After the holidays past, and I officially finished my last college classes, my life returned to normal...and it was only then that I realized that I was forced to realized it was a new normal. I was a stay-at-home mom...and I found myself admitting it wasn't at all like I had pictured it. But when I tried to figure out what I had pictured, I realized that I hadn't pictured these years at all. Sending my little girl off to school-sure. Being a soccer mom, or a gymnastics mom, or a dance mom--sure. Taking family vacations camping or to Disneyland--of course. But the everyday life with an infant, not at all. I don't really get how this happened. I mean, my sister just ahd a baby a year ago so I thought I knew what to expect. But other than seeing my neice play with toys, and get her diapers changed, when we would get together, I guess I really wasn't paying that much attention.
This whole nursing thing, not even close to a piece of cake. Isn't the baby just supposed to know how to do it? Apparently not. And being at home with a little one who can't talk can be torture. After realizing some days I would go practically the whole day without hearing my own voice, I started making a daily phone call to my sister just to ensure I had at least one conversation during the day, and it helped to be able to vent about some of this motherhood stuff
"Someone should write a book about what motherhood is really like. Not like a what to expect type book, but a novel, or a memoir."
"Uh, Amber, there are lots of them out there."
"Really?"
She gave me a few titles and I wrote them down. I thought about the last time I had been to the library for fun. I don't think I have read a book for pleasure since junior year in high school. Ever since I started having to read a book a week in my AP English class senior year, all my free time was used up with trying to read thick, confusing classics and writing book reports. After that, and all of the textbook reading I did in college, I had forgotten how much I loved reading.
As proof of how much I had missed it, I still remember the first book I read when I re-found my love of books. Little Earthquakes, by Jennifer Wiener. The storyline was a bit to complicated and dramatic to be compared to my own life, but I loved how candid they were when talking about motherhood. I remember reading a part where one of the moms talked about how hard breast-feeding was, and thinking "okay, I guess people have writen about this." Most of all I loved how I could escape from my day, and get lost in another world. I love how usually, anything you want to learn how to do, you can find a book that can teach you 'how to'.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Chapter 7 ~ Our first Winter Storm
Okay so I knew that it snowed here, and I knew it got cold here. But we just got our first snowfall of the season, and it is way beyond being able to wear a cute jacket and a matching hat and scarf. The weather channel was calling it a Nor'easter (whatever that means) and it dumped three feet of snow in one day. December 5, 2007. It is a day I will never forget. When the first snowflakes started to fall I happily sat by the window watching. Then after about a foot of snow had fallen, I put some boots on and went outside and walked around in it. They were dressy black boots with a chunky heel that I used to wear to work, I didn't have any snow boots, I hadn't ever needed them in Arizona and we hadn't gotten around to buying any here. Since I obviously didn't own the proper gear for playing in the snow I came inside and continued watching through the window. When about two feet of snow had fallen I was starting to imagine having to dig our car out of the snow. Then after waking up the next morning to see even more snow had fallen, only a small sliver of the top of the window was still showing, I wondered if I would even be able to get my little Arizona car to start once it was finally uncovered. It was a little Pontiac sunfire, and it was my first car, the car I had bought when I was starting college. At the time I had picked it because it was in my price range and it was cute, but after paying for a lot of repairs I learned that if I had done a any research I would have found it on the Consumer Reports 'used cars to avoid' list. Based on it's past performance, being burried under all of this snow didn't seem to be anything it would recover from.
The good news, Sam finally got a few days off from school. It was two days before our street was plowed enough that we were able to walk outside and try to uncover our car. The owner had aleady shoveled the walkway up to the front door, and now the piles of snow on both sides were as tall as my waist. We walked into the street, since it had been plowed, that was the only side of the car that was reachable. Unfortunately though when the plow came by clearing the street, it piled up more snow on this side of the car, so that the snow drift completlt covered it. We spent the day 'digging out' as the locals call it. We took turns shoveling (with a shovel we borrowed from the owners upstairs-were we supposed to buy one of these?) while the other one stayed inside with Rachel. All of our neighbors were out doing the same thing. It was funny that this was the first time we had even seen many of them, and here they all were, all in the front yards saying "hello" to one another like some Norman Rockwell painting. Funny, but nice.
Just when we had shoveled enough that it felt like we were making progress, I could actually see the side of the car now, I saw the snow plow starting to come down our street. At first I was excited, when you are scooping snow away one shovel at a time, a giant snow plow appears to be your friend. Only, as I watched it come down the street I could see that since there was still a lot of snow on the ground, this final layer of snow was getting pushed up onto the side of the road once again. As it got closer, I stepped out of the street and watched it as it drove by, pushing another layer of snow up against the side of our car. Back to square one. It took a lot more shoveling, and many breaks for hot chocolate, before we had cleared enough that we could get our car out.
After all that work, we decided to celebrate by going for a drive, even though we had no where we needed to go. Once we hit the main road, about four blocks away, we were surprised to see black asphault. Apparently these main roads were plowed a lot more frequently, and the world didn't stop for three days like I had assumed (typical naive west-coaster) just from the view from my living room window.
On Monday morning I offered to give Sam a ride to school so he wouldn't have to trudge through the snow and wait for buses that were sure to be delayed. Shortly after getting on the freeway in Quincy, we passed the brightly colored gas tank that had become a familiar landmark, and I looked off to the right. At this spot the road is right next to the water and you can look out and see the ocean. Only I had to do a double-take, because this time when I looked right, all I saw was a blanket of snow. What? Where is the ocean? This is the right spot?...isn't it? Apparently the temperature had gotten so cold that the top layer of water had frozen, and then all the snow that fell just piled right on top. If you didn't know that you were supposed to be able to see water there, you wouldn't have thought there was anything abnormal. But knowing this, made me feel like I was in Antartica! I later had time to think about it and realized that because Boston is pretty much a bay, the water is more stagnant there, and pretty shallow right there by the coast, so just because it froze right there didn't mean a whole lot. But I still don't like the sound of it. If I was living in a place where the ocean freezes over, I might need to buy a bigger jacket.
