These are the people in my ’hood.

Layoffs

Magazines have been dropping like flies for a couple years now.  When I was at Wondertime it seemed like every couple weeks we learned about another title that was folding.  And then of course it was our title that folded.

Today it was announced that Conde Nast is closing several more titles, including Cookie.  This one is particularly noteworthy to us Wondertimers. We saw Cookie as one of our main competitors, moreso than other parenting magazines, because it was taking an unconventional approach — as were we, although those approaches were very different. I imagined I’d feel some satisfaction that Cookie was closing — if we don’t have jobs, neither should they, darn it! — but I actually found myself feeling bereft.  On and off all day I’ve been imagining the editors and designers packing up their desks, as we did at Wondertime nine months ago.  I imagined those people had been working on their next issue, as we had been at Wondertime when we found out the news. I remember very well how it felt to go back to my desk after the big revelation — surprise, you’re unemployed! — and see the meaningless work lying there as if it somehow still mattered. So, Cookie employees: Good luck. Unemployment can suck.  We know.

(But it can also be kind of nice. Just sayin’.)

And who shall I say is calling?

Tomorrow night’s Kol Nidre, and Monday is Yom Kippur.

There have been times in my life when I’ve felt more observant than others. Preparing to become a bat mitzvah, for example, was a time when I felt very in touch with my Jewishness. In graduate school I began going to Friday night services every week.  But mostly Judaism is a backdrop for me.  Some years it has been a very pale, subtle backdrop.

One year, the first year I had a job, I decided to work on Yom Kippur.  I’m not especially observant, and I got very few days off from this job, so I figured I’d just go.

That was the first and last time I did that. I felt like there was some electrical forcefield of wrongness surrounding me, all day long.  I recall looking at the front page of the paper and reading some headline about how Jews the world over were observing the holiest day of the year, and I felt almost as if I’d shunned myself by not being part of the observance. In retrospect, it was probably the year that I did the most atoning, but I don’t want to repeat that experience.

Each year I’ve been in Northampton, I’ve gone to the Conservative synagogue in town. Philosophically I think I fall more in line with Reform Judaism, but circumstances have conspired to bring me to CBI instead. Strangely enough I have more Jewish friends here than I had in New York or Boston — why? I couldn’t say — and so synagogue is always something of a social hour.  With the kids I spend at least half the time out on the playground, anyway, and there’s always a lengthy meet-and-greet before and after services.

Come Yom Kippur, though, I tend to feel more introspective.

And so I say to all of you, forgive me. I am human. I make mistakes.  Sometimes I know I’ve done wrong; sometimes I do it inadvertently.  Please accept my apologies. And happy new year.

And who by fire, who by water,
Who in the sunshine, who in the night time,
Who by high ordeal, who by common trial,
Who in your merry merry month of may,
Who by very slow decay,
And who shall I say is calling?

—Leonard Cohen

If you say so

Lila’s sick.  Third day out of school.  It’s the kind of sickness that I find especially confounding — she seems fine during the day, but once she goes to bed she spikes a fever.  The especially cruel irony is that Lila wants nothing more than to be at school.  Stella, meanwhile, would be overjoyed to have a legit reason to skip kindergarten.  She has fun once she’s there, but convincing her to go again, morning after morning, is a job. She clearly has doubts about the entire educational enterprise.

“You think you’d like to stay home, but you wouldn’t really,” Lila said huffily to her this morning.  ”It’s not as fun as you think.  After having to stay home for three days, going back to school would feel like the best day of your life!”

Stella shrugged her skinny shoulders in reply: If you say so.

Anyway, Stella had other things on her mind. To wit: “Why do people say Jamie is a boy?”

“Um…because he is one?” I answer.

“I mean, why do they say he’s a girl? Is it because his hair goes down” —Stella swirls her hands around her ears to her shoulders— “instead of staying in a circle on top of his head?”

“Maybe,” I say. “But it’s okay if his hair looks different from others boys’.”

“I know,” she says. But there’s that same skinny-shouldered shrug: If you say so.

It reminds me of a time years ago when Lila and I were discussing a reality of living where we live: Many of her friends have two mommies.  She’s so used to this arrangement that it never occurred to her to question it or find it strange.  The day same-sex marriage was legalized in Massachusetts, I walked Lila downtown and we saw a couple of women marrying on the steps of City Hall.  I stopped and pointed out the scene to her. She saw nothing noteworthy about it. I tried to explain to her to significance — that there had been laws against this, and that sometimes laws are wrong and have to be challenged.

