I Know What Chloe Wants for Christmas

How 'bout two front teeth?

Our 'hood

Battery Park City was featured in the New York Times this weekend.
You can read about it here.

I'm a Model, You Know What I Mean

Scott DeVore rocks his camera.

But there is only so much a person can do when working with raw material such as this:

It's Been Too Long

Since my last bulleted list.

And it's also been over a year since the move from Michigan to Manhattan.

Hence

How I've Changed Since Moving to Manhattan
(Shallow Edition)

• My purse is bigger. I now have a serious amount of junk that accompanies me everywhere. Antibacterial wipes. A paperback. My ipod. A small collection of toys, including but not limited to: silly putty, legos, a matchbox car, and crayons. (For the kids, not me. Really.)
• I own a more expansive selection of outerwear and accessories. Rain boots, hats, down coats of three different weights. Absolutely necessary when a person spends as much time as I do walking from subway stop to subway stop.
• I cook less with cream of mushroom soup and more with olive oil. Though a can of C of M still comes in handy in a pinch. And, to be truthful, I cook less in general.
  
• I now can simultaneously watch the sidewalk for hazardous materials (read: dog poop, vomit, and Wet Patches of Unknown Origin) and also look ahead to avoid colliding with other pedestrians . It's a skill that can only be learned from experience. Ask Michelle.
• I eat more Indian food. Also Vietnamese food. Also gelato. And pastries, and cheesecake, Brooklyn-style pizza, gyros... (sigh. It's all so tasty.)
• I'm more assertive. It's a good, self-protective skill to have here, really, or you might not ever get your turn in line or your opportunity to board the bus. Not to be confused with Aggressive or Absolutely Annoying.
  
• My sense of smell has become less discriminating. Also a self-protective adaptation. I'm looking forward to the less humid weather of fall, when the smells of the city aren't trapped so close to ground level.
• I've developed a sort of guidance system via hand-holding with my kids. They know now that if we're walking down the street holding hands, and I move my hand to the right or the left, that they need to follow. It's somewhat like a horse with a bit, I imagine. But it works well.

I know I've changed in more ways than that, and the ways affect my character, my faith, my attitude. But that's another post for another day.

Pigtails, Four Days and Counting

On Tuesday, Chloe asked to have her hair done "different."

This, coming from a child who used to spaz if I approached her with anything resembling a ribbon or barrette (remember that, Mom?).

After a few tries, we settled on pig tails. (Her hair has finally regrown enough since the drastic repairs following The Self-Induced Cut incident.)

That afternoon at parent teacher conferences, her teacher mentioned to me that one of the little boys in her class had told Chloe that her pigtails made her the most beautiful girl in the school. When I arrived home that evening, I asked Chloe if anyone had commented on her pigtails. She told me that one little boy thought she looked pretty and another one told her she "looked like she was in high school!"

It's not hard to guess how Little Miss wanted her styled the next day. And the next.

Those first graders sure know how to compliment their ladies, don't they?

You Tell Me

Good Morning, Blogsville. A few questions for you on this lovely fall day.
________________________________________________
After it rains here, or sometimes just because it's NYC, giant water cockroaches will scurry across the sidewalk. They're at least an inch long and quite bulky, so they can't move as fast as their little German cockroach cousins. I've seen many a person lift up their foot and squash the roach dead, taking out all their cockroach resentment on one (ugly, deserving, just plain gross) hapless bug. Steve once witnessed a little boy of about two, begging his nanny not to kill the nice little bug. The nanny barely paused before she lifted her boot-shod foot and brought it down again with a crunch. When people do that, I feel as if they're doing the city a favor, stopping one roach from reproducing into how many thousands more.
But.
My friend Anne Marie, a long time New Yorker and over all city-savvy kind of lady, once told me that if you happen to step on a pregnant roach, a roach with eggs, the eggs can get stuck to the bottom of your shoe. A few steps later, you enter your apartment with an egg laden shoe, ushering all kinds of mayhem into your very home. Blech. I shudder when I think about the possibility.
Can this be true? Anyone an entomologist by hobby or by trade?
_____________________________________________________
On a totally unrelated note,
Some acquaintances of mine recently attended a different church. This church, brand-spanking new and eager to welcome people into their community, does something that gives me pause.
They give a Starbucks gift card, valued at $5, to first time visitors. Attached to the card is a handwritten note of welcome from the pastor.
And I wonder...
What do you think about that? Would it make you want to come back to the church? And if so, would you come back hoping to see what Week #2's gift would be?

Next Time Around, God, Please Keep This in Mind

Jonathan's prayer at dinner last night:

Dear God. Thank you for everything. Thank you for the world. Thank you for the galaxy, and thank you for dinosaurs. But the one thing I don't like is the T-Rex. Amen.

In an Attempt to Influence the Poll

Michelle recently added a poll to her blog.

"Do you think you could live in New York City?"

Not only can I live here, I love living here.

I'm a bit in the minority, according to Michelle's very official and extensive poll.

If you can't stand the thought of living here, perhaps I could convince you to visit? Check out Tina's blog about the girls' time here (we had a great time) and watch this latest release from NYCVisit (I think it's well done), and then give me your answer. I'll start inflating the aerobeds.

Warm

You might call it a sleeping bag with a place for my feet to stick out.

I call it Theres-no-way-this-lower-manhattan-wind-is-going-to-bother-me.

It's made of down and reaches nigh unto my ankles.
A little poof does a body good.

Back to Blogsville

Come now, I haven't forgotten how to blog. Didn't I warn you that September's blogging would be sporadic at best? I've been busy, that's all. I'm not complaining (really, I'm not), but you should know that in addition to working full time and being Mom and Wife, I've been having church related meeting or dinners every night of the week. Which doesn't leave much time for sleep, much less blogging. (Plus The Office started, which I've been watching in the five minute spurts of free time that I have. Priorities, folks.)

