We originally moved to Boca Raton, Florida for a job opportunity Phil couldn’t pass up. Now, we’re moving to New York with the same explanation. The reason Phil has been in New York for two weeks, back to Florida for a week, then off to New York for another two weeks is because he’s taken a new job—working with my father in Queens, New York. There’s a lot going on in our family now, health issues—not my father, not Phil, but family—and we want to be there, to be close to the ones we love (Phil’s parents live in Queens; my dad is in Manhasset. All our cousins are in New York, not to mention Smelly, Alexandra, and Dulce). My father is looking to spend less time at the office, and who better to learn the family business than the father of his grandchildren? Phil was actually born to do this job. He officially began in February and neither he, nor my father, could be happier. My dad loves Phil. Loves.

So, where in New York exactly? Manhattan? Brooklyn? Bayside? Long Island? Westchester? Or perhaps a suburb in New Jersey? In coming to a decision—we’re still making one!—there were two factors that bubbled to the top of our priorities list: the school district and the commute. First we looked at Phil’s commute to Queens, no where near, not even close, to a subway or train line, so towns like Port Washington, Long Island, were out of the question. We considered Rye, New York, but again, having to take two bridges to work killed that deal. Same goes for Jersey. Then there was the option of Manhattan. We were both on the fence about taking our suburban kids who, up until this point, have lived with land and stairs, a yard, riding bikes and playing tag, as I watched them from a kitchen window. In truth, I think the adjustment back to city life would be harder on me than them. Unless we had an unlimited budget, I think Manhattan would be too hard with kids. Nothing’s impossible, but when I imagine our future, I see my own past—a childhood of catching inchworms off trees, of picking buds off bushes, of having a playroom and piano that was our own private world of make believe. Still, we were on the fence about it, so we looked into New York City schools.

To be considered for the Gifted and Talented schools, the children would have had to be tested a year ago, with a New York City address, obviously not an option. Fine. But here’s what’s not fine: they would both be required to skip kindergarten completely. Because of birthday cutoffs in New York City schools (which includes Brooklyn and all of Queens), a five year old child cannot turn six years old at any time during the year of enrollment. For example, if a five year old is entering kindergarten in September 2012, s/he may not turn six years old at any time in 2012. So, Lucas and Abigail would be required to skip kindergarten. Studies have proven (Oh, Malcolm Gladwell, you drive red-shirting hyper-parenting parents crazy) that those who are youngest in their grade are at a statistically significant disadvantage.

I consulted with Lucas and Abigail’s current teachers who recommended, strongly, that the children not skip kindergarten. The best advantage you can give them is going into school confident. “You also don’t want them to be the last to drive, with them getting into the cars of their friends.” Crazy that we’re talking about driving and SAT scores just as kids are learning to write “sat” in their journals. Currently, both the kids can read and sound out words phonetically. I didn’t realize that kids did this before starting kindergarten. But throwing them into first grade, despite where they are now academically, isn’t an option.

The school cutoff dates are different outside of New York City public schools. In Long Island, for example, the children would be placed into kindergarten, where they belong. So New York City schools aren’t an option, which means neither is living in Brooklyn or Manhattan or even Douglaston, Queens. Which leaves us to Long Island, where I was born and raised. But which town?

Jericho. It’s the best school district on Long Island, hands down (99% in math, 91% reading comprehension). It’s district is ranked 3rd in all of New York state. But. But it’s a schlep and a half, at exit 40 on the Long Island Expressway, for Phil. The drive from Roslyn to Jericho, for example, is at least an extra 20 to 40 minutes, depending on the weather and traffic. If we took the place we’re considering, with low ceilings in The Hamlet East, a condo community zoned for Robert Seaman Elementary school (k-5th grade, ranked 8th in all of New York elementary schools), it would likely mean all of Boca Raton, just with colder weather. It’s the same people, though I’m hoping I’ll be pleasantly surprised.

