Free Range

The Sandpit from Sam O'Hare on Vimeo.

This video, at first, appears to be using a miniature set, but, then, you see that it’s real. Very cool. (via @KBAndersen)

This was the view outside our front door yesterday morning. Now there’s lots more of the white stuff!

Photo credit: NYRRC

This weekend, we strolled down to the end of our block with Callum and Rory and watched the world stream by. It was the 40th running of the New York City Marathon, and 4th avenue, here in Brooklyn, was one of the main thoroughfares through our borough. As hordes of participants made their way past — whether on wheelchairs or running spiritedly — I shouted and cheered. “Go, France!” I encouraged the runners wearing t-shirts proclaiming their French origins. “Go, Australia!,” I cheered at others. “Go, Italia! Go, Japan! Go, USA! Go, Finland! Go, Denmark!” I have to admit I shouted just a little bit louder in encouragement of people from places I’d been or have a special fondness for. From Denmark, where I spent 5 months as an exchange student. From Texas, where I am from. From Scotland, from which my husband hails.

At one point, early in the cheering, I crouched down next to our 4-year-old, Callum, and explained, “These people came from all around the world to run in this race.” He seemed to understand.

One benefit of living in this very international city is that different cultures, styles and viewpoints are never far away, even when they’re not running by at the end of the block. Daddy is from Scotland. Our neighbor’s Daddy is from Argentina. Our babysitter is from Mexico. We like to think that, by exposing our children to these different influences, they come to realize that there’s a great big world out there beyond our Brooklyn brownstones. And someday, we hope, they’ll get to experience a lot of it themselves.

Knowing about the vastness of the world will, we hope, help them realize that humans living in one place aren’t all that different from those in another. It will help them understand that we all need band together when it comes to global issues like pollution and climate change. And we hope it will help them develop an appreciation for the little cultural gifts contributed by people all over the world — the flavors of pad thai, the joyful exuberance of playing the maracas, and the incredible softness of a scarf made of Chinese cashmere spun in Scotland and knitted in America.

I’ve written this entry as a part of the Tea Collection’s Little Citizens of the World blog contest. They make gorgeous children’s clothes, and I’d love to win a gift certificate. But that doesn’t make my sentiments any less sincere.

This afternoon, I found myself climbing flights and flights of stairs in a subway station, struggling up from the underground “R” line to the above-ground “F” line. Our ride included the highest station in the NYC Subway system, so it’s not surprising so many stairs were involved. It probably wouldn’t have been so strenuous but for the 24-pound child in one arm, the stroller and essentials bag in the other, and the 50-pound 4-year-old ambling along next to me. Slowly but surely, as I walked, Rory would begin slipping down until he was below my hip, and I was forced to stop and switch him from one arm to another, alternating with the umbrella stroller and bag. Reaching the platform meant a momentary respite, until it was time to take the whole parade onto the train. Such was my experience of being a mother of young children today.

I took the day off from work today not to haul kids up stairs, but for a very special reason. Today was Callum’s first day of pre-kindergarten. Unlike in many other school systems, in NYC there’s free, public, “universal”* pre-kindergarten for 4-year-olds, so the school he will attend this year could be the same one he attends until middle school. Essentially, Callum began an educational journey that won’t end until he graduates from high school at 18, or, hopefully, college. It’s a momentous thing.

We’re handing him over to the community, and he’ll spend as much time there, from now on, as he will at home (at least waking hours), on weekdays. He’ll have good teachers (this year’s seems like a good one!), and probably some mediocre ones. He’ll experience bullying and taunting; he’ll make close friendships; he’ll be challenged; he’ll be bored. We’ll do everything we can to smooth his path, but it’s not all up to us now. In not too many years, the opinions of his peers will outweigh those of his parents. The influence of the rest of the world will continue to grow.

It’s been said before that parenting is a continuous process of letting go, and I agree completely. The scenario I described above — in which Callum and Rory were entirely dependent on me to guide them through tunnels and up stairs, even hefting one of them — is today’s reality, but, with age, with our teaching, and with school, I won’t be needed in quite the same way for too much longer. I’m sad, and I’m happy. Mostly, I just want to acknowledge this important rite of passage. Happy first day of school, Callum. We love you always!

(* I put universal in quotes because it’s theoretically available to all, but, in practice, there are fewer spots than applicants.)

Taken on my way home yesterday with the cameraphone.

This morning, on the way to the subway, we saw a man walking his dog, while simultaneously riding a jumbo-sized unicycle down the sidewalk. It turned heads even in NYC, with people just waiting for him to knock into a pedestrian or dismount abruptly at a red light. But, while we were watching, he just rolled on.

St. Benoit Yogurt. You’d think you could get any possible food somewhere in the five boroughs, but you’d be wrong. Not that I ate this yogurt all the time, or anything, but just knowing it isn’t available around here makes me crave it. Funny how that works.

To use a cliche, it feels like slipping on an old pair of comfortable shoes — ones you haven’t worn a while, but the contours of which still feel so familar. I still remember my way around, mostly, though my subway commute technique (where to stand on the platform, and such) could use some fine tuning. I still remember how to keep warm in the biting cold wind. I have found a reasonably good, reasonably-priced place to get breakfast. I’ve even decided what to get for my default breakfast — a breakthrough in a town with so much choice! Even better, the short-order cook at the place already recognizes me and my default order.

It’s funny the things that make me feel at home in NYC. Here are some tips.

On Subway Commuting:

• Consider where you’re going, when you decide where to stand on the platform. If you’re going, say, to 17th Street, and heading uptown, stand at the end of the platform which lets you get on the front of the train. That way, when you get out at 14th Street, you’re already part of the way up the block before you even get above ground. (Warning: this only works when the destination stop has multiple exits.)
  
• In the same vein, pay attention to North, South, East and West signs when you’re headed up to street level. It’s often easier to “cross the street” underground. This helps you ensure you’re in the right place when you emerge, and can take off walking toward your goal immediately, without having to wait for a traffic light to change.
  
• On the train, watch people’s body language as you approach a stop, and if it looks like a sitting person is about to get up and off, try to maneuver yourself into position to slide in. Body language is generally super important in any kind of crowded situation in NYC.
  

On Ordering Breakfast:

• The “standard” coffee order in New York comes with sugar and milk. So if you just ask for coffee, that’s what you’re getting. Even ordering it “black” will result in a sugared coffee. So, for me, I have to say “black, no sugar” to get what I need.
  
• Practically any corner deli in the city can cook you almost anything, to order, quickly — and fairly cheaply. So, hang back until you know what you want, but then don’t be afraid to ask for your exact preference. You want three egg whites with provolone on dry whole wheat toast? You won’t see it on the menu exactly that way, but you can get it. Oatmeal made with skim milk topped with walnuts and dried cranberries? It’s yours.
  
• Eventually, if you keep ordering the same thing at the same place, you won’t even have to order anymore. They’ll remember you, and your preferences, and you’re all set.
  
• New Yorkers are big on “the system” and every breakfast place (or deli, or whatever) usually has an optimal navigational route. There’s nothing worse (ok, there are plenty of things that are worse) than getting caught up in the line, and being prompted to order with NYC-style rapidity, when you’re quite not ready with your order. This city is all about knowing what you want… and chasing after it.