turn, turn, turn

So this fall, my little girl starts preschool.  We've chosen a co-op about ten minutes away from our house.  Since she's in the process of dropping her nap, we're enrolling her in the afternoon program.  Today, they hosted a "messy art day" which we thought would be a lot of fun for Julia, and also provide an opportunity for Karissa to see the school, since she'd only seen the website and was working the morning I toured.  It was a great day in a lot of respects.  I saw many acquaintances from the park and playgroups, and two of my friends came out with their kids.  It was very crowded, and while the messy part was a bit more prevalent than the art part, it was heaven for Julia.  Obviously, every day at preschool won't be a messy art day, but it was wonderful to see Julia in the space having the time of her life.  The people working the event were parents at the school, and they were open, welcoming and friendly, even given the chaos and the crowds.


It makes it clear to me that as hard as it's going to be for me to let go of her, of seeing her every day, of always knowing how she is and what she's doing, she needs different space, different experiences, and different people to really grow at this point.  Mostly I'm excited for her, and my excitement is rooted in my confidence in the school's program, and how much of a fit it is for Julia.  She's always been fiercely independent, and really thrives in a space in which there is a variety of activities and she's free to choose between them.  We've shied away from programs with imposed circle times, scheduled inside/outside time, enforced snack and meal times.  Sure, when she's older there will be more constraints, but she'll be developmentally ready for them, and now she's just not.  At this time in her life, she just needs to explore her world and create her own learning experiences in a safe place.  And that's what the school provides.


So once we left there, we headed with another family to a favorite restaurant of Julia's.  She had a great time and ate well, but by 1:30, her glazed eyes and under the table antics made it pretty clear she still needed to catch up on sleep.  When we got home a bit after 2:00, she was weepy, tantrum-y, and exhausted.  I laid down with her, and she fell asleep at around 2:30.  Of course, once she wakes (it's now after 5:00), there's no telling when she'll sleep again; she'll probably hold out until 11, regardless of when we put her to bed.  Then she'll wake up late, and refuse to nap tomorrow.  And it begins again.  No nap, early bedtime, nap, super-late bedtime, and on and on.  There may even be a few 3:30/4 am wakings when she's gone to bed too early, has had a bad dream,  or is too wet.  This new no-sleep phase has changed all of our sleep cycles.  Even when she sleeps through the night, I often wake up at 2:30 to eat animal cookies and watch reality TV because my mind is racing, I'm starving, and the baby's wide awake and on the move.  It's hard to say when sleep will ever resume normal patterns again.  


The disrupted sleep is symptomatic of this period of transition, of instability, that's affecting all of us.  It's not just that physically, Julia's needing less sleep.  In a month, we won't be the family we've been.  We'll fill the space differently, and roles will shift.  It would be easier to think that Julia's too young to grasp what's coming, and maybe consciously, that's true.  But it's also true that she, like all children, is very sensitive, and she feels my mounting anxiety, Karissa's stress.  And she's taking in all of the obvious signs of the change on the horizon.  


She's now sleeping in the big girl bed, and the crib has moved out.  All of our new books (given by a colleague of Karissa's) have to do with babies and big brothers or sisters.   And she gets it, in some basic way, that something, someone is coming.  When she asks about the baby, when she calls herself a big sister.  She's even started telling me that she can't do this or that thing because she's pregnant and asks me to feel the baby kicking in her tummy.  She's processing everything in her own, almost three year old way, and she's processing it, as we are, at all hours of the day and night.


So we have to take care of each other, and realize collectively that the changes coming, challenging as they may be, are good changes, spectacular changes.  And when one of us forgets, the other two need to be there to do the reminding.  I know Julia reminds me so often what a blessing change can be, when she uses a new expression, when she reaches another milestone, when she smiles or laughs at a joke she wouldn't have gotten a month ago.  The sun's coming out today after weeks of rain, yet another example of how change, however frightening, can be overwhelmingly, heartrendingly positive.

