THINGS I WISH I'D DONE MORE OF IN NYC

This is a post about past lives and reincarnation! And hopes and dreams and next-times!!

I really enjoy explaining these things up front in the loosest terms possible so you know what you're in for without actually knowing anything about what you're in for.

Today, in partnership with Chime, an app by the creators of Sittercity, I've compiled a short list of things that, were I lucky enough to get to do a do-over, I would have do differently while living in NYC. You know. Regrets. Since I'm not there anymore and it is heart breaking and I think about it often. Quite often. Truly.

So let's hit it!

ONE / REALLY AND TRULY, LET'S TREASURE THE TIMES WE HAD TO WALK OUR BUTTS OFF

Okay so this one I didn't not do, but if I could go back in time, I would do it even more. This is what I tell people who are leaving the city any time I get the chance: WALK NOW WHILE YOU HAVE THE PLACES TO GET TO ON FOOT. I miss all the walking every bit as much as I expected to. And it is heartbreaking! The suburbs make me lazy! Where have all the sidewalks gone?! My bottom has been more than happy to conform to the shape of the driver's seat of my car, it must be noted, but that shouldn't mean it needs to happen . . .

Enjoy especially those subway stairs while you have them. Oh hell. I once hefted a sleeping kid, his scooter, three bags of groceries plus a package I had to pick up from the post office, from the Prospect R stop all the way home. We made it off the train, up the stairs, to our building, up two more flights of stairs . . . and then he woke up the minute we opened the door.

These days I'd be hard pressed to get halfway across the street with that much. If I could even manage to lift it! Boo. The accidental muscles one gets just from existing in NYC! It's wonderful, they're wonderful! I loved my accidental muscles. Accidental muscles are the very best kind of muscles. Actually, they are, this is a serious point that needs to be made, so I'm going to run with it: Purposeful muscles get too much attention. They tend to be little prima donna glory hogs. Right? At least in my experience. Accidental muscles don't even know they're there. They're like that One Direction song. That's what makes them beautiful.

TWO / GO ON MORE DATES 

Yeah, with my husband.

This is a big one. Come on, Natalie. I so wish I had gotten out more with my husband. Grown up fun. I'm putting this one in italics, you guys. That's how you know it is serious.

I mean it wasn't all bad.

me and the beebs at a yankees game, 2013

me and beebs at peter luger eating our faces off

See, we did stuff!

Plus he's handsome. 

Still makes my heart go boom boom, that Beebledeebles.

But next time. (Next time?) Next time there shall be more date nights.

Ooh! We saw Garrison Keillor at the Lincoln Center once on my birthday!

us holbrooks utilizing our primary mode of transport, the foot

THREE / CHECK THE KID, SLEEP SOMEWHERE FANCY 

New York has some of the most killer places to stay in all the world. Like the Pierre hotel! Where Joe goes to stay after he buys all his luggage.

You know what I mean here.

yours truly in the standard hotel

Here is how I know. During a Bugaboo event I once got to stay a night with some girlfriends at The Standard Hotel in the Meatpacking District. That place is a late-night haven, guys, wth immensely entertaining, beautiful people-watching. And while Sydney made an excellent roommate, don't get me wrong, I do think we missed out on the point of the thing by not being there with our husbands. You know. The rooms at The Standard seem to be designed for over-the-top sexy things. Bathtubs in the middle of the rooms, see-through glass in the shower door, floor-to-ceiling windows for spying on people walking the High Line. (And the other way around . . . ;) You know, if there are ever situations that call for being naked in front of some crystal-clear windows . . . it involves your husband.

FOUR / I WISH WE'D HAD A STEADY SITTER

We had many babysitters while we were living in the city. A lot of them were wives of the summer interns at church, or the high schooler who lived upstairs (we miss you Alexandra!), or else close friends willing to pitch in. But it was never very pleasant finding a sitter. It was mostly like pulling teeth. Sadly. So here we are. Let me put this one out for you. Trustworthy childcare shouldn't be a luxury.

In the absence of something seamless to help you navigate the case-by-case bookings, I'd recommend hiring a sitter for a month at a time, with the same hours + days every week--even if it's just 5 hours a week, even if you're not sure you're going to need it that week. Sometimes it pushes you out the door for something spontaneous and I've noticed that's usually where all the magic happens.

FIVE / LOG MORE ME-TIME INSIDE THE BARNEY'S CO-OP

I'm talking about me-time in general but actually regarding the Barney's Co-Op . . . I really think that place might be a little bit of personalized Natalie heaven.

Actually I like to think about this one a lot. The Barney's Co-Op and how much I miss it. Especially the one in SoHo. Does this make me shallow?