Good-bye Tigger Jacket from The Disney Store and hello super-insulated, calf-length, parka from Lands End.
(ocean freezing over could have happened in January)
The good news, Sam finally got a few days off from school. It was two days before our street was plowed enough that we were able to walk outside and try to uncover our car. The owner had aleady shoveled the walkway up to the front door, and now the piles of snow on both sides were as tall as my waist. We walked into the street, since it had been plowed, that was the only side of the car that was reachable. Unfortunately though when the plow came by clearing the street, it piled up more snow on this side of the car, so that the snow drift completlt covered it. We spent the day 'digging out' as the locals call it. We took turns shoveling (with a shovel we borrowed from the owners upstairs-were we supposed to buy one of these?) while the other one stayed inside with Rachel. All of our neighbors were out doing the same thing. It was funny that this was the first time we had even seen many of them, and here they all were, all in the front yards saying "hello" to one another like some Norman Rockwell painting. Funny, but nice.
Just when we had shoveled enough that it felt like we were making progress, I could actually see the side of the car now, I saw the snow plow starting to come down our street. At first I was excited, when you are scooping snow away one shovel at a time, a giant snow plow appears to be your friend. Only, as I watched it come down the street I could see that since there was still a lot of snow on the ground, this final layer of snow was getting pushed up onto the side of the road once again. As it got closer, I stepped out of the street and watched it as it drove by, pushing another layer of snow up against the side of our car. Back to square one. It took a lot more shoveling, and many breaks for hot chocolate, before we had cleared enough that we could get our car out.
After all that work, we decided to celebrate by going for a drive, even though we had no where we needed to go. Once we hit the main road, about four blocks away, we were surprised to see black asphault. Apparently these main roads were plowed a lot more frequently, and the world didn't stop for three days like I had assumed (typical naive west-coaster) just from the view from my living room window.
On Monday morning I offered to give Sam a ride to school so he wouldn't have to trudge through the snow and wait for buses that were sure to be delayed. Shortly after getting on the freeway in Quincy, we passed the brightly colored gas tank that had become a familiar landmark, and I looked off to the right. At this spot the road is right next to the water and you can look out and see the ocean. Only I had to do a double-take, because this time when I looked right, all I saw was a blanket of snow. What? Where is the ocean? This is the right spot?...isn't it? Apparently the temperature had gotten so cold that the top layer of water had frozen, and then all the snow that fell just piled right on top. If you didn't know that you were supposed to be able to see water there, you wouldn't have thought there was anything abnormal. But knowing this, made me feel like I was in Antartica! I later had time to think about it and realized that because Boston is pretty much a bay, the water is more stagnant there, and pretty shallow right there by the coast, so just because it froze right there didn't mean a whole lot. But I still don't like the sound of it. If I was living in a place where the ocean freezes over, I might need to buy a bigger jacket.
Good-bye Tigger Jacket from The Disney Store and hello super-insulated, calf-length, parka from Lands End.
(ocean freezing over could have happened in January)
Chapter 6 - First holiday away from home
We moved into our new apartment on November 1st. Soon after that came Thanksgiving. Our first major holiday away from home. Sam had so many tests since the semester was nearing the end, and since they only give two days off of school it wasn't enough to make a cross-country trip back to Arizona to spend it with family. I was dreading having to make everything myself, and was already missing my moms homemade rolls. Thankfully we weren't the only students in the same predicament. After asking around, Chris and Dave had found there were a few other student couples in Quincy that were also from the west coast that were going to be stuck here as well. Dave and Christine decided to host a potluck Thanksgiving Dinner at their place. They invited two other couples, Kim and Chris, and Josh and Lindy. Kim and Chris were from Utah, Chris was going to school to be an architect. Josh was from New Jersey and Lindy was from Utah, Josh was in Med school at BU, and Lindy was majoring in accounting at UMASS.
With so many of us contributing to dinner we realized that we wouldn't have to cook all day long and decided to plan a group trip down to Plymouth during the day. It was unbelievable that on Thanksgiving Day I was taking a tour of a replica of the Mayflower, and looking at "The" Plymouth Rock (which is much smaller than I had imagined by the way). I couldn't wait to call my family and tell them, and hopefully hear jealousy in their voices. I was relieved when this thought came to mind, because it meant that maybe I wouldn't get homesick when I called and start to cry when I realized I was the only one not there.
Somehow, between the eight of us, we managed to put together a full table of food, all delicious--which was a pleasant surprise to all of us. At the beginning of the day everyone wished they could have been at home, but I think by the end we were content with our day, and happy that we had avoided ten-hour, round-trip flights, all for just a one hour dinner with family. Not only that, but we had started a new tradition. All of us clicked. It is so hard to find couples that both you and your husband get along with. But our whole group was perfect, everyone got along, and had such a fun time together, Hopefully, this was the start of a new Thanksgiving tradition.
Unfortunately, studying called and the festivities were broken up so they guys could get home to study.
