New York Love/Hate

As you all know, I'm 37 weeks pregnant. I have been on sabbatical from my full-time job as a high school teacher since February, therefore I have yet to commute during this pregnancy. That has been a gift from the heavens. But alas, unless this little boy comes early, I will hop on the F train to teach at my high school on September 8th and commute daily until I go into labor. Just the thought of squishing on a crowded rush hour train makes me have contractions. Ugh.

My brilliant acquaintance Lynn Harris wrote this short diatribe for the NY Times last week which got a lot of heated feedback. Lots of hatred out there for pregnant women by the NYC masses. Pretty intense to read the comment section and see how evil folks really are.

And I am not a subway seat hog when preggers, believe me. I have a four stop commute, and I honestly feel bad for those of you who have to ride for an hour or more each way, packed like sardines in a smelly tin. And, the bigger I get, the harder it is to get up and down from a seat without a crane. With this in mind, for the most part, I prefer to stand for short trips. That was, until some woman slammed into me when I was 38 weeks pregnant with Alexandra.

I was standing, on my way to work, on a crowded F and this airhead decided she didn't feel like holding onto the pole. The train lurched. SLAM--she went--her full body weight (and she was not a waif) right into my huge belly that I was trying to keep out of everyone's way (it is quite cumbersome to be more than twice your normal width and navigate crowded spaces). It HURT. I doubled over. I was worried she had broken my water (I just peed my pants a bit, thankfully). I yelled at her, "Hold onto the fucking pole!" She shrugged and mumbled "Sorry." I had tears in my eyes--she had REALLY smashed into the belly. Since then I have taken a seat when offered. Even for short trips. And, believe it or not, I have had people FALL ON ME when sitting. I swear, when pregnant am I a magnet for clumsy folks or something?!

I don't feel a sense of entitlement for a seat when pregnant, but I do feel like it's good manners to offer. Even if you have chosen not to have kids, or you hate "breeders" someone bred for YOU--why don't people get that? I don't see why it's made into such a big deal. These folks needed their mamas to raise them better.

Texting & Driving

Did you all see this when it circulated around facebook a few days back?

I finally got around to watching it tonight. Pretty intense, but I really hope it gets used in high schools.

As someone who lost one of her best friends when I was 16 from a guy (our friend, ironically, who had my quasi-boyfriend and her boyfriend in the car with him) driving 55 in a 25 on his way to school, I can say that this PSA is pretty gruesome yet true to life. I can't imagine how reckless high school drivers must be now, with cell phones, ipods, and all other devices at their fingertips while driving. And it's not just teenagers, either. Adults, whom you think would exercise a bit more precaution, are just as stupid.

Is it crazy to say that one reason I want to raise my kids in NYC is so they won't be driving? It's true.

Hope this PSA gets around to schools and driver's ed classes. As of today in NY, it's illegal to text and drive. Can't believe they had to make a law about that and it's not just common sense.

beginning of baby horror movie...

...you turn on your baby video monitor and...

scenario 1: the crib is empty
scenario 2: there's a freaky-ass mobile hanging up and you have no idea whose it is
scenario 3: there's a different baby in the crib than your kid

these are the joys of having a video baby monitor in the city where everyone is piled on top of each other. you know--it's not enough to hear each others' conversations, fights, and sex and to see into each other's windows, but now we can see through each other's walls, too. here's how it works:

there are two channels on our baby video monitor. when we switch from the channel in alexandra's room to the other option, we see any of the above three scenarios. they really freaked me out at first, but now i find them kind of amusing.

and, in my own juvenile prankster way, i want to hook our monitor up to some scary-ass face one day so that when someone else switches to "our" channel they'll be greeted with a photo of those black-eyed people from "True Blood" or something. i am a sick person.

gotta love urban living.

(this photo isn't our bassinet, but it's made of cardboard and can be recycled when your babe has outgrown it--tres cool.)

Brown Bear : Brown Girl

I have been writing a big fat chapter of my dissertation on the role of race in developing curriculum--a lot of stuff on racial identity formation, racial microaggressions, etc. So this stuff has been on my mind a lot lately.

Tonight I read "Brown Bear Brown Bear" for the millionth time to Alexandra. She can recite the entire book with me and I love it. When we get to the page with the teacher she says, "Mommy!" and when we get to the page with the children she names off everyone from her daycare. For the most part, she matches the illustrations to the physical attributes of her friends at daycare. Leo, who has bright red hair, is the strawberry blonde boy. Iris, who has a brown bob haircut, is the little girl with brown hair. Caitlin, who is biracial Asian/White is the Asian-looking girl. Daniel, who is Hispanic/White, is the dark-haired little boy.

