The Blessing Of A Long Commute

 A significant part of my job as a mother has been a kind of matchmaking. I'm not arranging my children's marriages. They can pick out their own partners when the time comes.

What I am doing is matching the kids to summer camps and activities that dovetail with their interests and personalities. Because this is NYC, I am doing the research in February and March. Then I present both children with their options. I give them enough vetted choices so that they will feel a sense of ownership of their summer, but not so many as to overwhelm them.

Proximity is not the first criteria I look for in matching my children with activities. Sure, I could sign them up for Tennis Camp and that would be a five-minute walk from home. The fact is that I don't have Tennis Camp type kids. But if they change their minds, I'll be all over that option.

I'm not willing to travel by subway, bus and ferry for activities in Staten Island. I have my limits. What I am willing to do is take the A train from uptown to a downtown neighborhood so that Noah can participate in an exquisitely well-run computer science camp.

As I get on the subway with Noah in the morning, I have a sense of what one writer calls Time Abundance. Noah and I settle into our seats for the duration. One plus about this particular commute is that it is a straight shot. We don't have to transfer.

In anticipation of our commute, I've packed a large tote. This oversized bag combines spacious practicality with a whimsical pattern that matches my fashion aesthetic. Combining these two priorities was not easy, but I think I managed it nicely.

Noah has done his own packing. A book. A handheld video device.

Today's commute was a mixture of activities. There were times when Noah and I were sitting side by side, each engrossed in our own books. I’ve done this commute before, and in the early days I didn't anticipate how much reading I could do during this trip.

One time, I finished my book and had no reading material for the trip home. I picked up five or six free newspapers on the way to the subway, but they were so bad that reading the stuff of interest only took me about halfway home. I should have bought one really good magazine instead. I learned my lesson. I now pack reading and back up reading.

Noah and I also had a conversation. Like most of our talks, he initiated this one. It was a rather scientific discussion about primary and secondary colors and what can happen when you mix the colors together.

I have a few blog posts started. I worked for a while on one. When I got to a good stopping point with one, a switched to another one. Eventually, one of the three will feel finished. That's the next one that I'll post.

I also did some list making and schedule tweaking.

I dropped Noah off at camp then got back on the A train to do the same trip in reverse. I edited some photographs that I took between Noah's camp and the subway.

I blogged. I read. I discreetly listened to the conversation between two women. One of them is getting married soon and plans to start a family immediately.

I had a sudden idea and started a fourth blog post. I don't usually have this many going at once. Long subway rides are my Think Tank.

There is a luxury to all of this commuting. Time is moving at a different pace. I'm a captive to the subway train in a good way. The train travels as it will. I have no control over that, and no way to hurry things. My big bag, with my books, iPad, and iPhone are all I need for a rich life.

Fifty percent of the time Noah is with me. I am available for conversation when he wants that, when he doesn't, we travel together in companionable and comfortable silence.

The next two weeks of camp commuting stretch before me wide open and full of possibility. For some, it's a beach vacation or a spa. For me it's the subway.

After camp is over, that particular commute will be too. There will be days to spend in the neighborhood or out of town. But soon enough there will be other places to go. When you live far uptown like I do, long commutes are a way of life.

The title of this blog post was inspired by the excellent book, The Blessing of a B Minus: Using Jewish Teachings to Raise ResilientTeenagers, by Wendy Mogel Ph.D.

This blog post was written during a subway commute to and from computer science camp.

Jeremy Doesn't Get Writer's Block

My husband Jeremy is often described as a Renaissance Man. There is also something a bit mysterious about Jeremy. That’s fine. Its one of the things I love about him.

If you spend any time with Jeremy at all, you’ll notice that he is passionate and extremely knowledgeable about music. Although I am accustomed to Jeremy by now, he can still surprise me with the depth of his musical scholarship.

I will find myself asking, How does he know all this stuff?

Jeremy combines his love of music and his talent for writing in a blog he created called AnEarful.

One day, I really noticed something about Jeremy.  It’s been true since he started his blog, but it took me a while to put my finger on it.

Jeremy doesn’t get writer’s block.

He does his writing the same way someone else might do the dishes or get dressed. When its time to write he writes. That’s it.  

My curiosity to led me to conduct this interview with Jeremy. He is speaking from the perspective of a music writer, but the application is there for anyone who creates anything.

A typical scenario goes like this: we organize our schedule to make uninterrupted time for your writing. You leave the house on Sunday morning right after breakfast, go to a nearby coffee establishment and write until dinnertime. You have never once said that you were uninspired, blocked or not feeling the muse. Why do you think that is? What's your secret?

For one thing, I take that time seriously since I know it is carved out of all the other things we want and need to accomplish. For another, I’m always writing in my head. AnEarful is my way of engaging more deeply with music. It gives me the opportunity to deeply examine my response to it, research the people behind it and search out historical context. Since I’m always listening to music, there’s always fuel going into the fire.

For example, if I’ve decided I want to write about an album, after a few listens the opening line of my review will come to me so I’ll store that up until it’s time to write. Same goes for concerts or anything else. Sometimes I have whole paragraphs ready to go by the time I sit down. I also always have a backlog of potential subjects so if one thing doesn’t work out I’ll quickly move on to another idea – emphasis on the “quickly.” I don’t have time to waste.