With so many of us contributing to dinner we realized that we wouldn't have to cook all day long and decided to plan a group trip down to Plymouth during the day. It was unbelievable that on Thanksgiving Day I was taking a tour of a replica of the Mayflower, and looking at "The" Plymouth Rock (which is much smaller than I had imagined by the way). I couldn't wait to call my family and tell them, and hopefully hear jealousy in their voices. I was relieved when this thought came to mind, because it meant that maybe I wouldn't get homesick when I called and start to cry when I realized I was the only one not there.
Somehow, between the eight of us, we managed to put together a full table of food, all delicious--which was a pleasant surprise to all of us. At the beginning of the day everyone wished they could have been at home, but I think by the end we were content with our day, and happy that we had avoided ten-hour, round-trip flights, all for just a one hour dinner with family. Not only that, but we had started a new tradition. All of us clicked. It is so hard to find couples that both you and your husband get along with. But our whole group was perfect, everyone got along, and had such a fun time together, Hopefully, this was the start of a new Thanksgiving tradition.
Unfortunately, studying called and the festivities were broken up so they guys could get home to study.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
chapter 4 - luxury vs. necessity
After Sam got home from school one day, I decided to head to Walmart to pick up a few things. The store is only about five minutes away and once I got onto Newport Avenue it was pretty much a straight shot. I was proud that I was finally starting to figure out my way around.
When I was leaving to come home, I apparently wasn't paying attention because after driving for over fifteen minutes I didn't see anything familiar, okay I was lost. I was trying to avoid stopping to ask for directions, not because I don't like doing it, but because Sam has told me frequently that it is different out here, and it isn't a good idea to do anything that would make it appear that you are a naive tourist, or that you are alone and lost. I saw a sign that said "Wollaston" and remembering that I lived near the Wollaston neighborhood I decided to head that way hoping it would get me on the right track. By then, it was already dark and I just ended up further away. When I found myself driving alongside the ocean I was overcome with a feeling of being out of my comfort zone. I was a desert girl. Driving alongside the ocean made me feel like I was at the end of the earth, and while we lived somewhat close to the beach, it wasn't anywhere near on the way home from Walmart. I was obviously more turned around than I thought so I decided to stop at a gas station and ask for directions. Gas stations aren't as plentiful and as conveniently located on the corners of intersections out here so I had to drive a while longer just to find one. While I drove, I practiced asking for directions in a tone that didn't shout, 'I am a naive girl who is lost and alone.' I decided I couldn't mention that I was in fact trying to find my own house, so maybe I could say that I was looking for my friend's house, or maybe the Wendy's which is near where I live. When I got out at the gas station I rolled down my window and asked the attendant even more vague, in a 'silly me I've been here before but can't seem to find it this time' tone, "How do I get to North Quincy from here?"
"Do you know where the Walgreens is?"
"Uh huh." (crap! no. why did I say that?! but I can't change my answer now, then I would look lost and dumb).
"When you get to the Walgreens take a left and it will take you to E. Squantum street, follow that and it will take you to North Quincy."
"OK. Great. Thanks for your help." Crap! Crap-crap-crap! I rolled up my window and started slowly driving back towards the road. Only which way to go. I picked right. I probably should have turned left, because going right didn't lead me to any Walgreens. I tried turning around at one point but trying to find my way to through the maze of round-a-bouts proved impossible. Eventually I ended up near the free way and was able to figure out how to get back home.
I finally made it back about an hour after leaving Walmart and attempted to explain to my worried husband how easy it is to get lost in this town. The good news is, we could now justify buying a cell phone as a necessity and find some way to squeeze it into our budget.
I also jumped at the chance, when a week later a I heard someone from church was moving and was giving away their trusty map book. Our realtor had one of these books, and I had thought it was strange that a local, who drove around different neighborhoods for a living would need such a thing. But apparently the maps here are not just for tourists. Later on, that book came in handy in more ways than one.
When I was leaving to come home, I apparently wasn't paying attention because after driving for over fifteen minutes I didn't see anything familiar, okay I was lost. I was trying to avoid stopping to ask for directions, not because I don't like doing it, but because Sam has told me frequently that it is different out here, and it isn't a good idea to do anything that would make it appear that you are a naive tourist, or that you are alone and lost. I saw a sign that said "Wollaston" and remembering that I lived near the Wollaston neighborhood I decided to head that way hoping it would get me on the right track. By then, it was already dark and I just ended up further away. When I found myself driving alongside the ocean I was overcome with a feeling of being out of my comfort zone. I was a desert girl. Driving alongside the ocean made me feel like I was at the end of the earth, and while we lived somewhat close to the beach, it wasn't anywhere near on the way home from Walmart. I was obviously more turned around than I thought so I decided to stop at a gas station and ask for directions. Gas stations aren't as plentiful and as conveniently located on the corners of intersections out here so I had to drive a while longer just to find one. While I drove, I practiced asking for directions in a tone that didn't shout, 'I am a naive girl who is lost and alone.' I decided I couldn't mention that I was in fact trying to find my own house, so maybe I could say that I was looking for my friend's house, or maybe the Wendy's which is near where I live. When I got out at the gas station I rolled down my window and asked the attendant even more vague, in a 'silly me I've been here before but can't seem to find it this time' tone, "How do I get to North Quincy from here?"
"Do you know where the Walgreens is?"
"Uh huh." (crap! no. why did I say that?! but I can't change my answer now, then I would look lost and dumb).
"When you get to the Walgreens take a left and it will take you to E. Squantum street, follow that and it will take you to North Quincy."
"OK. Great. Thanks for your help." Crap! Crap-crap-crap! I rolled up my window and started slowly driving back towards the road. Only which way to go. I picked right. I probably should have turned left, because going right didn't lead me to any Walgreens. I tried turning around at one point but trying to find my way to through the maze of round-a-bouts proved impossible. Eventually I ended up near the free way and was able to figure out how to get back home.
