Park Slope Reader

parenthood

Dispatches From Babyville: I Love New York In June

By Filed Under: Dispatches From Babyville Tagged With: , , , , ,

Art by Heather Heckel

Plenty of people love New York in June. This list includes but is not limited to Judy Garland, Frank Sinatra, Rosemary Clooney and probably even a few people after 1959. But who, I ask you, still loves New York in July . . . to say nothing of August? 

New York in fall serves as the backdrop for romantic comedies. New York in summer serves as the backdrop for a different kind of film. Dog Day Afternoon. Summer of Sam. Do The Right Thing.

To quote another old song, to everything there is a season, and New York’s season is fall, possibly spring, maybe even winter. Never summer. Summer is when anyone who can flees the city and heads to other places. Places that smell like jasmine rather than rotting refuse. Places with fireflies instead of cockroaches.

I get it. I’d summer somewhere idyllic too, if I could. But since I’m stuck here for most of the season along with my three kids, I figure I’ll find some silver linings. Behold, one mother’s attempt to make lemonade out of lemons. And on that note . . . 

Reasons to Love NYC in Summer

1. Lemonade! Kids can move a lot of units.

Country Time lemonade might be iconic and all, but let’s get real. There are no customers on a dusty country road, or in front of a sweet-smelling, pristine suburban lawn. Smart city kids who pick even a halfway decent location will make bank. Save up those pennies and they’ll have enough for a MetroNorth ticket out of here.

2. Eating Italian ices on stoops

While we’re on the subject of refreshing treats, there is no experience more pleasurable, anywhere, than taking the first lick of a lemon Italian icey while sitting on a Brooklyn stoop on a sweltering day. I’m sure there’s data to support this somewhere. Check the Journal of Geographical Gastronomy. It’s science. 

3. Cold subways are the best subways

New York City subways get a lot wrong. Maybe they even get more wrong than they get right. But let’s pause here to commend the MTA for their top-notch air-conditioning. I concede that much of the enjoyment I feel when stepping into a cool subway car may be relief from escaping the unbearably hot platform, but what’s the difference really? Cold subways are the best subways. Which comes in handy when your subway gets held in between stations for 45 minutes.

4. The island of Coney

Sure, I could go to Turks and Caicos and find silky beaches with oceans as warm and unpolluted as baths. Yes, I could go to Hawaii and hike a volcano, frolicking through waterfalls (I’m speaking figuratively here. I can’t go to those places, or I would, posthaste). But can you play Shoot the Freak in Hawaii? Can you ride the Cyclone and eat a Nathan’s hot dog in Turks and Caicos? Does anywhere else in the world have a Mermaid Day parade where a stranger will hang their freakishly huge and incontrovertibly menacing boa constrictor around your two-year-old’s shoulders? I didn’t think so.

5. Shakespeare in the Park

Okay, fine, I admit it. I haven’t been to a Shakespeare in the Park performance since 2002, well before I had kids. But by Jove, I’m going to get those tickets this year, and I’m taking my son, no matter how much he protests Shakespeare is boring, and it’s going to be world-class theater served up free. And if I don’t make it, then I’ll take my children to an equally free, more kid-friendly and zero-hassle Piper production in the Astroturf.

6. Fire Hydrant Sprinklers

Nuff said. 

7. No one’s here

This, right here, is the real reason to love New York City in the summer. It is, possibly, a misanthropic perspective, but it’s valid. No one is here. That means you get to enjoy all the offerings of New York City which you typically can’t partake in, because of crowds. No one’s here so you can park your car, which is to say, you can use your car. No one’s here so you can eat at restaurants, without having to wait for two hours, or eat at 4:45. No one’s here. Yes, of course, the denizens of NYC are what make it so special, but sometimes you need a break from those denizens. A nice two-month-long break. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. It’s like how you feel such pure, unadulterated love for your children when they’re sleeping. Since ours is the city that never sleeps,  this is how you achieve that feeling about New Yorkers.  

And there you have it—all the reasons to love New York in the summer. I tried to stretch this list to ten, I really did. But there are only and exactly seven reasons to love New York City in summer. If that’s not enough for you, well go ahead and book a flight to the Bahamas. Just don’t blame me when the Italian ices are lousy. 

