Random thoughts on house-hunting and condo-living

The best thing about condo living in a hip area is all the awesome food spots to eat at.

The worst thing about condo living in a hip area is the desire to eat all said food at said awesome food spots which instantly reflect themselves upon ones own hips.

The best thing about condo-living is how fast it takes to clean up this tiny place. A simple clean? 30 minutes. A sparkle floor-to-ceiling scrub down? One hour. Maybe.

The worst thing about condo-living is how fast it takes to messy up this tiny place. One teddy bear here, one stray sock there and we're quickly mimicking a hoarders episode.

The best thing about condo-living is how you never really feel alone. Like hearing about how angry our next door neighbor was at her mom because, well, she never listens to her. And Bob? His door swung wide open by a gust of wind as I walked past and he invited us in to meet his little girl Lulu who told us she's quite fabulous at hula-hooping and can scooter like the best of them. Maybe its because I'm a writer and have read way too many Alexandar McCall Smith books on the joys of joint-dwelling but there's a particular charm to living in close proximity of others and the availability of a diverse group of muses. Not something I want to do forever but helpful for writing ideas just the same and while I don't need to know why Becky doesn't appreciate how Ben didn't take out the trash, it's an interesting opportunity to play amateur-anthropologist.

As cool as that is, its slightly uncool to know as much as you can peek into the lives of others, they can peek into yours though mine is little more scintillating than a mother chasing a toddler through various rooms for the better part of a day. Except when we pretend with stuffed jungle animals. And sadly pretending to be elephants and giraffes dancing at a tea party are not typically the silent endeavors I'd like them to be.

House-hunting is going full steam and the debate over space versus location ever-present and ever-confounding [as our parents shake their head in puzzlement at cottages under consideration when palaces could be bought just over yonder to which I say, losing minutes of my life on commutes in congested traffic to said yonder is minutes too many tiny house or not]. Though its a 'buyers market' potential sellers, fully aware of this, are generally not putting their good stuff up. Sifting through a lot of mediocre inventory and trying not to get discouraged. Eventually we'll find a house. Or send Waleed off to college from this here condo. Either way, roof over head, bed to sleep on, table to eat on. That there sentence contained more blessings than I can count so I'll keep the complaints on the woes of house-hunting to a minimum. I have a home in all the ways that truly matter.

One minute

I took Waleed to the park today like I do every single clear-weather day since we moved to our condo in October. Waleed normally sticks close to me like white on rice but today he wanted to wander and because the park is fenced and flat and easily visible from wherever one stands, I let him. I turned to talk to the mom next to me and when I looked back to check on Waleed, I couldn't find him. For a full minute I could not find him. I scanned his usual haunts, the toy house, the swings-- nothing. Just then I looked up and saw him taking the steps to exit through the one unblocked exit in the park. A parent blocked him as I raced to him. I picked him up. Waleed bounced on my hip. And we went home.

But for one full minute I could not find my son.

Every car ride, every trip to the park quickly blends into the next until it doesn't. Every day is ordinary until it isn't. He's napping right now while a train whistles in the distance as I type these words on the screen. It's Friday so we'll do the usual where do you want to go out for dinner? I don't know where do you want to go out? Give Waleed his bath. Maybe rent a movie.

For a full minute, I thought I'd never have a day like this again.

The street was empty. His steps clumsy. The exit still far away enough to not pose true danger. And yet I can't stop thinking how many other mothers began a day like today, who turned their attention for a split second, and who pay for that moment the rest of their lives.

In that full minute I saw how quickly my world can shatter.

Trying not to dwell in the useless space of guilt. Trying to let this trembling sensation pass through me and the haunting whispers of what could have been. Thank you God for ordinary days. Thank you for moments that blend seamlessly into the next. They are a testament to an inordinately blessed life.