L & D and OMG

This morning Julia woke up at 3:30.  Karissa and I both tried to get her to go back to sleep, first in our bed, then in her bed, then in our bed again.  She had me fooled a few times with her quiet breathing and then she'd bust out with some observation, Sesame Street quotation or the question, "Is it wake-up time?"  When I finally got up with her at 5:30, I was in a rotten mood.  I opened the freezer to find the ready-to-bake cinnamon rolls I'd been saving for the weekend, thinking if I could just have these with my (very weak) morning coffee, the day might be saved.  Not so much.  The rolls were too chewy and not sweet enough.  Not that it stopped me from eating four or five of them, in the hopes they would improve.  And of course, they didn't.  I ended up crawling back to bed at around 7:00, once Karissa was up and coherent, and slept fitfully until around 8:45.


I had to get up because we had to leave the house an hour later.  We were dropping Julia off at a friend's, and going to the Labor and Delivery tour of Kaiser Oakland.  The tour guide was late, but gave a spirited overview of the intake procedures at the hospital to us and the three other couples on the tour, one of whom I was fairly sure spoke very little English.  She paused for questions a handful of times as we went up to triage, L & D, and the recovery rooms.  Karissa and I were the only ones with any questions at all, the others just stood around in stunned silence, staring at the tour guide, staring at us, staring at Karissa in particular as she asked about parking and other important logistics.  I must admit, though I participated more than most, I myself was a bit stunned.  I never wanted to have a baby in the hospital; I had fully intended to have the second one at home until right after New Year's when we took a hard look at our finances and decided there was no way we could afford another home birth.  A part of me was comforted by the MDs and nurses everywhere, all of the technology and equipment, even though I needed none of them last time, but most of me doesn't understand how it's all going to work.


My last labor was four hours, and I went from breaking water to active labor in 20 minutes.  Labor was so sudden and so difficult, that I couldn't imagine moving two feet, much less getting into a car, parking, walking into a hospital, taking the elevator to the fourth floor, going to triage for an evaluation, moving again to a (beyond dreary and sterile) delivery room.  I couldn't imagine having an IV put in or having monitors attached to my body.  It would have made an already terrifying and excruciating experience so much worse.  But now, that's what I'm doing, and I still can't imagine it.  So I'm going to do the only thing I can do, which is to put it out of my mind for now, and pray that when the time comes, things will go smoothly.  Thanks to Karissa, we have "plans for various scenarios in place."  I thank God that my wife is so detail oriented.  Someone has to remember all of the steps for getting into the building and getting up to the right room just in case I'm out of my mind at the time.  Don't get me wrong, I understand this is what most women in this country do.  This is normal.  I guess I'm not, but then, that's not really news to me.


Later in the afternoon I had my first (and sadly, probably my last) prenatal massage.  It was wonderfully relaxing, though I spent a little too much energy trying not to fall asleep, and the ONE place I asked her to work on, she didn't touch.  What kind of "master therapist" who gives prenatal massages doesn't know where the sacroiliac joint is?  She rubbed away on the small of my back, and I was too polite (and frankly, too sleepy) to say, um, could you go a little lower?


We've passed a quiet afternoon since we've been home, and we're both praying we can get Julia to bed early given the epic mostly sleepless day she's had (she fell asleep for about an hour in the car).  I'm not sure Karissa or I will last very long after she's out.


I have a lot to think about (or try not to think about) in the next four weeks, but my biggest hope is that the weeks will fly by, my body will have become a "master laborer" in the three plus years since I did this the last time, and I'll be able to hold my baby boy in my arms without much pain and suffering to get him there.  At least I'll have mastered the sleep deprivation that goes along with new parenthood, or as I've learned, parenthood in general.

unconditional friendship

"Love is the unconditional support of imperfect human beings."