I've got some substantial blogs brewing, though.

Like what I've recently learned about forgiveness.

And how City Fellowship Church had its first Fellowship Gathering at our apartment.

And then there is The Weekend that Seven West Michigan Women Took on New York City.

There's even the blog about how I lectured Chloe on the subtle pitfalls of being a know-it-all, and she answered me with, "I already knew that." (Well, that's really the whole story on that one. I'll call that good.)

You know, I've been living, and things have been happening. I just haven't blogged. I've missed it, really. Missed the writing and the processing and the sharing that goes along with blogging. I'm excited to rejoin Blogsville.

I'm back in the saddle again. Yee Haw.

Excellent

Have I mentioned that we're starting a church?

It's great.

The community that's developing is great.

And the logo is really great, wouldn't you say?

You can even check out our (temporary but still great) website here.

That Answer Was a Bit Too Honest

Last night, I held Jonathan's hand as we walked to his bedroom to begin the good-night ritual. His hand was stickier than I would have liked.

"Jonathan," I said. "Your hand is sticky! When is the last time you washed your hands really well?" (After dinner? Before dinner?)

"Ummm," Jonathan considered. "I think it was...Saturday!"

Right.

Next time, I'm not going to ask.

Tagged Twice and Tardy

Both Gina and Lorraine tagged me ages ago, and I'm just now getting around to posting in response. Here goes:

1. You have to post these rules before you give the facts.

2. You must list one fact that is somehow relevant to your life for each letter of your middle name. If you don’t have a middle name, use the middle name you would have liked to have had.

3. At the end of your blog post, you need to choose one person for each letter of your middle name to tag. Don’t forget to leave a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog for the rules.

My middle name is Marie, same as my grandmother's first name and Chloe's middle name.

M- I am married. To wonderful Steve, going on ten years. The fact that I'm not yet 32 and have been married for almost ten years begets some comments in this city. Steve and I are an oddity (those of you who know us well--please stop nodding your heads in agreement so vigorously. I'm only referring to the length of our marriage here). Example: Steve and I lead a marriage group that consists of 8 couples. Of those couples, we are the youngest, have been married the longest, and are the only ones with children.

A- I am an administrator at a great little prep school here in the city. This means that I run around like a chicken with my head cut off all day long (not my official job description).

R- I am redeemed. My belief that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, died for me and consequently conquered death for my redemption is absolutely integral to my understanding of who I am and my purpose in life.

I- I am an initiator. I like to set things in motion (like churches). Follow through, while satisfying in a way that is similar to how I feel after a particularly arduous bathroom cleaning or lawn-mowing, is a bit more difficult for me. It requires more focused self-discipline. But perhaps this is true of most everyone?

E- I am an extrovert. This comes in quite handy in both church-building and blogging.

Ok...now who to tag? I think Michelle and Michelle, Tina, Susan, and Marissa. Have fun, ladies!

Did I just buy a gallon of milk or the whole cow?

I know that I've been out of touch with things lately because I've been so busy at work.
I've not been paying attention to my grocery budget; I've just been picking up things as we need them.

But yesterday I happened to look up as the gallon of milk I was buying was scanned into the cash register.

$4.99.

What?
Is that normal?
How long has it been that way?
The last time I noticed, it was 3-something/gallon.
How long have I been gone, anyway?

Trying on the Words for Size

I walked around the corner of the kids' room today to see Jonathan scuttle into his closet.
He had a pencil in his hand and guilt in his countenance.
I turned in the direction from which he had come and discovered the beginnings of a stick figure scribbled on the back of the door.

"Jonathan!" I said in my You're in Trouble Now tone.
"I'm sorry Mama! I'm so sorry!" came the voice from the closet.
"Jonathan, come out here," I said. "You knew that what you were doing was wrong, didn't you?"
"YesbutIsaidIwassorry!"
"Jonathan, if you knew what you were doing was wrong, why did you choose to do it?" I suppose I was probing his understanding of original sin, maybe just a bit. His answers told me more than I would have guessed.

"Because...um uh...I was nervous?"
"No, I don't think you were nervous."
"Because I was, um, disappointed?"
"No, not disappointed."
"Because I was just a teeny bit confused!"
"How were you confused?'

Pause. Two. Three. Four.

"Because I was confused! I thought wrong was right and right was wrong! So I was doing right!" He smiled such a confident smile then, sure that his four year old mind had just out-logicked his own mama. Surely there was no way I could find fault with him after that!

How could I not laugh?
Seriously. That boy.
He still sat in the naughty chair, tho.

(Back) To School

Jonathan's First Day of PreSchool
Chloe's First Day of First Grade

Exciting stuff.

Last night as we were polishing off another chapter of Harry Potter, Chloe told me she had butterflies in her stomach about the first day of school.
"Excited butterflies or nervous butterflies?" asked I.
"Umm..." she thought for a moment, "Like, one is nervous and five are excited."
All six butterflies accounted for.

At our First Day of School Celebratory Dinner at McDonald's (that's right, folks, gourmet livin' for us here in the city), I asked Jonathan who he played with at school today.
"Sam," he answered.
"And what did you play?"
"Um, we played Run Around."
Certainly, a worthwhile endeavor with subtle and complicated rules, the likes of which adults cannot comprehend.

Also, I managed to get all 140 students on the bus or on their merry way with no one left behind or dropped off at the wrong stop or other mishap. Phew. These last two weeks may have aged me two years.

All in all, a good first day.

For Future Reference

Benihana: Japenese Steakhouse where the meals are cooked at the table
Benny Hinn: Televangelist with a propensity for expensive white suits

(Some people in this household have a tendency to confuse the two. Not that either one comes up in conversation more than once a year, mind you.)

