confidence. Growing up in Scandinavia, the 'jante law' ruled and I don't remember when but at one point it just became wrong to say things like "I'm really good at this". It is to brag. To think you are better than everybody else* (a deeply misunderstood notion actually, because we can't all be equally good at everything, I WAS better than most other kids in dancing, singing and math, but if I said that I was snooty). So when Zoe says these things, I excitedly agree and says yes you are really good at that (dancing, acting, numbers, making up stories), but also that she has to keep practicing. She is beginning to show real aptitude for ballet and all kinds of dancing and since she is way taller than I, she will actually have a good chance of dancing on a higher level than I ever did. But of course she has to practice hard and maintain her dance classes regularly. So I tell her that she is very good, but that it is hard and she has to practice to get better.

Meanwhile New York is the best place for Zoe (and me for that matter) to be to build her confidence. Not just because she gets a lot of positive attention but also because her English language skills make her feel confident in communicating. She is going back to Sweden for a couple of months after Christmas but if everything goes well (and her dad doesn't not randomly change his mind) she gets to come back to kindergarten and dance class two months in the spring. I can't wait.

*When I moved to the US as a teenager and relearned to think positive about myself, it backfired when being back in Scandinavia. I still think I rub a lot of people the wrong way with some of the things I say, creating a distance between Scandinavians and hybrid-me. Unfortunately these things are not a sign of a better self-confidence but more an actual awareness of my own talents.

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.

Wonderful day

It was our last day in New York for this time and as I watched Zoe drift off to sleep, her arm around my neck, I felt like the luckiest woman in the world, having all of this. The last thing I had said to her before saying goodnight was that I hoped we would have many more Sundays like this.

I woke up much earlier than her, making coffee and eating half a bagel while reading, before I heard a little voice "mommy?" from the bed. We got up and while Zoe painted using her new water-based crayons, she had an idea. "Mommy, I have an idea! We can go and get nail polish on our feet!" I hesitated and said we probably didn't have time but the look on her face signified that this was a priority. We hurried down and into the nail place half a block down. I could have swore, my whole child-free life, that I would never ever take my under-14 daughter to a nail place but now that I have a daughter and she is very aware that I paint my nails (I hate to make excuses but I actually have a condition that makes all my nails look very rough without polish, which is why I like to cover them up. A bit like if you have uneven skin color and try to help it with foundation), I think it would be silly to make it into something 'forbidden'. Also, it was cheaper to take her than to go on my own while paying for a babysitter, *and* we got to spend some nice time together. We sat in adjoining chairs and chatted, her laughing uncontrollably with each strange thing happening: Why does she put cream on? That's yucky, why does she put paper in-between my toes? It tickles! We ran home just in time for the babysitter to meet us at the door. He got a happy whine from her (how am I so lucky to find someone she just instantly likes?) and I rushed out the door. I managed to exchange my iPhone cover at the Kate Spade store (who exchanged a broken one immediately without any questions) and sat down at a SoHo pastry cafe for two hours of funding proposal editing. On the way home I managed to pick up bagels and tomatoes.

Zoe dancing after getting new sunglasses

The afternoon was still young when the baby-sitter left, giving both Zoe and me a big hug, me hoping he would become a more stable person in her life. We took off for some last SoHo exploring. At the Piccolini shop she played and looked around for half an hour before finally asking if she could have the animal doctor dress-up set. I asked if that was really the one thing she would like and agreed. At the counter she picked up the very same sunglasses that I had considered buying for her two months ago but wasn't sure she would fit, and surprise, they fit her perfectly. She proceeded to take the floor, dancing to the Beyonce that the store owner turned up. None of us could stop laughing until we finally exited the store, heading for food.

We sat down at Jacque, where Zoe could get french fries and I could get chardonnay. She immediately tried on her veterinarian kit and played doctor with the toy dog until turning to inject me with various medical concoctions (this is good for you, it will make your polka spots go away!) and telling me my temperature was way too high. The older couple next to us asked politely where we were from and I sighed silently before giving a simple story: We are Danish but go here all the time. Zoe is also American. The guy started a long story about him visiting Copenhagen in the early 70s and Zoe got mad at me for not giving her any attention. When we later talked about it, I told her that it is polite to listen to people you don't know and then you sometimes ignore the ones you know. It's all about pleasing people you don't know because the people you know they already like you. But I realized that made no sense and I apologized and thought I would do it differently next time.