The 112 in 2012 Update

I've been quite lax in my updating of my list of 112 things to do in 2012. Which is a shame since the only thing I love more than creating lists is crossing things off lists. So, without further ado: 

#16 Get an eye exam. Three years overdue and finally done. Each time I went during law school my eyesight dropped dramatically so I pulled an ostrich and stuck my head in the sand until my contacts dwindled to two. Luckily? Vision remained exactly as it was. Phew and #17 Ordering contacts? Done too.

#18 Get a physical. Three years and counting, I felt quite lazy to get this done, but it doesn't hurt that the doctor's office is literally across the street from my house. I figured, if not now, when? So it's done. And the doctor is nice and its sort of awesome to have a doctor within coughing distance.

#75 Get a cleaning. Boring, dull, but done.

#19 Find a reliable babysitter. While Waleed is very easy going when out and about beyond his bedtime of 7:30pm, the issue is that whether he sleeps at 7:00pm or 11:00pm he will still wake up at 7:02 on the dot each morning. And it is then in that early morning hour that the ramifications of a late night out become clear with a very cranky child and a very tired mom for the duration of that day. As most of our friends don't have kids yet and so meetups are right after he should be safely asleep, I finally did a request for babysitters on my parent listserv to see if we could leave the little one behind asleep when we went. We found a teenager a mile down the road with reasonable rates and who made us feel comfortable as her mother was very on top of things and we were going to a gathering very close to our house.

#20 Use said reliable babysitter. My parents never hired a babysitter and admittedly I felt slightly guilty going out for an evening with friends while my child slept in his crib none the wiser. Still, going out, relaxing and not chasing a child amazed at the glasses perched on glass tables and actually engaging in a conversation with my entire attention? Totally worth it. Totally doing it again.

#32 Find a new local restaurant. There's a lot to love about the local eats here but I do miss some of my old haunts. We've tried five different sushi spots but long for the sushi of our former suburb. We've tried a local chicken place which just made us miss hokey-pokey Zaxby's so much more.  Last weekend we headed to Capozzis, a raved upon Italian eatery and while okay enough, made us miss the goodness that is Macaroni Grill. While I love the unique original spots in-town I must admit ever so softly that my name is Aisha, and I love chain restaurants.

#33 Find a local park. Um, considering there are perhaps more parks than parking spots here I've had a very easy time finding new parks though sad to say, nothing beats the toy park that is the center of our universe. It truly is divine, perhaps the divinest thing that ever really was.

#65 Remove facebook app from my smart phone. I've written before about my struggles with being far too digitally connected. Social media has wonderful benefits like the exchanging of information and great articles but it can also take keeping up with the Jonses to an international level where everyone is attempting a veneer of perfection to share with the world. More than this, I just felt myself checking in way more than I needed to so I finally removed my Twitter and Facebook Apps from my phone. Best. Decision. Ever. You don't realize just how much you check in staring blankly at your screen until its gone. Now, my check ins are down to once a day, and sometimes, not at all. The thing about social media is the more you use it the more you "need" it, and the less you use it, the less you really ever see a use for it.

#70 Bake cookies from scratch from someone. I've always been intimidated by baking as I'm an andaza se type of girl but I finally decided to take the plunge and try cookies from scratch and which cookie recipe to try than The Best Chocolate Chip Cookie recipe. They were awesome and yummy and I packed a dozen for our real estate agent who said he loved them too [though truly, what would you say if someone baked you cookies? They sucked?] One thing's for sure now that I've baked cookies from scratch for someone I've discovered the special joy in the act of it all being your own work and I will definitely be doing this more. Bonus? It helped Waleed learn a new word: Cuckoo [translation: cookie].

#95 Buy an Adele CD. Not sure what made me put this on my list but done, and from a local spot too!

#100 Try matchmaking again, even if once. Well, it's done. Don't know where it will go. But, the key? Not to take it personally either way. What will be will be!

Other goals: My fifty book goal is plugging on, eight books down and 42 more to go [any recent and I'm learning quite a few new and interesting recipes, would y'all be interested in me sharing them like I've done once in the past? Debating it as its a bit of work to take the pictures and write it up, but if there's interest I might do it.