Jonathan Tenderheart

Steve's parents visited last weekend,
bringing us some furniture that had been in storage.
We passed the World Trade Center site a few times while they were here, coming or going from this thing or that. At one point, Steve's mother stopped to take a few photos, and Jonathan and I stopped for a difficult life lesson.

"But why are they doing so much construction here?" Jonathan asked.

I picked him up so he could better see, and I scrambled for an answer appropriate for a 4 year old. "Once, before we lived here, right here were the two tallest buildings in New York. Lots and lots of people worked here. And then, honey, a few years ago, some people who don't understand God's love did a terrible thing. They took airplanes and flew them in the buildings. The buildings started on fire and fell down, and many, many people died." I stopped there. Was that too much for him? Would he understand the gravity of the situation?

Jonathan looked at me and held my eyes for a moment, testing me to see if my words were the truth. Then he tucked his head into my neck and cried. I looked silently out at the site and allowed him to share in the grief of so many.

His tears were brief as his optimistic and hopeful spirit buoyed. Jonathan picked up his head and looked at me, inspired.

"But they're building a new one, right? And it will be strong, STRONG! "

"Yep. They'll build it so it is very safe. And we'll pray that God protects the city, too."

"They will build it out of BRICKS. Then it will be so strong."

I walked on with him then, praying that God would protect the city and my son's tender heart.

Remember Me While I'm Gone

Crazy Hours.

That's what a school administrator works in the week leading up to the first day of school, as I'm quickly learning. And my recently educated guess is that this will continue through Septeember.

Apologies in advance for what will surely be sporadic blogging.

What Do You Get

What do you get when you combine a 6 year old girl

with

5 bucks burning a hole in her pocket

and

Chinatown?

You get this irresistible example of renaissance art gone wrong, that's what you get.















It is fantastically, compellingly ugly.

Well.

I was hesitant with good reason.

Chicken

I need to go in the kids' bedroom and see if their fish died today.

I really don't want to.

You see, last week I jumped the gun a bit and told Jonathan that his fish (named Tucan or Kipper, depending on day and mood) had died when it really hadn't. It was just asleep. At the top of the water. At an angle. (You can see how I made the mistake, right? Especially after I knocked on the tank and the fish didn't move a fin). So 5 minutes of unnecessary tears later, Chloe discovered that TucanKipper was not dead, but was in fact moving.

That was the beginning of the end, though. The fish is not well.
TucanKipper is now named Green Around the Gills in my book.

(Sigh.)
I've got to go look.

Home

Practice Makes (Not Quite) Perfect

Steve and I have been married for 9 years.

In that time, we have moved 6 times.

Could be that we're getting good at it.

We went from this (see, I wasn't exaggerating about how there was nowhere to walk in our old apt.):














To this, in less than 36 hours:


































(Look, Mom, full-sized oven and refrigerator)















*Notice that the kids have not adjusted to the extra space we have in our new digs and feel they must sit on top of the TV, as they were forced to do in our previous apartment.

I'll take some outdoor/'hood pics and post them this weekend.

Yoo Hoo, Snarky!

I'm sorry-- was someone calling my name?

'Tis sad but true. I am the Queen of Snark these past few days.

Plenty of things to blame it on...

• My office at work-- We moved on the first of August and still have no server or internet access. I'm unable to position my cabinets, etc. up against the wall because of the electrical work (that was promised to be completed by the 5th of Aug). Picture me, my desk, empty file cabinets and stacks of boxes squeezed together in a 8x8 cluster in the middle of the room. The teachers come back to work on Monday, and I am to organize orientation on the day-to-day schedule and operations of the school. Here's what I have so far. Do you think the teachers will feel welcomed and prepared for a great school year?

DAY TO DAY OPERATIONS

1. Arrive at the school.
2. Chase a mouse which has been displaced by the move.
3. Give up and go to your desk. Trip over a box and/or cord for good measure.
4. Turn on your computer in the futile hope that the connections have been re-established.
5. Search for necessary documents or supplies amidst the boxes.
6. Go back to number 2 and repeat.

• Or perhaps it's the apartment. The move is tomorrow, which means we've been packing every spare second. Our living area is now a maze of boxes with 12 inch walkways between the rooms. While the kids think it's fun in a InstaFort kind of way, telling Jonathan not to climb on the boxes every few moments increases my snark level significantly ("Jonathan, honey, don't climb on the boxes. You could get hurt or break something," has become "Jonathan! You climb on those boxes and they will fall over on top of you and SQUISH YOU FLAT! I'M NOT KIDDING! STOP. IT. NOW."). The kids are also bored silly, as we've packed away many of their toys and other forms of entertainment (And we all know: Bored=Whiny=Increased annoyance on the mother's part).

Thus, my scandalously high snark levels.

I apologize to the kids and Steve often, and I rest in the assurance that sanctification is a process that will continue until the day I die.
I also breathe easier, knowing that when I whisper, "Father, forgive me,"
God, in His mercy, will do just that.

Good-bye, Upper West Side

You welcomed us warmly while we made our home here for a season.
Thank you, UWS. We'll miss you.

Welcome to the World, Baby Boy

Kasjen Jay
Born August 6, 2007
9 healthy pounds and 3 precious ounces
22 inches long

Welcomed by Tim and (my sister) Angela and their other beautiful boys, Chandler and Camren.

We're proud to have you join the clan.

PS: It's pronounced Cash-en

Pictogram on a Saturday Evening

+






+









=
????


A: The rat party to beat all rat parties. Catering by: The local garbage pile. Location: Under the car hood of our friends, the Crosby family. (The mechanic found the evidence as he was checking into some "mysterious" battery issues).

Amusing for Me. Awkward for Them.