You are a very busy person. You have your full time job at Hope & Heroes, are an involved and engaged father, and an accomplished baker. You wear many hats. What would you say to writers who "don't have time to write?"  Do you think there may be a paradox involved in your output? Something counterintuitive?

If we didn’t make this time, I probably wouldn’t get as much done. In fact, I know I wouldn’t. In 2010 and 2011 combined, I published a total of 19 articles. In 2012 and 2013, however, after we started scheduling it in, that number jumped to 88. If it comes down to “not having time to write” there really is only one solution: make the time. It’s like exercise. Doing it infrequently but regularly is a massive improvement over not doing it at all. This means that even if the demands of your life prevent you from writing more than once a month, DO IT that one day a month, every month. You’ll probably find your writing time increasing.

We've discovered together that leaving the house to go to a lovely coffee establishment seems to aid in getting your writing done. Can you describe the particulars of this? Can you offer any advice?

Watching me write might be very strange. I’m tapping away for a time and then I’m reading up on something on Wikipedia or checking the credits on a CD.  I might even look at my email or make a Scrabble move. But the whole time I’m listening to what I’m writing about and formulating the next thought. I might have to listen to part of something several times to clarify how I’m going to write about it, so that looks a lot like fiddling with my iPod or iPhone.

Since it doesn’t look like I’m writing, all of these moments make it easy for my concentration to be broken. Even if everyone at home is being completely respectful, it’s natural to make conversation or mention something that just popped into your mind, or ask that question that you just remembered. And this goes both ways, so removing myself from the house makes me more productive since there are so many more distractions at home, little projects calling my name: organizing my sock drawer, making ice, searching for that CD at the bottom of the basket just because I haven’t seen it in a while…the list goes on.

You do much of your writing during designated uninterrupted time. However, you've also mentioned other smaller blocks of time where you get writing done. Can you describe this?

This often happens after a concert, where I’ll start writing about it on my phone on the subway home, just because I don’t want to lose touch with the immediate experience. I might also do this if my backlog has grown too deep or if I’m on a self-imposed deadline, such as wanting my review to hit on a certain day. The subway is a good place to write, except if you need to Google something – and even that is improving as they add more Wi-Fi to the system.

You're an easygoing person with a sunny disposition. You seem to not fit the cliché of the tortured and suffering writer. You're not drunk, smoking or moody. You aren't burning the midnight oil. Can you speak about this? Do you suffer while you write? Is there a romantic notion about suffering and writing?

One of my favorite quotes is from Red Smith: “There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.” Writing is hard, no doubt. Conveying things in a concise fashion that makes sense to other people and is fun to read is a never-ending challenge. Sometimes I get physically uncomfortable with a stomachache when I just can’t get that thought to coalesce on the page. That’s the extent of it – can’t really call it suffering. I think things get worse when you worry about your audience. Obviously I want other people to read my stuff, but that’s not my focus while I’m working.

Any other snippets to give other writers?

Use technology. Programs that allow you to access your writing across many devices help you avoid the excuses: “I’m not at my computer.” “That file is on my iPad.” It’s always there, ready for that next brilliant sentence. I use Blogsy on the iPad and BlogPress on my phone.

Don’t say no during the first draft. Write once - revise twice.

Jeremy Shatan is obsessive about an omnivorous array of music. He works at Hope & Heroes, enjoys skiing, and is the proud father of three and loving husband of one - Karen Capucilli, of course!

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Incentives

There are things that I enjoy doing very much. Some of these things include reading, spending time with my family, watching TV, taking photographs, writing, making collages, hiking and socializing.

Then there are things that I don't really like and would rather not do. Some of these things, like swimming when it is below 95 degrees, zip-lining, watching the World Cup  and skiing, are things that can be easily avoided.   

Then there are things that I don't  like, but really should do them for my own good. One of these things is having a mammogram. Another one is having a Colonoscopy. 

We don't have much control over who gets cancer and who doesn't. I hope I  don't get cancer. However, the next best scenario to not getting cancer at all is to catch the cancer while it still very treatable. That is why I have these tests. 

The other reason I have the tests is because if I didn't, the doctor would talk to me about them too often. 

I have a great doctor. I don't want to use his real name, so I am going to refer to him as Dr. Isaac Moscowitz. He shares an office with his twin brother, who I will call Dr. Nathan Moscowitz. The twin brother is  a pulmonalogist. The part about the identical twin doctors is true. You really can't make this stuff up.

I could see the writing on the wall. I'd be going to Dr. Moskowitz with a sore throat and he'd be asking me about the colonoscopy. The man can be very persistent.  I don't want to talk with Dr. Moskowitz about my colon when I am there for a sore throat. So I just went ahead and made the appointment. I've already had the colonoscopy.

When it comes to mammograms, I'm more used to that. I've been going for the last 10 years. I used to get really worked up before going. I'm better about it now.