Another option, 20-40 minutes closer to Phil’s work, is a beautiful home in Roslyn Estates, where the kids would be zoned for “The Heights,” Roslyn Heights Elementary School, which consists of preschool, kindergarten, and first grade only. Then kids continue on to East Hills Elementary for grades 2-5. Let’s look at the numbers…

ROBERT SEAMAN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL, JERICHO
SchoolDigger Ranks Robert Seaman Elementary School 8th of 2293 New York public elementary schools.
SchoolDigger ranks Jericho Union Free School District 3rd of 683 New York school districts
Average Math Score: 99.0
Average Reading Score: 91.5
Total Students (2009 – 2010): 315 – Grades K-5
African American: 3 (1%)
American Indian: 0 (0%)
Asian: 44 (14%)
Hispanic: 10 (3.2%)
Pacific Islander: 0 (0%)
Two or more races: 0 (0%)
White: 258 (81.9%)

Fulltime teachers: 38.4
Student/Teacher Ratio: 8.2
Eligible for discounted/free lunch: 0.6%

EAST HILLS SCHOOL, ROSLYN
SchoolDigger Ranks East Hills School 191st of 2293 New York public elementary schools.
SchoolDigger ranks Roslyn Union Free School District 41st of 683 New York school districts.
Average Math Score: 86.5
Average Reading Score: 80.0

Total Students (2009 – 2010): 563 – Grades 2-5
African American: 28 (5%)
American Indian: 0 (0%)
Asian: 94 (16.7%)
Hispanic: 46 (8.2%)
Pacific Islander: 0 (0%)
Two or more races: 0 (0%)
White: 394 (70%)

Fulltime teachers: 40
Student/Teacher Ratio: 14
Eligible for discounted/free lunch: 12.5%

FYI: East Williston School District, where I went to public school, ranks 14th of 683 New York school districts.

It’s not all about numbers, though. There’s the emphasis on arts and sciences, I get it. There’s the people! Though, I have a feeling, and I could be wrong, that the people in Jericho are the same people in Roslyn, are the same people in East Williston and Manhasset… give or take a few rosary beads.

Here’s where priorities get in the way. We are renting a home for a year before jumping in to buy (imagine if we hadn’t done this in Florida?), and ideally, I’d prefer not having to yank the kids out of a school district once they’ve begun. So ideally this choice is one to which we’d stick. Phil believes that IT’S KINDERGARTEN! Who cares if they go to 1st grade in a new school?! It doesn’t truly matter until middle school. That’s when you don’t want to go yanking. But first second grade? Kids are resilient.

Yes, but. But change is hard on all of us. It’s stressful. We’ve taken them from Texas, to Florida, and now to New York. Then one school and house, then another house… a move… plus yet another new school? Am I making more of this than I should be?

I try to remind myself of this: that the most successful people in this world are those who can move through the chambers of change with ease. Who can be at ease with new unknown situations knowing there’s a flow, knowing that they’ll eventually get their footing, then push hard toward succeeding, then be on top, only to start back at square one. It’s the cycle we go through so many times in our lives, with health, with school, with friends, at jobs, in romantic relationships even. With death and grief, with changes, period. And it will be our job as parents to help our children navigate these stages of change so they learn to feel comfortable with transience. It’s one of the, if not the best, lessons any of us can learn. But then I flip back to the phrase, “Kids need stability to feel safe.”

These aren’t the most important decisions I’ll make, but they are what I’m up against now. And I’d LOVE some insight from readers on this. We need to decide soon. We may choose neither Jericho or Roslyn, perhaps we’ll keep looking at Manhasset or East Williston, but now that we’ve narrowed it down to Jericho and Roslyn in terms of acceptable rental homes, we’d love to just decide now… while the homes are actually available. Our move-out date in Boca: JULY FIRST!

Phil wants Roslyn but phoned me to say “I’m willing to do Jericho if and only if we assess that drive and if it’s too much for me, that’s it. Not a consideration going forward.”

I want Jericho but phoned Phil to say, “I’m willing to do Roslyn if and only if we assess the school district and feel like it’s not the best we can do, that we’ll buy in Jericho instead.”