My MIL put this as her FB status this morning, and it got me thinking. Of course, I was already thinking, you might say overthinking. At some point, I'd really love to stop overthinking, but that would require a level of engagement in some project or other, and outside of the day to day, and the fact that in five weeks I'll be a mother for the second time, I have nothing going on. I've been inspired to write again after a long hiatus because of an incident that occurred the day before yesterday.

One of my first impulses was to write a story or maybe a screenplay, something like "Mean Girls" but based on a group of stay at home moms in Berkeley. Then I wanted to write an essay, something like, "SAHM: The Failed Experiment." But then I thought, I haven't blogged much since I quit my job, moved to Berkeley and decided to stay at home full time. Living began to take up a lot more time than it used to, downtime became scarce, and I had less and less time for reflection. This past Christmas I bought a new journal, but soon reflective writing gave way to grocery lists, budget spreadsheets, in short, necessary, but unfeeling things. In the meantime, my thoughts have built up to dangerous levels, and now at this crossroads, I find myself on the verge of emotional eruption.

So what happened? Well, a friend of mine (and I use that word loosely now) after several weeks of being MIA from my life (begging out of playdates, avoiding me in social circles, etc.) wrote me an email saying she was cutting off our friendship, as we are "incompatible, playdate-wise." She cited no specific instances, but said she has the impression that I feel her sons are too rowdy to hang with my daughter, and she feels that I don't like her older son. She feels I am an overprotective parent, and she feels the need to be overly controlling of her boys when spending time with us; basically, being with us isn't fun anymore, and she's done.

I defended myself in my reply the best I could, having nothing really to go on but her general feelings. One of her boys is two years older than my daughter, and he's very physical. But during our playdates, he tends to ignore my daughter and play with his older friends. Her younger son is my daughter's age, and in general, they've gotten along very well. So I really don't know what she's talking about.

Maybe I did something(s) to offend her, but I don't know what I did, so I can't explain myself. She doesn't want to give me the opportunity to defend myself, she simply doesn't want to spend time with me or my daughter anymore. To make this more confusing, she says she's enjoyed spending time with me in an "adult setting," that our friendship was real, but wasn't meant to last. This playdate incompatibility seems to be a deal-breaker for her.

So where does this leave me? Well, at first, I must admit I was devastated. Not because she was such a close friend, but I did care about her, and never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd be on the receiving end of any unkindness from her. I felt a keen sense of loss, but I soon realized the depth and complexity of my feelings were triggered by the email, but in fact, had very little to do with it or the friendship.

My hurt was compounded by the fact that my feelings of isolation are mounting as my pregnancy comes to a close and I get ready to embark on this new chapter in my life. My postpartum period after my daughter was born was one of the loneliest times I can remember, and I'm anxious about having to go through it again. Not a great time for someone to give me a detailed account of why they don't want to be around me.

And then, there are my particular insecurities. Pretty much since I've been a mom, I have feared being judged by my "mom friends." My little girl is extraordinary in many ways, but she's also very challenging. She has almost no fear of new situations or people, even kids that are overtly unkind to her. She is extremely willful and is only beginning now to be at all concerned about her own physical safety. I try not to shadow her, but I'm often afraid for her, and I struggle between trying to keep her safe and not seem like a "helicopter" parent. The few times I've really pulled back and been less than vigilant (usually in a social settings with other moms), she's been hurt or frightened, and I've felt nearly destroyed with guilt because I've let other's opinions of me as a parent interfere with what I know my child needs. The fact is, what I think is best for my daughter may make me unpopular, and I need to be OK with that. No one knows her better than I do or loves her more, which is why I made the decision to stay home with her in the first place.

The last time I blogged in the fall of '09, I was going to the park every day on my own, sometimes having nice conversations with other moms, but mostly feeling frustrated. Not long after, I met several women through a friend. We hit it off, and I was invited to join their playgroup. This became a weekly meeting, and led to other activities. As I widened my circle of friends in Berkeley, my confidence in my new stay at home life grew. I had a routine, new friends for my daughter, a full calendar, people to talk to. None of it was perfect, and I often felt I was a part of these new groups "on approval," but I was determined to make my new friendships work.

