City-Stung

Whenever we return from an extended stay in Alabama, it's a little rough getting our city feet back on.  The sudden need to organize daily field trips and the sudden lack of relatives streaming through the door each day combine to make me feel a bit lonely and frazzled.  Usually, getting to see the Mister smooths these feelings away, but he's been preparing so intensely for trial (which started today!  good luck, baby!) that we're missing him even though we're home.  So, I know I'm a bit sensitive right now, but the last few days have stung a bit.

Making gingerbread houses with friends helps.

So do candy canes.

And icing.  Icing makes everything better.

A couple of nights ago, I was taking the children down to the lobby to check the mailbox.  The elevator door opened and there was a woman inside, which is unusual for our floor.  I gave her a big hello.  No response.  Buddy Boy was in her path, so I immediately placed my hand on his head to guide him and said, 'Let's move to the side to let this lady through.'  He began to move, but she still looked down at him and gave a very pointed, 'Excuse me.'  I gave a sincere and hearty apology, to which she responded only with a look of utter disdain.  She was so nasty that tears were burning my eyes as the elevator doors closed.

All hail the Cheerio-eating champion.

The next night, I took the children down to the CVS in our building for a few items.  Little Guy pulled a cart out of the stall and Buddy Boy asked to ride in it.  I had Baby Girl strapped to my front, so I was being careful about lifting him into the cart, but it had only been a moment that we were standing there, when I heard a woman say from behind me, 'Children, people are trying to move here.'  Once again, I offered an apology and once again, I got only a disgusted look. 

The children were actually all behaving well at that moment {miracle of miracles!} and sticking very close to me.  The store keeps the carts in a congested area, but I had, in fact, pulled our cart to the side to load up my crew.  And we are four people.  Four people do take up a little space.

Our life downtown with all these little ones is pretty counter-cultural.  Out of respect for that and just on general principle, I do my best to teach my tiny urbanites the rules of the city.  They know to stand to the right on escalators, hold elevator doors for those behind us, move quickly through Metro stalls.  But they are still children.  And sometimes--just sometimes--it feels like there is no allowance for that.

The city is magical.

It's interesting. 

It's entertaining.

It's full of cool things and educational places and a lot of really great people.

And it's not getting rid of us anytime soon.

We love the city.

I just wish it loved us back.

Even when we resemble a dusty, roving gang of tumbling puppies.  Most especially, then.