That is, until she finds herself. For as long as we have been naming the children in the book, we always ask, "Where's Alexandra?" And her response is always the same:

The brown-skinned kid with an afro.

Love it.

acupuncture makes you pregnant

I recently posted a warning on facebook that advised friends not to have unprotected sex in December because it lands you at 9+/- months pregnant in August. And, unless you live in Alaska, I think that being 9 months pregnant in August anywhere is akin to living in hell. And, if you're having a "mild" summer (as everyone keeps telling me while I restrain myself from hitting them), a "mild" version of hell IS STILL HELL ladies and gentlemen. So there.

But I feel I must come clean.

Quite honestly, we don't know how we got pregnant this time. We took all necessary precautions (condoms), and while we did engage in some pre-holiday lovin' it's not like we were rabbits or anything. I mean, gosh, for Christmas I was at my mom's house--the biggest libido killer on earth. I can only think of one thing:

My dear friend Mona, acupuncturist extraordinaire, offered a holiday special for December--$50 acupuncture treatments. I was in. I love acupuncture. I had only used it twice before for very specific treatments (chronic calf injury from running, depression post-miscarriage), but I thought I'd try out a simple overall wellness treatment. As I chatted it up with Mona pre-needle-sticking, she asked if all was well. Pretty much, yeah. I had no major ailments, was finally feeling my old self 18 months after Alexandra's birth, and was doing okay. Except...

Any of you who have had kids know that post-baby, intimacy takes on a new form. I found that while breastfeeding, my libido was shot, gone, vamos, adios, sex? What? Ewww...gross. I had weaned Alexandra in August and it had come back slowly, but--you know--I wanted it back full force. My body was pretty much back and I wanted to put it to use.

I tentatively asked Mona if there was an acupuncture point that would jump start my libido. She said, "Of course, but it's in an intimate spot." Thinking she was going to have to put a needle THERE, I got nervous, but then she told me the spot is right at the tip of your tailbone, pretty much at the top of your crack. "Are you comfortable with this? This is our first treatment together." I think I laughed at her. After having a baby in a room full of people, having someone see the tip of my buttcrack didn't even register on my scale of embarrassment. "Go for it," I told her.

Three weeks later my period was late.

Moral of the story: Acupuncture can increase your libido...and get you pregnant.

Six Years

Today is our 6th anniversary.

Six years =
Three pregnancies.
Hopefully two babies.
Three apartments within two brownstones.
Three international trips together.
Almost three graduate degrees combined.
Infinite laughs & many tears.
New family entering.
The acknowledgement that somehow we "grew up" along the the way.

I looked at our wedding photographs last night and they seem to hail from another era. Adam looks like a little boy. I'm thin, tan, and blonde. It's easy to romanticize our lives back then--the freedom we had, the disposable income, the social life, the travel, the space, the quiet time...The list is long.

But this weekend Adam went away with Alexandra and I was left in Brooklyn to write for 50 straight hours. Our one bedroom apartment seemed huge...and quiet...and dark....and sad...and wrong. Just plain wrong.

As much as becoming a family has thrown a curve ball to our relationship, our finances, our senses of self--EVERYTHING, I wouldn't trade it for anything--not the possibility of being kinda hot, not the promise of beaucoup cash and no college debt, not the potential to own my own living space, not for all the free time in the world. I'd rather be schwarmy, broke, renting forever, and smothered with baby love and whining as long as I'm with Adam and Alexandra and this new baby.

And that's the truth.

I love you, honey. So much. Happy 6th anniversary.

Birth to Three: The Vital Years

Baby girl and hubby are in CT this weekend attending a party for the patriarchs of the family who are aging slowly and surely before our eyes. Somewhat ironic that I should post on early infancy/childhood interventions as they celebrate the birthdays of grandpop and gramps, but in some ways, I think if someone would just sit and read to grandpop and gramps all day right now they might be happier.

In a rare morning of laziness, my first time EVER left in Brooklyn without Alexandra since here birth over two years ago, I woke at 10am (after staying up until midnight writing, since the whole point of me not going was b/c I'm 35 weeks preggers and need to write my dissertation) and leisurely did some laundry, ate breakfast,and became captivated by a story on "This American Life" about the Harlem Children's Zone and it's mission to get kids on the right track from BIRTH.