The 1 train was running late yesterday, and the kids and I waited an unusually long amount of time for it to come. A delay between trains means more people accumulate on the subway platform, and when the train actually does come, it takes longer for all these extra straphangers to pile in. The cars are crowded, various body parts and bags get caught in the doors so they can't close, it takes an extra 60 seconds for everyone to tuck in, and voila! The train gets even farther behind with every station. It's a harsh cycle, and the train will eventually correct the problem by skipping a station.

So yesterday, a woman with a rather large suitcase got in the car with us. At the next station, it seemed we were at full capacity. The train operator was futilely saying over the loudspeaker, "There's a train directly behind us! Please stand clear of the closing doors!" Understandably, the people who had been waiting quite long already weren't anxious to wait for the next train, and they tried to squeeze themselves in. One woman scanned the crowd, saw what looked like an empty space and went for it. Only, it wasn't an empty space. It was the suitcase. There was a bit of a shuffle, some elbows and bags shifted, and (the horrors!) someone's toes got stepped on.

Squished Toes was hopping mad and started yelling at the Last One In. Last One In tried to defend herself, saying that she hadn't seen the suitcase. Squished Toes wasn't about to back down and kept going at her, saying she should have waited for the next train.

Their faces were, out of necessity, 2 inches away from each other. Both of them craned their necks backwards in an attempt to find acceptable fighting distance, but it wasn't going to happen. Last One In finally said that she was done, this was ridiculous, the end.

I would think that it would be instinct to get as far away as quickly as possible after an interaction such as that. But it wasn't going to happen in this subway car. They continued to stand face to very close face for a few minutes, avoiding all eye contact.
Eventually, Squished Toes managed to turn around. For the rest of the 15 minute ride, I watched the two of them stand pressed together, doing everything possible to pretend that they weren't standing back to back with their new best enemy.

New Set of Wheels

When our white one broke down on the side of the road, I knew it was time for a new set of wheels.

As I considered all the color options, my eye was continually drawn to the candy apple red.

I know what they say about red ones. You tend to go faster...you get more speeding tickets...your insurance will be higher.

Maybe it's an early mid-life crisis. Maybe I'm looking to stand out in this city. All I know is that I couldn't resist Red's siren cry. I paid cash and took it home that day.

Now I'm thinking of getting a personalized license plate.

Isn't she a beauty?

Maybe They're Taking Some Cues From Rabbits

I just finished pruning Steve's and my closet in preparation for the move.

5--no, 6! kitchen bags full of unused/ill-fitting/outdated clothing are going to the Salvation Army.

What is slightly puzzling is that I really have not bought much in the way of new clothes this year. And when we moved from MI last summer, I gave away at least half of my existing wardrobe. So where did these bags full of clothes come from?

Might they have been multiplying somewhere in the depths of my closet?

More likely the answer is this: Steve and I have become accustomed to wearing around 5 outfits a season, because the rest of our clothing is tucked away in a moderately inaccessible place in our apartment. Out of sight, out of mind. And now we're giving away those neglected sweaters and turtlenecks because we never wear them.

Note to self: Be more intentional with wardrobe next season. We are moving a few blocks away from the What Not to Wear studios, for pete's sake.

'Cuz There Ain't No Party Like a Birthday Party

We've been celebrating at a multitude of birthday parties recently.

And while the kiddos are always giddy when an invite arrives in the mail (or, more recently, via Evite), and we almost always have fun and make or renew friendships at the parties, I can't help but notice--

We are dropping some serious coin on birthday gifts.

In Michigan, The Opening of the Gifts was a crucial part of the party. The children gathered around, and everyone ooh-ed and ahh-ed as the gifts were unveiled. Here, however, the gifts are whisked away for the birthday person to open in the privacy of their home, and I wonder why...
Perhaps it's so that all the guests don't do the quick comparison as the gifts are opened? (Who spent the most? Oh, that must have cost a fortune...). Perhaps it's so the star of the party doesn't have to go home with new toys which are now broken or lost due to the negligence of other party goers.

I'm sure there's a good reason for it.

But I also wonder if there is value in giving a child the opportunity to learn how to accept a gift graciously; to learn to be grateful and tell the giver to their face, "Thank You," and mean it (even if you already have two of those already or you stopped playing with these 2 years ago).

And frankly, I miss the Ooh-ing and Aah-ing.

I'm Still Working This One Out.

Steve and I, we've had conversations about how we should start packing.
We nod our heads and agree with each other. Yep, it's a good idea to start packing.
Our move is only a little over two weeks away, and with both of us working full-time, that means there are not many packing hours between now and then.

I even went so far as to look into ordering some moving boxes last night. I visualized myself putting items in the boxes, taping them shut, labeling them neatly--and that's where I was stumped. What would I do with the boxes after that? Put them in big piles somewhere, sure. But where? Not the living room, we wouldn't be able to get around them to the bathroom and the front door. Not the bedrooms, it would block our paths to the beds and the dressers. Suddenly the horrors of our initial move into this space washed over me...clamoring over box obstacle courses to find a place to lie down for the night...the movers saying to Steve, "I really don't think we can fit another box in your apartment. They're stacked 5 feet high everywhere,"...telling the kids to play up in the loft and to not come down for at least an hour, maybe then there would be somewhere for them to sit... It wasn't pretty.

How do we do that in reverse--and still manage to live here for another couple of weeks?

Ahh, New York Hospitality

It's almost on par with Southern Hospitality.















But not quite.

Scenes from a Summer Saturday Afternoon

The weather being as delectable as it was, Harry Potter lovers certainly could not be expected to remain indoors while they poured over their books. (In truth, the only reason I did not have my copy with me in the park is because I was out-voted 3 to 1 by certain family members who requested my full attention. I'm happy to give it to them.)















