Pictogram on a Saturday Evening

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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.

Raining Petals

We paused for a moment yesterday and went to the spring fair in Riverside Park. The flowering trees were captivating, encouraged by the breeze to scatter their petals amidst the pony rides and cotton candy.

Wish you were there.
All of you.

A Short Observation

Shorts are not really acceptable casual wear for women in NYC.
Capris, yes.
Skirts and dresses, definitely yes.
Flowing linen trousers are also fine.
Shorts seem to be reserved for workouts and beaches.
(or tourists)

The Prayer of My Heart

Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart;
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art.
Thou my best thought, by day or by night,
Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.

Be Thou my Wisdom, Thou my true Word;
I ever with Thee, Thou with me, Lord;
Thou my great Father, I thy true son;
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.

Be Thou my battle-shield, sword for my fight,
Be Thou my dignity, Thou my delight.
Thou my soul's shelter, Thou my high tower.
Raise Thou me heavenward, O Power of my power.

Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise,
Thou mine inheritance, now and always:
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart,
High King of heaven, my Treasure Thou art.

High King of heaven, my victory won,
May I reach heaven's joys, O bright heav'ns Son!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be my vision, O ruler of all.

--Ancient Irish Hymn (which gives words to the cries of my heart on this day)
Listen to it here

Haphazard

The weather here, with temps in the high 70's and pure, blissful sunshine, is encouraging the whole city to swarm to the parks and enjoy the flowering trees and warm breezes. The restaurants and cafes are putting out their sidewalk tables and people are lingering in clustered conversations on doorsteps and street corners. On days such as this, New York City transforms; the pace slows and people smile more.
_____________________________

I have an Earth Day confession which may cause me to be exiled from the city. Ready?
I haven't seen An Inconvenient Truth yet (Duck; the stones will begin to fly any second now). I am concerned about global warming, certainly; I recycle, I wash my clothes in cold water, I turn off the lights and handwash many a dish rather than use paper and plastic products. I would wish for a hybrid car if wishing for a car would do any good. People here assume that everyone has seen the movie, and it is referenced often and enthusiastically. The salesman at the Apple store even used it as a selling point. "If you check out Keynote (Apple software program), you'll recognize that Al Gore used it to make An Inconvenient Truth." And I nodded like Sure, I knew that, of course I've seen that movie, who hasn't? But I had not a clue.

Maybe I'll watch the movie tonight in honor of Earth Day. Or maybe I'll just go outside and appreciate the beauty of God's creation, instead.
_____________________________

Steve came home Wednesday, and we joyfully welcomed him back. I made hamburgers for dinner, which caused Steve to reminisce about Mr. Fables restaurant (For those of you who are not Grand Rapidians-- Mr. Fables was a West Michigan cafeteria-style restaurant that was a staple for many years. Zagats would probably give it a negative number of stars).
"Mr. Fables," I said sentimentally, "Do you remember our first date was there?" (sad, but true).
"Yeah," said Steve, with tenderness and a far away look in his eyes. "And do you remember the Mr. Fabulous burger?"
_____________________________

One last thing, which my older brother Eric wanted to make sure you knew.
Justin Timberlake is his favorite singer of all time and he wishes that everyone sang with such a sweet falsetto.
Right, Eric?

Levity on a Thursday Morning

This clip made me smile this morning.
It really doesn't take much to amuse me.

Darth Vader(ette) Does Her Homework

Steve has been gone for 2 weeks now, fund raising, sharing the vision for a church in lower Manhattan, and visiting friends old and new. With the weather being what it has, the kids and I have been inside our cozy apartment more than we would like. We're starting to go a little stir-crazy and are looking for any and all distractions (such as doing homework while peering through a Darth Vader mask? It was fine until she started to hyperventilate a bit, trying to make her breathing sound authentically Vader-ish).

Today, in another desperate attempt at diversion, we waited for a half hour in 40 degree, rainy, and windy weather for a free Ben and Jerry's ice cream cone (thank you, Annemarie, Honor and Ezra, for keeping us company and protecting us from the very, er, eager B&J line monitor).