Huck was a great errand buddy and I credit the times we spent together getting shizz done for his amazing ability to utilize patience like a master. I think that's my parenting advice to end all parenting advice: expose your kid to boring things from day 1. However. I do wish I'd taken more me-time to myself to explore the city on my own, in whatever form that took. Groceries, dry cleaning, though not necessarily errands. Maybe logging work hours at a cafe, or getting important wondering-time in Downtown, or solo museum time to recharge the old creative battery. . . or shopping . . . whatever! I'm sorry I love to shop I won't even apologize for it! ;)

I've noticed more and more that I really thrive on those just-me-and-my-thoughts kinds of outings. I don't even realize half my brain's missing when I'm not getting enough of it, I just get grouchy. It's like scurvy. Stuff just . . . shrivels. 

SIX / BUY MORE CHOCOLATE COVERED CHEERIOS FROM THE TRADER JOE'S

Don't pass up this opportunity, New Yorkers! Words cannot even express how much I miss being within walking distance of a Trader Joe's. Oh those blessed chocolate covered cheerios.

The End.

MOTHERHOOD RIGHT NOW | THE CASE OF THE MISSING IPAD

MOTHERHOOD RIGHT NOW / is 4AM wake up calls for assistance to the potty, followed by "snuggles" in the big bed until morning. 

By which I mean, "getting kicked in the head" in the big bed until morning.

It also means all the fried foods, all of the time. Plus pancakes. 

MOTHERHOOD RIGHT NOW / is occasionally rescuing stupid chickens from trees, and then telling them profusely how beautiful you think they are.

(The Ladies have been promoted from livestock in the backyard to full-on flesh and blood children. Be advised.)

MOTHERHOOD RIGHT NOW / is sitting just outside the bathroom door while your kid is pooping. You never know when he'll need protection from bathroom bad guys! And because poop time is when you have your best meaning-of-life conversations.

I've found the trick is in sitting just close enough to the bathroom that you can hear him through the door + respond in the appropriate vocal volume ("Seriously!? The Red Power Ranger did what??"), but not so close that, you know, the smells.

MOTHERHOOD RIGHT NOW / is touching dried mealworms with your bare hands. But only when you really love them.

MOTHERHOOD RIGHT NOW / is bribes. BRIBES. Bribes everywhere. For everything! Do this, and you'll get that. Do that, and I promise you this. Be helpful on our errands, and you get to pick out a treat. One treat! Your budget is three dollars. Shop wisely, kid.

Motherhood right now also means occasionally your kid will pick out a nail polish for his treat, and then announce that it isn't for him, oh no, it's for YOU, mom. Because green is his favorite color and because sparkles will make you look "sooo beautiful!"

Motherhood also requires running your haircuts past your kid ahead of time, and then, once you've done it (in the sink. with kitchen shears. at 2AM. as is customary), you show him and he sighs in relief and says, "you were right, mom. It's short, but you still look like a girl." 

MOTHERHOOD RIGHT NOW / is occasionally, in the middle of a really hard day (seriously Moscow / Pullman, GIVE ME A CUTE, AFFORDABLE RENTAL!), going outside and sitting in a pathetic slump on the grass, and letting your chickens bob all around you and look at you curiously while you sniffle pathetically, until your heart rate nears normal and you don't feel like crying anymore. 

It works amazingly well. 

Chickens might be the new llamas, in terms of therapeutic capabilities.

MOTHERHOOD RIGHT NOW / means always coming in second place to dad. Every. Single. Time. It's such a turn on! Geez! Let's hear it for good dads!

MOTHERHOOD RIGHT NOW / means you become epically embarrassing unto your five-year-old anytime you are in a public place and you decide to sing along with whatever's playing on the speakers. 

Come to think of it, could this have something to do with my previous . . . ? Nahhhh.

Oh my gosh I am going to have so much fun with this when he is a teenager.

WHILE I AM HERE. 

When I was a kid one of my favorite books of all time was Otis Spofford. Have you read it? One of the best chapter books ever. Alllllmost better than Ramona Quimby. Almost.

(I may have almost named Huck Otis, and I may have jokingly told Brandon it was because I loved our NYC elevator so much . . . you know, Otis?) (Also an amazing potential namesake: Otis Spunkmeyer.)

Anyway. Last weekend we went to dinner at Tapped, a new-ish place in Moscow that is surprisingly rad for northern Idaho.