So, we’re both willing to bend and neither of us will break. But I do hate the idea of his driving an extra half hour to get home, all cranky from sitting in traffic. And it means more time for me with the kids, helping with homework, etc. without relief. It means less time with their father. It’s not an easy decision. We need to make one within the next few days. Your help on this would be awesome (both homes are the same price, though the condo has a community pool, tennis and gym included). Also, both homes are only for a year.

I just ate breakfast soup, after eating breakfast. Today’s breakfast was pecked in serving order—between feeding the beans, I dug into small bites of Challah French toast Pudding, just a lick of syrup, packed lunches, just a handful of Pirate Booty, three rings of pineapple. Then I returned home to devour the best soup I’ve ever made. Breakfast soup is not a milky porridge with bits of crumbled bacon and a swirl of maple spiced egg custard (though that does sound heavenly). No. It is phenomenal soup of the savory variety from which you won’t be able to keep yourself come breakfast. You’ll eat it cold, standing up, straight out of the fridge. I am crazy in love with this soup. I will share the recipe because it’s my own, and you won’t find one for it anywhere else (believe me, I tried to find it).  But first, a random of the past few days:

LUCAS LOST TWO TEETH
They go out in the same order they came in, people say of teeth. We noticed a gap in Lucas’s lower rack, only to discover that a tooth had run away. Lost, didn’t even realize it was gone. Then, another loose tooth, one he was ready to tuck under his pillow as soon as it came loose. Though yesterday, when I picked him up from school, the gap had widened. “Where’s your loose tooth, buddy?”
“Drats,” he said. “Foiled again.”

ABIGAIL LAST NIGHT
After a dinner of New York strip and my Sweet Potato Mojo Fries (Sweet potatoes cut into fries, shoved into a plastic baggie with egg whites, then spread upon a parchment-lined baking sheet, cooked at 450 degrees for 15 minutes, flip fries over, cook another 7 minutes or so, then quickly shower the hot “fries” with: salt, 1 clove minced garlic, chopped cilantro, chopped mint, zest of 1 lime, and a pinch of red pepper flakes—the egg whites act like a browned crackling coating), Abigail turned to me and without stopping for a beat said, “Mama, now we need to eat our ice cream for dessert because we have to get all these sweets out of the house!”

WHAT ARE YOU—NOOOO!
Perhaps I’ll spare you the story of Kind Sir’s transition into a Waterfowl the other day. Nervous stomach, meet the ool—notice there’s no “P” in it? Supposed to keep it that way. Oops. Poor Abigail, too, dragged out, soaking, forced to race with us into an air conditioned bathroom, with Lucas truly waddling, appropriately enough, like a Waterfowl, which is exactly the noun I’d turn into a verb to discuss the situation. It was a water-foul. Nightmare on my street. I will also spare you the scene once we entered the bathroom. There will be no discussion of the sink. Truly tasteless, I will also add, after all this poop business, my mind keeps circling corn kernels. I am so sorry.

MICHAEL’S GENUINE FOOD & WINE
Last Wednesday, Phil and I stole away to Miami for the afternoon. Phil was there for work, and I’d come along to eat. We dined at Michael’s Genuine Food & Wine (They have a cookbook, too). It’s the kind of place where I imagine patrons asking the waitstaff, “Yes, the chicken is organic, but what was it fed, where did it sleep, and what was his name?” My sustainable food associations with zealots aside, Michael’s offered us fresh, bright, inventive food—surprising. I ordered the soup, which, yes, served as inspiration for the breakfast soup I just devoured. Since I was unable to find the recipe anywhere, including a cursory search in their cookbook via Amazon, I recreated my own version at home. In love, despite the free-association.

