Twins Not Any Easier in Brooklyn

But life is. Somewhat.

So far we love Brooklyn; we love our home, the greenery, uncrowded streets, food, views, parks, and the much calmer, more laid back vibe of almost everyone and everything; except me.

With the move on July 3rd, we basically “threw” our stuff in our new place and drove out to Long Island for the 4th holiday. Back to Brooklyn on Sunday for a 90 plus degree week alone with the kids and NO school or camp, as Mark headed to Cannes for the week (when will they send him to Nebraska?)  Next, we were all driving up to Lake George to drop Luca at sleep away camp and then, another weekend out East sandwiched between our drive back to Lake George for pick up. You get the picture . .

Labor Day weekend, when things were supposed to settle down, I got the casual “reminder” email that Seedlings, our new Brooklyn Heights preschool, starts on September 17th!  WHAT! ‘When did you tell me this the first time? I NEVER agreed to this?’ Don’t kids in Texas go back in July?

Three more weeks with two active toddlers and no plan during the hottest NY summer of record. And, when I needed them the most, The Children’s Museum of Brooklyn and Staten Island closed from September 3rd to September 14th for the annual cleaning. Does it really take two weeks to clean a museum? I knew I couldn’t manage them both, alone, at the Coney Island Aquarium, fearing I could find one trying to swim in the new Ocean Wonder shark tanks.

Does anyone really know what its like to raise twins without “help”?  I don’t think there are many east of the Mississippi doing it without a nanny.  Or, at least with family helping on a weekly basis.  I thought I was out of the woods but now, at three and a half, they are wiser and skilled at ganging up and manipulating me.  And demanding! “I want pancakes and I want to put my own butter on them with the purple knife and I want them in a plastic bag, not a plate, and I want to wear my purple princess underwear and I want to go the yoga room after school and I want to eat pasta for dinner and I don’t want that kind of pasta and I want candy and I don’t want to wear those pajamas and I want to color now and I have to go pee and I need you to turn on the light and I want to have my other book in bed and I need you to find my other book, the one with the words, and its NOT that one its the other one with the ripped sticker on it .  .  .” And, that’s just Maxine.

Today, at least I can say all three are in school for some portion of the day.

On that note, one amazing feature of our our new home – a crucial selling point – is a footbridge that connects our building directly to Brooklyn Heights which, as implied, sits  high up on bedrock overlooking Manhattan.  The Squib Park Footbridge, was going to make my walk to Luca’s bus stop and the girls’ new Brooklyn Heights preschool, stress free and downright pleasant.  It was all part of a wonderful dream.

img_4707.jpg

Then, JUST LIKE THAT, for seemingly no reason the bridge CLOSED.  And my daily routine is nightmarish.  Sorry for the inconvenience?  It’s way more than that. And temporary? The most recent update referred to a multi-month closure. The sign should  read “Attention, Mom of Twins, this bridge will not reopen until the day your kids are old enough to drive themselves to school.”

We were supposed to be like the happy people  you see walking across an already built bridge. Now we have to cross a busy street, with no crosswalk, to walk up a very very long and steep hill. No scooting happily over the bridge, avoiding traffic and enjoying the Manhattan skyline.  Instead I trek carrying my bag, two backpacks, two scooters, and a potty while dragging both unwilling girls up that brutally long hill. Midway, a water bottle usually drops from their backpacks, swinging on my sore arms, rolling downhill faster than I can grab it. Upon arrival, as everyone else is happily dropping off their one child at school and chatting it up, I usually show up like I worked the overnight in the ER.  I cant’ imagine what winter will be like.

At least at the very moment I gently push them into the doorway of their class, I can enjoy a beautiful walk back to my new home, knowing I have a couple of hours to catch up. That’s assuming I don’t go flying down the hill and wind up (back) in the ER.

Advertisements