A lot of research was presented on how from birth until three a great deal of action occurs in a child's brain, action and information that will determine his/her success for later in life. The older they get, the harder it is to counteract the actions taken at this early age. Actions include: literacy skills (reading, word knowledge), ability to respond to positive reinforcement versus physical punishment, and so forth.

It was an insanely compelling story. Somewhat disheartening since I teach high school and their arguments were that in most accounts, by high school attitudes are so ingrained that they're hard, if not impossible, to reverse. However, in some strange way, I found the show very hopeful as well.

It's about 1/2 hour long, but if you're interested go here. Totally worth your time. Especially if you're a parent of a young kid or you give a rip about how poverty rears it's ugly head from the moment you're expelled from the uterus.

Off to write about those hopeless high school kids in my dissertation. Trying to crank about at least 20 pages today.

She Knows

Alexandra--my two year old--knows something is up. I mean, it's pretty obvious: I have a huge basketball strapped to my tummy, my agility and ability to play has been greatly compromised, and I eat approximately 1/4 a watermelon a day when it's over 85 degrees...Even a toddler could pick up on the clues; she knows something is up and/or about to change.

Lately, she has been crazily attached to me. She laid in her crib last night and sang "Twinkle twinkle little star" but all the words were replaced with "Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy." She wants me to bathe her and put her to bed every night. She wants to hold my hand when crossing the street. She has been super emotional lately, and she wants me to snuggle her and scratch her back and rub her head when she's moody. When I went on my femme date the other night, she had a veritable meltdown. She senses this life we have is about to shift.

And in some ways it breaks my heart, especially as an oldest child. I remember my sister coming home. Granted, I was three instead of two, but all the photos have me scowling at Amy, sulking in the background, or glaring at her with my lower lip sticking out. I know Alexandra's life as she knows it--the life where she is truly the center of our universe--is about to end, and I feel sad for her. But I also know that if we didn't have another kid, we'd probably totally spoil her and she'd turn out to be a total turd of a kid, hence why we wanted more than one child. But it's all so hard to reconcile.

But last night she really got me. I was putting her down for the fifth or sixth time (she is cutting her two-year old molars and I think they were keeping her from falling asleep--they are HUGE!), and I was scratching her back and saying "I love you, Alexandra" and she replied, "I love you" for the first time, through her spitty, slurred pacifier speech. Granted, she may have been merely parroting me, but it made my heart melt.

She only has a few more weeks to be our only child. I'm going to spoil her as much as possible during them.

Why I Teach, #4

Stephanie--second from right. I have no graduation pics of her b/c I had my daughter the day she graduated!

Last night, en route to a femme date at BAM, I ran into a student who graduated two years ago--Stephanie.

Stephanie wasn't your average student at our school. She was the goth girl in a very hip-hop-y school = dark black hair, piercings, wore combat boots, netted shirts, lots of silver rings, etc. She struggled a lot in high school, but I always loved her. Granted, I never actually taught her, but somehow I forged a pretty tight relationship with her during her time at our school. Probably b/c my close friends/co-workers taught her...

But I ran into her on 9th Street yesterday, and she was ecstatic to see me, especially since I'm so hugely pregnant. She began our conversation with, "Those people at (our school) never thought I'd amount to something..." to which I directly replied, "No, honey, some of us always knew you'd amount to something..." It breaks my heart when kids are told so much crap by schools that they internalize forever. I personally know one of Biggie Smalls's teachers from Boys and Girls High School (he's retired now), and every time I listen to "Juicy" when Biggie says, "This album is dedicated to all the teachers who said I'd never amount to nothing" I think, "But Mr.---- didn't think that!" It's heartbreaking how the negative can outlast the positive.

Regardless, Stephanie was so excited to boast of her post-high school success. She just finished a program to be a LPN (Liscenced Practical Nurse) and also got her EMT license at the same time. She is going to get a job at a hospital so someone will pay for her RN degree while she works, and then she wants to go on to be a midwife! She witnessed two births during her schooling and was inspired. A midwife!

Any of you who know me know I adore/worship/idolize midwives. I think they are amazing...I was so happy for her and also thrilled that she was so proud of herself. It just made my night.

Congrats, Stephanie. Some of us did know you'd amount to something.

Hot...Ice Cream!

Baby girl...her humor kills me.