Chloe nails the monkey bars. She's getting so tall that she needs to lift up those gams to keep her feet from scraping the ground.















Is it National Take Your Parrot for a Walk Day? No. This bird, Toby, has an owner who believes in a daily constitutional for him. Jonathan didn't want to get too close--something to do with a beak being within striking range of his ear.




























Riverside Park was bursting with butterflies yesterday. Chloe was delighted when a dancing pair waltzed around her head and alighted for a brief moment.

Now That I Work in the Educational System...

...articles like this catch and hold my attention.

Wow.

One More Reason I'm Glad to be Moving Downtown

In addition to the doubling of living space, it's exciting to watch the rebirth and renewal of Lower Manhattan. Our new home is about 4 blocks away from the World Trade Center site; I'll most likely be walking by it each day on my way to the subway. And new restaurants and shopping centers are opening daily (case in point: Tiffany and Co.). My favorite, though, is the public-use green space that is sprouting left and right.

This Very Cool Thing is being built right now...


(I know. I want to hop on, too. Let's just say the kids need us to go with them. I call the seahorse.)

Glad Tidings and Insidious Happy Meal Toys

We were approved for the apartment. (I'm resisting the urge to put multiple exclamation marks and some smiley faces behind that statement). We'll move mid-August.

The last time we moved, we were downsizing from a 5 bedroom house to less than 600 square feet of space. We had to give away, throw away, and sell about two-thirds of our possessions.

This time around, we're moving to a bigger apartment. (Again with this desire for multiple exclamation marks and smiley faces).

Yet we'll still have quite a job of going through everything and deciding what is worth taking with us. I've tried to be diligent with my "One Thing Comes In, One Thing Goes Out" rule during our time here, but I'm afraid there are some things that slid in under the radar. Happy Meal toys, for instance. Also Steve's books--'twould be sacrilege to suggest The Rule in that case. The kids' outgrown clothing. My shoes (above the law, you see). DVD's. More Happy Meal toys and their kind.

I'm looking forward to the pruning.




!!!!! :) :) :)

And Now We Wait

We applied for an apartment in the Battery Park City neighborhood of Manhattan on Tuesday.

It's a nice, fairly usual 2 BR. The kitchen is "homely " (the word my mother has always preferred to the harsh-sounding, straight-up "Ugly"), and the bathrooms have a commercial feel to them. The glory of the place is its living room, which is large enough for us to host small groups and have dinner parties and other marvelous sorts of entertaining (and, when you visit the city, there is room for you to throw down the Aerobed and sleep to your heart's content. Well, maybe not that long, as my kids will most likely wake you up by 6:30 so they can watch cartoons. The good news is that they'll share their Poptarts).

Like most places, this building requires the applicant's annual income to be 40x the monthly rent. Suffice it to say that our income is not...we're hoping that Steve's housing allowance combined with good references combined with the fact that the leasing agent and I hit it off famously will be enough. I have confidence that this is in God's hands; that if He wants us to live in this apartment, then it will work out. If it's not in His plan for us to live here, well then, we're better off living elsewhere anyway.

Then again, I'd really like to know where we're going to live.

The agent said it would be a few days; they run credit checks, verify bank statements, etc. Maybe we'll know by Friday? And then we'll move sometime in August.

May I ask that you keep this in your prayers?
I'll keep you posted.

He's Ready for Team Mission Impossible

The voice of Jonathan filtered up from underneath the covers: Chloe! You can't come in here. That's because I'm hiding.

Chloe's half-interested reply from across the room: I could too come in there.

J: No you can't! You can't enter the secret code!

C: Well, what is the secret code?

J: Five.

C (still across the room): Ok. I just entered five.

J: No! It's a different secret code now! It's four!

C: Ok. Four.

J: No, Chloe! It's a secret code. It's seven.


The Code That Couldn't Be Cracked

How often do we miss the point entirely?

Perhaps too often.

From Simply Christian, by N.T. Wright (as he writes about Jesus' sometimes indirect answers to his apostles' questions)

Many of the questions we ask God can't be answered directly, not because God doesn't know the answers, but because our questions don't make sense. As C.S. Lewis once pointed out, many of our question are, from God's point of view, rather like someone asking, "Is yellow square or round?" or "How many hours are there in a mile?"

Goings On

All in a row

We're back in the city after a week's visit to West Michigan. Our time there was loaded with all sorts of Michigan summertime fun. Things like tubing behind the boat at Grandma and Grandpa's cottage, "riding" motorcycles with Uncle Jason, playing with cousins from 6 in the morning 'till 9 at night, and consuming vast amounts of pig roast delicacies at Grammy and Grampy's have left us satiated but perhaps a bit ragged around the edges.

Next Up:
Chloe is planning for Jonathan's 4th birthday tomorrow.
When Mom is too tired to help bake goodies for a party, what's a gal to do but bring on the markers and get the job done herself?

Cupcacks

I'm Lame.

Lame, because I'm guilty of blogneglect. Sorry about that.

And also lame because of these beauties:










My new, sassy red with polka dot lining ballet flats.

They felt just a bit tight when I bought them, but nothing a few trial wears wouldn't fix. As I considered my calendar for Wednesday, I didn't see much walking. It appeared to be a good day to break in the Sassy Reds.

Then.

I ran late at work, and rather than take the subway to pick up the kids from day camp, I decided to trot the 10 or so blocks. It doesn't make sense that it's quicker to walk, but it is.

The kids and I had some time to burn before the birthday party we were attending, so we walked a few blocks to the candy store to beat all candy stores: Dylan's Candy Bar.

After Dylans, we walked down the steps to the subway, only to discover that because it was 80 trillion degrees with a bazillion percent humidity, all 8 million people in the city were running their air conditioners. This caused a brown-out, which in turn caused the 4,5,6 trains to stop running for an hour. We walked back up the steps.

