Katy Rank Lev

Here’s how I know Corey loves me this week.

I’m training for the Pittsburgh Half Marathon. I can’t remember if I’ve blogged about that at all on my personal blog because I write about it a lot on the other blog I work on. Anyway, I need new shoes in order to run this race.

For the past decade, when I’ve needed new sneakers, I just go to TJ Maxx and get whatever’s on clearance. I’ve never really utilized sneakers for running…the occasional 5k or sporadic jaunt around the neighborhood. Mostly, sneakers are for going to the park when it’s too cold for Crocs.

But I’m putting in a lot of miles following my training plan, and my current clearance sneakers are at least 4 years old. So, new sneakers.

I told Corey I needed to make a plan to get to TJ Maxx without the children so I could try on sneakers. My mothering experience is such that it takes me a week to plan for a half-hour outing if it means leaving the kids behind.

Corey was horrified, appalled that I would buy sneakers on clearance. When it comes to gear or equipment for an athletic endeavor, Corey is a maniac–he does research, reads articles/textbooks, scours the entire Internet. And he certainly doesn’t buy gear willy-nilly on clearance.

He located a boutique shoe store that caters to runners. An actual shoe store, with staff and foot-measurers like you may have seen in an episode of Mr. Rogers from 30 years ago. The store happened to be located en route to/from the trolley museum, so this is the plan Corey laid out:

We’d take the children to the trolley museum in the morning, maybe check out the fancy trolley barn Corey has not yet seen, look at some trolleys from Brazil even. Then, on the way home, we’d stop at this actual shoe store and I would be properly fitted for running shoes.

Once I was actually in the store, with my foot in the hands of a salesman who knew about arches and width and how they’d affect my running stride, I felt ashamed that I wanted to go to TJ Maxx for shoes. “See, Katy,” Corey whispered as he jostled Felix around the store and swatted Miles away from the expensive socks, “This is why we come to a place like this. It’s called customer service.”

This sales guy (probably the owner) made sure my shoes were laced properly to cradle my narrow heels. He had me try on two different shoes and go for a jog on his treadmill, where he also analyzed my running technique and casually, accurately hypothesized as to what hurt when I came back from a run.

He told me he, too, was running the half with a target pace of 12mph, “nothing wrong with that pace at all! A nice, safe pace that’s not too hard on the body!” He emphasized this because the store was filled with lanky people wearing spandex, the kind of people who finish half marathons in, like, an hour.

So I know Corey loves me this week because he cares about my feet and my joints and wants me to take the time to try on and learn about appropriate footwear. At retail price, even!

BUT! Then! The following day was my 10-mile run. The longest one yet. The city hadn’t turned on the water fountains at that point, so I’d been puzzling solutions to keeping myself fed and hydrated. Corey volunteered to load the boys in the bike trailer and ride along my route, delivering water and Clif Shot Bloks.

It felt wonderful to jog past him about halfway through, when he unloaded Miles and let my son ride alongside me on his balance bike (I was on a trail–no motorized vehicles!). How fun to see them again twice more, to know the whole family supported and encouraged me to finish such a long run.

I get tingly all over just thinking about these two acts of romance. I love when he reminds me how much he supports my goals, when he makes me feel so important if I’ve forgotten for a moment amidst the hard work of parenting.

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I’m having the sort of day where I feel like the world is spinning out of my control, which of course it is! But I’m having the sort of day where I’m aware of it and feeling uneasy.

My kids wake up too early. We had to sever ties with a helper who is chronically 30+ minutes late. Felix won’t nap. I can’t seem to find the right amount of time to complete the work that’s been (happily!) coming in lately.

I realized I was feeling a bit helpless when I looked at the to-do list I made myself for the afternoon: bake bread, make yogurt, make almond milk, make salad for tomorrow’s lunch.

Look at that list! Making yogurt AND almond milk AND bread?? Why do I even desire to do any of those things, let alone all three in a single day?