Now it's a year and half later, and the last nine months have been especially turbulent. My more difficult, stressful and exhausting second pregnancy coincided with a ramping up of my toddler's challenging behavior. She began running away from me (often into a street or parking lot), defying me, throwing dangerous, frightening tantrums, hitting, kicking, biting, etc., etc., etc. One of these tantrums landed us in the emergency room a few days before Christmas. When/if we got out of the house each day, it was only after a protracted struggle that left me feeling frustrated and helpless. I began to avoid playdates farther from home, or that might involve crowds my wayward child might get lost in. Not being able to run or pick her up added to the potential stress of many scenarios.

At the same time, the connections I'd made in the past year began to unravel, for different reasons, which added to my feelings of stress and isolation. People moved, or their children started school, or their children's nap schedules changed, or their activities. It was around this time, I guess, that I offended my friend, and she began to disappear from my day to day too. No wonder, I think, looking back. When I'm that stressed out, I tend to forget to try to be the most pleasing version of myself. It's hard to see anything else but my own strain.

So now what? Well, thankfully, I didn't move to Berkeley bereft of friends, they were just far flung at the time, and we've made serious efforts to bridge time and space and stay connected. The night of the dreaded email, I called one of them (who's now a mom of a toddler herself and moved to Berkeley last year) in a panic. I'd been in a nasty mood during our last playdate and I was afraid, irrationally afraid, that she was nursing some grudge against me, too. She talked me down, and told me a few things I should know, but desperately needed to hear. Firstly, she had no problem with me. Secondly, she said, if she did, she would tell me and we would work it out or she would give me the benefit of the doubt and let it go. Because our friendship isn't about convenience or playdate compatibility, as so many of my newer friendships have been (although, thank God, her son and my daughter are crazy about each other), it's about something deeper and it's worth something to her in a long-term way. Perhaps no friendship is unconditional, but the best friendships can stand some wear and tear. Those that can't aren't meant to last.

There's another lesson to take from this, too. While I don't want to close myself off to new friends and experiences, there's something to be said for working on the friendships I already have. I have a deep need for adult connection, and really need to get to know people as the people they are, not just the parents they've become. Often it's not possible to do this when I'm connecting with someone around our kids, and when I try, I can't connect or parent effectively, so it's a lose/lose. The groundwork has already been done with my old friends, and so I don't need to be as "on my game." They're less likely to judge, less likely to misunderstand me, more likely to want to work through any misunderstandings.

I'm starting grad school in the fall, so I'm hoping I can get my needs met there. If I can, my time with my kids will be more about them, not about gaining ground with a new group or trying to impress anyone. I'll also be a lot happier, which can only make me a better parent in the long run. This is the completion of a cycle. Through it, I've learned a great deal about myself. And as painful as this ending has been, there are beginnings around the corner, and I can only be grateful to get yet another fresh start, as a mom and as the woman I'm still becoming.

It's Monday night and Julia's been running a high fever for going on two days. She's been okay in morning, both yesterday and today, but by lunch, she's weak and fussy. She can't seem to stay asleep for a nap, and can only get rest when she's lying on top of me. Even then, she begins squirming after twenty minutes or so, crying in this heartbreaking way. We change positions and she falls asleep again. She's also having a hard time keeping things down. She's thrown up a few times, which has been very disturbing to both of us.

I know kids get sick, but this is the sickest she's been so far. We called the doctor yesterday, and she said that it wasn't the flu, that kids get high fevers, that a stomach bug has been going around, blah, blah, blah. I know doctors and nurses see this all the time, and it's bound to be worse for me, since I haven't, and she's mine. I hate to see her stub her toe, much less vomit up her lunch. So I'm worried. She's down, and seems to be sleeping peacefully, but Karissa just took her temp again, and it's up to 103

day by day

I have a dull headache that will not go away. I've been reading my book for the last two hours, and as much as I want to continue, the baby will be up soon, and my eyes feel a bit strained. Karissa's in the back yard, such as it is, pulling up the dead lawn with a shovel. In the next few weeks, we'll be rototilling and spreading all manner of soil and compost before we lay our new sod lawn. The task still seem unbelievably daunting, but Karissa has a lot of energy and enthusiasm for the project still, and it's beginning to infect me again.

