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.

AND A BURGER THE SIZE OF MY FACE

huck waiting to be the first to see grandma + grandpa when they pull up the drive. he has no pants on. but at least he's wearing his mickey mouse slippers.

My parents came into town on Friday for the Labor Day weekend and got to witness up close + personal the cold sore of my life that had taken up residence on my lip from all this stress of us trying to find us Holbrooks a second car. 

Trying to find a second car when you are a Brandon is an adventure fraught with peril, and we should all extend unto him our deepest sympathies. Because I  am an emotional car shopper. I know what I want, and for whatever reason that does not include power windows, and you just can't reason me out of that one, okay, so don't even try.

You know, what I really want is a late-70s Chevy Blazer. Or a Ford Bronco. Or an International Scout! The beastlier the better. Craigslist was a lot of help. Brandon's eyes would twitch any time I'd get on my phone in case I was about to get on my Craigslist app and stir up a lot of trouble. 

I fell in love with a forest green 1968 Ford F150 in Spokane the other day, but Brandon wanted something that wasn't going to land his wife and son in a ditch on the side of the road, which is admirable, except he DOES know we've been riding around on a death bike in the rain + wildfire smoke all month, right? I mean, I could go bungee jumping in a rusted out old Land Cruiser with bad brakes and no functioning speedometer and STILL be safer than I am riding my bike across Sixth Street, but bygones. 

I guess I just want my Betsy the Flying Potato all over again and that's all there is to it. Oh, Betsy.

So we compromised on what we are now calling our Wrangler-With-Warranty Special. She reminds me of my old Isuzu Rodeo, Suzy Q. So we are also calling her that, too.

Suzy Q Two, the Wrangler, and Minnie the Marshmallow, our Prius. 

I know, it's super precious, isn't it?

Papers signed, next we celebrated with an Effie burger. As you do. Have you been to Effie's? It's the kind of thing where you'll happily land in Idaho all your life so long as Effie is there to make you a burger the size of your face and then get impatient at you when you aren't sure what kind of fries you want to go along with it. 

This burger has a larger hat size measurement than I do. Here. Here is a soda for reference. 

Bless you, Idaho, for understanding the necessity of the DDP. 

You'd think nothing this large could taste any good but actually, it is divine. Even Huck was into it, and Huck is into nothing these days. (Being four is an ornery endeavor. I get it.)

You know what is weird? Going into the bathroom at Effie's with Huck when the last time I was in that bathroom with Huck (at Brandon's graduation dinner), Huck wasn't born yet. And yet, there were still the same number of humans in there the last time I was there as there was this time I was there, except this time one of them was just . . . bigger.

And outside.

No, I mean, that's really weird, huh.

And anyway my mommy got me this antique marshmallow tin at the antique mall while she was here for an early birthday present, and this reminds me that I never shared with you all the last time they had visited us at our house, back when our house was in New York City, lo these many weeks ago. We did fun things and took dorky pictures, so now I am going to share all of THOSE with you, too.  CONTAIN YOURSELVES, PLEASE.

Hey remember when I lived here? Weird, right??

One of the fun things we did the last time my parents were in town is buy all the fruit for sale in Chinatown and hold ourselves a fancy tasting party. A lot of Googling went down to figure out how to open most of these suckers and which parts of the fruits we were actually meant to eat. 

And then we browsed some of the famous Americana art-turned-street-statues along Broadway between 34th and 42nd Street.

And now we get to have a vote on who did it best.

Eh?

Here, vote wisely.

Huck and I win, though. Right?

Thought so.

And thank you to my mother for this picture of me needlepointing on the subway. 

Sigh. And then we left Brooklyn . . . 

Stayed a night + jumped on beds in Queens . . . 

And then moved our butts on out to Idaho.

Where we stand now, pantsless.
Whelp, I'd say that about does it.
Come back again soon, Grandma + Grandpa! 

HOW TO: MOVE TO NEW YORK CITY

When it comes to reader emails, the one question I get more frequently than "What should we do while visiting New York?" is "HELP ME I'M MOVING TO NEW YORK I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING!"

I remember this panicked feeling, because I experienced it while 7 months pregnant, and that is not something a person forgets easily.

And so I am about to share with you everything I know about moving to NYC!

Firstly, the most indulgent feeling in the world, and what doubtless saved my sanity from implosion during our move from New York to Idaho, was hiring a reputable moving company to box up our things, transport them cross-country, and then unbox our things once it all got here. I would not have handled well the emotions of the quick turnaround of this move had I needed to make time for boxing up our apartment while I was also busy finding a new place, meeting deadlines + obligations, caring for my four-year-old, hosting visitors, and squeezing every last drop out of our time in New York. 

For this move we hired High Touch Moving, a local moving company based out of Brooklyn, New York. Gilad stopped by, took note of our belongings and the number of boxes we'd need, and then we proceeded to not think about it at all until the day of the move arrived, when the High Touch team showed up right on time 8AM and got the whole thing put together and out the door by just after noon. 

And then I walked slowly and silently through our now-empty home, listening to the creaks and echoes of the neighbors upstairs and running my hands along the bumps in the walls, before turning out the lights one last time and locking the door behind me.

Oh, moving. What a funny experience to inhabit a place so fully and then leave it behind as though it weren't a beloved member of the family.

Well. By way of fond farewell to our time in the city (this time, anyway), everything I know about moving to NYC is hiding right after this jump.

CLICK IT YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO☟

ON THE BEACH IN BLACK + WHITE

It's kind of the craziest time ever at the Holbrook house right now, I can't even go into it, but I did just get these photos back from our day at the beach a little bit ago, and I figured, well, in lieu of coherent thoughts, how about this? A few of my favorites from the day, in all its monochrome splendor :).

My friend Isabelle is super talented. Nashville, you should hire her.