Huck spent the entire chunk of time while we waited on our dinner making these spit wads + shooting them at his dad's face. Over + over. Probably not appropriate restaurant behavior, but it fully lived up to the dreams I had of someday being the mom of a mischievous little boy like Otis Spofford. Right down to the squinty aiming eyes.

DREAMY.

***

In closing, something I wrote about 6 or 7 months ago, back when we were living in Brooklyn.

"So, the other day, the iPad went missing. Huck played dumb the while his dad turned the loft inside out, but pretty soon his guilt caught up with him and he confessed he'd hidden it. "Wiff maaaaagic." Sparkly fingers and big eyes for that bit.

Brandon wisely translated this to mean Huck had thrown the iPad in the garbage (obviously?), but Huck wouldn't cop to it, and so there we were, at an impasse.

"Huck, if you can tell me where the iPad is, you can get a toy!"

We have this stash of inexpensive toys we've hidden in the kitchen for those times when Huck earns enough "allowance" doing chores or being not-naughty to make an even trade. It's already not working anymore. The other day Huck announced that he'd found an imaginary bank and that he never needs to earn any more money ever again. So.

It was a conundrum. I mean, iPads don't grow on trees. Responsible adulthood requires that we put a 10-20 on the thing, so I got my wheels turning and came up with a plan. Sometimes B isn't so good at sweet-talking H. I spend half my life running interference between the two of them.

"What dad means is that your behavior is obnoxious. And he probably won't drop kick you out the window. Maybe just a time-out?"

So I sat down with Huck a few days later and told him the story of my mother and her gray, could-have-been-a-knock-off but could-have-been-authentic Chanel sweatsuit she'd bought in Itaewon when we lived in South Korea.

This sweatshirt was the perfect color to suit my needs (my gray sweatshirt proclivities kicked in early). . . except for the giant Chanel logo embroidered right on the chest. And you have to understand! In my middle school social circle of grunge rock Kurt Cobain-ites, a Chanel logo simply would not do. Whatever a Chanel even was. And soooo . . . not really knowing what the heck I was actually doing . . . I took out the logo with a seam ripper. 

No no no. I know. I did. It makes my stomach hurt just to think about it. Can you believe it? I could kill my middle school self for this one (among other things), even now. TO THIS DAY.

Oddly enough, my mother didn't get angry at me. I didn't even get in trouble! But I remember it being a turning point. I remember how sad she was, and this dawning concept that not-everything-in-this-house-belongs-to-me-and-is-mine-to-do-with-as-I-please, and I remember that the realization that I'd hurt someone felt way worse than actually getting grounded for it. To this day it's one of the cruelest things I ever accidentally did, and I hate it. I hate that I did it. 

I told Huck all this. And then I told him that, since I knew what this felt like, I was a safe zone. He could tell me the truth and I would not get angry. Just like my mom didn't get angry with me. I promised not to punish him, just like my mom hadn't punished me, and then I told him that being honest in a scary situation was always the bravest thing to do.

It worked like a charm. He confessed straight away. He did throw it in the garbage -- the downstairs garbage --and he was very very sorry.

Confession in hand and feeling pretty proud of myself I must say, I asked him if he wanted to call his dad next to come clean and apologize. He was willing, and while he talked with his dad I congratulated myself. Classic parenting win!

. . . aaaaaaand then I got him a toy down from the bin to reward him for his honesty.

I gotta tell you. I have no idea if I did that right."

(hah! quotation marks for myself.)

UPDATE FROM THE FUTURE:

We later found the iPad. It was under a couch cushion. We questioned Huck and he admitted he'd hidden it because he didn't like being told to watch his kid cartoons on the iPad whenever we wanted to watch grown up shows on the TV. Brandon and I blinked at each other stupidly until it clicked into place. We'd unwittingly made an Anne Shirley situation wherein Huck confessed to having thrown it away just so we would stop harassing him about it and, probably, so we would get him a toy. So.

Classic. Parenting. Fail.

The end.

PIZZA, PUZZLES, PAINTING + PENGUINS

NEW YEAR RESOLUTION NO. 005: MORE FAMILY ACTIVITY TIME.

First of all can you get over this mess in here!?! I'm just really enjoying that random garbage can that Brandon brought in from the bathroom at one point so he could sit on it.

The problem with the Holbrooks is we have yet to find our family THING. Yes we are talking about family activities today! Because that is one of my resolutions this year, and one that I'm giving particular effort to, because it turns out that being the only member of the family with fulfilling yet ultimately stupid hobbies gets boring for all parties involved. 

How many granny squares can our gingerbrandon watch me make before he starts to feel inadequate? No I'm just kidding. So we're bringing the whole troupe in on our various nerdsville hobbies and we are going to make this happen!! Family activities! Things we all do together!! Oh my gosh I can't wait till it's warm out again!!!

