My dad asked me the other day if I was still running. "No," I said, "just some swimming."
But the fact is that caregiving is very active, particularly in the city. We sold our car before we moved. Caring for it would have been like adopting a high-strung dog. You can park on our street, sometimes, except for Tuesdays on the downtown (don't say "south") side, or Thursdays on the uptown (don't say "north"), or if they're shooting a movie, and don't expect to get your car out if a garbage, moving or delivery truck is blocking anywhere along it because traffic will be backed up to the East River (don't say... well, yes, say "East" river).
So kids move around a lot. When my kid isn't watching television, she's usually begging for it, bouncing up and down like a demented spring. The American Academy of Pediatricians recommend they get less than an hour a day of screen time. As our pediatrician noted when I asked him about long term health consequences, "They made the rule in response to an epidemic of obesity. But an extreme response to something extreme is no more correct." So we allow television, computer games and phone stuff. Without it, you're signing up for a world of hurt.
But the fact is that caregiving is very active, particularly in the city. We sold our car before we moved. Caring for it would have been like adopting a high-strung dog. You can park on our street, sometimes, except for Tuesdays on the downtown (don't say "south") side, or Thursdays on the uptown (don't say "north"), or if they're shooting a movie, and don't expect to get your car out if a garbage, moving or delivery truck is blocking anywhere along it because traffic will be backed up to the East River (don't say... well, yes, say "East" river).
So kids move around a lot. When my kid isn't watching television, she's usually begging for it, bouncing up and down like a demented spring. The American Academy of Pediatricians recommend they get less than an hour a day of screen time. As our pediatrician noted when I asked him about long term health consequences, "They made the rule in response to an epidemic of obesity. But an extreme response to something extreme is no more correct." So we allow television, computer games and phone stuff. Without it, you're signing up for a world of hurt.
The rest? Let's take that word at its face. The remainder of the day is a patchwork of activities, learning experiences, body moving time and just travel to each of these. To encourage Simone's mind last year, we joined the American Museum of Natural History. Membership gets you right in the door and sometimes past the lines of out-of-towners paying what the Museum recommends instead of what they want, which the rules allow. One of my neighbors pays a dollar each when he and his daughters go. They are still welcome. New York is like that. Simone found her niche--dinosaur movie, Discovery Center, overpriced strawberry milk in one of the many cafes--and got bored. Museums hold less interest for three year olds than a brightly decorated roll of wrapping paper.
Groupon offered a two year membership to the Brooklyn Children's Museum. We bought it based on the reciprocal membership. Basically, a member at one museum could get in free at another. We could belong to the museum in Brooklyn (an hour away by train) but spend more time at the Children's Museum of Manhattan (walking distance).
Two months later, they ended it. We could get half price admission, but it would still be ten bucks out of pocket.
Fine. I would squeeze value out of this membership if it killed me.
We can get to Brooklyn by train, but train lines away from Manhattan branch, spreading farther apart to serve an increasingly Wild West patchwork of communities. The Brooklyn Children's Museum is near two train lines, both of which run through our neighborhood, but "near" means different things depending on whether you have a scooter, stroller or just your own sneakers.
Shortly after we moved to Manhattan, Simone gave up her nap. In hindsight, we might have seen it coming. Getting her to sleep on weekends started to get difficult. She still got cranky without one but less so. We discovered after we moved that our downstairs neighbor played the saxophone. Every day. For anywhere between two to four hours, often the same riff.
It nearly drove bonkers. It certainly drove me out of the house, and out of the house was where all the action was. Without a car, I might have stuck Simone in the stroller and walked until she was all napped out, but with my knees still recovering from one marathon and carrying essentially the entirety of our apartment up and down stairs for two months, the idea quickly soured.
So we hoofed it a lot, including to the Brooklyn Children's Museum. Sometimes, I brought the stroller, but as often left it behind, as carrying it anywhere without a stroller check left it either unguarded or a total tripping hazard in the midst of the limited living space that is Manhattan. At first, I thought I could get Simone to nap by tiring her body. I encouraged her to walk, run, skip, jump, move forward any way she could, and while at first I tried to make it sound fun after just a couple minutes there emerged the whining, the pleading, the counting, the screaming and finally the time out, which I wish grownups could take because by then I sure as hell needed one.
I started carrying Simone on my shoulders, knees be damned. One way or another, they were. Simone enjoyed the view. I tried not to slam her into any scaffolding. New York City is covered in it. Crews come in, very efficient, unloading and building their Erector set building skirts overnight, or even during a productive morning. Some of the ones near our building have been up for more than a year. Sometimes, they sandblast. Others, they replace windows. Most often, nothing. Nobody ever finishes.
Me: "What would Manhattan be without scaffolding?"
Brandi: "Finished."
A couple days ago, I walked about three miles with the now-forty pound Simone on my back, plus her scooter, plus my backpack. The day before, I walked more than three miles, and seven the day before. I wear good shoes. Over time, and with good shoes, my knees felt better. We still take the stroller out with us, for breaks, but it's been replaced by a better model, a better stroller.
Me?
Hell, yeah, me.
We can get to Brooklyn by train, but train lines away from Manhattan branch, spreading farther apart to serve an increasingly Wild West patchwork of communities. The Brooklyn Children's Museum is near two train lines, both of which run through our neighborhood, but "near" means different things depending on whether you have a scooter, stroller or just your own sneakers.Shortly after we moved to Manhattan, Simone gave up her nap. In hindsight, we might have seen it coming. Getting her to sleep on weekends started to get difficult. She still got cranky without one but less so. We discovered after we moved that our downstairs neighbor played the saxophone. Every day. For anywhere between two to four hours, often the same riff.
It nearly drove bonkers. It certainly drove me out of the house, and out of the house was where all the action was. Without a car, I might have stuck Simone in the stroller and walked until she was all napped out, but with my knees still recovering from one marathon and carrying essentially the entirety of our apartment up and down stairs for two months, the idea quickly soured.
So we hoofed it a lot, including to the Brooklyn Children's Museum. Sometimes, I brought the stroller, but as often left it behind, as carrying it anywhere without a stroller check left it either unguarded or a total tripping hazard in the midst of the limited living space that is Manhattan. At first, I thought I could get Simone to nap by tiring her body. I encouraged her to walk, run, skip, jump, move forward any way she could, and while at first I tried to make it sound fun after just a couple minutes there emerged the whining, the pleading, the counting, the screaming and finally the time out, which I wish grownups could take because by then I sure as hell needed one.
I started carrying Simone on my shoulders, knees be damned. One way or another, they were. Simone enjoyed the view. I tried not to slam her into any scaffolding. New York City is covered in it. Crews come in, very efficient, unloading and building their Erector set building skirts overnight, or even during a productive morning. Some of the ones near our building have been up for more than a year. Sometimes, they sandblast. Others, they replace windows. Most often, nothing. Nobody ever finishes.
Me: "What would Manhattan be without scaffolding?"
Brandi: "Finished."
A couple days ago, I walked about three miles with the now-forty pound Simone on my back, plus her scooter, plus my backpack. The day before, I walked more than three miles, and seven the day before. I wear good shoes. Over time, and with good shoes, my knees felt better. We still take the stroller out with us, for breaks, but it's been replaced by a better model, a better stroller.
Me?
Hell, yeah, me.
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