We move into our new home today! If I have an ounce of energy left by this evening and I can find my camera in the sea of boxes, I will do my best to post some nifty pictures of the new place. If I do not get my photographic act together (very likely), have a wonderful weekend!

It’s Friday again. Hard to believe. Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like time is odd this year. Extra speedy. The fact that Thanksgiving looms and I am drinking from a Starbucks holiday cup and listening to Christmas music (love it), is both very wonderful and very strange. It feels like it should still be September. But these things are not up to me. Or you. Sorry.

What is up to me, to us, is doors. Doors? you ask. Yes, I answer. The Happy Headache (a.k.a. the untimely-given-this economic-stuff-gut-reno of our new home) is progressing nicely, our new home is taking shape before our very eyes, and it is time for us to select doors. Many doors. So, we had a very important meeting this week to go over the Door Schedule. I’m still not sure what exactly this means, but in general I’m not a huge fan of schedules (unless they pertain to babies and sleep). Husband and I traveled to Architect’s office and we talked about – you guessed it – doors. Truth be told, we didn’t actually talk about doors themselves for those have already been selected (thanks Architect and Contractor and all those who know more). Rather, we talked about door hardware. Hinges. Roses. Knobs. Decorative finials.

Did I lose you with that last one? Decorative finials? Don’t worry. I was lost at that point too. Maybe I slept through the lecture on decorative finials in college, but I had no idea what these things were. Maybe you are smarter, more acquainted with dainty door flourishes than I am and this is kind of blah for you, but stay tuned, I get fun and philosophical below. (Ah, the suspense.) These finial things are little decorative items (balls, cubes, etc.) that you screw into the top and bottom of hinges to make them, well, fancier. Now, I am usually a big fan of fancy, but these things seemed unnecessary. Maybe I am an odd bird, but I do not enter someone’s home, shed my coat, and run to the nearest door to scrutinize the sophistication of hidden hinges. But, guess what? We ordered finials. Yup. (This is not at all symbolic of our inability to say “no.”)

Anyway, let’s move on. We picked budget-friendly and beautiful crystal knobs, chrome roses (the plates behind the knobs). We were very efficient in making our selections. And then. And then there was a whole lot of talk about privacy. Where do we put locks. On bedroom doors? On bathroom doors? For three seconds, we discussed installing locks on the doors of our girls’ rooms and this prospect horrified me. First, I freaked out about the possibility that my babies could accidentally lock themselves in their rooms. And then, my mind shimmied forward about a decade to a day when they might intentionally lock us out. At this point, I said, No locks on kids’ doors. Period.

Fair enough. At this point, I will stop talking shop. Because, really, how much do you want to know about our future doors? Not much more than this, I imagine. Fine. But as I sat there with Husband, and as I sit here now, I realize doors are not just doors. No. Doors are thresholds between rooms and worlds and times. Doors are passages from here to there and back. We do not just open and close them. We lock them and prop them open. And, sometimes, we slam them shut.

Doors play a big, often overlooked, role in our lives.

There are all those literal doors. Screen doors and French doors and fire doors. Pocket doors and flipper doors and sliding doors. Cab doors and bus doors and subway doors. We hold doors open for friends and strangers and strollers. We hang wreaths and lights.

And there are all those symbolic doors, swinging open and shut. Good educations and unique talents and buffed resumes “open doors.” So many people come and go from law firms and investment banks, these places are often referred to as “revolving doors.” Behind fabled “closed doors,” each of us is a slightly different person than we are at work, or at school, or at cocktail parties. Doors are always closing – on youth, on fertility, on hope. Doors are absolutely everywhere. In every nook and cranny of our lives and minds.

And there might be more doors in our world than we think. More than we can see. My friend Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Every wall is a door.” What exactly did he mean by this? I’m not sure, but maybe he meant that walls are walls, and limits are limits often because we see them as such. Maybe he meant that there is always something on the other side of a wall and if we want it enough, if we need it enough, we can walk through. We can get there. I don’t pretend to understand the complexity of these deceptively simple words, but I love them. Every wall is a door.

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Thoughts? On decorative finials or my dialectic about doors? What doors in a home should have locks? Do you agree that physical and metaphysical doors are absolutely everywhere? What doors are most prominent in your life? What doors do you feel opening – and closing? What do you think Emerson meant by “Every wall is a door”? Please leave a comment! Your words are doors to my often deeply buried self-confidence

The Happy Headache (a.k.a. the untimely-given-this-recession-gut-reno of our new place) is moving along nicely and I was supposed to update you on the progress yesterday, but oh well. Here we are one day later. You’ll forgive me, right? Of course you will.

One of the big topics of discussion lately has been security. How much security is too much security? Do we need window buttons and glass breakers and motion detectors? Do we need cameras? Do we need recording and storage of footage? Do we need any of these things? I don’t know.

When this subject comes up, I half tune out and the words float over me. Husband has more of an opinion. This is a decidedly unfeminist thing to say and I am not even sure unfeminist is a word (actually I am pretty sure it is not), but maybe caring deeply about the nuts and bolts of security is a male thing? Maybe.