It's time for Steve to come home.
Yesterday.

Cats and Dogs

We've received over 5 inches of rain in the past 24 hours, and it's still coming down.

If only I had upgraded Jonathan's stroller to include the hovercraft option. It would come in handy on the walk to the bus stop tomorrow morning.

I Can't Tell... Is this City Blue or Red?

Good for a laugh on a subway ride.

Nasty Nor'easter

The rain is coming down in buckets. In sheets. In a wall of water. The sidewalks are rivers and the curbs are lakes.
And I am feeling slightly guilty about having just ordered a pizza for delivery.
What am I asking that poor delivery guy to do?
I'm asking him to ride his bike through that wall of water, that's what I'm asking him to do.
Nor'easters must be a blessing and a curse for food delivery people. On the one hand, New Yorkers are not leaving their apartments unless they have to; hence, food delivery orders increase and tips increase accordingly. On the other hand, well, riding your bike through rain and wind like this must be miserable.

I'll tip him a couple extra bucks, which will appease my guilt but make the delivery guy no less uncomfortable.

Every Story Whispers His Name

You know how it's great when the book you're reading to your kids is a book you actually enjoy reading? How you might steer the kids away from the books you can't stand and instead point out the ones that don't drive you insane? "Cat in the Hat again, Honey? How about this one instead? This one looks like a great book..."

It's even greater when the kids choose the book themselves, and that book is a beautifully written and illustrated children's Bible.

We own 5 children's Bibles...all collecting dust (yes, even the classic The Child's Story Bible by Catherine Vos) because either we didn't like the way they were written, or the kids didn't care for them. Until...

We recently purchased The Jesus Storybook Bible by Sally Lloyd-Jones, and it's a gift to our family. The kids really like it, and so do I. The illustrations by Jago are beautiful and contemporary. The stories are well-written and entertaining...Sally's ability to get to the heart of the matter is amazing, and even better, she shows the link in each story, Old Testament and New, to God's plan of salvation through Christ. No over-emphasized moralism here, which is a breath of fresh air when it come to children's Bibles. Sally, who is English and currently lives here in the city, also weaves in a subtle humor which brings forth a chuckle now and then (from me and the kids both).

"Many years later, God would send his people another young Hero to fight for them. And to save them. But this hero would fight the greatest battle the world has ever known." (From "The Young Hero and The Horrible Giant," the story of David and Goliath).

Good stuff.

If You Give a Man a Muffin

There is a man I see often in our neighborhood.
I assume he is homeless, although that may not be the case.

He has a distinctive way of asking for money. I can't accurately portray the lilt in his voice, the way he emphasizes certain phrases in his refrain, but the words go like this:

"Can you please spare some money. I need some money for (insert closest meal). Even a penny. Just a penny. Any food. I'd appreciate some food."

It sticks in my head.

Now, I struggle with the best way to show Christ's love to the homeless people and beggars that I encounter every day. I've read books like Irresistible Revolution by Shane Claiborne, which says that helping is simple--you follow Jesus' instructions in Matthew 5:42 "Give to the one who asks you." But I've also read the stats that show that close to 90% of money given to beggars goes to drug and alcohol purchases. And surely, giving money to support life- destroying habits isn't helping anyone. I think of the Good Samaritan, who not only gave money to the person in need, but checked up on him and entered into his life for a time. But then there is the fact that I'm a woman with two young children at my side, and (untreated) mentally ill people are often unpredictable and sometimes unsafe...and who would I be helping by putting us in a dangerous situation?

So we usually choose to give our money to organized not-for-profits who help people in need, and we look forward to the day when our church community can be active volunteers in those same organizations.

Some of you may read that and think my reasons are poor excuses for my inaction.

Some of you may read that and think there is wisdom in our decision.

Either way, it still pains me to walk by people who are begging for money.

Back to the guy.
One evening last week, I was kid-free and on my way to the marriage group that Steve and I are leading. And there was the guy. Asking for dinner. "Any food. I'd appreciate some food."