We trundled to the bus stop located two blocks uptown, where a mini-mob had gathered because of the lack of the subways. The heat and the humidity and all the unproductive stair climbing had not made the mini-mob any happier. They were starting to act uncomfortably similar to a full-grown mob. The kids and I decided to try our luck at the next stop, three blocks north.

A mob awaited us there, as well.

We walked back down a block, and I stepped off the curb and attempted to hail a cab. I stood with my arm (intermittently) up in the air for 20 minutes. Not a single car stopped. They were all apparently busy with the multitudes of other stranded, sweaty folks lining the streets.

At this point, we were 30 blocks away from the birthday party site. I looked at Chloe and Jonathan and told them that we were going to have to walk--if they still wanted to go. Yes, they still wanted to go, so we set off.

10 blocks later, the verdict changed.

Chloe didn't want to go.
Jonathan did.

They both started to cry.

We were already 30 minutes late for the party.

My feet had either grown 2 sizes, or the shoes had shrunk 2 sizes (probably both), and I had some serious blisters that were asking for some attention.

It was starting to rain.

The time had come for an executive decision, and I am not one to shirk my duties.

Two crying kids in tow, I limped five blocks to the crosstown bus and hopped on.

2 hours (and no birthday parties) after leaving the kids' camp, we walked in our front door.

Check Out that View

We've got a few solid prospects for potential apartments. One of them, Le Rivage, is a block away from the future Freedom Tower. I'll keep you posted.

Add "Church Planters" to the List of People Moving to Lower Manhattan

From www.lowermanhattan.info/news/downtown/downtown_45966:

Wealthy Couples Show Increased Appetite for Downtown Addresses

Young, affluent couples are buying up property in and around the Financial District at a faster rate than any other demographic, according to a study commissioned by the Alliance for Downtown New York. The study found that 42 percent of Financial District households are now young couples with no children. Additionally, since 2004, 40 percent of newcomers to the Financial District have come from outside of the city.

Newcomers are not only young and kid-free, they're also coming in toting an unusual amount of cash. The average income of the new Financial District local is a whopping $256,130, according to the study, making Financial District residents the wealthiest in all of Manhattan. Reporting on the findings of the study, the New York Observer noted that the typical Financial District household now makes about three times that of Manhattan overall.

The increased median income among Financial District residents reflects another growing trend: Workers in Lower Manhattan are opting to buy homes within walking distance of the office. With an influx of Wall Street brokers turned Wall Street residents, 16 percent of Financial District households now bring in more than $400,000 annually.

Happy Blogoversary to Me

One year,
193 posts,
23,868 site visits later--

Happy Blogoversary to me!

For nostalgia's sake, my first post: Here We Go Now

It, Again.

Gina tagged me a few days ago, and things have been so busy that I've not had a chance to do my part and tell you a few things about me...

1. I saw a commercial for an iPhone the other day and was overwhelmed with a longing to own that beautiful piece of Apple innovation. My word, I thought, I haven't wanted to own something this badly since... (Here I paused to seriously consider the matter, because it has been a Long Time.) Yep. I haven't wanted to own something this badly since the Cabbage Patch Kid season of 1983.
   
2. I was a waitress for a time during my extensive job hopping career. Part of my job included, erm, line dancing. I still have a bit of foot shuffling Pavlovian response when I hear the song, "God Blessed Texas."
   
3. Jonathan just interrupted me to ask if he could have "two slices of paper" for his stickers.
4. We're hesitantly happy that we've finally named this yet unborn faith community that we are working on: City Fellowship Church. It's a bit like naming a baby...you choose a name before the baby is born, but you don't really know if the name will fit until you see your newborn's face. Sometimes it's perfect, sometimes you take one look and you know that no way is this kid a Harry; he's a Peter for sure. So we wait to see how God builds this church and if City Fellowship is fitting.

Now you know and my It obligations are complete.
I must away. We're off to our fourth dinner engagement of the week.
Not that I'm complaining.

My New Crush

I've got a new crush, and this time it's not food-related.

His name is Sufjan Stevens, and he's a born and raised Yooper (Friends from NYC and elsewhere, this means that he's from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan--the part that does not at all resemble a mitten. It resembles a...big hunk of land). And this crush is purely auditory.

I listened to his album, Illinoise, for a good portion of our trip this past week. His music is the kind that grows on me each time I listen and different layers of the song are revealed.

Check it out for yourself. This is the song, "The Worst Christmas Ever," from his album Songs for Christmas. Not a jolly tune, this one, but it's interesting.

Going on an Apartment Hunt...Want to come along?

We are returned from our brief yet delightful visit to the Southland, where my brother and sister-in-law have indeed created for themselves a Sweet Home in Alabama. And the drive, though it was 15+ hours long, was a feast for this city girl's eyes as it followed the Appalachians almost the entire way. The rolling hills, grazing sheep, ancient farmsteads...I do declare, I have a crush on Virginia, y'all.

But now that we're back, it's full steam ahead with our search for an apartment in Lower Manhattan. Vacancies rates hover at less than 1%, and the average cost for a one bedroom apartment is $2,800/month (we need two bedrooms, so we can tack on $1,500/month for that). We're doing our best to find a no-fee apartment--an apartment in which we don't have to pay a realtor's fee of 15% of the annual rent (you do the math; it's not my strong suit. I just know I don't want to pay it). And if I were The Type, I could be getting good and worked up about it all. However, I've not yet decided if I am The Type, so I vacillate between finding it a bit humorous and being slightly annoyed. Mostly it's annoyed.