- ∞ -

THIN COCONUT CORN SOUP (WITH OR WITHOUT COCONUT)
4 cups College Inn Chicken Broth (not stock)
4 ears of shucked fresh corn (Not sure you’ll get the same crunch and perkiness from frozen, but perhaps. Grab a bag, use ¾ of it)
1 baking potato, peeled and cut into ½-inch cubes
13.5 oz can of can of good quality coconut milk (my fav: Chaokok brand for its high coconut cream content)
½ red onion
Pinch or two of red pepper flakes (your call on how much heat)
1/3 cup fresh minced mint
1/3 cup fresh minced cilantro (unless you’re one of those people who HATES it)
2 pats of butter to swirl in at the very end
2 tablespoons of olive oil (again, optional. I added at the end, then whisked because I love to see those teeny tiny dots of flavor in my broths)
Totally optional if you like it creamier: ¼ cup Heavy Whipping Cream (or to use if you’re stuck with a crap brand of coconut milk)
1 Avocado, cubed
Zest of 1 lime (optional – I did not do this)
Salt and (white) pepper to taste

I say thin because this isn’t some chunky glue chowder. The broth is thin. Also, you can modify the recipe using low-fat or fat-free alternatives like fat-free half-and-half. I go for the fat kind of thin, personally.

1. Holding them upright in a bowl so kernels don’t fly everywhere, strip the cobs of their kernels as close as possible to the cobs. Place cubed potato and the kernels and their cobs in a large, heavy pot with the broth, making sure the broth covers all. If not, add more broth or water. Season with ½ teaspoon of salt. Bring to a boil, then cover, stirring occasionally, until the corn and potatoes are tender and the broth is flavored, about 17 minutes. Remove and discard the cobs.

2. Whisk in coconut milk (and cream). Add red onion, ½ of chopped herbs, red pepper flakes Reduce heat to moderately low and simmer, uncovered, until the flavors have a chance to meld, about 5 minutes. Add the remaining herbs, season with kosher salt and white pepper to taste. Optionally whisk in butter and/or oil. If you want more brightening power than the mint, add zest of 1 lime.

3. Add avocado cubes to the bottom of each serving bowl, and more red onion if desired, add the soup, and serve immediately, or eat for breakfast reheated in the microwave.

Last time I went to a Weight Watchers meeting was September 9, 2011. When I’d made Lifetime, my leader had me stand in front of the room, left hand up, as I repeated a sacred promise. You know, I, state your name… I promised, at her insistence, “never to pay for Weight Watchers again.” Meaning, don’t let yourself stray two pounds from your goal weight, ever, or else you’ll have to pay. I know she had only the best of intentions, having me commit to my goal, but what happens if I slip up? If I have a really hungry brain and full belly, but eat anyway? What happens is, I became terrified of breaking my promise because it would mean I was a failure, that I simply couldn’t stick to my oath.

Today, I said fook that noise. I don’t care what I promised because I shouldn’t have made the promise in the first place. The fact is, you’re not a failure if you gain weight. You’re a failure if you give up. Showing up, despite mistakes and overindulgence deserves a gold star. Not that anyone gives two pounds what I weigh, but it’s my blog, and my record of life, so I’m putting out here.

January 28, 2011 – Starting Weight 156.4 lbs.
July 23, 2011 – Made Goal Weight of 125 lbs. 124.8 lbs.
August 27, 2011 – Made Lifetime 123.6 lbs.

April 19, 2012 – Returned to Weight Watchers 130.2 lbs.

Total Loss as of today: -23.4 lbs.

While I’m now 5.2 lbs. from my goal weight, technically, I need only lose 3.2 lbs. to reach 127 lbs. to be considered “at goal,” given their two pound leeway. I’m not obsessed with the numbers. I simply want a feeling of control again. Between the Cold Stone Creamery I had my way with last night and my complete disregard for vegetables these past weeks, I’m ready to be accountable again. Which for me means simply writing down everything I eat for a few weeks. Oh, and I’ll weigh my wine because I forget what a serving looks like. That’s truly all it will take. Because when you write it, you’re more mindful. When I do reach goal again, I will stand in front of the room and tell everyone that “never” is a word that shouldn’t ever weigh you down.