It's nice to picture Julia running around on her own lawn, on her own grass, and though I know it's a waste of water, and we have half a dozen parks within walking distance, I really want it for her. And for us. We've been here three months and have yet to have a housewarming. I really want to be able to have all of our friends over to see our new place, but without outdoor space, it's just too small. The living room has turned into a playroom for Julia, so we have almost no furniture, and no coffee table. It's in the garage, where our bookshelves will probably be soon, as they serve no other purpose than holding her stuffed animals. And of course, as soon as I put them up there, they become fascinating enough to immediately pull down, so it's a constant back and forth.

With the yard, we can eat outdoors, barbeque, put up a playstructure and a sandbox for little J, and on those days when I just can't bear the park, we can hang out back there, and she can feel the sunshine from the the safety and privacy of our own home. It's funny, ever since I became an adult, I've wanted to be in the city, and I have been. I've lived in Baltimore, DC, and then San Francisco. But just as soon as Julia came along, bam, I began longing for a little three bedroom house like the one I grew up in in Silver Spring, complete with a grass lawn, front and back. I'm a few weeks from being thirty-five and I finally feel like a grown-up. When I think of the urban life I've led for the past 12 years, it's funny that it also feels like going full circle.

Just a few weeks from thirty-five, and it's also the first time I've really kept up with housework. The division of labor with me at home has become something out of Ozzy and Harriet, and crazily enough, I don't mind as much as I thought I would. I think the thing about being a liberated woman in this day and age centers around having choices. If I'm expected to stay home, take care of my child, cook meals and clean house, then it's burdensome. If I choose to do it, then it's freeing to a degree. I think the fact that we're approaching this as an experiment, one that can succeed or fail depending on our individual contributions, gives me some relief. This is something we're doing now, while Julia is still young. It's not a forever thing, and it's not my only option. I can always go back to work; I can even go back to school, and there's no end of options for either choice.

Sometimes I feel as if this is a gift Karissa is giving me, and the only way I can show my gratitude is to make it worthwhile for her to have me at home. So in exchange for the stress of supporting Julia and I financially, she gets to come home to dinner and a clean house. And even given the work involved, and the fact that I think I'm working harder than I ever did with a full-time job, I get to spend my days with my daughter. And unlike a day job, if I don't feel like doing housework one day, I just don't. The consequences are pretty minor, as long as I don't flake every day.

The sticky thing is always money, though, isn't it? I'm also chief financial officer of the house now, and to keep us on track, we're on a pretty tight budget. It's not forever, just until we get some of our debt paid down, but it's hard sometimes to keep Julia and I entertained when the purse strings are so tight. It's basically, stay in the house or go to the park. And I know it's early in the game to be saying this, but the park is really getting old. There's this weird etiquette. You can strike up a conversation with someone, hit it off, your kids can hit it off, and you can leave the park an hour later never having even exchanged names, much less numbers or emails. And a lot of people seem to want to keep to themselves. Maybe I'd follow suit, but I've been blessed with a child that goes up to children and adults and says, Hi! boisterously, then again louder if she doesn't get a response. She's also at the age where she thinks every toy, ball, shovel, etc. is fair game, even if another child is playing with it. And then there are the kids who tease or provoke my child because she's younger and doesn't understand. Often their parent isn't watching or listening to them, but rather, is talking on a cell phone or to another adult. These are the exceptions, rather than the rules of the park game, but it's been enough lately to turn me off to the whole thing.

