I'll Miss You Least of All

A while ago I wrote about Derrick's and my housing search this winter, and just how disappointing it was turning out to be. As in, you want a master bathroom big enough to fit more than one person at a time? You had better be prepared to pay over one meelion dollars.

I am pleased to report that the real estate gods smiled upon the Prestons and landed us in a cute lil' cul-de-sac ranch in Westchester! We fought competed with three other buyers and were shocked when they picked us. We closed a few weeks ago and have been going up every weekend to scrape out every piece of DNA the previous owners left behind. I know all most a few of you are interested, so I will begin posting some before-and-after photos of the cosmetic transformation of House Preston! You will have to wait a couple years to see the kitchen. I need a miracle or a LOT of money, or both.

Our time here in the city is winding down and I am feeling rather bittersweet. Manhattan nostalgia is the very last thing I ever thought I would feel in my life. Honestly, I was not super stoked to move here (my childhood goal was and continues to be to live on a horse farm. Someday!), but being the positive and open-minded person I am, I decided to embrace NYC living as much as I could. So many people dream of living here, and I wasn't about to take that for granted, and I know I haven't. I have grown to love so many things about living here!

I've been trying to come up with a comprehensive list of things I'll miss about New York City and things I won't, but at this moment there is only one thing I hate more than anything else about life here (especially now that we are firing up the car every single weekend). The rural folks and suburbanites among you will not understand, but I hope you will laugh and thank whomever you worship that you do not have to deal with this. To you, it is totally banal, and you might tell me some people have real, actual problems. I agree, they do. This is not really a real problem. But to me, this situation makes me a prisoner, and while it isn't a real life problem, it's a giant headache and I can't wait not to deal with it anymore. It's unique to city living; we had the same issue in Philly as I'm sure many of my non-NYC urban readers can relate.

It is: trying to load/unload your car while it's illegally parked on a busy city street.

Imagine this, Cindy Lou reader living in Mississippi or North Carolina or wherever you are: you need to go to Target or Sam's, or you're going away somewhere relaxing for a long weekend of carefree pleasure. You leisurely load your car as you wish, at any time of day or night, because it's parked mere feet from your front door. Forgot something? No worries! Just pack things as you think of them! "Tra, la la," you sing, "What a breeze this is! A delightful breeze on a warm summery day!" Take your time; no one is honking at you. No one is waiting for you. No one is about to give you a parking ticket. 

When you live in a bustling city, this is so far from reality, and it makes you not want to go anywhere, ever. We park our car 5 blocks away. If we want to go away somewhere, we pile all our $#!t in the hallway, wait until we are minutes away from leaving, and try to load/balance it all on a rickety luggage cart. You only have one shot at this so you'd better get it right the first time! Derrick then makes the trek to get the car, and if he's lucky, the fire hydrant spot is vacant and he can squeeze in there for a few minutes. If he's not so lucky, he gets a ticket for parking there. If he's not so lucky not to be in the hydrant spot in the first place, he double parks and waits for the honks and middle fingers and shouting to start while we load the car as quickly as we can with all our crap. By the time you haul the rickety luggage cart down towards the car, at least 12 items have fallen, possibly the entire cart itself, onto the sidewalk where the local dogs relieve themselves. You saw the part about the fire hydrant, right? If you're lucky, the pee is mostly dried up, but you still know it's there. If you're really lucky, the things that fell off into the dog pee aren't things that typically go in your baby's hands and mouth, but you know what? Sometimes they are.

By the time you get buckled in and get moving, you are so freaking stressed out when you go to face city traffic and get the F--- out of there. Oh, but a carefree weekend of leisure and pleasure awaits! And then two or three days later, you do everything I just described all over again, except in reverse.

At least we have an elevator. I told you: I'm a positive person!

No, seriously. I'll miss you.

In Defense of the Mom Uniform

I have never been comfortably fashionable, except for those few years at Carolina where I gleefully embraced Chapel Hill student fashions: Polo shirts, sorority t-shirts, designer jeans, ribbon belts, Rainbows, North Face, and don't forget your Longchamps tote! Yes, I was a sheep! It was the best.

Two years ago, I was still schlepping across and up town with a fresh blowout and a clean wrap dress. One year ago, I was lucky if I got a shower a couple of times a week, I discovered dry shampoo, and every outfit selection involved the following thought process: "Can I access my boobs in this? Yes? Wear it. No? Can't wear it. Also, do I have to wear pants? Ugh, I really don't want to put on pants."

Lately, I have found myself struggling daily with what to wear. I now work for a 20-month-old on the steamy Manhattan sidewalks, not in an air-conditioned office with moderately rational people, so wrap dresses are impractical in baby gym and music classes, and I no longer have to access my boobs all the time, thank goodness. Winter was a little bit easier because of jeans, but now that it's hot, what is a fashion-challenged mom to do? I have had this discussion with a few other moms and I have been reluctant about this, but it's time to face the facts.

Athleisure is where it's at. You know. T-shirts and yoga capris.

It's the shit. It's the only solution. It doesn't look great, but damn it, it's practical, it's comfortable, and you don't feel bad when your kid wipes her tater tot hands on it and then draws on you. It's why nearly every mom pushing a stroller is wearing it. Maybe she's been to the gym, maybe she's going to the gym. Who cares? She probably isn't, and I fully support her, like the sports bra she's likely wearing.

Do I do yoga in my yoga pants? Absolutely not. I wouldn't dream of it. Mostly just because I hate yoga, but if you want to do yoga in your yoga pants, you go right ahead. I am happy for you!

I tried, really I did. I tried wearing the cute things I used to wear that made me feel like a better, less sloppy person.

I tried wearing skirts and dresses. You know what happened when I wore skirts? I flashed everyone while chasing my kid, and not just when the wind would blow up the hem on the street. Or I would go to pick up the kid and her foot would catch on the hem and the skirt would come up with her. This happened every single time. It just isn't practical when you're chasing a kid on a playground, climbing on equipment with them, sitting on the floor and standing back up, sitting on the floor and standing back up, and so on and so forth for 14 hours.

I tried wearing real bras. You know what happened when I wore real bras? My kid would pull on my shirt and reveal whatever was underneath - usually going so far as to say, "BOOBIES! All gone." I am not sure why she says "all gone" when referring to my boobies. She could be talking about the long-gone milk but she could also just be talking about the boobies themselves, mere shadows of their former selves. Whatever, at least she's using word phrases.

I tried wearing cute shorts. Just kidding, I haven't tried that. If you have found cute shorts that don't ride up your ass, you have found a f*cking unicorn chupacabra and you deserve my congratulations. Tell me in the comments where you found them because I am also looking for a f*cking unicorn chupacabra. How cool/scary would that be, btw?

We have come a long way, ladies. Moms who came before me figured this out a long time ago, but not that long. I'm finally embracing this reality rather than viewing it as "letting myself go." Centuries of clothed motherhood have culminated in this very moment. The evolution of fashion has taken us from crinoline to yoga capris, from powdered wigs to high ponies. My daughter is well cared-for, and I haven't flashed anyone in the process.

If Marie Antoinette were alive today, she would first look down her nose on the modern mom uniform, and then she would say, "Sacre bleu! What was I thinking all those years? I used to hate it when little Marie Therese would wipe her chubby camembert hands all over my fancy lace skirt, and then when little Louis grabs at my wig, it is just the worst. I wish they had had yoga capris in the 1700s. But, I wish a lot of things."

Marie Antoinette with Marie Therese and Louis,
flitting about Versailles by the Temple of Love,
clearly wishing she were in yoga pants and a t-shirt.