"Well," thought I. "He's asking for food. I can get the man some food."
I turned back and steered into the convenience store, thinking I would buy him a sandwich. No sandwiches there, but I did find some muffins the size of softballs. I got all motherly and nutritionally minded then. Hmmm, which muffin? Not blueberry... no nutrition there to speak of...no chocolate chip, either...Right. Here we go. Whole grain with fruit and nuts. Perfect. Fiber, protein...we're set. It weighed about half a pound.

I strode out and handed the fellow his muffin.
He looked at me.
"I can't eat this. I need money. For dinner. That's why I asked for money."

Wait. I thought he had said, "Any food?"

Oh. Right. He wanted money. Of course he wanted money.

And I was angry. Ungrateful man. Lying man. And I went out of my way for him, and now I'm late. He'll probably just throw that muffin away. A waste of $2...

But I know better. I do. And I'm happy to say that I checked myself quickly (more quickly than I would have, even a year ago.)

Do I give simply to receive the gratitude of the recipient?
No, I give because Christ first gave to me.

And for too long, I was the most ungrateful of all.
And so often, I still am.

It All Hinges on This

Christ is risen.

He is risen, indeed.


Happy Easter

Looking toward Easter

"Please--Aslan," said Lucy, "can anything be done to save Edmund?"

"All shall be done," said Aslan.

-C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

Where's the Beef?

In lieu of an actual date (in which we must pay a babysitter $12/hour), Steve and I stayed in on Tuesday, ordered Indian food after the kids were in bed, and watched American Idol (Sanjaya, seriously, it's time to go home).

Steve perused the menu, giving it only half his attention.
"I want that spicy stuff I had last time. What's it called? Vindaloo?"
He paused and looked again at the menu.
"Here's lamb vindaloo...and chicken vindaloo. Where's the beef?"
I looked at him.
"Oh, " he said. "It's Indian food."

Right. Made by Indians from India who might take exception to food prepared with an animal they consider holy.

He ordered the lamb.

It's All Good

While Steve prepares for his whirlwind tour of West Michigan, the kids and I have been enjoying Chloe's two weeks of spring break and finding different things to do each day. Beside our one night "vacation" to that crazy tourist destination, Newark, we've:

Visited the playgrounds in Tribeca and Battery Park City, getting to know our future 'hood (wow, our demographic studies weren't lying about all the families and kids).













Made a trip to the Bronx Zoo (huge, expensive, but worth seeing at least once).














Had an Easter Egg hunt in Riverside Park (which was fun until Jonathan turned it into a hunt for large sticks, which turned into a "light saber" fight between the kids...).































Still on the agenda: a trip to the Chinatown Ice Cream Factory. Should I try Avocado or Red Bean flavor?

New York's Incredible Disappearing Middle Class

From this morning's AM New York:

Experts: Middle class getting squeezed in NYC
--------------------

By Justin Rocket Silverman, amNewYork Staff Writer
jsilverman@am-ny.com

April 3, 2007

The middle class is an endangered species in New York, and its survival could mean the difference between a stable city and one that is insecure and unsustainable, public officials warned at a forum Monday.

"Middle class people are not rich enough to be free of economic concerns but not poor enough to warrant charity," former Gov. Mario Cuomo said. "They are the people who work because they have to, not because a psychologist told them work is the best way to fill the time between birth and eternity."

Cuomo joined a host of other officials and economists at "The American Dream in the Big Apple," a conference sponsored by the Drum Major Institute, a progressive think thank. The three-term governor recalled raising five children in Queens in the 1950s and 60s on a household income of $30,000. Doing that today, he said, would be impossible.

"A lot of people who love this city and love their jobs are finding they can only afford to live in the suburbs," he said.

Panelists including City Comptroller William Thompson, Congressman Anthony Weiner (D-Brooklyn/Queens) and Bronx Borough President Adolfo Carrion spoke about the need for affordable health care, quality public education, affordable housing and small-business loans as the foundation of any strong middle class.