Yesterday I found three apartments in a building that is managed by a no-fee company. Price range was good ($3,500-3,900/month--it's all relative), and the location was generally where we wanted to be. The listing said they showed the apartments daily between 5 and 6. Steve and I bundled up the kids and headed down. (Friends from MI and elsewhere: In case you're wondering, the area we're looking at is about a 30 to 60 minute subway ride from our current home on the Upper West Side, depending on whether or not the express trains are running).

We emerged from the subway and wended our way toward the address...

...over the garbage piles

...past the Pussycat Lounge and adjacent Adult Toy Store with its goods displayed front and center

...and finally, under the "Boxing Parlour" sign to enter the building.

Steve and I, with our amazing powers of deduction, concluded that this was probably not a family friendly neighborhood. However, we had taken the time to get there, so we decided to take a look at the apartments.

I'm not sure what caused me to ascertain that these apartments were not for us.

Was it the dingy walls and lack of lighting?

Was it the living room layout of approximately 5' x 5'?

Was it the loft/shanty town structure that most people had assembled in each apartment, so that at least 4 people could sleep in a 10' x 10' bedroom?

OR was it the fact that the super stepped in a pile of dog crap while showing us INSIDE one of the apartments?

Probably the last one.

We're going on an apartment hunt. Want to come along?

Skoool's Out for the Summer

And I'm taking a brief blog break as we travel to Alabammy to hang with my brother and sister-in-law for a few days.

I wonder if my blog will have a southern accent when I return?

Take care.

Turns Out She's No Help at All

And her choice of footwear is...

I Just Can't Trust You Anymore, Sarah Jessica Parker

Yep, she's got great hair.

Yep, I'd scoop up her wardrobe and run with it as fast and as far as I could (that's assuming I was a size 2 or 0, like SJP herself).

But, man,
do I feel betrayed by her choice in footwear.

I've been watching S and the C reruns on TBS lately, and this time around I'm (a tad) obsessed with Sarah Jessica Parker's choice in footwear.

Look, think I. Look at her lovely shoes.
4 inch heels, strappy little straps. Dainty and feminine and oh, so chic.
She flits around the city, happy little lark, footloose and fancy free.

Sadly, it's all a farce (Oh, were you thinking the show was a documentary?).

Inspired by SJP, I bravely donned my strappy heels this past week for a party occasion.
2 blocks in, and I knew I had been deceived...and we weren't even to the subway yet.
A few blocks more and I started thinking about that episode of Friends where Monica piggybacks on Chandler because her uber expensive boots hurt so much she can't walk.
By the end of the night, I was weighing the risk for stepping in spit or dog crud with bare feet vs. the pain relief I would feel if my shoes were removed.

I don't know how she did it, wearing such shoes with nary a complaint or a blister.
I can only assume SJP didn't actually walk more than 5 feet at any given time, changing into stylish bunny slippers between takes. Or perhaps she hitched a ride on the back of the nearest crew member.

My feet now bear the scars of taking shoe cues from Sarah Jessica Parker.
It's not pretty. Maybe next time I'll look toward Beatrice Arthur of Golden Girls fame for footwear inspiration.

Orthopedics, anyone?

You Know What I Love?

That I can see my daughter and give her sporadic hugs throughout my work day.
It's good that way.

The apple has fallen, and it is not very far from the tree.

Yesterday Chloe told me that as she was lying in bed the night before, she was trying to figure out why she was here.
"You mean, why we're here in New York?" I asked, rather slow on the uptake.
"No," she replied, "why I'm even here, why I'm alive."
"Did you figure it out?"
"Not really," she said.

(My brain shifted into high gear, and I paused to gather my thoughts and say a brief, "Help me do this right please, God," prayer. Also I sent a silent Thank You to the fellas who wrote Q&A 1 of the Westminster Catechism.)

"You're here because God knew you and loved you before you were even born, and God wants you to know and love him, too."

She was ok with that. I hope it's just the beginning of a life-long conversation.

Later, as I told Steve about our conversation, I had a strong memory of doing the same thing as Chloe--lying in bed, wondering, "If I was born to die, why was I ever born in the first place?" I wasn't 6 like Chloe, mind you, but I was pretty young.

"Well," said Steve, after I told him of my memory, "maybe you didn't know it fully at the time, but you weren't born to die. You were born to live. Fully. Through Christ."

My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. Psalm 139:15

This is good, and pleases God our Savior, who wants everyone to be saved and come to a knowledge of the truth. I Timothy 2:3,4

What is the chief end of man? To glorify God and to enjoy him forever.
Westminster Shorter Catechism, Q&A 1

Memorial Weekend: Good Times, Noodle Salad

In our case, the noodle salad was the Vietnamese dish, Bun Xao. But we did have good times with Michelle and Dan as they visited the Big Apple and celebrated their 10th anniversary. Check out Michelle's blog for details.

Theoretically

Why New Yorkers Hurry So Much (my theory)

Levels of Hurry are directly related to reliance on public transportation. New Yorkers hurry because they just want to kick themselves when they arrive on the subway platform 2 seconds after the train doors close...because when they round the corner to see their bus pulling away, they know that walking just a bit faster would have done the trick...because when a person steps in front of them to catch the only empty taxi within 2 square miles, it is obvious that being quicker would have meant sitting in the taxi rather than standing in the rain.

The problem with this approach is that it is impossible to hurry enough...there is always public transportation to miss--it might just be the train or subway or taxi that comes before the train or subway or taxi you would have missed had you not hurried.

It's almost enough to make me want to amble whenever possible. Almost.
Maybe I'll walk just a bit faster than an amble, and I'll catch this next train...

Cue the Confetti

Sitemeter tells me that today Visitor Number 20,000 stopped by Grace in the City.

Welcome, Visitor Number 20,000! Hope the visit was worth your while.

(And Visitors 1 through 19,999, we wouldn't have made it to 20,000 without you. Hope it was worth your while, too.)