There are many reasons I am more relaxed about mammograms than I used to be. One of my coping mechanisms has to do with my deliberately working out a  system of incentives attached to going to the mammogram place.

There are incentives I have implemented for  before and during the mammogram, then additional incentives for after the mammogram. In addition to incentives that I've established on my own behalf, I've also discovered that there are certain rewards attached to the actual mammogram facility that I enjoy, but did not initiate.

Here is a typical mammogram experience.

I wake up in the morning, and I do my usual things except that I don't put on any deodorant, because the mammogram place doesn't want you to do that. I pack my deodorant for later.

Then I take the subway and then the bus to the mammogram place. That's where the first incentive kicks in. I am not allowed to do anything useful, like respond to email, make lists, work on Noah's IEP or research enrichments for the kids. I get to just read. I read whatever I want. 

I might read books or magazines, as long as they are not about ADHD, Autism , the NYC public school system, launching a career or attempting to renovate a small apartment. In other words, I get to luxuriate in totally useless, pleasurable reading. If I want to spend a long time on Facebook, I do it. 

I also love going into a special email folder called Blogs to Read which is exactly what it sounds like. The last time I had a mammogram, I read  what Gwyneth Paltrow wrote about Conscious Uncoupling. I read that I my iPad on the way there, then while I was in the mammogram room waiting for the radiologist, I read about Gwyneth Paltrow's uncoupling some more in a People Magazine they had in there.

Which brings me to the mammogram place itself. I always plan my mammograms for when my children are in school. One of the best things about the mammogram place is the lack of children. I've discovered that I can really get some solid peace and quiet in there. 

The lighting in the waiting room is dim and calming. They have some really good magazines there as long as I avoid any medical literature. The people are really nice.

By the time I'm actually having the mammogram, I'm reminding myself of the incentives I've planned for after the testing. That is because I am either contorting myself to get my breasts inside the machine, or waiting for the technician to talk with the radiologist and for the radiologist to ask her to do more views. The first couple of times this happened, I almost had a heart attack but now I'm used to it. The radiologist is just very thorough. More on that later.

Usually what happens is once the radiologist has enough views, I sit and wait for a bit, then Dr. Greenburg comes in to say that everything looks great. He always looks very cheerfuI while he is sharing the news that I don't have cancer. I  think it's very nice that he cares one way or the other.

His enthusiasm is contagious and It is with a sense of celebration that  I get dressed, put on deodorant. and then go to Shake Shack for lunch. Shake Shack for lunch is my reward for having gone to the mammogram place, contorted myself, traveled about with no deodorant on, had multiple views and then waited for Dr. Greenburg without freaking out.

I order whatever I want at Shake Shack without regard to any dietary guidelines or health implications .

There are situations involving the mammogram place that call for additional incentives.

About a year ago, I went to the mammogram place and the technician did many views at the request of the radiologist. Then instead of the usual routine they asked me to go into a separate smaller room. Dr. Greenburg came in and explained that there was an area that he was concerned about. He wanted to get an ultrasound of the area. 

I asked him a couple of questions. Did it look like cancer? He said that he wasn't yet sure what to make of it. Was the area in question big or small? He said that the area in question was very tiny. Okay, good, I said. It isn't some out of control, enormous, wildly metastatic cancer. 

He felt that my assessment of the situation was accurate. He also facilitated an immediate ultrasound. 

The people working there are always nice. But once they think there might be something wrong with you, then they are extra nice. They kept on checking on me while I was waiting for the ultrasound room to free up. They also said complimentary things about me to one another in hushed voices. One of them used the words chatty and cheerful.

While I was waiting, I thought a little bit about the possibility of cancer. I felt surprisingly calm about it. My hunch was telling me that I didn't have cancer. I figured that even if I did, it was a very tiny cancer. I'm always a glass half full person. I was thinking that a tiny cancer was better than a larger, more challenging cancerous area.

I was aware of becoming bored waiting around. I then noted how much my medically triggered PTSD has improved, after some self congratulation, I took out my iPod and began reading some enjoyable blogs. 

I did not google tiny breast cancer lesions. 

What I did do was read about some hipster urban homesteaders. I read about someone's mom crush. I posted some photos that I took on the way to the mammogram place to Facebook. I did not post to Facebook about waiting for the ultrasound room to free up because I wasn't looking for that kind of attention.

The ultrasound technician was really nice. I decided  to watch everything she was doing on the  big screen. She took pictures of the tiny areas after blowing them up to enormous proportions on the monitor.  I checked in with her to make sure that this did not represent the actual size. We shared a laugh over that. There is nothing I like better than an ultrasound technician with a sense of humor.

I also shared my medical opinion with her. Those look like cysts I said. I was basing this on the fact that they were very round and regular looking. There were no jagged edges. 

The technician concurred with my medical opinion. After some more explaining and reassuring about cysts, I got dressed and waited for Dr. Greenburg. The ultrasound experience reminded me of the time that I watched Dr. Oz get a colonoscopy on TV. Dr. Oz decided to forgo the anesthesia so he could watch and narrate the entire thing. He never stopped talking during the procedure.

The next thing I know, I'm looking at scans of my cysts with Dr. