The Village

As we wandered to the armory with Yoav, his mama and his toddling little brother the other day, a woman glared after our diaper clad companion and then chastised me with a "Aren't you worried that baby's gonna be cold?"

I'm constantly surprised that in such an industrial world setting the village vibe is alive and well. It used to irk me to no end. How dare someone question my dedication - can't they see the sleep deprived bags under my eyes??? Then I got a good week's sleep and saw it in another light. A sweet, rosy one. Sure, under the watchful eye of the world is the underlying notion that the chastised parent obviously isn't doing their matronly duty, this stranger better knows the needs of this unknown tot. But mixed in with this negativity is a glowing concern for all those that are little. And I decided last year I'd only recognize that love. Skip the judgement, go for the gold.

So when I turned a smiling face towards my jury of one and said "That is so sweet! Thanks for worrying about him, its not as warm as last week is it?", she seemed entirely miffed. She took another stab at whatever she was attempting, but my unmoving appreciation had her walking off pretty quickly. And all P saw was another example of the world being a good place, strangers helping strangers..... ;)

And in a huge city like this, there is a definite vibe of working together. We work together to ignore one another when we need space but can't find it piled one on top of another. We grab the kid about ready to be swallowed up by the escalator (much to the kid's dismay:) We get in one another's faces about proper attire for toddlers. But mixed in with the constancy of being surrounded by other's is a feeling of vacancy. When I ran around my neighborhood as a kid, I knew to watch my stuff since all of the other neighborhood moms knew exactly where to find my mom. Despite this village-y vibe, P doesn't have the same midwestern nabe to roam. And as he gets older, having safe spaces to venture out independently is more important.

The Mulberry Street Library has become one of those safe spaces. P knows the librarians, they know him. The children's section is a level below the street, cozy and away from too many crazies :) The stairway rises up the middle of the space, so its not the clear shot I'd prefer, but that's the part that gives P a feeling of slowly budding independence. He likes to wander to the other side to pick a book, or go to the water fountain himself. So yesterday, when I headed to the bathroom (after an Awesome dreamcatcher craft with the Homeschool New York group) he chose to stay at the table and look at his new book. We've done this before. He's always smiling when I return. But this time, on my return to the table I bumped into Milo's mama and started book chatting etc. As I started to walk away I heard a strange noise. And it started getting closer, louder. And then there was P, wrapped up in Twinkle's arms, coming my way, doing his strangled cry.

Yes, he has a strangled cry, because he thinks he isn't supposed to cry. Another gift of my village. Too many well meaning "Oh, you're so tough, you don't need to cry! Oh look how Tough you are!"'s thrown his way. An unusually irksome response since P has never been a quick crier. Some kids, this demeaning chastisement bounces off of, other's swallow it up and buck up. But no one is supposed to buck up like that. Our repressed society is abysmally unhealthy. And if I run into a concrete pole and cry and someone comes by and tells me how tough I am I can guarantee my newfound rosy view on helpful villagers will be revised...

Add to his fear that crying isn't the right thing to do when he thinks he's lost his mother, modeling has done a freak on his head too. Not the catwalk kind. The natural, watching your parent's kind :) Once, after a hurt that tears can't hide from, P tried to turn to fury (his current approach once mourning and sadness were stolen from him, the feelings have to go somewhere (for every action there is an equal and opposite blah blah blah) and anger hasn't been publicly condemned yet, so... ). But the hurt was too big and eventually tears won. He was dismayed. Why, he said to me with red rimmed eyes, why don't you make sounds like I do when you cry?

Ahah! I have no shame for tears. I think they are fab. As a very wise child (yah, mine ;) once told me when he was 2, "Tears are how the hurt gets out of my body, Mama. It comes out my eyes." They are cleansing, literally. Scientists found that tears release stress chemicals stored in our bodies. That's why a good cry makes a person feel better. It actually helps. The two year old was right.

But me, I'm not much of a wailer. More the silent dripper. I don't need a big production, the things just leak out. I don't squnch 'em back in, but I don't push 'em out either :) And the kid has noticed the silent part apparently, and he, like most kids, have a very vocal approach to water works. And ever since he asked that question, he's tried to cry silently when he can't avoid sorrow. But just like the tears that turn to anger if stopped up, the cry of a child can't altogether dissipate either. And so we have the squeal. Its pathetically pinched. If he had the power to swallow it whole, it seems he would. Its quieter than the typical wee wail, and sadder, to me, too. Since I know its him, hurting, and trying to hide his hurt. Because he thinks he should. And this is when the roses fall from my eyes and I whisper "shitty, shitty world."

But it wasn't a shitty world yesterday. And it wasn't a vast city that met my scared child. It was another homeschooling mom's loving arms :) She told me later that when she saw P, he was just sitting at his little table by himself, his hands over his face. His tiny sound was so strange she thought he was laughing. Then when she spoke to him and his face raised to hers, well, he obviously wasn't laughing. He said he thought he'd lost his Mama. She offered to help him find me (20 paces away on the other side of that damn stairwell, where I could see anyone come and go, in full knowledge my kid was safe... and supposedly, happy...) and when she picked him up he squeaked out a "thank you." Awwwww.

This all came on the heels of a nightmare the very night before. In it, P lost me, I just walked down the sidewalk, leaving him behind, and he lost me. Ouch. Crying, he found a mama and asked her to take him to 603 Xth St, last brownstone on the left. (skipping the exact address for the world wide web, despite the fact that only three people read this, a girl's gotta take a little caution after deserting her child in a public library! But the kid nailed the address, and even the adorable brownstone bit that I always tell the taxi when we return from the airport:) ) He said he planned to ring the doorbell once the lady got him home, and that I would come down and find him then.

At least he has a plan :) So, last night, as he procrastinated sleep for eons and chatted away in the dark, I found out just how little the four year old understands things. He thought that when he hides from me on the sidewalk and I pretend to lose him.... that I've actually lost him. That there is a possibility that I could just forget to get him when I walk out of a store. That I might run for a subway and leave him behind on the platform. That I could just walk out of the library sans offspring.

Holy Shit!!! Where's the faith? The trust? And it reminded me of the story my girlfriend told me. She parked in the garage and got out with a bag of groceries. After sitting them inside she went back out to grab her 3 year old from his car seat. He heaved a great sigh when she opened the door and smiled, "Oh, Mama. I thought you'd forgot me." Yah, she's a dedicated mom too, no previous smack smoking disappearing acts from her either....

Anyway, back at the library. After soothing my sweet son and reading a bunch of books, we wandered outside to play until E finished work. The day was lovely and the scaffolding on the building beckoned to P. This library sits on a strangely vacant street. Popular with photo shoots. Busy neighborhood, unused one way alley. Just the occasional delivery van. So we had a snack on the wood beam curb and then P and BB climbed the pipes. As we enjoyed our play (me, standing right beside P, holding a pink monster, speaking in monster tongue, Not across the street doing a drug deal) a woman walked past sputtering to me, shaking her head. Her words were slightly lost as a big truck rumbled down a nearby street. "Oh," I said, attempting to validate what I assumed was her concern, "You're wondering if he might fall?" "No," she snapped at me, " aren't you worried, Worried, that he'll fall into the traffic?!"

"That's so sweet! Thanks for your concern...." The village is alive and well and the child is protected by many, even if the child doesn't believe it... yet :)