Here are the two best prayers I know: "Help me, help me, help me," and "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

--Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies

It's Not Them; It's Me.

Last night I was feeling a bit,

erm,

snarky.

A long week, a long day of work, and I was weary.

Steve and I were in the subway, on our way to catch a show of our friend Megan in Gotham City Improv. I glanced down the subway car and was confused by what I encountered.

What was this motley crew?
The people who were surely too young to look so worn,
and
The garish, painted red lips of the elderly woman with swollen ankles,
and
The angry stare of the young man sprawled over three seats, daring anyone to ask him to move,
and
The universal language of Cuss, the only words I could understand in the staccato speech of the Russian man standing in the aisle.

Where was my beautiful city?
The vibrant diversity, the inherent energy that I often feel among the crowds? Where was the model on her way to a photo shoot? The beatnik lost in his thoughts? The business woman in $400 shoes? The mother and children on their way home to the Bronx? The music of a dozen different languages?

It took me a moment to realize: It's not them; it's me,
my snarky self coloring the view of the people that swirled around me.

A moment more, and I was thanking God for seeing us
beautiful,
forgiven,
perfect and pure,
exactly as we should be

because of what Christ did for us.

Since the Beginning

The kids were playing in the tub. I was doing the dishes (it's very safe, my doing the dishes while they're in the tub. I'm quite literally 5 feet away from them).

Mayhem erupted.

Jonathan hit me!

Chloe threw this at me On Purpose!

Only because you hit me!

You did it first!

It's not my fault!

It's not MY fault!

The voice of reason (that would be me, in this case): Guess what? It's both your faults. Please apologize to each other.

Silence.

Well, says Chloe (and that little, unrepentant voice inside each and every one of us), it's only a little bit my fault, then.

Genesis 3:12 and 13

That About Sums It Up

"This has to be the most eclectic bunch of people in history."
-Steve, in a conversation after observing a woman push her dog in a stroller.

I love this place.

Rerun

Because it's been at least a year since I last watched this:

Tag

Lorraine tagged me, and now I'm It, which means it's time to share some things about myself which you may not know...

• Today was day 2 of The new job. All is going well--much learning on the fly and multi-tasking, which I enjoy. Makes the day go by quickly.
  
  On the subway home this evening, I thought about all the jobs I've had in my life.
  
  Sixteen.
  
  16 different jobs since the age of 14, which is when I began waitressing at a local greasy spoon. Someday I'll blog about the things I learned over the course of these 16 jobs. There is enough to write a book. And the people I've worked with...well, they are stories in and of themselves.
  
  
• I'm a music lover, but I'm somewhat, well, promiscuous about it all. Insightful lyrics? Why sure, I'll listen to that. Got a good beat and you can dance to it? Bring it on. Soaring melody? Tight harmony? All good. I even enjoy listening to our neighbor practice her arias at all hours of the day.
  
  The state of my iPod testifies to the breadth of my music loves. Sara Groves is next to Black-eyed Peas is next to Derek Webb is next to Norah Jones is next to Johnny Cash is next to Gwen Stefani is next to Iron and Wine...
  
  
• I saw a woman wiping her chiuaua's rear end today, and not five minutes later I saw a woman taking her rabbit for a walk. Enough said about that one, I think.
  
  
• I sample words like some people taste wine. A specific word strikes me, and I roll that word around in my mouth for a while, feeling the weight of the word, the body of it. Is it a tight word, that conveys its meaning succinctly, or is it laid back, stretching out and taking its time in telling you? Is it fizzy? Is it smooth? Does it leave an aftertaste? What other words does it complement? I take note and file the word away in the cellar, waiting for the perfect time and place to uncork it.
  
  
• I played clarinet in high school marching band (go ahead, I'll wait for a moment while you make your jokes. But save a few, because what I'm about to write may give you cause for more). I was always a bit annoyed that clarinets were in the marching band, because everybody knows that the brass and the drums are the stars of that show. Clarinets get lost in the crowd, and you often can't even hear them in the midst of it all. In my junior year I got up the gumption to say as much to our band director. "You want to be heard?" he asked. "I'll give you something to be heard." And he proceeded to saddle me with the bass drum. Not the baby bass drum, either. I'm talking one of the big bass drums that weigh a good stone or two. I had crazy fun playing that thing.

So that's it for being It. I tag Ava.

When You Come Visit, We'll Have Fun, Too.

Chinatown on a sunny Saturday

It was a vacation for me as well when some old friends (they're not old--the friendship is) came to the city this weekend. It's great fun seeing the sites with

Julie, who agrees with me that life should have a soundtrack and will most likely be humming or singing an appropriate song for the occasion

and

Katie, who leads the way through Dim Sum menus with assurance and an easy-to-spot pink jacket

and

selfless Nikki, who shopped like a pro, but not for herself--for all the people she loves back home.

Excuses for Lack of New Posts of Any Substance

I've been busy and scattered lately, unable to collect my thoughts so that I might post them here. It's not been a bad busy, really. Good things are happening. And the weather has been beautiful, so we've been gone from the apartment (and the computer) more often.

And...(drum roll, please)...I've gotten a job. It's an administrative position at the kiddo's school and it's as close to ideal as a job can get. I'm starting on Monday, so we've been trying to work out childcare logistics. I think we've got it covered for now.

Last night, in the marriage group that we're leading, Steve and I discussed how God continues to provide for us here. Most often, He provides in ways that we hadn't anticipated or planned for. And most often, it becomes obvious quite quickly that His ways are more beneficial than our ways. It's a good thing God is in charge of this church plant. We remind ourselves of that regularly. Our prayer, since the beginning, since before Steve graduated from seminary, has been, "God, if you open the doors, we'll walk through them."

And we're still walking.