“Some kids have a mommy and a daddy, like you,” I pointed out. “And some kids have two mommies, like Jessup and Jack. And some kids have two daddies, for that matter.”

“Two daddies?” Lila stopped in her tracks. This was surprising. “Two daddies? How would that even work?”

I mentioned adoption, then considered trying to explain surrogacy, but she’d moved on. We were near Herrell’s, and thoughts naturally turned to ice cream.

That was years ago now. Today she’s lying on the couch, watching a little PBS Kids, fretting about what she’s missing in class today. If she feels well enough later I may bring her out to Herrell’s again.

Apple pickin’

Fall in New England means school field trips to apple orchards.  It’s unavoidable—not that I’d try to avoid it.  I volunteered to “be one of the mommies” on Stella’s class trip today. I somehow managed to get lost (which upset one of my riders greatly — Stella kept telling him her mommy would be able to fix the situation, but he clearly had little faith), and forgot to bring lunch (the trip was 10:30 to 2 pm), but despite everything, I did learn a lot:

• When you cut an apple in half, you find a star. (“I knowed that,” said several of Stella’s classmates, perhaps a bit impatiently.)
• When you plant an apple seed, the tree that grows is a different variety of apple. (None of us knowed that. Not even the grownups.)
• Oranges are actually a berry. So are bananas.

Discussion ensued among the parents: Was Johnny Appleseed a complete fabrication? Which apples are best for crisp, which are best for pie? And anyway, how has your kid been transitioning to school? It still feels new to Stella, and to me, this big-kid day that she has now. I think about how new shoes at the beginning of the year leave blisters, but a month later they are as comfortable as being barefoot — you don’t even remember not having them.

On the way back to school every passenger dropped her bag of apples on the floor at some point.  I tried to collect each apple and put it back in its original bag (the kids were in agreement about whose apple was whose, astonishingly) but I expect to find a lone apple in that car some months from now, wizened and half-frozen, and I will think back on this first full day of autumn, and maybe remember that bananas are berries, and hope that by then Stella’s school day feels as comfortable as being barefoot.

9/3/09

And then some days I hardly see anyone at all. Days like today, where I go so long without talking that when I do finally speak, I have to clear my throat to get my voice going again. I could probably do with more days like that. The weather has been most unfair this year in that just as the kids have gone back to school, the weather has turned effin’ gorgeous. Low 80s, no humidity, sunshine all the time. I walked downtown in my flipflops and sunglasses, picking up some cherry tomatoes and pignoli for a dinner with my aunt and uncle tonight. I hit the Woodstar, State Street Market, and even popped into Faces for a moment to check out fall bags. But I saw no one, spoke to no one, even though it seemed everyone was out. Some days you’re alone in the world.

9/2/09

Dropped the kids for their first day at school — and suddenly the morning feels quiet and still. Not in a bad way — there’s just a calm, expectant feeling hanging in the air. Chris and I come home, toss the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, and I walk downtown to meet my old coworker Laura for coffee. A project from St. Martin’s awaits me on my desk, but…you know…priorities.

Woodstar Cafe: Wendy

As I’m bringing my latte outside to chat with Laura, the director at Lila & Stella’s old preschool stops me to say hello. Of course I’ve taken cellphone pictures of Stella’s entree into kindergarten, so I put down my things and yank out my phone. Wendy recalls that the last time she saw me here at the Woodstar, Stella was with me. Last spring — after I got laid off — I had taking Stella to the Woodstar for a little alone time with her, since Lila got dropped off at 8 and Stella didn’t get dropped off till 8:30. Prior to my layoff, I hadn’t had a chance for those kinds of outings with her very much — she’d been in all-day care since she was in diapers. But now that’s all over. Wendy gives me a hug. Her kids are in college now, but she remembers how it is.

Woodstar Cafe: Roz

Shortly after I sit down with Laura, my friend Roz, whose daughter is in the same kindergarten with Stella, comes by and we compare notes. Neither Roz’s daughter nor Stella were feeling certain about school starting. I tell Roz how this morning I said to Stella, “Do you know what today is?” and Stella answered grumpily, “Saturday!” But both girls seemed happy when we left them.

Woodstar Cafe: David

Once Laura and I start talking in earnest, the conversation distracts me and I only give a brief hello wave to an acquaintance, David, who rides up near us on his bike. I love that this town is bike friendly — and that so many people I know are on their bikes so much of the time. And it occurs to me that since my girls aren’t with me, it would be easier for me to bike into town, too. I make a mental note to remember that tomorrow. When my kids are back in school, again. Hallelujah.