"We have been so obsessed with big business in midtown Manhattan that we forget most new jobs come from small businesses in the other boroughs," said Weiner, who proposed the city should help coordinate group health care rates for the employees of small companies that can't provide coverage otherwise.

By most measures, the observers said New York City seems to be doing a dismal job of maintaining a vibrant middle class. A study by the Brookings Institution last summer revealed that the five boroughs had the smallest number of middle-income families as a proportion of total population than any other city in the country. Instead the city is more polarized by the divide between the ultra-rich and the working poor.

"You never want a city of just the rich and just the poor," Thompson said. "That is not a healthy city."

The Drum Major Institute's survey of more than 100 political and business leaders on middle class issues found that:

* It takes an annual income of about $100,000 for a family of four to attain a middle-class standard of living. The median annual income for this size family in the city is $49,379.

* A middle class standard of living includes having health insurance, access to the Internet, good public schools for children, a retirement plan, annual vacations and air conditioning.

* A single person needs an income of $45,000-$90,000 to attain this middle class standard of living in New York City.

* 92 percent of respondents said it is "somewhat harder" or "much harder" for a low-income worker to enter the middle class today than it was just 10 years ago.

Why Steve is a Great Dad: Reason #101

We made a short trip to Newark with the Crosby fam this weekend, heading to a hotel with a beautiful indoor pool (our version of a spring break trip to Florida).

Steve played with the kids for no less than 4 hours, and they loved every minute of it.

I simply can't imagine where she got that idea.

Today while baking Easter cutout cookies, Chloe turned to me and said,
"Really, the main point of baking is so you can lick the dough."

Looking for New Tunes?

Have I told you about Pandora? It's a great free music website that is one of my current favorite things.

This is how Pandora works: Say you happen to like Jack Johnson (and my, what great taste you have). You enter Jack into Pandora's little box, and the folks at the Music Genome Project identify the characteristics of Jack's music that other musicians may share with him. They then create a special "radio station" just for you, streaming Jack Johnson tunes along with other similar great songs you may like. As the music plays, you can continue to customize the playlist by selecting thumbs up or thumbs down on the songs.

Have a hankering for a little Beyonce? Create a new station or simply add her to Jack's station (although the juxtaposition would be harsh. Whatever. It's your station. Do want you want).

It's a lovely thing when you have loads of work to do on the computer or simply need some background music. Just lovely.

Princess Marie Curie

On the bus today:

"Look, Chloe, I brought us books to look at on the bus!" Jonathan pulls his imaginary books out of his thin air backpack.
"Thanks," says Chloe, as she begins to turn the invisible pages.
"What is your book about?" I ask Jonathan.
"Dinosaurs in space."
"And what is Chloe's about?"
"Princesses," he answers.

They each take a moment to read.

"Look, Boona," Chloe demands. "This book is not about princesses. It's about science. With very important experiments. For me to do."
"Oh," he says. "Sorry." And he returns to his perusal of dinosaurs in space.

Yes, sorry indeed. We stand corrected, Marie Curie in-the-making, diva and scientist extraordinaire.

Toddlers in the City

It's true--families are choosing to stay in Manhattan rather than shimmying to the suburbs. White, wealthy families, that is.

Check it out.

Broken In

Think of your favorite pair of shoes and the time when they were brand new. Did they give you just a little thrill the first few times you stepped into them? Did you think about how they felt on your feet as you walked? Did they give you blisters or rub the wrong way? Did you cast an admiring glance at them as you crossed your legs, noticing the little details of the shoes?
Were you aware of them as you wore them?
Are you still aware of them, or are they broken in so well that you hardly notice that they're on your feet?

I was walking down Amsterdam the other day, and my steps seemed to be sure, and solid, and...forgettable. It struck me that the city feels broken in to me now. It is (relatively) comfortable and familiar. The new-ness, the strangeness of it doesn't burn like it used to. I don't notice little details; it doesn't thrill or blister like it did for the first while we lived here.