I finally made it back about an hour after leaving Walmart and attempted to explain to my worried husband how easy it is to get lost in this town. The good news is, we could now justify buying a cell phone as a necessity and find some way to squeeze it into our budget.
I also jumped at the chance, when a week later a I heard someone from church was moving and was giving away their trusty map book. Our realtor had one of these books, and I had thought it was strange that a local, who drove around different neighborhoods for a living would need such a thing. But apparently the maps here are not just for tourists. Later on, that book came in handy in more ways than one.
Chapter 3 - apartment hunting
Being at home with a 2 month old after you move to the other end of the world from family and friends (or so it seemed), especially when your husband was at school all day and then swamped with studying all night, is harder than I thought it would be. Sam takes the commuter rail into Boston each day. There is actually a stop right here at our apartment complex, but despite this convenience, we still live far away, and his school is no where near a train station. After he catches the train here he takes it to South Station, and then has to wait for a bus which takes him to the school. So after all that it takes about an hour to get to and from school each day. Which means he is gone from about 7 in the morning until 6 at night, and that is on a lucky day when the buses are running on time.
I have been filling my days with trying to unpack just the necessitities (since this place is just short-term), trying to finish my last few college classes over the internet, re-learning my daily routine in this new environment, and trying to figure out this little daughter of mine. Rachel seems to want to eat about every hour, aren't they supposed to go at least a couple hours? Sometimes I try and distract her and make her wait, but most of the time it is easier to just feed her so I don't have to listen to her fussing. After all, I am just sitting here all day anyway.
Things like figuring out how to do the laundry have taken probably more thought than they should. The problem is, the laundry room is two floors down. How do you carry a basket full of clothes, quarters, laundry soap, fabric softener, and a infant down two flights of stairs without dropping the most important item? Could I leave Rachel in the apartment while I run down there real quick? What if she is sleeping safely in her crib? What if I even lock the apartment door? Maybe it is because I am new here and not completely comfortable, but I can't seem to justify it. So the method I have went with is putting some laundry soap and softner in baggies and putting them in the basket of clothes and then setting Rachel right on top. For now, as long as I don't run into any neighbors that work for child protective services I think it will be alright.
After a few weeks, I am finally feeling settled and ready to venture out on my own. Last Saturday we drove to a place downtown called Quincy Market. A place with lots of shopping, restaurants, and on the weekends there are street performers that are entertaining to watch. One thing I learned on this outing was how easy it is to get lost here. Adios to streets that were designed with the grid system in mind. Whoever designed these streets had to have been on crack! There are so many times that you aren't exactly lost, because you can see where you want to go, but you can't figure out how to get there. So after experiencing this it made me a little hesitant to venture out on the roads. But our 3 month lease is expiring quickly so we need to find a place to move soon.
I had found some apartments online. I thought I could narrow them down by making some phone calls first, but I am learning yet another way the east coast differs from the west. I have been trying to compare places and one thing I have been trying to figure out is how big the apartments are. I didn't think that "How many square feet is it?" was a difficult question to ask an owner...but appartantly I am mistaken. 'It is a two bedroom' or 'It is a 4 room apartment' is about the most descriptive they will get. I am not sure if they really don't know how big it is, or if they just don't want to reveal exactly how small it is. Whatever the case, it appears that narrowing them down over the phone is not an option, and I will need to check them all out in person.
........
FYI trying to find any address in this town is IMPOSSIBLE! I spent the whole day trying to see three apartments. There are hardly any street signs in this town, and if there does happen to be a street sign it is probably 10 yards from the corner, hidden behind a tree! After spending an hour trying to find one house, I pulled up to this run down place on a super busy street. I just sat there in the car staring at it and decided, 'I don't care what the inside looks like, I don't want to live here.' The realtor I was meeting was waiting outside and waved to me, and I bolted. I just drove off. Hasta la vista. Hopefully she isn't the realtor in charge of any other apartments I want to see because I probably just burned that bridge.
Also, apparently any apartment with two bedrooms feels entitled to charge the same amount of rent. It doesn't matter if it is run down, falling apart, has the washer and dryer down in a dingy cellar with a dirt floor, it is still $1100. In Arizona if you are willing to live without a nice view, you save $100, go without a fireplace, save another $150. Not the case here. You get what you get, and you pay an arm and a leg for it.
One of Sam's classmates recommended we look in the city of Quincy. This friend, Dave, and his wife Christine, live there say it is way closer to the school but far enough away that it is safe and still inexpensive (relatively of course). So we decided to check it out. Of course, "we" means it is me who spent another miserable day driving around getting lost, trying to keep Rachel happy in the car for hours on end, having to stop and feed her, change her diapers, oh and see some apartments while I am at it. I hate that everything is so complicated with a baby. Of course I should be the one to find apartments, because I am the one who is home all day, but this is definitely not as enjoyable, or as easy, as shopping for an apartment in college with my soon-to-be roommates. Today there was some hideous places: red shag carpet, hideous wanna-be-wood floors, so much for east coast character and brownstones with wood mouldings.
