Giant bubbles and sushi

To my big surprise my picture of Zoe having breakfast in the kitchen windowsill got 46 likes within 24 hours. I had sneaked in and snapped her as she ate a chocolate cookie and strawberries (a perfectly reasonable breakfast for a Saturday) and watched her favorite show on the iPad. She had crawled up there herself, with her owl duvet, because she wanted my company; I was still fixing my coffee and bagel. But where it might be the epitome of a wonderful start to a day, our own secret was that the day just kept getting better.

Three hours later we met with a friend and her baby at Ellary's Greens for pancakes and freshly squeezed cucumber/carrot/beet juice. Zoe fell down from the bench and scraped her foot, crying her eyes out (it was a nasty cut right on top of her big toe) but proceeded to snuggle up and fall asleep on my lap. After a great girl talk with my friend who has a 9 month old baby, Zoe woke up and we went looking for a playground, leaving said friend and baby to their nap time. The sun was out and Zoe was sporting both a flower sunhat and sunglasses. We were quickly successful since I remembered the Bleeker playground from a year and a half ago when we had passed by and spent an hour there. Zoe knocked herself out taking the big-girl slide and riding the tricycles that were all too small for her now until we took a break at a toystore across the road. I promised her one thing under 30 dollars. She chose a giant bubble kit and back at the playground she was the center of all the kids' attention with the big elongated bubbles she was able to make. It was finally getting cold in the shade and I knew the only way I could lure her away: "Zoe what would you like for dinner?", I quizzed her, which is usually cue for "do you want sushi?". She replied as predicted and I found a place a block away that seemed low-key enough for us. She proceeded to sit at the bar and order herself. One of these, four of those. Oh and miso soup, thank you. She charmed the chefs across the counter and they kept giving her little treats: A cucumber flower with bits of salmon inside, little sea wheat pieces etc. I was prouder than proud of her being well-behaved and curious. After dinner we walked back home, her playing a fairy game the whole way: She would put on her pretend clothes, her wings and boots and then run ahead as fast as she could with flailing hands, only stoping if she reached a cross street.

By this time, the Saturday evening party people were already hitting the West Village streets and it was interesting to see the mix. Hipper than hip young people walking around making sure they looked and said the right things, almost run over by a four year old girl in a red dress and gold shoes, ignoring their attention seeking completely.

When we got home, I didn't have the heart (or energy) to put her to sleep and we ended up watching Octonauts together in the sofa with a cup of tea and a snack. Ten PM we both tumbled to bed under the same duvet because it is now very cold in our apartment due to the warmer weather fooling the janitor into turning off the heat. "Mommy", Zoe said. "This was the best day ever". I agreed, not knowing that the next day would be just as good if not better. 

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. 

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.