(Last weekend we all adopted B's nerdsville hobbies and did some glow in the dark mini golf + laser tag with some of his accounting students. It was actually THE most fun.)

Back to family dynamics, it's a funny dynamic, a family of three. Huck is not the first only child in the Holbrook family tradition, and if any of the others are any indication . . . no I'm kidding. We'll be fine. But it's a funny dynamic, because ask Huck, he'll tell you his opinion counts every bit as much as a member of this trio as our two grown ups' opinions count, even though we both count way more than Huck does, on account of . . . we're grown ups. Because I Said So! And so, that gets complicated.

He calls us "guys."

"Hey guys, what's up?"

Typically, we talk mostly about Zords. We line up our rescue bots according to speed and personal preference. Chase! You guys. One time I had a dream that Heat Wave kissed me. We'll not go into specifics. But the trouble with this is that Huck starts to think we like to do kid stuff because we like to do kid stuff, and getting him to go along with anything else can start to seem totally unnecessary to him. Mom but you LOOOOOVE Pokémon, don't you? Mmmmm, nah. Actually, I don't! Kid needs to learn his place in this Holbrook family food chain! So, here we are. Puzzles and paintbrushes. And penguins. Things which Huck also likes, now I mention it, but mostly it's us adults that like the puzzles, and so . . . See there are holes in this logic but we are getting places with it anyway.

My favorite part of this experiment has been realizing how much we all enjoy the dumbest things. Is it dumb? The Holbrooks like it! Mostly the same dumb things, too, but it's hard getting us all on the same page with each other at the same time. So I suppose that is the point of this blog post? Is that we did it once and hopefully we'll do it again and as it is my New Year Resolution I should hopefully be able to make that happen? 

See? This is promising.

Well anyway this has gone on long enough. Nat the Rat, Over + Out

GET HUCK DRESSED

a little bit of old-fashioned americana, all from schoola, to get both of us through the late summer / early autumn hump :) 

My philosophy on getting boys dressed is this: Two parts basic to one part flashy. 

For example.  One pair of good, slim-cut skinny jeans (often from the girl's section-- stores still aren't getting that boys need more than baggy pants anymore?), one part basic tee or long-sleeved thermal, one part flashy shirt worn on top that'll keep my kid warm while also adding that tiny element of "pretty flyyyy for a white guy."

Brandon's philosophy on getting boys dressed is this: ALL OF THE FUN THINGS, ALL OF THE TIME, ALL AT ONCE.

It's always a kick in the pants for me to see how one set of clothes can skew so differently depending on who is the one putting two and two together. Huck's favorite colors on Huck are "all of dem!" and Brandon's favorite colors on Huck are pink and purple and orange, and I'm over here trying to keep things at least mildly classic by stocking the blues and browns and wondering how did it happen that *I'm* the conservative one when it comes to getting Huck dressed?? I count myself a pretty lucky girl in that way, though. It's always more fun to be the brakes in an operation when the two crazies gunning the gas have such a fun sensibility about things. Especially when you're the one accustomed to being the speed demon, otherwise. 

As such, whenever I'm picking out clothes, I keep in the back of my mind that fully half of the time these clothes that I select will be used + abused by the male two thirds of the house, leading to chuckles + smiles from strangers in the parking lot at the Walmart when they see my kid bound out of the Jeep ready to take on the world like a clashing patterned superhero in all the colors of the rainbow on the days my boys are in charge of the morning routine. 

Similarly, it is important to document the times on those rare days when the items in questions are used responsibly, as Mom intended, to further the betterment of mankind as a whole.  :) As such, here we have Huck in his Schoola, styled by to me. He's a pretty handsome little turkey.

This year Huck is growing like a weed, it seems he wakes up a full inch taller than the day before nearly every single morning. It's miraculous and exciting and bittersweet. More and more pairs of pants are becoming high waters on him on the daily. It's a good time to outfit a kid in items from Schoola, a shop that sells gently loved items of kids + women's clothing, with every purchase helping to fund programs in schools across the country. Huck gets taller, I have somewhere to send his pieces that are outgrown but not outworn, more schools get money, Huck's closet gets replenished on the cheap with anything we could ever dream up along any inch of the basic-to-flashy spectrum. And if Huck only gets three wears out of a thing before it's already too small, so much the better! We send it back in a Schoola donation bag (request one here), pick out something new, and feel good knowing we've made it possible for one more student to enjoy a music or art class as part of their daily school curriculum. 

