another letter for my son

Dear Garrett,

Last night as I watched the Relief Society broadcast (on the internet...I love the internet), and listened to the frequent mention of our divine roles as women to be mothers, I couldn't help but recall how this was also frequently mentioned at last year's Relief Society broadcast. And I couldn't help but recall how difficult that was for me then to hear so repeatedly. At this time last year, Dad and I had been trying to begin our family for several months, sadly without success. I remember how, after the meeting was over, a friend of mine and I cried a little together in the hallway of our church building at how badly we wanted children added to our families. That was 12 months ago. Today you are 3 months old. You do the math and tell me a prayer wasn't answered only a short time later.

Garrett, I can't tell you how truly blessed I am to have you in my life! You add a bright light to my days and fill a void that was in my heart. I am the luckiest mama in the world to have you as my precious baby.

You are getting so big, and are learning new tricks almost every day. You now easily and quickly recognize your dad and I and burst into the most adorable grins when you see us. My heart melts every time you look at me and smile, your mouth sweet and toothless, your tongue nearly always hanging happily.

You've started talking, too! Your darling sighs and coos and gurggles tell me that you have a lot to say. I'm not sure what exactly you are saying, but my best guess is that you're telling me what you've noticed and learned while we were out on one of our walks. You love to look around and let this exciting and beautiful world soak through you.

Or maybe you're telling me about all the people you've met, the passers by we meet as we walk through the neighborhood who remark at how adorable you are. Some of them even mistake you for a little doll! I don't blame them, my little doll baby -- you pretty much are the cutest baby I've ever met!

Or maybe you're simply telling me that you love me. Thank you, Garrett. I love you, too.

Love,
Mama

cast your vote for the next adventure!

All right, guys. I can't make up my mind. So I'm going to enlist your help. Tomorrow is Saturday. (Hallelujah!) Because this ward, for some reason, believes it is unrighteous to do home and visiting teaching on Sundays, we're getting home taught tomorrow morning at 9:00, and I'm headed to the General Relief Society broadcast and stake-sponsored pre-broadcast dinner tomorrow evening at 6:30. That leaves us with, oh, a nice chunk of the day to explore the city. But, what, exactly, should we do with that nice chunk? FYI, the weather tomorrow is supposed to be gorgeous.

Here are our options:

Option A: Prospect Park

Prospect Park is Brooklyn's version of Manhattan's Central Park. In fact, it was designed by the same guy, and, according to him, it's a better park than Central. Housed in or near the park are such things as the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens (which has free hours on Saturdays), the Prospect Park Zoo, and I think the main Brooklyn Public Library is up there.

Option B: Coney Island

Granted, since the season is over, the amusement parks will be closed, but we can always go to the beach. Also, there's supposed to be a rather large Russian settlement down there -- with fabulous bakeries.

Option C: Ragamuffin Parade/3rd Avenue Festival

The Ragamuffin Parade is your basic local Let Your Kids Show Off Their Halloween Costumes Parade. It's a part of the annual 3rd Avenue Festival (the main festival actually is on Sunday), and since 3rd Avenue is about five steps from our apartment, we wouldn't have to go far to enjoy it. (We'd only watch, though....I'm really not up to parading Garrett the Carrot just yet, even though he is pretty darn adorable in his costume.)

Option D: Insert Your Fabulous Idea Here:

______________________________________

So what should we do?

*Disclaimer: Because I did not initially discuss this with Blake, we are not legally bound to listen to the majority. Or minority, for that matter. It's our Saturday, after all. But still cast your vote, just the same, if only to exercise your right. And because it's fun.

just kick me now

I'm not sure why it took me so long, seeing as it's been on my list of Brooklyn survival items pretty much since we moved here, but two days ago I finally bought myself a cart. It's red, and, in case you want to get one for yourself, I picked mine up at the local hardware store. Anyway, I used it for the first time this morning to haul my laundry to the laundromat and oh. my. word. -- so much easier! I totally deserve a big kick in the pants for not getting one sooner.

Also, I just want you to know that while, yes, it takes guts to let someone new cut your hair, it takes even more guts to let someone who speaks a language I like to call Mostly-Chinese-with-a-Sprinkling-of-English cut your hair. But, that said, the ladies at May's Hair Salon did a fabulous job giving me a much needed trim. And the shampoo that was part of the packaged haircut deal? Pretty much the best thing ever! I don't think that I can even fairly call it a shampoo because really, it was more like a professional head-and-neck massage. Yeah, I think I'll be going back there in 6-8 weeks when my hair starts to get straggly again.

see -- i told you he smiles!

Garrett is fascinated by our camera. But then, why wouldn't he be? It's quite frequently hovering over his face in an almost desperate effort to catch his grins on film. Unfortunately, that fascination usually translates into instead our catching his blank, dumbfounded stares on film...faces not too unlike this one (which, while adorable, aren't quite what we were aiming for):


But this morning, while he was happy and pleasant, I must have caught him by surprise:


[Update]

But wait! There's more! This kid's on a roll this morning:

a little known fact about my neighborhood

Either you learned it from your high school history teacher, or you’re good at paying attention to They Might Be Giants lyrics, but many of you know that Old New York was once New Amsterdam, and that it was settled by Dutch immigrants in the middle of the 17^th century. But many of you might not know that Brooklyn, also settled by Dutch immigrants, was once called Breukelen, named for, I assume, someone’s beloved home town in the Netherlands. And what’s more, you are probably not aware that the my neighborhood was originally known as Yellow Hook because those oh-so-observant Dutch settlers thought that the yellowish soil found here was pretty neat. (Or something.)