In the aftermath of hurricane Sandy, I read a blog post about someone who was without electricity for weeks. This person was outside chopping wood and washing clothes by hand in the sink and took the time to appreciate the effort it took to do such things. The author felt connected to his life, his home, because he had been so integral to the process of these chores so often handled by machines (or even outsourced, unseen, to machines/stores).

This idea really resonated with me, as I realized how much I’ve sought out similar activities since becoming a parent. I’ve been feeling out of touch, disconnected from the adult world because it can be so isolating to be home inside my house with just the children, working around their naps and spending the whole morning preparing for the next morning, etc.

I think that making these things from scratch helps me feel more connected, somehow, to the world outside my house. It certainly helps me feel more grounded and connected to things within my house. There is something satisfying and magical about kneading flour into yeast and water and procuring a loaf of bread.

The other stuff isn’t as fun in process–the yogurt just mostly sits heating or cooling for hours and the almonds just soak unattended overnight–but tastes delicious and fresh and wonderful. I love to spoon thick, homemade yogurt over my cereal. Maybe even sprinkle on some of the pulp leftover from making the almond milk.

I might not be able to control how much sleep I’m allotted or whether I’m able to complete a phone call with an adult human. These days are long, but the years are short, I know. And so, to get through, I like the slow and mindful work of making these things by myself.

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When our friends Geoff and Mimi got engaged and declared they’d host a destination wedding in Belize, I was pregnant with Felix. I shot off an email to ask their honest thoughts about Corey and I traveling to their wedding with our baby in tow, since I wasn’t willing to compromise my would-be nursing relationship with my unborn baby.

They immediately replied that obviously it was fine to bring the baby. Duh! Why did we need to ask such a thing?

On the night of their wedding, the wedding planner asked guests to come to the microphone and share stories or well-wishes for the couple, and while I’m not so great at thinking of such things on the spot, I wish I’d gone up there to share how much their attitude matters to me.

A wedding symbolizes, to me, the beginning of the family the couple wants to create and sets the tone for how they’d like to be as a newly united family. This wedding drew 51 guests from around the world to celebrate with this pair–that in itself is a testament to their awesomeness. How many destination weddings draw such a crowd of celebrants?

This couple lovingly crafted a week-long series of events, mapped out several lodging options for guests in all budget ranges, and even made pdf cheat sheets of itineraries and what guests needed to know or bring for each event.

And they invited us to bring our baby along! They were surprised later to learn babies aren’t often welcomed to weddings, and I love them for this.

I felt like they invited Corey and I to attend the wedding as we are right now–two people with really young kids that have changed the rhythm of our lives. Felix had a blast at the reception. He ate tortilla chips and, while in the baby carrier, won a dancing contest with me. He also lost his damn mind by 9pm and we took turns sitting with him at our villa.

And the next day, Geoff took turns wearing Felix around in the heat of San Pedro, where there are no sidewalks (or roads, for that matter) so a stroller was absolutely impractical.

If this is how Geoff and Mimi begin their marriage, with so much thought and care and appreciation for their friends and their friends’ families, I can only imagine how they will grow in love. If they have babies some day, wherever they’re living, I hope I get the chance to return the favor to help them feel so supported.

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Corey and I were pretty great about dragging taking Felix along to the various events surrounding the tropical wedding we attended in Belize. For instance, the first night we were there, the wedding party went to a bar atop a pier. We felt jet lagged and exhausted, having been up since 2am to catch our series of flights and boats to the island, but wanted to join the group somehow.

So we walked to the bar (note: when an islander tells you a journey is a “short walk” you should equate this to the way an islander tells you something will be ready in a “few minutes”) ahead of the group, ate dinner, and visited only briefly before heading back to tuck Felix in. Felix stayed in the carrier on Corey’s back, snoozing while his parents ate fish tacos.

But there were some outings associated with this vacation that simply would not be appropriate for a baby. Namely, the four-hour snorkeling trip to the coral reef. We simply couldn’t take our baby along because A) who would hold him while we swam around with our faces in the water? and B) he just can’t stay out in the Caribbean sun for that long. He comes from me, and I’m a pale, pale person.