Heather Heckel is an artist and educator living in New York City. In addition to the Park Slope Reader, her clients include Whole Foods Market, Kids Footlocker, Juice Pharma Worldwide, and The Renwick Hotel. Her artwork and children’s book has won international awards, and she has been published numerous times in the 3×3 Professional Illustration Magazine. Recently she has completed artist-in-residencies through the National Park Service in Arkansas, Connecticut, Washington, and California. Heather is passionate about social and environmental justice, and is an advocate for human rights and animal rights.

http://www.heatherheckel.com

https://www.instagram.com/heatherheckelart/?hl=en

Park Slope Life: How To Build Your Village

By Leave a Comment Filed Under: Park Slope Life, Personal Essay Tagged With: , ,

Artwork by Heather Heckel

“It takes a whole village to raise a child”.  This is what I had heard prior to having a child of my own.  I knew the phrase, but really didn’t understand the meaning or it’s profound necessity.  Its origins may be rooted in Africa and some believe it’s a Native American Proverb.  Clearly, these wise women knew its value. 

 I figured as NYC transplants we had made it here successfully for ten years.  We had our “family”- the friends we had chosen.  We would gladly take this challenge of having a baby in a city with no immediate or extended family.  We had our friends.  Wasn’t this enough?  Turns out in many ways it wasn’t.  We found ourselves Googling “Baby grunting every morning at 5 am when pooping.  Normal?”  Or figuring out how not to pass out and drop baby at 3 am while sitting upright in the rocking chair trying to comfort baby.  It was ridiculous.  We needed to ask questions to others to decide what was normal and simply talk with others who have gone through this or were going through first time parenting angst.  That sweet proverb, it takes a village, started to have the power of a warning.  Seriously, we parents need help raising our babies.  It’s not meant to be done alone.

Our friends were great individual supporters.  We would see our friends for brunch or a cocktail, however, they had their own schedules and lives.  Often, I would see a friend and my husband would care for our son and vice versa.  However, the day-to-day support for me was nonexistent, and I found myself isolated and a bit sad.  I found the beginning of my son’s infancy to be a bit challenging.  I was alone a lot and unsure if what was happening in my feelings was “normal”.  I had no one to talk to as many friends of mine did not have kids.  As time passed, I found myself like many mom’s who stay at home: Lonely and in need of human connection.  By choice, I took off a year.  During that time, I found myself increasingly craving some adult interaction and conversation as well as a break.  I just needed a moment to take for myself. However, I did not have anyone who could come watch my infant son while I took a shower, made dinner, cleaned up my nails or ran to the corner store.  I was not seeking full-time childcare, but a few hours here and there I knew would be enough to bring relief.  What’s more, because I took of a year from work, we didn’t have the finances to hire a “mother’s helper” on a regular basis.  Finances were tight and I was keenly aware of this.  I was a happy new mom, though I was suffering from isolation and lack of support that my husband could not provide as he was working during the week.

What’s a mom to do?  I had to start to build my community.  I was tired of the isolation, loneliness and lack of adult conversation.  I wanted to get out, laugh and find more joy in my daily life.  I craved community.  I had a sudden realization that if I were feeling this then there must be other women who feel the exact same way!  I wanted to find other stay-at-home, work-from-home, part-time working moms who too were seeking support emotionally as well as hands-on support.  Other moms who craved adult conversation, wanted laughs and to share a meal together.  I needed to find them and together we could build a support system with each other.  Together we would build our community where we would bring together our love and compassion to create a system that supports and builds each of us up.

You don’t have to do this alone, and shouldn’t.  You never know what lifelong friends are waiting to make a connection with you.

I’d like to share with you how I built my village.  First, I started going to my local libraries and bookstores to attend the free baby/toddler story time events.  These events we wonderful for my son, however, I found that I was mostly meeting the nannies of the children.  I didn’t meet many moms that were in my situation.  I’m sure they were there, but I didn’t meet them.  While out seeking my village, I had noticed a mom in my neighborhood who was out in the mornings and afternoons who had a small child like mine.  We exchanged smiles.  We kept running into each other, and I finally spoke up!  I said if we run into each other again, we must exchange information.   Not much time passed, and we bumped into each other again.  As suspected, she was a stay-at-home mom.  We became fast friends assisting each other while one ran to the store or did laundry uninterrupted, worked a bit (me) or had lunch all together.   Though she and I went back to work eventually, we built a friendship that still exists to this day.  The take away here is that I spoke up and befriended her.

Feeling confident that there were other moms like me, I decided to take my quest online to expand my Mom Tribe.  There are several Facebook groups dedicated to New Moms, Moms with Babies Born in January 2016, 17 etc., Crunchy Mom, Moms over 40, Breastfeeding moms, Moms who work part time, Homeschooling moms, the list goes on.  Joining a Facebook group opens doors in your neighborhood and beyond.  Often these groups will have a meet up weekly or monthly.  I joined a group for parents in my and the adjoining two neighborhoods around me to meet moms with similar interests, schedules, and kids about the same ages.  What’s great is that the moms I met were like-minded and we hit it off and so did our kids.  In addition, there are several apps now that are like mom dating apps.  You set up your profile and search for other moms that share common ground with you.  You can be very specific with theses apps regarding your needs and what you are seeking.  Hello Mamas has an algorithm that connects local mamas with similar interests, schedules, families, challenges, and personalities.  Peanut is designed to create lasting relationships based on motherhood.  Mama Leave is a great app for moms seeking a play date.  You can post where you are going or to see where are other mamas.  If you want to get out of the house now, this is a great app to join you with mamas out and about.   There are also fantastic community groups such as: Babywearing groups, Le Leche League, Moms of Multiples, Attachment Parenting and so forth.  If you are a sporty mom there are groups:  Fit4Mom, No Excuse Mom, Mommy and Me Workout Groups on Meetup or Mommy and Me Yoga at various Yoga studios.  There are open play studios like Kidville, Powerplay or Gymboree.  Here you can take your little for an hour or two of romp, clap, and play while you soak up some human connection.  Another good place to meet mamas are play cafes.  South Slope has Good Day Play Café.  Your baby can bounce around and you can relax, chat, and have a cup of joe.  Another place to spot moms is Whole Foods on Third and Third.  You can grab a bite and head upstairs to the designated baby/toddler play area.  They have tables and high chairs so you can eat and when baby is done, she can play, and you can chat.

It is all about finding moms that are like-minded and you have a natural connection.  Your village is meant to be supportive and joyful, comfortable and rewarding in friendship.  Decide what you want.  A large group or small.  Do you want them to all know each other or does that not matter?  Are you seeking a mom group focused on specific parenting fundamentals, do you want a mix of online mom support as well as local or just local?  Let go of any insecurities you may have when meeting new moms.  I know this may be a challenge.  However, you are on a new adventure and you never know what kinds of new, beautiful friendships are waiting for you if you don’t say yes.  You can’t always meet a mom and expect it to blossom.  It really is like dating.  If you want to develop a great friendship, then you must put in time and action!

My son is almost three now and we have fallen into a groove.  Things lightened up as I gained more experience and knowledge.  I must say this was one of the most wonderful intuitive decisions I made as a mama: Building My Village.  I have made some lifelong friends who were there for me not only with support with my son, but with support for me – when I received unwanted news, had challenges, or felt homesick.  I have felt great happiness when I have been able to step in for my mom friends when they were in a crunch for childcare or simply needed a break.  I have had may laughs, great conversations and sparked inspired ideas with my community of moms.  Remember, you don’t have to do this alone, and shouldn’t.  You never know what lifelong friends are waiting to make a connection with you.

Writing My Way Through Early Parenthood

By Filed Under: Park Slope Lit Tagged With: , , , , ,

 

 

Armed with my iced coffee and laptop, I settled in to my regular perch at the counter of Konditori, a sunny spot with a front-row view of bustling Fifth Avenue. After a little chatter with the barista, and a little eavesdropping on the conversations of my fellow café dwellers, I turned my attention to reworking the next scene of my novel. It was how I’d spent countless mornings for years. The difference was, for the first time, I was a mother—and at one week old, my daughter was curled against my chest, all eight pounds of her secured by the complicated twists and ties of the cloth carrier I was still mastering. The coos she made in her sleep and the gentle sucks of her thumb sounded like sweet encouragements. For a couple of precious hours, I wrote.