But even though some people can’t say why they changed New Amsterdam to New York and Breukelen to Brooklyn, I can tell you why my neighborhood is no longer known as Yellow Hook -- and it wasn't because people just liked it better that way.

My neighborhood is not called Yellow Hook anymore because in 1853, after a yellow fever epidemic swept through the area, a group of Concerned Citizens, thought that residents might not like living in a place called Yellow Hook, a name eerily similar to that horribly disgusting and utterly devastating disease, yellow fever, and so they picked a different geographical feature to name the place after: the steep ridge that overlooks the Upper New York Bay.

Now wasn't that thoughtful?

because today is a poetry sort of day

here are two of my favorites:


Because You Asked about the Line between Prose and Poetry

Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned into pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
From silver aslant to random, white, and slow.

There came a moment that you couldn't tell.
And then they clearly flew instead of fell.

--Howard Nemerov

Man Writes Poem

This just in a man has begun writing a poem
in a small room in Brooklyn. His curtains
are apparently blowing in the breeze. We go now
to our man Harry on the scene, what's

the story down there Harry? "Well Chuck
he has begun the second stanza and seems
to be doing fine, he's using a blue pen, most
poets these days use blue or black ink so blue

is a fine choice. His curtains are indeed blowing
in a breeze of some kind and what's more his radiator
is 'whistling' somewhat. No metaphors have been written yet,
but I'm sure he's rummaging around down there

in the tin cans of his soul and will turn up something
for us soon. Hang on—just breaking news here Chuck,
there are 'birds singing' outside his window, and a car
with a bad muffler has just gone by. Yes ... definitely

a confirmation on the singing birds." Excuse me Harry
but the poem seems to be taking on a very auditory quality
at this point wouldn't you say? "Yes Chuck, you're right,
but after years of experience I would hesitate to predict

exactly where this poem is going to go. Why I remember
being on the scene with Frost in '47, and with Stevens in '53,
and if there's one thing about poems these days it's that
hang on, something's happening here, he's just compared the curtains

to his mother, and he's described the radiator as 'Roaring deep
with the red walrus of History.' Now that's a key line,
especially appearing here, somewhat late in the poem,
when all of the similes are about to go home. In fact he seems

a bit knocked out with the effort of writing that line,
and who wouldn't be? Looks like ... yes, he's put down his pen
and has gone to brush his teeth. Back to you Chuck." Well
thanks Harry. Wow, the life of the artist. That's it for now,

but we'll keep you informed of more details as they arise.

--Jay Leeming

Adjusting

As I guess you might expect, those members of our ward who aren't native to Brooklyn (or who didn't emigrate from a foreign country to settle in Brooklyn) are transplants from the West. Like us, they've uprooted themselves from sprawling communities and suburbs in Utah or California or Idaho (or Indiana) to come to New York City for school or an internship or a new job. So Blake and I are very much not alone in our efforts to adapt to a completely new urban lifestyle. At any ward gathering -- church on Sunday or playgroup, for example -- I am asked by quite a few people about how well we are adjusting. So far my answers to them all sound the same: "Oh, there are good days and there are hard days." And then everyone nods sagely in empathetic agreement; they've all been there, done that.

Some things are starting to become second nature to me. Things like packing Garrett in the Snugli and walking down to the supermarket where I squeeze my baby-bulky self through the teeny-tiny aisles to pick up our groceries for the week, and which I awkwardly carry home. Or like lifting an unbelievably heavy bag of dirty clothes down three blocks to the laundromat, again with Garrett strapped to my front, where I part with my ever-shrinking collection of quarters to wash our linens in industrial strength washers and dryers alongside my Chinese, Russian, and Italian neighbors. Or planning for the extra time and leg-strength it will take me to walk the countless blocks to the park, the library, the bakery, the bank, the pharmacy, or the department store. I don't think twice anymore about these activities. And in that way I feel like I'm adjusting quite well to my new life here.

But some things aren't as easy to get used to. You'd think that with all the practice I'm getting, it would get easier to carry Garrett in his stroller up the three flights of narrow stairs in our apartment building when I'm worn out and sweaty from all the walking around the neighborhood that I just finished. But apparently it doesn't. It's still heavy and awkward.