(You can read more about our new Idaho lifestyle and how we use Schoola this fall here!)

That's pretty cool.

And anyway. Congratulations to me on being prudent for once in my life!

The end.

This post was sponsored by Schoola. Ongoing collaborations like these make me feel happier than a clam in the sea with a strong wifi signal. 

MOTHERHOOD RIGHT NOW / RIP MULLET

Oh is there anything more tragic than a misplaced wad of chewed up bubblegum!!!!???

Poor puppy.

We were at the AT&T store, for some reason. I'm not sure that we accomplished anything particularly important while at the AT&T store now that I think about it, except that I happened to discover a giant wad of stale old bubblegum smooshed into the back of my kid's head while I was absentmindedly running my hands through his rattail.

(We do this sometimes for luck, it's sort of like rubbing a rabbit's foot.)

Huck had me take a photo of it so he could see what it looked like, which is something he has taken to doing lately any time he is somewhere without a mirror and needs to see something about himself. 

"Mom, take a picture."

I obliged.

The irony here is that just two days prior I was reminding him of the responsibilities that come with being a gum chewer. It was during my bi-weekly request to puh-leeease let me cut your hair, or at least trim it into a tidier shape, but Huck is a man who knows his mind and his mind is liking the mullet, so he said "No, thank you," and I said, "Well just be sure not to get gum in your hair, because if you do, we'll have no choice in the matter." Snip snip.

I'd tell you I said a silent prayer just then that he would get gum stuck in his hair, but that might make me look like a not-so-nice mom, so, I won't. 

(But I did.)

Aren't you glad I thought to take this picture last week to immortalize the rattail in all it's masterful glory?

I am.

(Also, old cowboys eating huckleberry ice cream. Swoon, dammit!)

Huck understood his fate--peanut butter or no peanut butter the hair had to go--so when the time came after we'd pointlessly left the AT&T store and I'd finally located the scissors, he looked at me with a pure fire of courage in his eyes and he said, bravely, "Cut it, mom."

Fiiiiiinally.

And now! Presenting! EmoHuck.

I swear, get that boy some mousse and he's ready to join The Cure. 

I made sure to keep the all-important swoosh safely intact. Huck's pretty thrilled with it. Sometimes I think his new hair reminds me of something, but I can't put my finger on it. 

One of my readers could. She sent me this:

BINGO

Anyway, it's my anniversary today.

I done been married twelve years. How does that make you feel inside? Old? Me too.

But! The good news is that Brandon, Professor The Holbs at WSU, officially a cougar again (go cougs!), will training the brightest young minds this fall in the ways of the Excel spreadsheets, making me the official MILF of the accounting department. (Yes it does.) This means I get to practice my flirting skills on the youth of America again.

Which makes me a cougar, too! (Get it?)

Such a bright spot on my horizon. Add a gold start to my Lucille Bluth chart. 

Anyway, in conclusion, here is my husband looking a bit like Chris Pratt. 

WINNING!

I love you Beebs! Happy ambliversary! 

BACK TO SCHOOL

Thank you, the title, I know. This post is already pretty rad.

The thing about a cross-country move is that it's a little like moving to Mars. I've always said this. 

I can say that I've always said this because I have--I seem to move across the country fairly consistently. It's like a thing with us. And in every big move I've noticed you get a similar type of new things to adjust to, regardless of where you're going -- a new climate, possibly a different lifestyle to adopt (in this case, especially. #cars), weird regional accents + languages to figure out (shopping cart vs. carriage, purse vs pocketbook, garage sale vs. tag sale?) . . . you get it. Sometimes a move throws more into whack than just where your mail gets delivered or whether your wifi is any good. 

For instance! This move here means I probably won't get to eat a really great bagel now anymore ever.

For instance part two: This move to Moscow also means I get to have a year of Huck's childhood back.

Huck was scheduled to start kindergarten this fall here in Brooklyn. He got into one of the best schools in the city, an art-heavy program with a really great faculty and, like, cool murals on the walls and stuff. The public school dream! It's been kind of the hardest part of leaving, actually. Nobody gets into their dream school the first try. (Hah, guys. This is kindergarten we're talking about.) We'd been counting our lucky stars, even though all along I've also felt it's a little too soon for him to be starting full-time school. Out here the age cut off for starting kindergarten is 5 by 12/31, so a late October birthday like Huck gets shuffled right on in. And you don't have the option in NYC of holding a kid back a year. 

In Idaho the cut off is the beginning of September. And thus my baby will stay a baby, and my chief partner-in-crime, for one more year. 

It's actually kind of wonderful.

This post was written in partnership with Schoola because they're cool-a.