I did weigh in at one point in the discussion though. I want (temporary) cameras in our kids’ rooms. Calm down. Hear me out.

Since she was born, we have had a video baby monitor in Toddler’s room. During those first few days and weeks of her life, this monitor made me a bit crazy as I was obsessed with watching her every move. But with time, this monitor saved us. We would turn it off at night and if we thought we heard Toddler crying down the hall, we would turn it on. On that tiny screen, we would see her shifting about in her crib, fidgeting her way back to sleep. We were able to see – and quickly – that she was okay. This monitor gave us a sense of peace and gave her a sense of independence. Because we could see that she was fine, we did not bust into her room over and over to check if she was okay. We let her do her thing. We let her soothe herself. We let her learn to sleep and savor her naptime and nighttime solitude.

And now. We have done the same thing with Baby. She has the very same video monitor trained on her crib. And this monitor allows us to watch her when we need to. We can see if she is playing or fussing or has tossed her pacifier through the slats. We can see when she needs us. And when she does not. Again, Baby has evolved into an independent spirit. Like her big sister, she puts herself to sleep at night and wakes up in the morning and plays in her crib.

There are many, many things I worry I am doing wrong in the parenting department, but there is one thing about which I feel proud. Borderline smug. Sleep. Our kids sleep well. Both of them. Whether this is a matter of nature or nurture is up for grabs. I think this has something to do with our priorities as parents and something to do with the temperaments of our children and maybe something to do with those video monitors.

So. I am inclined to put cameras in our kids’ rooms in the new place. Because we are installing an entire system, we can easily add (removable) cameras in each girl’s bedroom and these cameras will work far better than the monitors we have. Wonderful, right? Yes. Except that now I am questioning this decision. Is there something wrong, something ethically askew, with being able to see into our kids’ rooms? Perhaps it is easier to justify cameras in the rooms of infants – when fears of SIDS are at play – but what about in the room of a toddler? At one point does having a camera become an intrusion on privacy? We would remove these cameras at some point. I do not imagine wanting to know what is going on chez teenagers. But when is the right point of removal? Is having cameras at all, at any point, okay?

I say that I want these cameras as part of our future “security system,” to be able to monitor the status and safety of my young children, but is this really about my own insecurity as a parent? Is this prime evidence of my own inability to trust that my darlings will be just fine without my eyes on them (or potentially on them) at all times? Or, is this all fine and dandy? Am I just being a tech-savvy and loving mother who wants to keep close watch on the little loves of my life? I don’t know.

Am I talking here about security systems or insecurity systems? What are your thoughts on having cameras in the rooms of young children?

Now or later? This question, this deceptively simple question, is popping up a lot lately. But today is Friday and I will focus on the presence of this question vis-a-vis the Happy Headache (a.k.a. the-untimely-given-this-recession-gut-reno of our new place).

First of all, my apologies for being inconsistent with my promised updates. It seems I have a big, bad case of denial. I don’t know whether it is the sudden and marvelous mania that is my life (with Preschool and Baby classes and the book and the blog), but I am acting like we are not in fact knee-deep in a major construction project. Each and every day, several emails swarm into my Inbox – emails about faucets and alarm systems and schedules – and what do I do? I ignore them. Actually, that’s not right. Usually, I don’t even see them. Invariably, at the end of the day, Husband asks what I think about that debate over closet door placement or light switch heights and I do not have to play dumb because I have no idea what he is talking about. Why the sudden and vicious case of denial?

Maybe I am ambivalent about the fact that this is actually happening, that in a matter of months, we are going to move out of the home where Husband proposed and where we brought the girls home after they were born? Maybe I am more emotional about these things than I thought? Or maybe it is far simpler than this and a bit less endearing. Maybe I am not seeing the issues and problems because I think that if I ignore them, or pretend they do not exist, someone else will address them and fashion a solution (hey, Husband, how’s your day going?) Any way you slice it, this is not good. I am in a deep thicket of denial, tuning things out, and it’s childish and unfair to certain people who shall remain nameless (hey, Husband, Architect, Contractor, Project Manager).

Wait a minute. This post was not meant to be about denial. It was supposed to be about that perennial dilemma: Now or later? So this is where I veer back on track. This question has been cropping up a lot in the context of our renovation. You see, we had this little thing called a budget and we told everyone and ourselves that it was something to be put on a pedestal and revered and respected. And now. Now, a zillion things are coming up – structural issues having to do with the integrity of our place – that (shocker) cost money. And then there are the more cosmetic flourishes (like ubiquitous built-ins and the silver wallpaper that I must have in the dining room) and they add up too. So the result is that our poor budget is dying a fast death and we are totally complicit in its demise.

So. The question becomes: now or later? Do we do the things we need to do and some of the things we want to do now or do we put them off to another time? (Know that we are not being as irresponsible as I might very well be making us sound – none of these decisions will ruin us.) Do we take the plunge and do these things while we have a construction crew mobilized and while our Husband’s mind is on these matters? Or do we act like grownups and delay gratification? I worry that things put off won’t ever be done, that real life will intervene as it has a habit of doing, and all of these little wishes will fall between the cracks.