We installed the tiny AC that we bought for her room yesterday b/c it finally feels like summer here. I usually love the heat of summer and embrace it fully, but yesterday I thought I might spontaneously combust. I called Adam at work to demand that her AC be put in b/c I just imagine that the rest of the world is as hot as I am. And guys, I am melting here--gestating + heat = not a good combo.

But seems like the little AC that could really can. It got freezing in her room, she woke up and cried for us, but our baby monitor volume wasn't up high enough and our AC was on...By the time Adam realized she was crying (I was already asleep), she was pretty hysterical, face all puffy and red, etc. It was so sad. She was scared b/c it had gotten so cold and we didn't come to save her. Broke my heart. She came into bed with me and I rubbed her back and apologized profusely and tried to explain what an AC was...Eventually she calmed down.

But Adam--superdaddy that he is--decided to sleep in her room with her so that she wouldn't be afraid and he could monitor the AC beast. He turned it down and in the middle of the night it got hot, so hot that she woke up, screamed, "HOT! ICE CREAM!" and then went back to sleep. What a riot, that kid.

That's pretty much what I wanted to run through the streets of Bklyn screaming yesterday. This baby girl might not look like me, but she is definitely mine.

Meat in your Mouth

One of the best things about having Alexandra was befriending Amy & James. I'm not even sure of the chronology of our meeting, but Amy and I did pre-natal yoga together, then we met them again at a breastfeeding class at RealBirth, and then we ran into them at a baby store in the 'hood, and then at the now extinct Virgin Megastore at Union Squre...Soon it became obvious we should be friends.

Our first year as parents we spent a lot of time at their apt, Amy & I nursing, eventually the kids kinda playing, and James cooking. James' cooking is like a gift from God--it's better than any restaurant I have ever eaten in and his specialty is meat. Everything he makes is good, but whenever James roasts or grills a piece of meat it is unbelievable.

This weekend was no exception. We took the train up to Rhinebeck and to hang out and catch up. Somehow, with the advent of our kids turning 2, we haven't found much time this summer to get together.

Dinner last night...amazing. James made lamb on the grill with some sort of mint pesto rubbed into it, along with grilled figs, squash, corn...It was all delicious, but the lamb...Heaven. For someone who hasn't liked meat this pregnancy, I certainly put away a lot of lamb last night.

This post is a shout out to James-the-meat-roaster. We joked that if I were to write a eulogy for him, I'd quote the BBQ caterer's truck from my friends Brenda and Evan's rehearsal dinner in Baltimore (photo above): "James Luria--his meat tastes good in your mouth."

John Hughes: the man, not the movie

I wanted to write something about John Hughes today, about how seeing boobs in "Sixteen Candles" made me excited to have some one day, how I have shown "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" on many a field trip to urban kids who have never seen the movie but then ADORE it (who doesn't love a story of skipping school, dysfunctional families, and overzealous school administrators?), etc....

But then my friend Mary posted this girl's blog post on Facebook and I read it and got teary.

Quite a glimpse of John Hughes the man instead of John Hughes the brilliant movie-making machine that defined my generation. This post is additionally a tribute to the now somewhat lost art of letter writing and how letters simply resonate in a way emails/tweets/blogs just can't. Beautiful.

Thanks for sharing your story with us, Alison.

Park Slopers! Give these folks your business!

Being the size of a small whale in the summer greatly limits my ability to get around much. I went into Manhattan about four weeks ago with a list of places to hit, got to Babies R Us and Whole Foods for lunch, and then gave up from exhaustion and went home. That said, I have been around Park Slope a lot.

In addition to being preggers, we moved, which creates a list of needs that range from an expensive portable AC for the whale-mama to those little mirror clips so that the mirror doesn't bow out and make me look even fatter than I am. I have been hunting and gathering in this 'hood for weeks, and I wanted to share with you the little tidbits of joy I have found at various establishments. Give these folks your business--they are golden.

1. Leopoldi's Hardware, 5th Ave between 7th and 8th Streets: This place looks insane inside; they literally have stuff stacked floor to ceiling but their peeps know exactly where everything is. The two Leopoldi brothers run it, their mom works there, and I know of at least one Leopoldi son who works there. They are Brooklyn-y (love the accents), helpful, and will get what you want if they don't have it. And the place has that glorious smell of hardware stores that I remember from growing up--like fertilizer and dirt and manliness. They rock.