The resort suggested some trusted babysitters, but I was not willing to utilize that service in a foreign country with no telephone access while I went out in a boat. So I stayed home with Felix and Corey went on the trip.

At first, I thought I won out because Felix ended up napping 3 hours and I napped and read an entire issue of Bust. But, when Corey got back, he regaled me with stories of swimming amongst sea turtles, of petting sting rays, of vibrant coral colonies. I felt super disappointed at having missed the trip.

Corey later learned that the resort lends guests sea kayaks and snorkeling gear, and they affixed a buoy out by the reef. We could lash the kayak to the buoy and snorkel right there. Corey asked two of our friends if they could sit with Felix for 2 hours while he and I paddled out there to see what we could see.

Now, remember, Corey loves the ocean. He is totally comfortable out there. I find it terrifying. The moment we launched into the strong current, drifting many yards to the right of where we aimed, the plot of Stephen Crane’s “The Open Boat” circled through my mind.

“Who would rescue us out here?” I asked.

“We’re, like, a hundred feet from the shore. And you’re wearing a life vest!”

And so we paddled. I sat up front and the waves broke into my face. It was particularly windy that day and it seemed like we would never reach the reef we estimated was a mile out. Corey kept yelling encouragement, like, “It’ll be much easier coming back! We won’t be fighting the current like this,” or “Less whining, more paddling!”

I’m such a competitive person–as soon as we noticed a few other pairs of sea kayakers, I decided we had to pass them and get to the reef first, even though we left later. So when we did surpass one set of kayakers, I felt much better about the whole venture…until we realized we absolutely did not see the buoy.

By this point, the water was incredibly rough and we knew we weren’t in the right place at all to try to snorkel. Corey guided our kayak over to a fishing boat and we hollered back and forth until we laid eyes on the buoy. It was right near the shore, to the far left of the resort–we’d paddled about 2/3 of a mile more than we needed to and we now had to fight the wind to get over to it.

Setting eyes on the buoy renewed my spirit, though, and we both felt dedicated to reaching this damn thing and at least sticking our faces in the water. And so we paddled on until we got there. What a sense of achievement! And then I realized I had to leap out of the boat and float about, untethered, in the ocean.

When I dived in and opened my eyes, the current had dragged me a shocking distance from the kayak. I began to hyperventilate a bit and swam back to cling to the boat. I started yelling that I wanted to go back to land immediately, that I was done with this adventure. Corey came and calmed me down, reminded me how much I wanted to see the reef. He held my hand and swam with me to show me a few rays, a conch shell, and spots of blue coral.

He confessed it was pretty bland compared to the trip he’d gotten to take (no sea turtles to be seen). But once we got the kayak back to shore, I decided I loved my consolation snorkeling trip. How many people can say they paddled two miles in the sea, fighting current, breaking waves, and surpassing other kayakers? How often do I get to challenge myself like that, to dive so far outside my comfort zone and gaze upon something magical like blue coral and live conchs?

I’m so glad I have a partner who pushes me to face my fears, and who helps me figure out a way to overcome challenges, like bringing my nursing baby to Central America and still participating in a modified ocean adventure.

Upon our return, we found Felix asleep in the baby carrier with our friends, none the worse for wear. I ordered a pina colada to go and took a long, scalding shower to ease the ache in my arms.

For the rest of the week, my sore arms reminded me how hard we worked and each time I peered out to sea, at the waves cresting the reef, I felt proud that I’d gone out there to see it.

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Who has a sweater vest and a list of stories to tell at Seder? Miles does!

While Corey, Felix, and I were galavanting around Central America, Miles was having the time of his life pooping on potties all around Pennsylvania with his grandparents. He recently started potty-pooping. It’s been a game changer! And he loves it. He carries around his foamy, duck-patterned potty seat and a toy catalogue and goes to town, marking his territory basically everywhere.