I was almost ready to give up, when I finally found the perfect place. After the place with the red shag carpet I told the realtor I was calling it a day. She said she had one more place, it wasn't as close to the T (the subway), and it was in North Quincy, but it was a nice place. I told her thanks, but no thanks, but I was worn out and just wanted to go home. If I didn't leave soon I would get stuck in rush hour traffic and it would take me more like 2 hours to get back to Norwood. I put Rachel in her carseat, buckled her up, then got in and sat down. I took a deep breath and was happy to be done for the day, but when I realized that I still didn't have a place, which meant there would probably be many more days like this, I almost had a panic attack. I jumped out of the car and ran over to the realtor's car before she drove off. I tapped on the window and she rolled it down, "I guess I have time to see one more place." I followed her to the final apartment and we pulled up to a beautiful house. It was an actual house, with a patio, maroon shutters, and a front yard with grass. It was what they call a two family house, the owners lived upstairs and they were renting the first floor. The inside was even better. Dark wood floors, that were in good shape, wood moulding around all the windows and on the ceiling, two bedrooms, and a large kitchen with normal sized appliances (including a dishwasher) and even a cupboard with room for a washer and dryer. True, it was kind of wierd for it to be in the kitchen, but way better than down in a dingy cellar. And what do you know, this place was way better than everything else we looked out, but it still carried the standard two bedroom price, $1100. Sold!
I have been filling my days with trying to unpack just the necessitities (since this place is just short-term), trying to finish my last few college classes over the internet, re-learning my daily routine in this new environment, and trying to figure out this little daughter of mine. Rachel seems to want to eat about every hour, aren't they supposed to go at least a couple hours? Sometimes I try and distract her and make her wait, but most of the time it is easier to just feed her so I don't have to listen to her fussing. After all, I am just sitting here all day anyway.
Things like figuring out how to do the laundry have taken probably more thought than they should. The problem is, the laundry room is two floors down. How do you carry a basket full of clothes, quarters, laundry soap, fabric softener, and a infant down two flights of stairs without dropping the most important item? Could I leave Rachel in the apartment while I run down there real quick? What if she is sleeping safely in her crib? What if I even lock the apartment door? Maybe it is because I am new here and not completely comfortable, but I can't seem to justify it. So the method I have went with is putting some laundry soap and softner in baggies and putting them in the basket of clothes and then setting Rachel right on top. For now, as long as I don't run into any neighbors that work for child protective services I think it will be alright.
After a few weeks, I am finally feeling settled and ready to venture out on my own. Last Saturday we drove to a place downtown called Quincy Market. A place with lots of shopping, restaurants, and on the weekends there are street performers that are entertaining to watch. One thing I learned on this outing was how easy it is to get lost here. Adios to streets that were designed with the grid system in mind. Whoever designed these streets had to have been on crack! There are so many times that you aren't exactly lost, because you can see where you want to go, but you can't figure out how to get there. So after experiencing this it made me a little hesitant to venture out on the roads. But our 3 month lease is expiring quickly so we need to find a place to move soon.
I had found some apartments online. I thought I could narrow them down by making some phone calls first, but I am learning yet another way the east coast differs from the west. I have been trying to compare places and one thing I have been trying to figure out is how big the apartments are. I didn't think that "How many square feet is it?" was a difficult question to ask an owner...but appartantly I am mistaken. 'It is a two bedroom' or 'It is a 4 room apartment' is about the most descriptive they will get. I am not sure if they really don't know how big it is, or if they just don't want to reveal exactly how small it is. Whatever the case, it appears that narrowing them down over the phone is not an option, and I will need to check them all out in person.
........
FYI trying to find any address in this town is IMPOSSIBLE! I spent the whole day trying to see three apartments. There are hardly any street signs in this town, and if there does happen to be a street sign it is probably 10 yards from the corner, hidden behind a tree! After spending an hour trying to find one house, I pulled up to this run down place on a super busy street. I just sat there in the car staring at it and decided, 'I don't care what the inside looks like, I don't want to live here.' The realtor I was meeting was waiting outside and waved to me, and I bolted. I just drove off. Hasta la vista. Hopefully she isn't the realtor in charge of any other apartments I want to see because I probably just burned that bridge.
Also, apparently any apartment with two bedrooms feels entitled to charge the same amount of rent. It doesn't matter if it is run down, falling apart, has the washer and dryer down in a dingy cellar with a dirt floor, it is still $1100. In Arizona if you are willing to live without a nice view, you save $100, go without a fireplace, save another $150. Not the case here. You get what you get, and you pay an arm and a leg for it.
One of Sam's classmates recommended we look in the city of Quincy. This friend, Dave, and his wife Christine, live there say it is way closer to the school but far enough away that it is safe and still inexpensive (relatively of course). So we decided to check it out. Of course, "we" means it is me who spent another miserable day driving around getting lost, trying to keep Rachel happy in the car for hours on end, having to stop and feed her, change her diapers, oh and see some apartments while I am at it. I hate that everything is so complicated with a baby. Of course I should be the one to find apartments, because I am the one who is home all day, but this is definitely not as enjoyable, or as easy, as shopping for an apartment in college with my soon-to-be roommates. Today there was some hideous places: red shag carpet, hideous wanna-be-wood floors, so much for east coast character and brownstones with wood mouldings.
I was almost ready to give up, when I finally found the perfect place. After the place with the red shag carpet I told the realtor I was calling it a day. She said she had one more place, it wasn't as close to the T (the subway), and it was in North Quincy, but it was a nice place. I told her thanks, but no thanks, but I was worn out and just wanted to go home. If I didn't leave soon I would get stuck in rush hour traffic and it would take me more like 2 hours to get back to Norwood. I put Rachel in her carseat, buckled her up, then got in and sat down. I took a deep breath and was happy to be done for the day, but when I realized that I still didn't have a place, which meant there would probably be many more days like this, I almost had a panic attack. I jumped out of the car and ran over to the realtor's car before she drove off. I tapped on the window and she rolled it down, "I guess I have time to see one more place." I followed her to the final apartment and we pulled up to a beautiful house. It was an actual house, with a patio, maroon shutters, and a front yard with grass. It was what they call a two family house, the owners lived upstairs and they were renting the first floor. The inside was even better. Dark wood floors, that were in good shape, wood moulding around all the windows and on the ceiling, two bedrooms, and a large kitchen with normal sized appliances (including a dishwasher) and even a cupboard with room for a washer and dryer. True, it was kind of wierd for it to be in the kitchen, but way better than down in a dingy cellar. And what do you know, this place was way better than everything else we looked out, but it still carried the standard two bedroom price, $1100. Sold!