9/1/09

Last day of summer vacation. It was crisp, clear, and sunny, and it put me in mind of a similar day eight Septembers ago. That day I walked downtown, too, with six-month-old Lila in the stroller. I had spent the morning frantically trying to get ahold of all my family and friends in NYC. After everyone was accounted for, I went out for a walk, hoping to clear my head. All along the way, people seemed dazed and distracted — and there were *tons* of people out on the sidewalks, talking, hugging, staring into space. Many people sat in parked cars, listening to their radios. It was the same route to town I walked today.

But today is only about ice cream. The girls and I trek down to Herrell’s, order up some cones (burnt sugar and butter, of course), and go outside to sit on the concrete wall and eat. Now I want a coffee.

Crossing Main Street: Mystery woman.

I recognize this woman, but cannot place her for the life of me. Worse: When I smile a wordless greeting to her, she gives me a sprightly “Hi, Naomi!” in return. Oh god. She knows my name? Who IS she? As the girls and I continue to the Woodstar, I go through the possible ways I could know her: Is she a Schechter mom? Does she go to CBI? Was she on a former Disney staff? Pediatrician’s office? Dentist?

Woodstar Cafe: Kristi and Kai.

Kristi and I used to see each other at the Parents Center when Kai, her son, and Lila were toddlers. Kristi looks the same, but Kai is unrecognizable to me now — so tall and grownup looking. I notice Kristi looking at Lila and I realize Lila is equally unrecognizable. Well, of course — she’s quadruple the age she would have been when she and Kai played together.

Woodstar Cafe: Dan.

As I’m paying for my iced coffee, my next-door neighbor, Dan, walks into the cafe. It’s always kind of funny to see him out of context — which is to say, anywhere other than our driveways. We chat for a few minutes about the coming of school tomorrow, although this isn’t a big part of his life yet — his boys are too little. I think of saying to him (but don’t), “It goes even faster than you think it will.” Lila and Kai are walking proof.

About four hours later it comes to me: The mystery woman is a salesperson at Cathy Cross. Where I shop maybe once a year. Damn, she’s good.

8/31/09

End of summer, two days before school begins again. The girls are at each other’s throats; I’m thinking lunch at Bueno Y Sano is cheaper than hiring a short-notice nanny. I toss Stella in the stroller, even though she’s well past five years old; I don’t want to dally, and I don’t want to listen to whines about how much farther. Lila grabs her scooter and we’re off.

1. Halfway to town: Julie and her daughters.

“It’s not just that I want to be in your blog,” she says, and yet here she is, number one on the list of people I meet downtown. Lila and Leah catch up at the same time Julie and I catch up. Subject: Cost of school supplies; Hanna Andersson’s extremely liberal return policy; whether we can believe anything the Sigg company says after the big BPA scandal. After they drive off, Lila tells me she gave Leah a lucky penny.

2. Post office: BethAnn.

BethAnn has super-cool glasses; I tell her so. We compare: LGA starts Wednesday, while the Campus School starts a week later. I am SO GLAD we aren’t waiting another week, and I somewhat insensitively share this with BethAnn. We discuss jobs: part-time jobs, freelance jobs, poorly paid jobs, faraway jobs, the ever-present lack of any jobs, the insanity of all of it. I mail off the damaged backpack to Hanna Andersson.

3. Crossing Main Street: Sally.

My old Disney coworker — FamilyFun, though, so she’s still employed. I imagine she’s on a lunch break. My whole life these days is a lunch break — and there’s worse things. We say a quick hello but don’t stop to chat; the kids are hungry. (So am I.)

4. In front of CVS: Sarah and her kids.

Georgia and Lila haven’t seen each other in a while; they give each other shy smiles. Sarah and I immediately start catching up before realizing we’re blocking traffic—two adults, five kids, one large stroller. We plan to make a plan for coffee.

5. In front of CVS: Pam’s kids.

As we’re talking to Sarah, Lila’s old friend Talia spots Georgia and they give each other a big hug. I briefly feel for Lila — she knows both kids, but doesn’t see either of them regularly enough to feel comfortable and at ease. Talia waves a friendly hello to Lila, though. I’m probably (definitely) projecting my old social awkwardness on Lila, and make an inward note to cut that out.

6. Heading back home, in front of Fitzwilly’s: Gretchen & Marina.

Gretchen used to do a lot of childcare for us, so the girls are always overjoyed to see her and her daughter, Marina. We’ve just left Sweeties, so the girls offer their spoils to Marina. Gretchen and I compare notes on schools: Hartsbrook starts a week after LGA. Again I thank the forces that be for LGA’s earlier start date.

Total time downtown, including walk to and fro: 1.5 hours.