9:47 pm - Thursday, Jun. 01, 2006
I promised to talk about my mom, but I lied
We live in New York. We try not to think of it as Eew Yuck. We all have "The Grass was Greener" pretty bad.
Boy did used to cry at night, missing his friends and our old life. I haven't cried much, but I think it's because I have a much better relationship with denial than he does. I suppose this means I'm raising him well.
At any rate, I spent the first month feeling like I was in a hotel.. I'd walk around our apartment in the moving mess without getting stressed out, because, Hey, it's not my house. Oddly enough, I skidded into the realization that it was when I left it to go shopping for baby clothes. I spent a day trying to find a good second hand store like they have back home. A warehouse full of leftovers from people who shop at the gap and Express and never seem to get around to wearing their clothes. Here they have dingy rooms crammed full of old lady clothes, lovingly tended by little old ladies for two or three hours once or twice a week.
!
This bit me hard. When I left I remember saying to people I didn't know where anything was in New York, and everyone said, oh you'll find things soon enough, but No One said, IT WILL BE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT AND IT MIGHT SUCK.
I haven't let on to Boy that I think this. I pull pollyannas and tell him that we just haven't found our crowd here yet, but they're here. And we haven't found our places either. But someday we'll have friends and places and we'll be happy here too.
Ha.
So anyway, after the ugly day of shopping I realized that this was our apartment and we weren't leaving. So I talked to Simon about when we could move back. Haha. Two or three years.
Fine.
I can wait. My AuntieM has always said you can stand anything if you know how long you have to wait. So we'll be generous and say three years. And if we end up falling in love with the place, great. And if not, we'll have the money to move back all saved up.