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Chapter 3 - Boston
Without any family nearby and with Sam in school all day (and studying all night), Rachel and I were pretty much joined at the hip. I stayed at home with her. I taught her things, and watched her soak them in, and we explored the city.
I remember teaching her the alphabet. Well, technically Dr Seuss had a lot to do with it, but I was the one who read all those books to her so I think I still get the credit. She loved the Dr Seuss's ABC book. But I read it to her, and she loved that book. I can remember when she was a little older than one and we were flying home to visit family in Phoenix. It is a 5 hour flight, and she wanted me to keep reading that book, over, and over, and over again. Whenever you are on a flight with a young child, your only goal is to keep them quiet. Keep them relaxed. So they can just make it through the flight, so you can make it through the flight, and so that everyone around you can make it though the flight (without giving you dirty looks the whole time). So when I would finish reading it, and she would hand it to me and say "again." I would read it, again. I read it so many times that I had the whole book memorized, in fact I think I still do. "Big B little b what begins with B?" Barber, baby, bubbles, and a bumblebee." Actually, I vividly remember how I felt when we finished that flight. I wanted to chuck that book out the window and never read it again! I am glad I didn't though, because looking at it now brings all of those memories back. The cover is ripped, as well as many of the pages, and now it is all patched up with scotch tape.
As for thinking motherhood wasn't what I expected, I think a better explanation, is that I didn't really have any expectations about this part of motherhood. I didn't know much about what I wanted my life to be like when I "grew up" but I always knew I wanted to be a mom. I had pictured being a soccer mom, and taking her to school, volunteering in her classroom, and having freshly baked cookies ready when she got home from school. I even had trouble choosing a major in college, because all I wanted to do was be a mom. But once it finally happened, when she was born, I admit, I was a little blind sided. In all of my daydreams, I don't think I had ever really imagined what my daily life would be like during those first few years, even though I had seen friends, and even my sister, have babies. I pictured holding them and looking at their adorable little face, and hands, and toes, but beyond that I guess I didn't know what it would be like. So when I finally got the chance to turn in my busy life, of working and going to school, and always staying busy, for a life of sitting at home, sitting on the couch, feeding a baby, and watching her sleep, it was a dream come true, but also a shock to my system.
Because of this, I wasn't always the happiest mom. I didn't always love this new life. Sometimes I missed my old one, where I had a job, where I felt busy, and productive. I missed interacting with adults, heck, just people who could talk. I remember, after one long day, realizing that I wasn't sure if I had uttered a single word that whole day until Sam came home from school. Sure, I would talk to Rachel, but I guess I didn't count that, because it wasn't a 'conversation.' Baby talk, and a few words here and there. Narrations of my day. After that, I would call my sister, or my parents almost every day. Just to say hi. Just to visit. Because some of those days were hard, they were too long, and sometimes they were lonely. These are probably the times that my husband thinks of when he wonders why I want another baby, I know he is thinking 'but you weren't always happy when you had a baby, so why do you want to do that all over again?' But all I needed was a little bit to keep me going, and then I could be happy just spending time laying on a blanket on the floor with my daughter and watching her eyes light up when she recognized a favorite toy, or just to tickle her and listen to her giggle. My husband isn't wrong, (though I refuse to say that he is right:). I wasn't always happy. There were down times, when I was sad, and depressed, and angry at him for not helping out what I thought was 'enough', or for many other things, but the good times, the highs, were so much higher than the happiness I had could get from anything else, that to me it made it worth it. I would compare it to how I felt on my wedding day. When I was so happy that my checks hurt from smiling so much. But that is just one day. And no matter how much we try to savor that day, to make it last; by taking a bazillion pictures, and hanging them in every room in the house, making a wedding video, etc it really is only one day. Would you relive that day over and over again if you could? Maybe, but we can't get married every day, and that is probably a good thing, because it was also an exhausing, stressful, expensive day. Which is actually perfect, because it proves the point that even the best things in the world have a down side. But, if there is something that makes us utterly happy, we strive after those things, despite the down sides.
Maybe this is why locals in Boston say "I could never leave here, I love the seasons, and I would miss them if I moved somewhere else." They are right, the seasons in Boston are unique. But during my first few years there, I couldn't understood how a few weeks of blossom covered trees in the spring, and a few weeks of colorful leaves in the fall balanced out (what feels like) nine months of the most miserable winter weather you can imagine. For each person it is different. To them, those few weeks out of the year make it all worth it. And for me, all those days where I struggled to even get a shower, let alone do the laundry or the grocery shopping, or actually prepare a meal for dinner, are all worth those few days where you are able to truely enjoy being a mother to your child.