We didn’t have phone service or even very good wi-fi, so the updates we got throughout the week were sparse, but it sure sounded like he had a blast. He played tea party with his second cousin at my grandmother’s assisted living facility. He drove a gator around the backyards. He picked up sticks with my dad, dusted the walls, and ate chocolate eggs.

Miles went to Corey’s family Seder and rocked the mic. He is still singing “Go Down, Moses.”

Corey’s parents took him to the Please Touch Museum, where he was able to drive: an excavator, a bus, and a mail truck. I mean, the kid got to drive a mail truck! Like the Jolly Postman!

Some people have suggested that Miles will look at our photos from our trip and feel jealous, but really he got to have a lot of amazing experiences. I swelled with pride each time I heard how he was courteous and polite. All reports pointed to him having a truly wonderful week, and he got to see a long list of relatives that Corey and I sorely miss.

driving the excavator at the Please Touch Museum

Plus, it sounds like he got to eat extra junk food and indulge in some bonus screen time. And there was a sleeping bag involved. Based on the number of times he has asked when he can again go see his grandparents, I would say he had as wonderful a vacation as the rest of us!

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My husband loves the sea. He’s taken a sailboat around the Caribbean. By taken, I mean sailed, like worked as a sailor. Whenever he gets the opportunity, he goes out on the water on wind-powered vessels. I, on the other hand, find the ocean to be terrifying. The vastness of it makes me feel small and powerless and afraid.

For Corey’s sake, I try to join him when we’re vacationing somewhere with a sailboat for rent. On this latest trip to Belize, in lieu of a rehearsal dinner, the couple getting married rented a catamaran for all the wedding guests to sail around the caye and watch the sunset.

While I felt a touch nervous about it, Corey could barely contain himself. I climbed aboard and plunked myself safely in the cabin of the boat and realized everyone else was climbing up to the bow to sit on a cargo net dangling above the water. Or else standing on the boat, holding lightly to the ropes (sheets, as Corey corrected) and leaning over the water. My husband persuaded me to climb up front and at least sit in one of the bean bags velcroed up there, and so I did.

Mind you, I had a baby strapped to my chest while I was doing this terrifying work! *I’m the only person who found it terrifying.*

The boat crew hopped around passing out drinks and salsa and sushi (the captain made shrimp sushi rolls in the galley while his son demonstrated how to use the ship toilet flusher!) and as I drank a Belikin I started to think maybe this trip wasn’t half bad. We saw some sea birds tossing an eel back and forth to one another and I learned that Felix is mesmerized by birds–he couldn’t stop staring and clapping at the gulls the circled the boat, hoping we’d drop tortilla chips.

Soon, the boat cleared the island and sailed past a family of dolphins. The sun began to set, Jody the sailor passed out brownies, and the salty breeze blew in our faces. It was really quite lovely. The ride was smooth and as it got darker, I saw stars like I’ve not seen in a long while. Plus, since I was so far from home, the stars all appeared to be arranged differently than I’m used to.

Corey soon took over Felix-wearing, and proceeded to climb about the deck. I hunkered a bit deeper in my bean bag and appreciated the return portion of the boat trip. The ride was perfectly smooth, and the view was just so beautiful. It was such a gift to be out there like that! I don’t think I’ll ever get truly comfortable out there, but I got a small taste of what Corey likes so much about the water.

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We are back home after 33.5 long hours traveling via boat, taxi, puddle jumper, jet plane, tram, train, and car. I hope the journey home doesn’t forever soil the memory of what was a beautiful, fabulous Caribbean adventure…but this trip home was terrible.

Airport security made my trip home terrible.

For starters, I’d found a conch shell and cleaned it, packed it lovingly in my carry-on to bring back. I wanted this damn conch shell for myself, but was willing to share it with Miles only because I know he’d take good care of it and we could both clutch it and visit it daily. When I say I found it, I mean I used a broom to dig it out of the bushes outside our resort. Though I did spy one along the coral reef when Corey and I went snorkeling! How invigorating, to see a live conch toodling about the ocean floor.

