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 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!

I used to believe that being ballsy was a good thing. Called it Moxy. Would say “Good for you,” for having the nerve to confront someone when it’s easier not to. I suppose it is a good thing, except when you’re DELUDED BEYOND REPAIR—when you believe speaking up against some injustice is an admirable gesture, when it in fact simply makes you vulgar.

I’m sitting outside beneath an umbrella outside of a Starbucks, beside Way Beyond Bagels. I’ve had breakfast at this table, I’ve purchased two bagels that have been stuffed away in my bag—snacks for the kids as I drive them from school to gymnastics—and I’m sipping an iced unsweetened passion lemonade from Fourbucks. I have a folder filled with papers for my writing class tonight, and on my lap is my MacBook Air, a feather of a thing. I’m doing work. I come here to work, uninterrupted, to enjoy the weather, and to eavesdrop (a lifelong pastime that sometimes shifts me into writing gear). So far, I’ve overheard slips of conversations from a woman who owns a home in Old Westbury (where I went to high school), an elderly couple on the phone with their son, telling him about their dog, how she’s had a growth removed, how they’ve just come from the vet, where her stitches were removed and she was groomed. I didn’t realize vets also did grooming. I don’t know why it would surprise me. There are, after all, doctor’s offices that offer facials. I’ve seen a woman with a fine meringue of maroon hair in a pink embroidered tunic, capri jeans, white sandals and a brass purse screech “EXCUSE ME,” at a man standing in the way of her table for all of four seconds. I will hear this voice for the rest of my day. It’s the voice of Estelle Harris. I heard that Rockland County, NY gets a lot of funding for the deaf, “and also kids with Asperger’s.”

The dog just back from the vet, freshly groomed

When the lunch hour begins to amp up, people search for tables. They all find one sooner or later; there isn’t a shortage, and there certainly isn’t a line of customers waiting to pounce. In fact, I’d probably feel guilty monopolizing a table during rush hour. Guilty to the point where I’d feel the need to, for example, to list all the reasons I was entitled to be here, as in: I’ve had breakfast at this table, I’ve purchased two bagels, I’m sipping a drink I bought at the bucks.

Then, a woman with equal parts hair and exposed scalp, looks at me, then down at my table, and shrieks, “You are not allowed to sit there. You’re just reading. Get up.” Get up? I don’t care how old you are; wrinkles do not excuse rude. I look around, just to get some confirmation that I’m not the only one hearing this, that she is in fact squawking. I find validation at the table across from mine, where two women, holding sandwiches mid-bite, have caught my eye and rolled their own.

“Get up? Excuse me, Ma’am, you might look like a woman, but that’s some set of balls you’ve got.”

“So, are you getting up?”

“No,” I say with a smile. “I have every right to be here.”

“You’re not even eating.”

“You’ve got some nerve,” I say.

To which she responds, “No, I don’t. You do.”

We don’t all grow up, no matter how old we are. I say nothing else to her, just open this window to write this post.

When the women at the table across from mine have finished their lunch, they walk over to me and shake their heads, repeating, “So, are you getting up?”

“I can’t even believe,” I say.

“Well, welcome to Boca, honey. It ain’t always pretty.”

But it is fascinating, I think. Though, what if this “courage” is contagious?

Should I feel guilty, sitting here, enjoying my time writing, as a paying customer? Fuck no. And fuck her.

A few months ago, I wrote about tequila friends. The words that hadn’t made it past my edits went like this:

If we don’t make time for it today, then it’s really not all that important to us. And “it” includes people, too.

I wrote about a double-booking I made, promising to be in two places at once, and I was surprised to find friendship so quickly. Below is what I had not posted:

There was no ego at the table, no judgment (though I was a wee bit guilty, jumping in with some unsolicited “Don’t turn yo’ boy into no mama’s boy” advice), just a give and take of stories from the heart and hurt of us. Goose bumps, some choked back tears. They were the kinds of stories ABC contestants hold back until the penultimate Bachelor episode, for the big reveal, and what will his reaction be? And I knew it then, that I liked these women because they were at ease sharing their hard.

Confession, like tequila, breads intimacy. Want to make closer friends? Put yourself in situations where you get that close one on one time, in a walk around the lake, after a movie, walking to your cars in a quiet parking lot, or in a restaurant where you can hear each other, but can also laugh your tits off without caring if you’re disturbing other diners. Though, falling tits, in general, are gonna be disturbing.

I include these cuts here because I now realize their gravity–how fitting they are to this newest endship development, whose story goes something like this:

Once upon a time. Maybe I should save this story for my book. Ooh, isn’t that an evil tease? Evil is in good company then because this story here is evil. I’m so appalled by some people, and yet, so delighted by others. There truly are 31 flavors for a reason. Speaking of which, I’m totally hitting up Baskin’ Robbins later.

Also, I am not that evil. I will post the full story once I’ve figured out exactly how to tell it.