On Target, stalkers, and pink sticky mats

While I love the local independents around me and have spent more money than is wise or decent on locally sold books, CDs, and lotions, I do still love me my Target. Target is my happy place where Colorado or California the people wear red, the lights hang fluorescent, and apparently, Big Brother is always watching. Creepy. So very creepy. Almost creepy enough to make me nix my planned excursion with the wee one. Except we're out of wipes. And windex. And, as far as I know there are no locally owned wipes and windex retailers that I've come across. So, off we went feeling snooped every second of the way. E tu Target?

[L]inked to your Guest ID is . . . your age, whether you are married and have kids, which part of town you live in, how long it takes you to drive to the store, your estimated salary, whether you’ve moved recently, what credit cards you carry in your wallet and what Web sites you visit. Target can buy data about your ethnicity, job history, the magazines you read, if you’ve ever declared bankruptcy or got divorced, the year you bought (or lost) your house, where you went to college, what kinds of topics you talk about online, whether you prefer certain brands of coffee, paper towels, cereal or applesauce, your political leanings, reading habits, charitable giving and the number of cars you own

So freaky. So invasive. And yet, I went. The alternate options are slim.

I asked a friendly Target associate for help in locating disposable sticky mats for the kiddo, which if you haven't tried them, are a complete life savor! We typically take his booster seat if eating out since he stays corralled in it easier than than the standard restaurant wooden high chairs, but for when we make an impromptu stop, sticky mats can't be beat. Here they are, she said as we approached a sea of pink princesses:

 

Oh no, she exclaimed, as she rifled through them. It's okay, I told her, reaching for one to plop in my cart. No, she shook her head as she got on her walkie talkie we'll get you the right ones. Ten minutes later she triumphantly handed me a blue one with grinning cars and while I truly appreciate her efforts I felt a bit confused; pink princess or blue cars, they served the same function so was it really that big of a deal? Or have they snooped me long enough to know Waleed is an ultra boyish boy and I'm a gender-line-toting momma? [kidding. i hope]

Waleed has a pink stroller, a flower laden sippy cup, and a lavender tea set. I'm not a must have trucks baseballs lions type of mom but it made me think, were I to find some deeply discounted pink fairy PJs would I get them or opt for higher priced dinosaur ones instead when a) both would be used for sleeping b) I'm a sucker for sweet deals and c) Waleed couldn't care less? I'm pretty sure if presented with that either or choice I'd go with the boyish dino PJs though I don't have a logical reason why since like sticky mats the color has no bearing on the functionality and its not like I'm taking him to a wedding in a lacy tutu with a bedazzled bow. I don't think it matters and yet I don't think I'd trekk home with fairy sleepers either.

Of course, we already have all the PJs we need so we did our shopping and returned home with plaid baby tops befitting a lumberjack, blue car sticky mats and a strange unseasonal song stuck in my head: he knows when you are sleeping he knows when you're awake he knows when you've been bad or good so be good for goodness sake! Hm, wonder why.

What would you do if confronted with a sea of pink sticky mats for your little boy blue or vice versa? Would gender identified designs deter you from getting them for your little one even if they were sleepers or undershirts and the like? And are there other equally cool alternatives to Target in which the bullseye is not directly on you?

Motherhood, mint icecream, and sea monsters

The day I saw my son's heartbeat I wept joyful tears at the pulsing flicker on the screen. The curl of his hair, the smiles that light the universe, his first steps, hugs, and kisses, and all the ordinary ways of boys make me puff out like a strutting peacock. It is the way of mothers.

I used to photographically chronicle nearly every breath Waleed took [no really, come by sometime, my iPhotos are like a claymation project of his first year of life] but lately I'm lagging so when Waleed climbed into my lap yesterday I seized the opportunity to snap a picture and sent it to my parents who've missed the regular barrage of pictures that once were.  Ten minutes later I got a call.