I'm grateful for the comfort that comes at this broken in stage, thankful for my ability to adapt to a new environment and culture. But it saddens me a bit that I am beginning to fail to notice the city and the people in it. Failing to appreciate its beautiful complexity in detail, as I did before.

Anne Lamott has written a book, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, in which I remembered her saying, "There is ecstasy in paying attention. " But it takes a conscious effort to do that, right? It's hard work. And to not only notice, but to process--to think, "How does that relate to what I know, what I have experienced, seen, read, feel?"

To me, the payoff of the hard work is witnessing the wonder of God's hand, moving among the details, revealing himself to us. Sometimes I'll notice something, something tiny and seemingly insignificant that maybe only I saw, and I will think, "God arranged that. And I was part of it."

And his presence melts me.

Chloe is 6

Fully enjoying a birthday cupcake at Homer's Malt Shop



Why do the kids love Homer's? Large screen TV's tuned to Nick Jr. and Boomerang



City essentials: One sleek scooter with helmet

Winter's Last Hurrah

Monday: Sledding in Central Park

Picture This (Huh. Part II)

Winter has not given up, and Steve decides he'd like to warm himself with a steaming hot cup of coffee. He veers out of the stream of people trundling down the sidewalk and enters the front door of the local bakery and cafe. After ordering a medium cup of coffee, black, Steve grabs a java jacket for his cup, pays, and is on his way. He steps outside, anticipating the warmth that will counter the cold the blast of air.

He raises his cup to his lips,
ready to take the first sip,
and stops mid-air when he spies this on his cup:





Interesting product placement, is it not?

Hey Bloggers

Look what Steph did with her blog archives...fantastic resource if you're trying to find a way to publish your blog.

This City is My Jungle Gym

Jungle Gym
(Jack Johnson feat. G. Love)



The city is my jungle gym
Look at this big great world that we're living in
There's lots of fun to be had on these streets
We can take a ride just you and me
It's a jungle gym
It's a jungle gym



Trolley cars and buses too
All the big kids going to school
I'm going to get a treat from the ice cream man
Catch me catch me if you can
It's a jungle gym

The city's nitty gritty
but it's so much fun
We can take a ride go tell everyone
It's a jungle gym
Sha la la la la la la la la la

These streets have got a rhythm
It's a funky beat
The more I learn inside the city
The more I learn in me
It's a jungle gym
It's a jungle gym



Movie theatres and museums
Fishing in the pond
ABC's 123's bring your friends along
Flying kites way up high into the blue sky
We can take a ride
Just you and I

It's a jungle gym

It Tastes Like Spring

Sure, the crocuses (crocii?) are blooming, the temps are rising, the grass is greening. People are walking (a little) slower, Uggs are stashed away (amen to that!), and the little corner markets are selling bunches of daffodils and tulips.

But the real sign of spring in NYC is the re-emergence of two foodstuffs: Iced coffee and Mr. Softee. Certainly, New Yorkers can not be expected to give up their java simply because the temps are a little higher. No, just add a little ice, milk, and sugar, and you've got your caffeine and your cold drink in one. I enjoy iced coffee--it's replaced my white hot chocolate, btw--but I can't figure out why it's more expensive than a regular coffee. Answers, anyone?

The kids and I spotted the first Mr. Softee cone last week, and I actually stopped a 10 year old girl on the sidewalk to ask where the truck was parked. The kitschy little truck was waiting right where she told (across the street from the elementary school), and we indulged in small vanilla cones with sprinkles. Now that's what spring tastes like.

Huh.

Jonathan and I were minding our own business, waiting on the corner for Chloe's bus.
I looked up to see two men walking toward me from a cab, pulling badges out of their shirts as they walked.
"Ma'am, did you call the cops?"
I shook my head. Mute.
They tucked their badges into their plainclothes shirts, turned around, and walked back to the cab, where they were still waiting when I ambled away 10 minutes later.

Outside

We played in the backyard today--the area around the Soldiers and Sailors monument in Riverside Park.










Then we rested.