To sum up, things are good. And the challenges are about what I expected. It doesn't make them easier, per se, but at least I feel like I went into this thing with my eyes open. I guess when it comes down to it, I'm still looking around, sorting out this new life of mine.

I quit, cha cha cha

So much has happened since I last wrote, but my last entry was a pretty good preview. I was unhappy, and we were in financial turmoil: rent-poor, dissatisfied with our day-care situation, I was heart-sick with missing Julia. Just when we thought that my staying home was an impossibility, Karissa got a promotion that opened up new avenues.

In sum, I quit my job, and we moved to Berkeley. For the last three months, I've been a stay at home mom. The reality of the hold on my teaching career has only recently hit me. I finished out the year, and this would be the time I'd be going back. And I'm not. I miss my school. I loved it, and I loved my job. There were problems, yes, but I had a real attachment to the place and my place in it.

But I really felt I was missing everything from my daughter's life, and at the most important time. This is all I'm going to get, all the time I get with her. I can go back to teaching, but I can't ever have this again. Even if I have another child, this is all the time I get with Julia. So I cast aside all of the doubts and fears I have about parenting, about not working and what it will do to my career, my identity, my feelings of self-worth, and I made myself face the truth. If I have the opportunity to raise my daughter, and I don't take it, I'll probably always regret it. There were other factors to consider, but they all melted away in the face of this realization. Not that they won't come creeping back, these insecurities, but I have to keep reminding myself that what I'm getting in return is far more valuable. And Julia makes me see it in some small way every day.

An East Bay friend of mine has warned me against calling Berkeley "the suburbs," but it's definitely more suburban than the Haight. The streets are tree lined, and we're walking distance to parks as well as cute cafes, shops and the like. Making friends at 34, in a new town, with a young child who needs my constant undivided attention is a challenge to say the least, but we go out every day, and I attempt to chat up other moms and nannies. Not everyone's nice (nor is everyone's kid), but there are plenty of well-intentioned people out there, and the whole experience has made me value the friends I already have even more.

So I'm looking at the little battery icon on my computer, and given that I only have thirteen minutes before I completely lose power, I'll sign off for now. More to come about Berkeley, parenting a toddler, and being a housewife in the next entry:)

choices

It's Sunday night, and Karissa's out grocery shopping, Trader Joe's to save a few bucks and get us some easy dinners.  Dinner has been such a nightmare lately, and along with "money problems," I know I sound like I'm living every married with kids cliche in the book all of a sudden. But it's true, dinner is the most daunting meal of the day, even if the kitchen isn't a mess, and there is a clean pot to cook in, which is a rare scene.  

The other day, we were exhausted after putting Julia to bed, and the only thing in the freezer was a package of veggie buffalo wings, and not the good Morning Star ones, either.  We have high standards for our meat-substitutes, being that neither one of us is actually a vegetarian. So it said on the package that microwave cooking was not recommended, but neither one of us had the energy to battle the million-year-old oven lurking in our kitchen (that I've stopped caring is a twin for one Alice Waters owns), so we popped them in. If you've ever breaded a sponge and tried to eat it with barbeque sauce, you can relate to our experience.  So I'm hoping with Karissa's shopping expertise, we have better eating experiences this week, as I'm not planning to have any more energy or be a better housekeeper.

Much of this weekend has been spent out of doors with the amazing babe.  I've been hit time and again with how precious she is, how smart, how wonderful.  It's so bittersweet, especially today, when I know I'm going to have to leave her for the week.  It seems clear to her that we are her family, but I'm constantly awed at how outgoing she is.  At the park yesterday, she kept crawling to other people's blankets,  waving like Miss America to anyone who would look her way.  I was a shy child, (and am still quite shy, though I have learned the skills to seem like an outgoing person), so this behavior stuns me, and also, forces me to strike up conversations with strangers, as I follow her around.  I guess this is just one way child-rearing is a growth opportunity.