I beg your pardon. My site is going to be experiencing some down time as I straighten up. She’s taking a wee little break to keep things from breaking. Alcoholic Arnold Palmer cocktails will be involved. Speaking of which, has anyone tried the Momofuku Milk Bar Arnold Palmer cake? There’s a recipe for it in Garden & Gun Magazine, a periodical to which I now subscribe thanks to my years in Texas. While I neither garden nor gun, I dream in sweet tea and long for the Southern life. I swear, I should move to Alabama or Georgia next.

I was just at Way Beyond Bagels, cashing out at the register. As the clerk made change and printed a receipt, I noticed the hands of the woman beside me, crossing off what looked like the last items of her list.

“Ooh, well look at you,” I said. She looked up from her list and smiled the smile of a child who’s just been praised. “It’s a great feeling isn’t it?” I said.

“Absolutely! I’m just looking it over, and I’ve only been to three places.” She turned the list over, now examining the back of her paper where the list ended. “Just a few more stops, and, well, I just feel so productive!”

“It’s the best,” I confirm.
“You must not be from around here,” she says.
“No, I am,” I say. “Well, I live here now.”
Feasting words, little bites that lead to chewing the fat. “Oh, so where are you from originally?” she says this as if she’s just learned I’m a pediatric surgeon for her son Jerry or Barry. There’s that lift in her voice; now we’re getting down to it. “New York,” I say.
“Oh, me too. Me too.”
“But I’ve spent the last six years in Texas.”
“Well, that good ol’ Southern hospitality’s rubbed off on you.” And in that moment, loading up on bagels and lox, I felt for the first time in my life proud to be a Texan, thankful that manners are contagious, and also slightly horrified, because if they do rub off on us, after a while I’d have a case of Boca manners, which is like having the manners of John Candy at an all you can eat buffet, that is, no manners at all. I now take pride in being thought of as warm. Not that I ever felt cold, but in all the years of my life, no one had ever asked where I was raised because I’d behaved in a manner so uncharacteristically of its region. Basically, I’d never been called out for being nice.

And now here in Florida, I’ve heard it several times. Faith, a stranger sitting beside me in a nail salon, opened up to me about her epilepsy, remarking, “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because you smile.” And I’ve thought about that. It’s not that I smile, there are plenty of smilers. No, what I do that separates me from most every other Boca stranger and I’m sure New York, too, is that I smile first.

When we first moved here I’d smile and wave to every car with a B’nai Israel sign on it, as if to say, we have that in common, we’re an “our kind” or “us,” in an us vs. them world. Not a select few, but we share a common ground and pride. The way if, when you were younger, you’d bond first with the kids who seemed most like you at school or a new camp. Or if when you’re outside Texas but see someone with a longhorn cap, you’ll say “Hook ‘Em.” Only when I waved to strangers with the same school decal, a small school, they looked at me as if I were wearing horns. Which I suppose I can understand. If I’m pulling into a parking lot and some stranger starts to wave at me, I’d question my own sanity. “Should I know her? Is my memory going? She must have me confused for someone else.” Though as I thought all this, I’d be waving back with a smile.

I loved taking the beans to the New York Public Library. We were walking across town from Grand Central Station, and when the library first came into view, I asked them if the area reminded them of any of the stories we’ve been reading at home. “Madeline,” Abigail said. Not exactly, but it is a metropolitan area similar enough to Paris, so she wasn’t too far off. Lucas was stumped, too. “A book about how sometimes it’s okay to break the rules,” I said. They looked at each other, then up at me, then at the statues of the LIONS on the steps of the library, then back up at me, their eyes wide. “Library Lion! Library Lion,” they cheered. I felt as if I’d just been lit up from the inside, watching their excitement. “Can we go inside?” We hadn’t planned this trip, which is perhaps the best way to navigate a city, so it was even more of a delight to find ourselves inside the New York Public Library, reading one of our favorite books, Library Lion.

A long-awaited dinner with family at North Hills. It’s so good to be home.

Last night we went to Piccola Venezia in Astoria, Queens to celebrate Phil’s mother’s 70th birthday!