When I was six months pregnant, I had the luck to sell my third novel, what would become Otherwise Engaged. My new editor had pages of smart suggestions, which would require a major overhaul of the manuscript. The official timeline gave me six months to implement the revisions, but I had my own deadline: my due date. Experienced moms had issued dire warnings of what life would be like with a newborn: I’d never sleep again; I wouldn’t have time to shower, never mind eat a meal or run an errand; I’d be stuck on a never-ending merry-go-round of changing, feeding, and shushing a wailing baby. Still pregnant, I couldn’t really imagine this chapter of my life that was about to unfold—I pictured it like a foreign country, or even outer space. But one thing that seemed certain is that it wouldn’t include the stretches of time, not to mention energy and focus, I needed in order to write fiction. And that meant it was a race against the clock: I’d be a writer until I became a mother.

I pride myself on my reliability and responsibility, my knack for meeting deadlines—but I didn’t meet this one. After all, the third trimester of pregnancy is a busy time. There’s birthing class and stocking up on and then learning how to use the seemingly endless list of items required to care for an infant. There’s the effort it takes to commute to and from work each day with twenty extra pounds strapped to one’s stomach, plus the actual workday. Then there’s the trying to pack in all the movies and socializing and sleeping in that I’d been assured would be a thing of the past once my baby arrived. As a result, I didn’t find the time to rewrite my novel.

When my water broke early one Monday morning, a week before my due date, I felt excited and terrified both. I also felt panicked, wondering, When am I going to finish my novel revise now?

Very quickly, this question receded into the fog of new motherhood. At first, everything was a blur, and some stretches did in fact resemble the horror stories my mom friends had shared. Other times were pure joy, and I felt I was all heart, no brain. Every intelligible thought in my head seemed to have been superseded by the bliss of having a baby.

This didn’t last. About a week after returning home from the hospital with my sweet-smelling bundle, my unfinished novel returned to me: the plot inconsistencies that needed fixing, the character motivations that needed clarifying, the conflict that needed ramping up. Even as my body was still recovering from birth, and I wasn’t yet sure what was supposed to go in the diaper bag, there I was hauling my baby and my laptop down two flights of stairs and across Park Slope to my favorite café, ordering a coffee, and getting back to work.

The novel revisions turned out to be a blessing in disguise. I’m lucky enough to work for a company with a great maternity leave policy. But I admit that beforehand, the prospect of twelve weeks of open time—without a job or any structure to my day—scared me nearly as much as the prospect of being permanently responsible for a tiny, helpless being. I’m someone who, to put it mildly, is not very good at simply existing and going with the flow. Of course, anyone who’s taken care of a baby understands something I didn’t, which is that it isn’t open time. It’s hard work—exhausting, relentless, and sometimes mind-numbing. What helped me survive those initial weeks was writing.

It was only an hour or two a day—and sometimes less, if my baby began crying, or squirming, or smelling like she needed a diaper change. Some days, after I’d been up for long spans of the night nursing and then rocking my daughter back to sleep, it was all I could do to move around a comma or two. Still, it was a daily routine. It got me dressed and out of the house. It kept me connected, however tangentially, to the world around me, and to my identity as a writer. I loved being a mother, much more than I’d anticipated I would. But it was grounding and reassuring to remind myself, day after day, that I was also still the person I’d been before becoming a mother. 

An added benefit? My writing practice made me a better mother, too. After flexing my brain to solve problems on the page, I’d leave the café feeling ready to tune back in to the very different work of motherhood. I felt more focused and joyful, and more available to my daughter when we faced the daunting task of tummy time or a third diaper change within an hour.

By the end of my maternity leave, I’d nearly finished my novel revision… but not quite. In retrospect, I wonder if that was a subconscious decision. During those chaotic early weeks of returning to my job and figuring out the working-parenting balance, I still spent stints writing at Konditori. Keeping up this routine was steadying. Eventually, I finished the revision, meeting the publisher’s deadline. I didn’t yet know that I’d go on to complete several more revisions; publishing a book, much like parenthood, is a marathon, not a sprint.

Meanwhile, my daughter started crawling and then walking. These days, she rarely sits still for more than a few minutes. So, I’ve returned to writing on my own. Weekend mornings are my husband’s father-daughter time, and my solo writing time. My daughter loves to imitate me, so if she spots my open laptop, she begins banging at its keys. Reviewing her nonsensical edits is decent entertainment, and it also makes me reminisce about editing in those early days of parenthood: As my newborn breathed softly against my chest, I’d take a break between paragraphs to stroke her hair and inhale her special scent, before returning to the screen, pressing enter, and writing on.