I remember teaching her the alphabet. Well, technically Dr Seuss had a lot to do with it, but I was the one who read all those books to her so I think I still get the credit. She loved the Dr Seuss's ABC book. But I read it to her, and she loved that book. I can remember when she was a little older than one and we were flying home to visit family in Phoenix. It is a 5 hour flight, and she wanted me to keep reading that book, over, and over, and over again. Whenever you are on a flight with a young child, your only goal is to keep them quiet. Keep them relaxed. So they can just make it through the flight, so you can make it through the flight, and so that everyone around you can make it though the flight (without giving you dirty looks the whole time). So when I would finish reading it, and she would hand it to me and say "again." I would read it, again. I read it so many times that I had the whole book memorized, in fact I think I still do. "Big B little b what begins with B?" Barber, baby, bubbles, and a bumblebee." Actually, I vividly remember how I felt when we finished that flight. I wanted to chuck that book out the window and never read it again! I am glad I didn't though, because looking at it now brings all of those memories back. The cover is ripped, as well as many of the pages, and now it is all patched up with scotch tape.
As for thinking motherhood wasn't what I expected, I think a better explanation, is that I didn't really have any expectations about this part of motherhood. I didn't know much about what I wanted my life to be like when I "grew up" but I always knew I wanted to be a mom. I had pictured being a soccer mom, and taking her to school, volunteering in her classroom, and having freshly baked cookies ready when she got home from school. I even had trouble choosing a major in college, because all I wanted to do was be a mom. But once it finally happened, when she was born, I admit, I was a little blind sided. In all of my daydreams, I don't think I had ever really imagined what my daily life would be like during those first few years, even though I had seen friends, and even my sister, have babies. I pictured holding them and looking at their adorable little face, and hands, and toes, but beyond that I guess I didn't know what it would be like. So when I finally got the chance to turn in my busy life, of working and going to school, and always staying busy, for a life of sitting at home, sitting on the couch, feeding a baby, and watching her sleep, it was a dream come true, but also a shock to my system.
Because of this, I wasn't always the happiest mom. I didn't always love this new life. Sometimes I missed my old one, where I had a job, where I felt busy, and productive. I missed interacting with adults, heck, just people who could talk. I remember, after one long day, realizing that I wasn't sure if I had uttered a single word that whole day until Sam came home from school. Sure, I would talk to Rachel, but I guess I didn't count that, because it wasn't a 'conversation.' Baby talk, and a few words here and there. Narrations of my day. After that, I would call my sister, or my parents almost every day. Just to say hi. Just to visit. Because some of those days were hard, they were too long, and sometimes they were lonely. These are probably the times that my husband thinks of when he wonders why I want another baby, I know he is thinking 'but you weren't always happy when you had a baby, so why do you want to do that all over again?' But all I needed was a little bit to keep me going, and then I could be happy just spending time laying on a blanket on the floor with my daughter and watching her eyes light up when she recognized a favorite toy, or just to tickle her and listen to her giggle. My husband isn't wrong, (though I refuse to say that he is right:). I wasn't always happy. There were down times, when I was sad, and depressed, and angry at him for not helping out what I thought was 'enough', or for many other things, but the good times, the highs, were so much higher than the happiness I had could get from anything else, that to me it made it worth it. I would compare it to how I felt on my wedding day. When I was so happy that my checks hurt from smiling so much. But that is just one day. And no matter how much we try to savor that day, to make it last; by taking a bazillion pictures, and hanging them in every room in the house, making a wedding video, etc it really is only one day. Would you relive that day over and over again if you could? Maybe, but we can't get married every day, and that is probably a good thing, because it was also an exhausing, stressful, expensive day. Which is actually perfect, because it proves the point that even the best things in the world have a down side. But, if there is something that makes us utterly happy, we strive after those things, despite the down sides.
Maybe this is why locals in Boston say "I could never leave here, I love the seasons, and I would miss them if I moved somewhere else." They are right, the seasons in Boston are unique. But during my first few years there, I couldn't understood how a few weeks of blossom covered trees in the spring, and a few weeks of colorful leaves in the fall balanced out (what feels like) nine months of the most miserable winter weather you can imagine. For each person it is different. To them, those few weeks out of the year make it all worth it. And for me, all those days where I struggled to even get a shower, let alone do the laundry or the grocery shopping, or actually prepare a meal for dinner, are all worth those few days where you are able to truely enjoy being a mother to your child.
Chapter 2 - Moving across the country
The way it worked out, I was 6 months pregnant and having difficulties with pre-term labor when we were supposed to fly to visit Boston for the first time and find a place to live. So we put off the trip until after Rachel was born at the end of May. At that point, it wouldn't work out for me to go, but we had to have a place to live starting in 2 months, so Sam flew out on his own. He found a place we could sublet for a few months so we could get out there and give us some time to get an idea of the neighborhoods that we could both afford and would be willing to live in.
Driving across the country in a Uhaul with a newborn didn't sound like a very peasant experience, so we decided that Sam would drive with his brother, and Rachel and I would fly to meet them once they arrived. So despite my obsessive need to plan, and over plan, my first time seeing Boston (the place I would call home for the next 4 years) was when I stepped off the airplane with suitcases and an infant carrier in hand. Sam picked up me, and 2 month old Rachel, from the Logan Airport and drove us to our new home. It was late at night, and already dark, but I remember staring out the window on the entire ride home, just like a little kid staring at Christmas lights out a car window on Christmas Eve. He took the scenic route down 1-93 (that was before it was buried underground as part of the Big Dig). We drove through downtown, past the aquarium, past hotels that looked like museums. I remember being suprised to see high rise buildings made out of bricks. I thought I knew what to expect, but apparently everything I needed to know about Boston could not be learned just by watching Dawson's Creek.
