Labor of love

Now that I am feeling strangely settled in our new life here, I have become a bit restless. Restless not in a bad way though. Just restless to move and to create. Lately that desire to create is being fulfilled by work in the garden. We have inherited a magnificent garden to love and nurture and care for. Although we did see the garden last summer, we really had no idea what joy and hard work we were in for. The beautiful mature garden cultivated over the last four decades by two seasoned gardeners has been left in the naive hands of two city slickers from Brooklyn with no gardening experience to speak of. What we lack in knowledge though, we make up for in enthusiasm and a sense of responsibility in maintaing this amazing garden. We are learning so much everyday.

Each morning I walk around the garden systematically to see what has happened over the last 24 hours. I am continually surprised by the difference a day makes. Plants grow, new buds form, and new shoots poke their heads out of the soil everyday. I am learning to differentiate between weeds and flower shoots.

We spent hours and hours raking out all the dead leaves from the ground cover and the flower beds, cutting back all the old growth from last year, pruning, and weeding. The bare partially frozen ground looked barren and uninviting. I never imagined all the activity taking place just under the ground. Now, just a few weeks later the garden is alive- with flowers, bees, earthworms, and children.

So far the brave snowdrops and crocuses have come and gone, the proud daffodils and hyacinths are just past their prime. The forsythia and azaleas and still blooming, and the dogwood seems ready to burst into bloom any day. The vibernum is working hard on new blossoms and the peonies get taller every day.



Maintaining a garden requires  hard work and dedication. I don't yet have a green thumb, but do have dry chapped hands caked with mud and dirt under my fingernails and a real feeling of accomplishment.

Ila turns three!

We decided not to have a birthday party for Ila this year.  In part because we don't know many people here with children her age yet, and in part because well, she's three.  In my experience parties for three year olds never end up being a ton of fun.  Of course three year olds don't get dropped off, so the party tends to end up being about  food and wine for the "grown ups", popcorn and cake everywhere, and over-stimulated, over-sugared kids who are unable to focus on a game or activity for more than two minutes!

So, we decided to have an Ila-led family day.  This entailed oatmeal for breakfast, outside playtime, puzzles, family swim at the Y, out for cupcakes, home for a nap, and pasta for dinner.  Both sets of grandparents as well as her great-grandmother came the next day for cake and gifts.


Ishaan made her an awesome wooden ship which he designed and made completely by himself.  Ulka gave her a wooden gingerbread man which Andy cut out and she sanded and painted like a flower.  I made her a floor length cloak with owls on it.  But of all the gifts she received and fun things we did, the one thing she remembers and talks about is going to the store with Andy and getting to choose a chocolate treat.  A reminder that it is the simple things they remember most.

It's hard to believe Ila is already three.  She is still petite and sweet and full of mischief.  When she does something naughty, she just looks at me with those big dark eyes and it's almost impossible to be angry.  She is becoming a puzzle master, is our most polite child, loves people dearly, and melts my heart everyday.  I love that girl.

third incarnation of a sofa

Andy and I have never really bought much furniture. Aside from a few choice IKEA chairs, everything we have has been made by Andy, found on the streets of Brooklyn, or been handed down to us from friends who are moving or upgrading to "real" furniture. Several years ago we were in the market for a sofa to replace an old futon from a grad school roommate of mine. I told Andy that I wanted to buy a nice sofa and not take someone's junkie old one. Well, a few days later our friends Erik and Anna, who were moving to California, asked us if we wanted their old sofa. "of course!!" was my reply. What was I thinking? Now, this sofa needed some serious work. I remember being over at Erik and Anna's and sitting on a rickety old sofa- one arm so wobbly that you couldn't lean on it or it would collapse. So we moved this old thing into our apartment. I just looked at the old shabby misshapen cushions and the wobbly frame and wondered what was wrong with me....

We bought all new foam, and reupholstered the sofa in a bright pink damask. We didn't do the trim to cover the nails and staples- we left that for later and of course later never came. With three kids, the sofa endured a lot of abuse over the next five years- pen scribbles, chocolate milk spills, spit up, you get the picture. The nails and staples were coming out and poking guests in the neck, there were holes in the cushion....it was in sorry shape. I swore that we wouldn't move it with us again. And yet I found myself staring at this sofa in the living room or our new house. But I realized that I have a certain fondness for it and actually didn't want to give it up but looked forward to the challenge of remaking it again.

It's done now, and this time completely. Gimp and all. Big thanks to Andy's mom who so generously made the long cushion cover for us. We love it, and there will be no drinking chocolate milk on this sofa.

New found freedom

Living in Brooklyn and home schooling meant that the kids were with me all the time, literally almost 24/7. While exhausting, I was happy with the arrangement until recently- which is a big part of what prompted our move. The kids, Ishaan in particular, need space from me as much as I need space from them. As "free range" as I would like to believe I am, it was just not possible for me to let Ishaan go out by himself in Brooklyn. Even if I did, there would be no other kids out by themselves to play with. Since Ishaan wasn't in school, I was with him or at least hovering nearby at all times. I saw and heard everything and came to realize that I neither wanted to nor needed to see and hear everything. When I was 7, I was off outside playing with my friends all afternoon- making up games, being silly, yelling, getting into mischief, telling secrets, and being annoying- all things that seven year olds should be doing.

A couple of weeks ago, on an unseasonably warm February afternoon, the neighbor kids were outside playing tag football- a game that Ishaan has never seen or played. I suggested that he go out and introduce himself and ask if he could join in. He ran outside and I held my breath. I was so proud of his courage yet so terrified that he would get his feelings hurt. I kept looking out the window, trying to asess the situation and make sure they were being nice and not making fun of him because he can't throw or catch a football and has no idea what the rules of the game are. Finally I couldn't stand it anymore and I went outside. I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't help myself. I just went out to "check" on him and of course everything was fine. They were all being wonderful and encouraging him and teaching him how to play. I realized that all those fears were my own and that in my desire to protect him I was projecting my own anxiety and insecurities onto him. After a couple of hours he came rushing inside flushed and excited. "they told me I was the best player on the team!" he cried. Now Ishaan is part of the pack of neighborhood kids- racing up and down the dead end street on bikes, playing basketball in someone's driveway, jumping on the neighbor's trampoline- happy, full of energy, and confident in himself and his new found sense of freedom.

Settling

This is my third attempt at maintaining a blog. If it doesn't work out, I promise I will quit.

For those of you who don't already know, we recently made a difficult move from our beloved home and life in Brooklyn NY and are now living in quaint little Delmar NY- a very small

town just south of Albany. Several months ago some dear friends told us they were moving and asked if we would like to buy their house. It's a house that Andy and I have always dreamed about raising our family in and there are a lot of memories in the house- especially for Andy.

Our friends the Harros lived here for nearly 50 years and raised their 5 boys here! As hard as it was, it just seemed to be the right thing for us to do. With four kids and our decision to homeschool, we were just completely maxed out in our apartment. We wanted the kids to be able to be outside without us- to have the freedom to be kids without having me watching their every move.

The adjustment is going well. I have serious driver's guilt and continue to walk wherever we can. The kids are happy- they play outside for hours and just wait for "the whistle" to call them home. Ishaan has a wood shop in the basement and area to do legos and not clean them up every afternoon, the girls have a wonderful playroom and doll corner, and I have a whole big craft closet....and we all have a little more peace.

Little Ila and Baby Kairav will never remember what it was like to live in Brooklyn and that makes me a little sad. But all in all, this is a good thing- and I keep reminding myself of that. We miss everyone in Brooklyn dearly. Come visit!!