On the way home we passed by gimme coffee; I got an almond latte and she got a glass of water. We sat on the bench outside and just chilled and talked. "I wish this could be every sunday", I told her and she said the inevitable. "But what about daddy?" "Hmmm" was my answer.

As I  was packing up our things while she watched Danish kids TV later, my mind started wandering down to that dark place that has filled my head and heart for too much of the past two years. It's exactly two years since he told me it was over. If I didn't move back in at that point, there was no way back. And I knew I couldn't at that time. Perhaps later, but not at that moment. I was finally having a bit of independence and enjoying my life in it's own right, I needed that after what I had been through. But I didn't need to split up Zoe's family. And that's when he stopped talking to me. Other than emails with information about Zoe and polite coffees where he seems like he is about to leave the whole time, he hasn't talked to me since. Eight years of relationship and three months was what I got. As I folded each piece of clothing I tasted pieces of the bitterness. The new girlfriend that Zoe had told me about (not him), leaving me depressed for several months, sitting on the kitchen floor crying silently so Zoe wouldn't notice. The thought that Zoe will grow up split between two parents. The ultimate goal that I cannot talk about yet. The fact that as much as I like guys and think there are many sweet versions out there I can't imagine ever getting into a serious relationship again. I just can't trust anyone like that again.

I squeezed my shoes into the suitcase but didn't attempt to close it. "Time for bed", I heard myself say and Zoe surprisingly said okay. After some vague toothbrushing, we snuggled up in the bed together. What a wonderful day I thought and felt like the luckiest woman in the whole world having all of this.  

Dancing in Swedish

Zoe has always loved dancing. Her first steps were moves to music and I remember her laugh as I did a few pirouettes in the kitchen when she was still a baby. She soon tried to imitate them. We dance together in the living room and it is no surprise that she loves it, because so did I. I told my mom I wanted to be a ballet dancer when I was 4. I took classes throughout my childhood, classic ballet, jazz, modern and then back to a few seasons' of classic as an adult. In fact, last time I took a course was when I was pregnant, proudly still jumping in week 27. I couldn't wait until she was two so I could take her to dance class. Last year we went every Sunday to a studio in Gamla Stan where a nice Romanian girl would make sure we all (because parents were dancing with the kids) were having a fun time with hola hoops, drums and most importantly moving our bodies to music. I followed Zoe's lead and quietly told her what the teacher said she should do. She picked most of it up herself through watching.

But the teacher left and I felt it was time to try another studio. I was looking around too late and several studios were already full. But one, which was on the same subway line, had a kids-dance class, one where the kids danced by themselves, with the parents on the side if needed. The season started last Sunday and Zoe and I went excitedly with great expectations, this time Zoe wearing her actual ballet dress and slippers that we had bought in New York.

Zoe trying her ballet outfit in the Capezzio
flagship store in New York

Zoe is a bit shy and I sat down with her at first, noticing that I was the only parent in the ring. The other parents were on the side, encouraging their little outgoing ones to stay and listen to the teacher. Who started talking. Fast and a lot. She was asking the kids questions. Explaining that they had to hold up their hand when their name was called. Asking what they thought their horse was called. Asking if it was a shark, a crocodile or a fish that was swimming in the water. In between there was some running around and jumping, but not much dancing. And a lot of questions that Zoe and even I had a hard time understanding. Zoe clung on to me and kept asking me to come dance, which I eventually did for most of the hour but not without being slightly annoyed that she couldn't do it on her own, as the only kid in the room. But I also know that she was extremely intimidated by the new situation and she kept asking me "mom, what is she saying, what is she saying?" I honestly didn't realize that Zoe knew so little Swedish but on the other hand I wasn't surprised. Her whole world is in English apart from my house and when we go to Denmark. She juggles two languages pretty well and is just now starting to understand the concept of different languages (although she often names them wrong). But Swedish is not one of them.

In the end I asked the teacher if we could switch to the earlier class where the kids dance with the adults. I probably offended her in the same breath by letting her know that, well there was a lot of talk in the class. Unfortunately it is the same teacher in the earlier class and I have to see how Zoe is dealing with it, or if we have to think of something completely different. Because while Swedish might be an option, dancing is not.