2. J&R Appliances, 7th Ave near Union Street: A small space that pales in comparison to Best Buy and Lowes and those other mega-stores, but they are awesome. Has been open since the 40's and the guys there will get anything for you that those big stores have and they'll match the price, provide free delivery, and walk your shiz up to your apartment. We bought a mac daddy portable AC from them and it was a dud. They sent a repair guy within two days of our call, he confirmed it was a dud, and they called Friedrich and argued with them for a new one b/c they knew I was pregnant, irritable, and would probably go on a killing rampage if I didn't have an AC. If it hadn't been for them, we'd be out $600 and be waiting around for an eternity for a new AC via those Friedrich guys. I heart those guys at J&R. For real.

3. Park Slope Yoga Center, Union Street b/t 6th and 7th: I have been doing yoga pretty regularly since I was 22 (13 years!) and have been in a lot of studios. PSYC is not pretty--I'll admit that--but after practicing at OM and Jivamutki in the city the lack of commercialization at PSYC is a breath of fresh air = I can go in there w/o feeling the need to buy a pair of $100 yoga pants. Their props are only okay, but their teachers are great. Also, if you buy a class pass they aren't yoga nazis about it--if you don't finish the pass in the allotted amount of time they're generous (unlike OM, where you couldn't use a class past the expiration date to save your life). Also, if you buy a class card while preggers they give you two years (!) to use it up b/c they know your life and your free time are about to be flushed down the toilet upon the birth of your child. Beautiful.

Just had to give some shout-outs. These little things have meant a big deal to me lately.

Birthing Fears

In an effort not to read academic articles last night I pulled out my big ol' file of materials from the birthing classes we took when pregnant with Alexandra. As I have mentioned, we have done nothing to prepare for this birth--no class, no hospital visit, no reading, nada. I started thinking it was time.

The material wasn't new to me--I remember the phases: early labor, active labor, transition; I remember the positions: walking stairs, leaning over bed, on birthball, the "slow dance" (which doesn't work for us b/c husband is too tall), etc. I read through all the packets of information from RealBirth (the best place ever to take birth classes in NYC, if anyone needs some) and laid in bed TERRIFIED.

Why is it that having done this before is bringing me so little solace? I know I can do it, but I am scared to do it all again. I vividly remember how much it hurt, how my poo-cat looked and felt afterwards, and how much I screamed my head off. And I know that eventually, things go back to a new normal of sorts, but the body is never really the same (esp the girl parts). I also remember the incredible joy of holding Alexandra for the first time, the instant stoppage of pain once she was out, and the surge of oxytocin that was like no high I had ever experienced. So why am I freaking out?

I guess this is a case of ignorance is bliss.

Photo of Alexandra right after birth, June 25th, 2007

Mommy's Penis

My belly button didn't pop out with Alexandra and I was kinda bummed about it. I thought that it was a routine part of pregnancy, and I certainly wasn't small when fully pregnant with her, but it just stayed fairly tucked in and that was that.

Not this time. The belly button has been acting suspiciously for a couple weeks now (see this post) and I noticed last night (after a day of feeling icky and sore and definitely growing) that it was officially all the way out now.

And it's not as cute as I thought it would be. When wearing a thin shirt, it looks like I have a Bermuda Triangle of nipples (my boobs and my belly button). When my shirt is off, it's curious looking.

So curious that this morning, when changing Alexandra's diaper and getting her dressed, my tank top (which is pretty much a half shirt) was up and my belly hanging out and she pointed to my belly button and said, "Mommy's penis." Yeah, that's how far out it is. It took me a while to figure out what she was saying, but then it was clear as day. My belly button is so far out that to her it looks like a little penis.

I quickly corrected her and said that mommy has a poo-cat like her and that only boys have penises but she pointed at it and plucked it a bit and repeated "Mommy's penis."

Well, chalk that up to another adventure in pregnancy. I now have a minuscule penis.

Let me sell you my used crap for retail value!

Since I am home "writing my dissertation" and have a 2 year old and am pregnant with #2, I spend a decent amount of time trolling the classifieds of Park Slope Parents, the listserv that serves my neighborhood and a large swath of Bklyn. On this listserv, folks post things that they are ISO or trying to unload, name a price, and oftentimes are successful in selling the baby/kids/home-related products they are done using. It's quite beautiful when it works--it saves items from going into a landfill, you get to make a few bucks, and the stuff that was taking up so much space in your tiny apartment is magically removed and usually given to another sweet family. I have genuinely enjoyed meeting all the folks who have come to pick up our stuff.