Okay, I am officially cutting myself off because I sound terribly spoiled, don’t I? Yes, I do. Life without silver tree-grain wallpaper? Tragic. The point here (buried deep in the aforementioned mush) is that I think this question – of now versus later – is a big question in each and every one of our lives. And, yes, it comes up in contexts with a bit more existential weight than designing a home.

Should you leave your current job now or later when you have more financial security and a better sense of what you want to do? Should you go back to work now or when your baby is older? Should you buy or sell your home now or wait until the market grows more robust? Should you break up now with that person who is okay, but not everything you need or wait and see? Should you have that third child now (while you are young! and excited! and eager!) or wait until your older two are a bit more independent? (Hey, Husband. Love you.)

So, the post started as an indulgent (and perhaps alienating) faux sob story about the renovation I am exceedingly fortunate enough to be undergoing. But I end here with a more universal quandary that affects us all – Now or later?

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Now or later? In what contexts of your life does this question arise? Do you usually opt for the former of for the latter? Any insight into why I am suddenly plagued by denial about the evolution of our new place?

It’s Friday and much to my delight, it feels like fall. I love fall. (Please note that I very much want to capitalize “fall.” I think this season deserves it. But per trusty Mr. Wiki, seasons should only be capitalized when they are paired with another word such as “Fall wardrobe.”) Anyway, I adore this season. It’s my absolute favorite. I love the crisp air and the leather jackets and the pumpkins (candy and real). I love the leaves. I love how they change and then when they’re ready, they fall.

Fall.

Fall or no, it’s Friday and that means I owe you an update on the Happy Headache (a.k.a. the untimely-given-this-recession gut reno of our new place). For various uninteresting reasons, I have missed the past several construction meetings. So when I waltzed into yesterday’s meeting (sans Starbucks mind you), I felt a bit out of the proverbial loop. I was late and the meeting was already in progress. Very quickly, this meeting felt different. There was a palpable lack of energy and it occurred to me that maybe I wasn’t the only one who missed her morning jolt. Eye contact was scarce and questions were asked about architectural drawings and invoices and schedules. And these questions floated about the raw space. There was a lot of “I’ll look into that,” “We’ll get that to you soon,” “We will follow up with that.” The only concrete thing I learned in this meeting was that the German factory which housed all of our future master bathroom fixtures burned down. Cheerio.

I sat there internally debating whether I was projecting my own lethargy onto others, whether I was seeing things through my own hazy lens. And then I spoke up. Ever diplomatically, I said, “Is this level of uncertainty customary at this point in the project?” A chorus of lackluster nods. And then our site manager, a wonderful and talented man, looked me straight in the eye and said three words. Three simple words that would probably not satisfy 99% of clients. But these three words struck something in me. Because they apply to everything, not just sluggish stages of construction.

Those three words: Things come up.

Hardly revolutionary. Vexingly vague. And yet genius. This is what makes life interesting and frustrating and utterly impossible to lasso and pin down. This is what makes control a fiction. We cannot control things because things change. Constantly. In ways we could never predict. Contingency abounds. Uncertainty reigns supreme. Things come up.

Suddenly, I’m thankful for my bizarrely philosophical way of looking at the world. I could be sitting here getting wrinkles about the perceived lull in our home renovation. But instead I am seeing that lull as prime evidence of the way the world works and the way it doesn’t. I might be singing a different tune this spring (poor tiny s) if things still appear to be stalled, but for now I’m feeling surprisingly forgiving about the ebbs and flows of progress.

Things come up.

I realized the truth of these words just this morning. Toddler and I ran to the corner to catch the bus to Preschool. The bus pulled up. Toddler beamed. She loves the bus. In her fringe boots and Diego Rescue back and tiny leather jacket, she was an itty-bitty portrait of cool. Of Fall freshness. We waited our turn and climbed the steps on to the bus. I clutched her hand and slid my Metrocard into the slot. She wrestled aggressively with the little pocket on her bag. There were people behind us and I urged her forward. But she resisted me with all her tiny might. I picked her up and carried her to a seat. And, with this, her darling face crumpled. The tears fell hard and fast.

Confused, I cuddled her. She calmed down enough to explain. She opened that small pocket and pulled out one of Husband’s business cards. She held it up to me. “Mommy, you didn’t let me use my card! I want to stick my card in too.” I started to explain the difference between our cards, but then stopped. I told her she could use her card next time, that everything would be okay. And my little creature nuzzled her nose into my chest for the duration of the ride. The ride I foolishly assumed would be smooth.

But life and construction projects and bus rides are never perfectly smooth. And we shouldn’t expect them to be.

Things come up.

Off to (1) take Baby to gym class; (2) have an early birthday lunch with Mom and C; (3) sniff out a fierce Fall wardrobe (Flat boots! Ruffled cardigans! Riding pants! Fringe jackets!); (4) buy my big girl her very first Metrocard.

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Thoughts on contingency? On the capitalization of seasons? On items I should seek out for my fabled Fall wardrobe?