Her nap times, in contrast, have been taken up with laundry, kitchen cleaning and bill paying, i.e. lamenting that month two of our spectacular "living within our means" budget has resulted in more debt and no progress. We're not poor by any means, but we spend more than we make, which is an increasing problem when considering the current economy and the future in general. More than a third of our combined income is going towards debt repayment, so we're paying for past sins, but making a dent in this debt amounts to going without things we're not yet prepared to sacrifice, mostly organic/prepared food, and stuff for the baby.  The result, more charging, and we're back to where we started from.  Does it really have to be this hard?  I'm not a math whiz, but I understand basic arithmetic, and I don't have problems creating a budget.  It's following it that gives me trouble.  

The issue is a simple one.  Spending.  Too much.  Still, I'm far from being a "shopaholic."  I haven't had a new pair of shoes in over a year!  Our electronics are five years old!  My computer was free!  I don't feel like we're living a life of excess, far from it, but we live in an expensive city, and with a new baby, there is pressure to get things we and the baby seem to need, but probably don't.  

We're also rent-poor, and so, as soon as our lease comes up, finding a new place is priority number one.  Sigh.  I only wish it all didn't have to be so hard.  It's taking it's toll on both of us emotionally, and interfering with a sense of well-being that I'd like to have given all the other day to day stresses life has to offer.

Once we move, we then have to figure out what happens with the care situation.  Scenario one, we're close enough that our share situation/nanny doesn't have to change.  It may anyway, because the other family may be interested in leaving the share, but we'd be solid.  We'd move the share to our house, find another family if need be, and everything would be fine.  Scenario two, we move out of the neighborhood.  Janet may or may not be able or willing to commute to our place, and we may have to find a completely new situation.  This means I would get to stay home with Julia for the summer, but I'd also have to spend a good deal of time interviewing and investigating, which is scary, stressful and time-consuming.  I hate that this is up in the air, but there it is.  Of course, I could still quit my job, but the real window for doing this has closed, so doing so would damage my credibility, and it would wreak such financial hardship on us that would make the situation we're in now seem like cushy living.  So, as I've said before, that's not really realistic.  Of course, moving itself is an expense, so the pressure's on to make a good choice.

We keep playing with the idea of moving just out of the city, just over the Golden Gate bridge, to some little town, where the rents could be way lower, but it's difficult to imagine how we'd adjust.  As much as SF isn't a city like I imagine New York to be, a concrete jungle, fast-paced, gritty, it's a city.  You can feel lonely, but there are people everywhere, there's bustle, noise, sirens (could do without these), a bit of commotion.  There's an erie quiet to the suburbs I haven't lived with in a long time.  I don't want to feel that sense of remoteness that I'm afraid I might feel after living in a city for almost fifteen years.  

And yet I'm hungry for that American dream-type scenario.  Friends of ours just bought a little house with a big yard and white picket fence.  They're expecting their first child in August, and I'm so happy for their son-to-be, to have such wide open spaces to play in.  It's funny, though, as we were leaving their place last weekend I saw other things, pickup trucks jacked up with huge tires.  And of course, in my queer citified way I jump to conclusions about the politics of the place and if it would be a safe place for my family.

There isn't a one size fits all solution, and for us, the size that fits most may or may not fit us. So many of our friends have given us what they think is a clear-cut, obvious answer, but what's right for their family doesn't feel right for us, either because of our biases or our family structure.  I've grown up feeling all the time at once completely unique and also quite run of the mill.  Fringe-y in some ways, but with a pretty typical upbringing and predictable tastes. Maybe that's true of all gay people or of all artists or wannabe artists, but it's true of Karissa and I and Julia's now a part of that.  She's going to have a pretty typical family and a unique one.  I envision her going to school, playing soccer, taking ballet or piano lessons.  She'll have a dog and a best friend and like swimming and riding her bike.  And she'll have two moms.  I want her to grow up somewhere where that's typical too, even if it's not in the big, wide world.  Every choice we've made and make will steer her life too, and that's why this one seems so, so important.