One of the things I'm having the most difficult time adjusting to, though, are the long days. A typical workday in NYC (and I think, actually, all along the East Coast) lasts from 9:00 to 6:00, rather than from 8:00 to 5:00, in order that business with California can still be relatively easily conducted even with the three hour time zone difference. With an hour commute into and back from the city and crowds to wade through, Blake has to leave the apartment at 7:30 in order to get to work on time, and he usually doesn't get home until 7:00 or 7:30, depending on how fast or slow the trains happen to be running during the evening rush hour. If you don't count the times when he has to get into work early and/or stay late, like he had to yesterday, that's a 12 hour day! And if you do count the deadlines that require extra hours, we're looking at more like 15 hour days. I won't lie: it's hard. It's hard to have dinner ready for my hungry husband on those days when my baby won't let me put him down. It's hard when the schedule Garrett's fallen into requires me to be feeding, bathing, and putting him to bed at the same time Dad comes home, which means that I have to decide what's more important: Garrett spending a bit of quality time with Dad and going to bed late, causing him to not sleep as well and to wake up cranky the next morning or a good night's sleep and a pleasant tomorrow for Mama. (Usually we alternate nights.) It's hard to find time when I'm not run-down and exhausted to spend time with my husband.

But, you do what you have to do, I guess, and we're learning to get used to it. It's a good life, but like any good life, no matter where you live, it's sprinkled with with good days and hard days. Thank heavens, though, for weekends! Just because I don't spend my daylight hours in an office anymore, it doesn't mean I don't pine for the companionship and rest that the weekend brings.

Connection Restored

Because we here at our house are all about saving a few bucks each month, and apparently because we’re also easily fed up with obnoxious phone companies, a few days ago we tacked a second cell phone onto our plan (so Blake could feel like a true New Yorker, gabbing on his cell phone to his lovely significant other as he commuted back and forth to work and so I could I could do the same as I hung out at the grocery store), said goodbye to our land line -- and with it our DSL internet -- and installed cable internet. So, now that my connection with the rest of world has been restored, I can fill you in on what's been happening the last little while in our little world:

- Blake and I spoke in church on Sunday. AND we were called to be the Nursery leaders. AND we did it all with a kicking, screaming baby. You may commence your pity on us. (Just kidding about the pity. We all survived, and now our Sundays will involve snack time, play time, and blowing bubbles, so no deprivation here.)

- I made (and won!) my first bid on eBay. And now my baby boy gets to parade around as Garrett the Carrot on Halloween:



- I (finally) started working on Garrett's baby book. And then I started getting dissatisfied with how it was going. And then I decided (for some strange reason) that it would be better if I created my own baby book/journal for him. We'll see how this little project goes.

- I made lasagna for the first time ever. Okay, I take that back. I've made lasagna before in a crock pot, but it never really turned out all that great. So this was my first attempt at lasagna in a traditional 9x13 pan. And reports given by those who ate it lead me to believe that it was a success. So, yay.

- Garrett and I trekked again to Manhattan yesterday to meet Blake after work. While in the city we ran a few errands and, on my aunt's recommendation, stopped by Greeley Square to check out the statue of Horace Greeley. I'm pretty sure that only those as addicted to Newsies as I was back in the day will truly appreciate the significance of personally witnessing said statue. (And yes, I resisted the temptation to climb up into his lap and take a nap.)



- After having several people recommend I read it, and after surviving the move that prevented me from getting it sooner, I was finally able to get my hands on a copy of The Happiest Baby on the Block to see what Dr. Harvey Karp had to say about soothing colicky babies. Though I'm still trying to perfect his technique, I'm already eager to shout this man's praises. Or maybe it's just working because Garrett's starting to come out this phase on his own. Either way, generally speaking, we have a happier baby at our house these days. Which makes ALL of us happier. In a nutshell, his "colic cure" technique revolves around the idea that babies from birth to 3-4 months are essentially experiencing a "4th trimester" and therefore need to live in a world as womb-like as possible in order to stay calm. In practice it involves what he calls "the 5 S's": tight swaddling, letting the baby lay on his side or stomach, loud shhhing, vigorous swinging, and sucking, all done quickly together in order to turn on the baby's calming reflex. So far, Garrett's quite the fan:



- And speaking of Garrett (again), we got our insurance cards in the mail and I was able to make him an appointment for a wellness check-up with his new doctor. The soonest I was able to get him in is October 15th (we're still waiting for the insurance to begin), so essentially his 2-month appointment that we missed because we were in transit and insurance-less will happen at 3 1/2 months. But, better late than never, right? Yeah, I thought so, too.

- Okay, last tidbit of business before I sign off. I just wanted to let you all see, because I'm getting quite the kick out of it, that Garrett has discovered his hands. And with that he has also discovered that they taste pretty darn good:

Found

We found him. He was at church.

Have You Seen This Baby?

Garrett, aged 2 1/2 months, was last seen fussing and crying Friday evening during his bedtime feeding. His mother put him down for the night at 8:30 and, nine hours later (yes, you heard that correctly: nine hours later), a happy, smiley child woke up in the crib in his place. After the 5:30 a.m. feeding of said Mystery Baby (which, mind you, involved no kicking, screaming, or spitting), he fell back asleep and slept until 8:30. When he awoke, he was happy and pleasant, and has been so ever since (we're going on, like, eight daylight hours with nearly no crying).

Again, have you seen this baby? The one that cries for several hours every day? Either way, if not claimed in the next 24 hours, the current caregivers of the Mystery Baby will be more than happy to keep him.