Ami: We got the photo! We put it as our desktop wallpaper!
Me: I'm glad you liked it!
Ami: I love it, what a great photo of both of you!!!
Me: Well, my baby looks adorable but I'm a notch below sea monster here.
Ami: Hey!!
Me: What?
Ami: Don't talk about my baby like that!

My love for my mother is deeper than oceans but I didn't know until I had a child that the love a child has for their parent is a different flavor than the love a parent has for their child. It's like only knowing brownie fudge ice cream all your life and then discovering the glory that is mint chocolate chip. Motherhood introduced me to flavors I didn't know existed; amazing but astonishingly different tastes to the senses.

I still call my almost two-year-old my baby so I can only smile at my mother's deadpan admonishment that I not in any way berate hers. It's hard to imagine that one day my little one might have little ones but when that day comes I'm pretty sure, like my own mother, I'll see the man he grew to be, but also the baby whose toes I tickled, and whose aching tummy I massaged. He will always be my baby, a source of more joy and love than I previously thought the world could possibly contain.

On art, developmental goals, and the utter lack of slides

Taking advantage of a groupon, I signed Waleed up for a one month Gymboree pass. While okay enough, I don't know if its $74/month okay enough. Still, today was our last session so I signed up for 'art' instead of 'play' to see how it went. I felt nervous on my way there because they've been really pushing me to renew and I have a very hard time saying no, especially when very nice people get very insistent.

Waleed made a mad dash for the play area and stared at me utterly perplexed as I led him to the art room. As the session went on that look never really left his face:

 

After about twenty minutes of polite befuddlement at sticky marshmellow [you expect me to touch that?] and finger paints [which he wiped off. On me.] he bolted out of the room. Each time I brought him back he stared at me with a look of betrayal surely wanting to say what he lacked the linguistic capability of shouting: what is wrong with you? There are slides out there. DON'T YOU SEE THE SLIDES? At the umpteenth time of rerouting my runaway child one of the workers approached me.

Bobbi: It's okay you know. They don't always like art class at first.
Me: Yeah, he just really loves the playing part.
Bobbi: It's not his fault. He's not a bad child for it. It's normal.
Me: Oh I know, he's just super active.
Bobbi: Exactly. It doesn't mean he's delayed. Or there's something wrong with him. Or that this is a warning sign for something else. Or that he's not meeting developmental milestones. Don't get too worried. It'll be okay.

As I dragged him home that afternoon  hollering his utter disbelief at having been so close to slides he could not slide, two thoughts came to mind: a) I never really thought a dislike for art meant anything other than a dislike for art but thank you very much for that to ponder and b) making an exit with an outspoken toddler amidst a crowd of finger-painted little ones makes the conversation about care to renew please please please a whole lot easier to avoid.

[As an aside, it disturbed me how some construed this post. The intent is to share a 'day in the life of' and a reflection on well meaning people who often say things that are just well, befuddling, a thing I do quite often. For the record, I'm not worried his lack of interest in art is anything other than a lack of interest in art though I reserve the right to write about things I am concerned about if I choose to]

It's all about perspective

Friend: How's the house-hunt going?
Me: It's tough, we're deciding between old houses and new ones.
Friend: Don't do old! Old houses are rough.
Me: Are they? Some say they're more sturdy, others say they have more issues.
Friend: No trust me, old houses are a hassle. We live in an old house and its not easy.
Me: Oh yeah? When was your house built? We're torn about a cute 1920's bungalow we saw.
Friend: 2006
Me: You mean, the house was renovated in 2006? How'd you deal with lead paint issues? Asbestos?
Friend: No, I mean, they started building the subdivision in 2006.

The spring chicken houses we're looking are 90's build. Anything earlier and we're staring down dirt basements and renovated attic master suites you must be comfortably under 5 feet tall to tromp about in Age, as it turns out, is apparently in the eye of the beholder.

They really do grow up too fast

Is it just me or. . .

. . . or is my little guy trying to skip town on me?

And while I fully expected debates over borrowing the credit cards and keys at some point in the parenting journey, I admit I was not expecting to have these conversations quite so soon. . .