But lately the classifieds have been killing me. Folks just don't get the concept of "used" and/or they're greedy, broke, or just plain stupid. Let me give you some examples:

Phil & Teds doubles stroller for sale: new price $900 (with all accoutrements), selling for $750. What's wrong with this post? Well, duh, your stroller is USED. That means there's Cheerio dust, baby barf, drool, possibly poop, and general wear and tear on it. I don't care if you "only" used it 10 months. Ten months of stroller use must be multiplied by ten in Brooklyn, where most of us depend on our strollers for everyday survival. Why on earth would I buy your used stroller for only $150 less than a brand spanking new stroller? Seriously, guys. Get over yourself.

Boob nursing top: new price $60, and let me quote here, "will accept $50." Oh, really? You "will accept" $50? Claims never to have worn it. STILL! Even if you're not lying, you effed up, bought a way expensive nursing top, and then you didn't wear it. And now you want close to retail value for it? HA. Again, get over yourself. I just posted a Boob nursing dress, retail $80, worn twice, for $20. SOLD in a skinny minute.

Design Within Reach couch: new price $1800, for sale for $1200. Again, dudes, you bought a wildly expensive couch BEFORE you had kids and now you can't fit it into your apartment? What were you thinking? Sell that shizz as fast as possible, give yourself a slap on the wrist, and go get that baby swing and bouncy seat that will suck up space in your apartment like a black hole.

So lately, instead of reading Park Slope Parents for actual shopping, I just read it to make fun of people. I know we're in a recession and everyone needs an extra buck, but pawning off your used items for anything more than 50% of original retail value is just plain ridiculous.

Goodbye 335

Our last box is unpacked and we have officially moved from 335 8th Street, a brownstone in which we lived in three of the four apartments for the past 7 1/2 years.


first bath, 2007

We were laying in bed the other night recounting the memories we have of 335. We actually have a file in our file cabinet labeled 335--full of hateful notes between us and the crazy dog lady who lives upstairs, cards, receipts, sketches of the wall Adam built for Alexandra's room when we moved into the garden apartment, random/funny mail, and a whole separate file within the 335 file of memories of our friend and neighbor, Eric, who abruptly passed away while we were all living at 335.


good-bye party for lisa when she moved to london, 2003

Some monumental 335 moments:
--when the Tower of Lights at the WTC footprint was lit, we could see it from our bed in the 3rd floor apartment at 335
--beginning of War in Iraq one month after we moved into 335
--we both completed our Master's degrees while at 335
--got engaged at 335
--Kat & Eric, our downstairs neighbors, drove us to the train station to get to our wedding the weekend of the Blackout after drinking lots of beer and eating lots of ice cream in the dark the night before at 335
--lost our first pregnancy at 335
--lost Eric while living at 335
--found out Kat was pregnant 2 weeks after Eric died at 335
--water broke in kitchen at 335
--brought Alexandra home to 335
--many a drunken party at 335 (many hosted with Kat & Eric)
--cat boy's existence (the building's ghost) at 335
--the secret hidden grow room behind the sauna at 335
--kitty communication between the apartments at 335
--the paper thin floors at 335
--our gigantic party bathroom (now contradicted by the smallest bathroom ever in this apt!) at 335
--Adam almost getting shot by the crazy dog lady neighbor for looking at the lunar eclipse at 335
--Obama was elected and we watched it with Jen & Mary at 335
--all of our babies conceived at 335
--met biological mom and half-sister, found biological dad while living at 335
--traveled to: Israel, Japan, England, Serbia, Costa Rica, Mexico (twice), Puerto Rico, & India while living at 335 and always so happy to come home
--"Puppy, NO!" "Want some meat cookies?" "Shake, Jack, shake!" and trash rummaging

God, the list goes on.


Christmas Tree, 2005

And even before I moved into 335, it was one of the first places where I hung out when moving to NYC. Kat & Eric were close friends with Virgil, my first friend here, and we'd go to their house to watch the X-Files, eat dinner, and drink beer on rotation every third week. With this in mind, I had been hanging out at 335 for 2 years before I moved into the building. My entire NYC existence revolves around 335.

But it was time to say goodbye to 335, our crazy landlord Gordo, the quirky stained glass/columns and functioning sauna and the history of the building. We have handed over each apartment as we moved out to good friends who will undoubtedly form their own sweet and bittersweet memories there. And, we didn't go far--we moved next door (!)--but our time there was done.

Goodbye 335. We love you and all you added to our lives.


Backyard, 2008