Felix explores one of the zillions of conch shells scattered throughout the resort. This one held flowers as a centerpiece at the wedding we attended.

Anyway, spent conchs were all over the place on the island because it’s conch season there and we all ate pounds of conch ceviche and fritters all week. The shells were very much symbolic of my trip and so it was with a heavy heart that I handed mine to the security agent at the airport.

Next, a few minutes before boarding, the security people said Corey was randomly selected for a special search. He got carted away outside, leaving me with Felix and our bags. Ok, not so bad, even though boarding the plane in Belize meant climbing Bluth-like stairs, which would certainly have been easier with a spouse to help steady me + Felix in the blinding sun.

So I waited until our boarding group was called and got to the ticket agent. She took my boarding card, checked my passport, and then looked at Felix’s boarding card. She told me FELIX was selected for a special security search and that I had to go stand off to the side to wait for him to be examined. What?

I’m sorry, but there are some security procedures that increase our safety, and there are some that are just in place to increase our compliance. Suggesting that a baby be bodily searched and examined does nothing to increase my safety or his. I became very, very angry as I waited there.

The passengers all got on board and I stood, waiting for instructions. Felix began to cry and I actually stood there so long I thought I might drop him since my arms were about to give way. I noticed the ticket agents shuffling papers and could hear them sounding confused that a passenger was not accounted for. I suspected it was me…

Eventually, the security woman came over and demanded to see my boarding card, and Felix’s. She yelled, “Why aren’t you on the plane?? Everyone is waiting for you!”

“You told me to come stand here. You told me that you needed to search my baby.”

“Who is Felix Lev?”

“This. This baby is Felix Lev.”

“I did not tell you to come here. I told you your husband was being searched.” I bit my tongue then and realized this was getting me nowhere. She scolded again and I walked outside toward the plane. Another security agent stood at the steps to check boarding cards again. This man said, again, that Felix needed to be searched.

“No. The agent inside told me I need to get on the plane.”

“No, this baby needs to be searched. You wait here.”

So he left me standing in the pounding sun, holding my crying baby by the jet plane while he argued with the other woman about whether my baby needed to be swabbed and searched and screened. I began to sob, with frustration and fear and exhaustion. By this point, the plane of passengers had been sitting on the tarmac for nearly an hour.

Eventually, the airline staff came outside and ushered me into the plane, apologizing and encouraging me to write a complaint. I have no idea what the security people wanted to do with Felix or what they thought they might find–he wore only a diaper and a t-shirt.

Once I was finally in the plane, a woman saw me crying and stepped into the aisle, in my way–”Are you okay?”

“I just need to find my husband.”

“How can I help?”

I’m sure her intentions were pure. But, at this point, I wanted to shout, “You can fucking move so I can walk to my seat and find my husband!!!” I hope this isn’t what I said to her…I can’t remember anything until I got to my seat and Corey was hugging us both.

Later, customs officials in Miami tried to take the jam I brought home for my mother. I decided I had no more emotions left to feel about that, but wound up able to keep the jam when one guard winked and told another it was baby food.

The whole process of flying, of disrobing and placing our possessions in bins to be x-rayed, of being asked to strip digitally naked for a computerized scan of our bodies…this whole process pretends it’s for our safety and our own good, but when the process separates young families and leaves babies to cry in the sun something has shifted.

We aren’t in the position to travel very frequently, but if we were I would still say it will be a very long time before I subject myself to airline scrutiny again.

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Miles came home from school with a black eye. I’ll just pause for a moment to let you enter into my head space when I saw my precious pearl with a bruised face.

…

I didn’t get to ask his teacher about it immediately, because I snag Miles en route back from bathroom time, and that day, he’d decided not to rinse the soap off his hands. He was smearing them around together, telling me all about how sticky the lather was becoming, and I had to rush him back inside to rinse.

By the time I noticed the bruised face, we were all buckled into the car. I asked Miles what happened, and he said, “A shoe itched my eye.”

