Don't sit under the apple tree...

P and I, back when we had a porch and a yard...

We love living in NYC.  As P and I ran errands today (the first day in a few weeks that I could scoot, thanks to the lovely hole in the back of my leg from that venomous varmint...) I sighed (happily) that we could scoot, feel the crispness, ride through the leave's rustles, taste that taste the air always has in November... rather than being trapped in a car.

But its funny how quickly that all changes.  A few more blocks, a little more breeze, and a heated vehicle doesn't always sound half bad ;)

But seriously.  We love so much about NYC that we've left lovely lives, twice, to endure the pain that is moving to this city.  And, yet, we can't help but think about leaving it...

I read an article the other day in which a mother defines the one problem with raising kids here: S-p-a-c-e.  I'd add access to nature, but that's pretty much it in a nutshell.

And so we chat about moving, on a regular basis.  Its just chat, so far ;)  Our trip to Portland fueled the fires, we luuuuuuuuuuuuuuuv'd Portland.

And the child.  He fans the flames, regularly.  Wistful childhood wishes.  A yard to hold a stick collection.  A spare room to hold a.... well, a lot of collections ;)

E and I, ever devoted (to that gag yourself degree) feel pulled by our charge's yearnings.  And then he'll say something that has us head-smacking, remembering his brain, and thereby his decision making faculties, is still, erm, developing ;)

Like shortly after his birthday, when he announced at dinner that he no longer longed to move to Portland.  "Yah, why?" we asked.  "If we moved, then I couldn't get to the Lego store."  Oy ;)

Similarly, was yesterday.  E and I have a weird habit of singing songs (constantly) that contain a phrase we've just heard.  Sometimes this extends to something we've just seen.  Its ridiculous and subconscious.  So, I simply saw an apple on the shelf and started singing "Don't sit under the apple tree," as I joined P at the table. We were working on a project.  He loves hearing songs, and was listening carefully, so I repeated it a few times.  Long pause.  "Sing it again, Mama."  Repeat.  Long pause...

"Mama, what does "Boddee Ells Bummee" mean?"

Wha???

Oh, "anybody else but me?"

"Ahhh, sing it one more time."

Then, a smile of understanding.  "He likes to have all of the attention, doesn't he?  He's just like me!  I like to have all of your attention.  Or Papa's."

That's a whole 'nuther blog post in itself.  (Like, when I was massaging E's locked neck this weekend and the child decided he just Couldn't Stand not getting my attention.  Despite the fact that he and I were chatting away while E lay prone and silent.  It wasn't alllll of me:)

Hehehehehe.  I love kids and their still developing brains, wherever they want to live (that day).