Remember when?

Remember when…

It was our little pod: me, you, Colton?  We woke up in the mornings, walked Chata down the street, went to the park.  We switched between St. Catherine’s Park on 68th and 1st and the water park on York and 76th, close to the East River.  We would wait in line, sometimes for 30 minutes, to push you on the swings in the park.  I’d put your little legs on one side of the baby swing and Colton’s little legs on the other.  When our minute and a half of swinging time was up, the very aggressive nannies would push towards me, clearly indicating they believed our time on the swings was up.  I was one of the few moms in the park, amidst the sea of nannies.  I was definitely the most horrendous looking one, probably wearing the same outfit for the third day in a row, bags under my eyes from exhaustion of caring for two small children and a surgical resident by myself.  Most of the nannies loved their babies as much, or more, than the mothers who bore them.  Some….when I saw the mom walking on the street later, only recognizing her for who she was by the child in the stroller, I would tell her about what happened at the park with her kid…and her nanny.  The next week, there’s be a new nanny.  It was hard- for working moms to find someone to love and care for their child as their own.  I remember wanting to join playgroups - but I couldn’t because I was a “mom” and not a “nanny”.  I could be friends with a nanny on my own and our kids could be friends, but in a circle of people, our friendship could not be acknowledged and I wasn’t included.  It was a weird space to be in.

I digress.

They would inch upon me, the nannies, and the other extremely aggressive mothers, in heels, makeup done, hair blown out, talking on their phone… next to the nannies, and would curtly tell me my time was up.  I ignored them of course and made a show of telling you and your brother that since you were two kids in a swing at the same you got a double turn, and not to listen to the ladies telling you to get out and we would get out when we were good and ready.  To be honest, at that point I was ready.  It’s hard to stand your ground….over swings…in the playground.

Remember when…

We would walk to Central Park, looking for princesses and princes- the young couples who were getting married in the park.  You and your brother loved princesses and princes and when we saw a wedding or prom, I always told you, “Look! A princess!!  Her horse!  Her carriage!  The prince!”  We would look for the Queen and the King and I don’t remember ever finding them.  We would walk to the Central Park Zoo- you loved the penguins, not so much because they were penguins but because on hot summer days they provided reprieve from the sweltering sun that even found a way to beat on us from the ground up; the winter, from little frost bitten hands and cold little feet that you would later shove under my shirt and press into my belly to warm them up when we finally walked home.

Remember when…

We would pass by the fruit man, we called him.  His name escapes me now, but at the time he was, oddly, an intimate part of our lives.  He taught you and your brother how to barter, how to count money, how to multitask, and the importance of other adults having to wait for a child learning a new skill.  He looked for you, for us, everyday.  And when he went back home for a month or so, to the Middle East, to see his wife and his children, you missed him.  And when he returned it was as if an uncle had finally come home.  Though the reality was that we didn’t know him at all, but in a city of millions, he made us feel at home.  

Remember when…

We walked to the Godiva chocolate store every Friday to get one free piece of chocolate that we would share.  Once a month we would get a chocolate raspberry shake that they would split it into two cups.  They knew we had no money, so they acted like it was one cup split into two as a show for the other customers who could afford it, but they gave us two for the price of one, a rarity in a city that spends money at the rate my heart beats when I hold you close.  

Remember when…

It was time for kindergarten.  You and I were so entwined, being thrust in this NYC life together, that we were both terrified of being without the other one.  You were my little half, my buddy, my little Munchie.  You had two “guys” we called them.  Others say stuffed animals, but your Aunt Kelli called them “guys” when she was little and it stuck.  Your guys were Ruff Ruff and Hello Kitty.  Holy man did you love those guys- still do.  You were worried and anxious about kindergarten and you wanted dresses to match the three of you.  I spent the summer making 18 dresses by hand: six for you, six for Ruff Ruff, six for Hello Kitty.  I don’t ever remember seeing a little girl so happy and excited.  Colton and I dropped you off at school that first day with your best friend Sophie.  I dropped you off and you cried.  The teacher had to hold you back in the classroom because you tried to escape.  I held it together until we made it outside.  Colton was crying because it was his first day of his life without you.  I cried for the same, because my life didn’t really begin until I had you.  It was horrible.  Colton asked me no less than 1400 times that day, “When can we go get Gabi?”  Not soon enough my friend.  Not soon enough.

And now she’s a sophomore in high school, looking at colleges.  

And Cooper started kindergarten.  

I thought it was going to be the same for Cooper as it was for Gabriela Catalina and for Colton.  They each required their own personal teacher for every morning at drop off UNTIL JANUARY because they refused to willingly leave my side.

The first day of kindergarten Cooper put on his brave face and, in opposition to all my warning to the new teacher, walked into the school with only one single tear falling down, his little face sunken in sadness, but his little legs willfully walking inside.  I was shocked and proud and, if I’m being honest, a little disappointed I didn’t get such a dramatic goodbye as the others.  

The next day went as expected though.  When I woke him up to take him to school, he yelled at me, “I SAID I WOULD TRY KINDERGARTEN FOR ONE DAY AND I DID AND I DIDN’T LIKE AND I’M NEVER GOING BACK!!! NEVER!!” I was secretly pleased- he did like me after all. 

 I cried so hard that day.  He sobbed the whole way to school and he cried so hard he had to be peeled off of me and taken inside by a loving teacher we have now known for five years.  He left his monkey, Ooo Ooo, at home so I had to go back and get it.  I cried when I returned to give it to the office.  I missed him already and it had only been an hour. She gave me a sympathetic eye and chuckled when I told her what he had said.  She told me she overheard a kindergartener telling another student that first day of school, “I do NOT know what my mother was thinking signing me up for this camp!  I am DONE HERE!”  It was cute.

I remember when…

Every time you or your brothers leave, you take a huge piece of my heart.  You take my whole being.  But I’m so proud of who you and your brothers are becoming, even the little savage one and I’m so happy I was the one chosen to get to be your mom.