That’s all he could remember about it.

Now, the day before, I’d had a conversation with Miles’ teacher about some playground aggression. Evidently, Miles pushed another child to the ground and was jumping on his stomach. Miles later told me he and the boy were make believing the boy was a bug, and that’s what Grampy does to bugs…

The teacher and I discussed the consequences to his behavior (a time-out) and talked about continuing to reinforce keeping hands and feet to himself. I’d like to hope the shoe-itching was a separate, isolated incident unrelated to the bug-boy. When I emailed about it later, M’s teacher shared my concern about it, but Miles didn’t say anything to either of us.

I know Miles has been awfully rowdy on the playground because he’s like a battery, storing up energy all day in the classroom. I imagine it explodes out of him once recess begins. I’ve started talking with his occupational therapist about setting up a sensory plan for at school to try to help with some of this.

Consequences for behavior are great, but I think we can head some of this off by re-directing M’s energy before it gets explosive. At home, we’ve been using little vibrating animals. Miles rubs them all over his face and crams them into his mouth when he feels himself getting worked up.

He even named them Happy and Ouch (kangaroo and parrot, respectively). It’s fascinating for me to watch him use these jigglers. He tries to show me how great they are, but I can’t stand to feel the vibrations on my face. It rattles my bones! Miles’ OT tells me they help him with his proprioceptive input (his sense of where his body is in space). Basically, these jigglers help him to organize his thoughts and calm down.

Since Montessori students are walking around the classroom selecting their own work anyway, I don’t think it would be very noticeable if Miles went to his cubby periodically to rub a jiggler on his molars. If it helps him to not shove kids to the ground or flail at recess, everyone will win.

Between a jiggler in his cubby and a weighted vest in the mornings, I think Miles could succeed better at school. I’m hopeful that we can find ways to work these things into his day. We’ll see how the conversations unfold!

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Scene: Team Lev is hanging out in Corey’s and my room, folding laundry, being silly. Miles climbs under the freshly laundered sheets and farts. Loudly.

Me: Phew! That was some fart!

Miles: Want to come into my cave???

Everyone else: No!

Miles: Why? It’s stinky in here!

Corey: There’s a name for what you just did there, you know.

Miles: There IS?????

Corey: You just made a Dutch Oven.

Miles: [smiles]

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We had an appallingly bad night last week and I truly worried about my ability to make it through the day at home with the kids. Somewhere in the course of the morning, I told Miles I was depending on him to help me. And so he did!

We picked out the contents of his lunch together and he got everything ready with me. He got dressed and into the car with no back talk and my great hope was that Felix would fall asleep in the car en route to occupational therapy. When this happened, I told Miles I was going to quickly run him inside and dash back out to the car to sleep with Felix while he worked with Miss J. I wasn’t able to fall asleep in the car, but I did lie completely still with my eyes closed for 45 minutes.

This plus a mocha gave me barely enough energy to make it through my volunteer shift at the Toy Library, where Miles was the most amazing person. He helped me at the desk, parroting my questions to patrons and helping me type on the computer to check out toys for people. He played nicely with Felix, interacted with other children, and even readily ate vegetables for lunch.

We got home and I explained how very important it was for me to nap while Felix napped. I couldn’t even bear to attempt giving him a nap, but I gave him my cell phone and a bowl of candy and told him to please stay in his bedroom very quietly for one hour. And he did! And I slept and slept and slept.

After, I started telling him how proud I was, how much he helped me get through this challenging day, and he patted my leg. He looked at me and said, “Is your love light shining bright, Mommy?” It was! It really was!

My very big boy, who somehow has lost every sprinkle of baby fat and is long, lean, and wise, helped me cook dinner and clean the bathroom, asking if he could pretty please have a turn “stirring” in the toilet bowl.

Of all the days for everything to click, for him to demonstrate his very best maturity and cooperation skills. It gave me a chance to see just how much he’s really learned in terms of empathy, problem-solving, and self-care. Just remembering it makes my love light shine brightly all over again.

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