Despite the differences -it was still magical--just like I had imagined. I lived near a big city growing up, but downtown Phoenix was a place you avoided, and downtown Boston was just the opposite. It was calling out for me to come and explore. There were houses that were so old they had been lived in by people like Paul Revere. I think the oldest houses I had seen in Phoenix were from the 1980's. The Boston Massacre happened here, and the Boston Tea Party. This is where the Declaration of Independence was first read. I can't even remember anything else that happened here, but those few things alone were more than everything historic or exciting that had ever happened in Phoenix. I was just trying to take it all in.
Forty-five minutes later we were pulling up to our new apartment building, Windsor Gardens Apartments in Norwood, a suburb about 45 minutes south of Boston. While we were excited to live near Boston, we weren't naive; we knew just like any inner-city there were neighborhoods that we should avoid, only we didn't know which ones. So for now we decided to play it safe and live in the out-skirts while we figured it all out. Not to mention, the amount of money we saved. Our only income was going to be the maximum amount of student loans they would let us take out. Just a studio apartment near Boston University would cost around $2000 a month. It is funny how coming from spending $600 a month for a one bedroom in Mesa, Arizona, I am already saying things like "We found a bargain-we are only paying $1100 a month for our place!" Oh how the times have changed.
The front of our apartment building has a buzzer that visitors have to press and someone has to buzz them in. It is just like on Seinfield. The inside kind of reminds me of Seinfield's apartment too. It has one big room where the living room and dining room are all combined. Only I am pretty sure his kitchen was bigger. I walk into the "kitchen," a small square inside and off to the side of the large room. I just have to stand in one spot and do a 360, if I hold my arms out I could touch the counters on all sides. I didn't know they even made appliances this small. The oven was only as wide as my forearm. Would our cookie sheets even fit in it? Come to find out later, no, they would not. It was more like some sort of built in toaster oven. There was also a dishwasher that was just as small, maybe smaller. I would find out later that having a dishwasher at all was a luxury here. Oh-and the bathroom, it was pink. Not the walls, something easy to change, but the actual shower, and sink and toilet. I have never seen anything besides white in Arizona. What type of company would make them in pink? And what kind of person would buy it and install it in their house? Despite the little quirks of this place, it wasn't too bad. It was small, but it was nice and open and the entire back wall was a giant window that looked out at a forest of tall trees. Probably more trees I've seen in all of Phoenix combined. Okay, obviously an exaggeration, but definitely more trees than I would see in a day back home.
Well, now to the unpacking.
Driving across the country in a Uhaul with a newborn didn't sound like a very peasant experience, so we decided that Sam would drive with his brother, and Rachel and I would fly to meet them once they arrived. So despite my obsessive need to plan, and over plan, my first time seeing Boston (the place I would call home for the next 4 years) was when I stepped off the airplane with suitcases and an infant carrier in hand. Sam picked up me, and 2 month old Rachel, from the Logan Airport and drove us to our new home. It was late at night, and already dark, but I remember staring out the window on the entire ride home, just like a little kid staring at Christmas lights out a car window on Christmas Eve. He took the scenic route down 1-93 (that was before it was buried underground as part of the Big Dig). We drove through downtown, past the aquarium, past hotels that looked like museums. I remember being suprised to see high rise buildings made out of bricks. I thought I knew what to expect, but apparently everything I needed to know about Boston could not be learned just by watching Dawson's Creek.
Despite the differences -it was still magical--just like I had imagined. I lived near a big city growing up, but downtown Phoenix was a place you avoided, and downtown Boston was just the opposite. It was calling out for me to come and explore. There were houses that were so old they had been lived in by people like Paul Revere. I think the oldest houses I had seen in Phoenix were from the 1980's. The Boston Massacre happened here, and the Boston Tea Party. This is where the Declaration of Independence was first read. I can't even remember anything else that happened here, but those few things alone were more than everything historic or exciting that had ever happened in Phoenix. I was just trying to take it all in.
Forty-five minutes later we were pulling up to our new apartment building, Windsor Gardens Apartments in Norwood, a suburb about 45 minutes south of Boston. While we were excited to live near Boston, we weren't naive; we knew just like any inner-city there were neighborhoods that we should avoid, only we didn't know which ones. So for now we decided to play it safe and live in the out-skirts while we figured it all out. Not to mention, the amount of money we saved. Our only income was going to be the maximum amount of student loans they would let us take out. Just a studio apartment near Boston University would cost around $2000 a month. It is funny how coming from spending $600 a month for a one bedroom in Mesa, Arizona, I am already saying things like "We found a bargain-we are only paying $1100 a month for our place!" Oh how the times have changed.
The front of our apartment building has a buzzer that visitors have to press and someone has to buzz them in. It is just like on Seinfield. The inside kind of reminds me of Seinfield's apartment too. It has one big room where the living room and dining room are all combined. Only I am pretty sure his kitchen was bigger. I walk into the "kitchen," a small square inside and off to the side of the large room. I just have to stand in one spot and do a 360, if I hold my arms out I could touch the counters on all sides. I didn't know they even made appliances this small. The oven was only as wide as my forearm. Would our cookie sheets even fit in it? Come to find out later, no, they would not. It was more like some sort of built in toaster oven. There was also a dishwasher that was just as small, maybe smaller. I would find out later that having a dishwasher at all was a luxury here. Oh-and the bathroom, it was pink. Not the walls, something easy to change, but the actual shower, and sink and toilet. I have never seen anything besides white in Arizona. What type of company would make them in pink? And what kind of person would buy it and install it in their house? Despite the little quirks of this place, it wasn't too bad. It was small, but it was nice and open and the entire back wall was a giant window that looked out at a forest of tall trees. Probably more trees I've seen in all of Phoenix combined. Okay, obviously an exaggeration, but definitely more trees than I would see in a day back home.
Well, now to the unpacking.
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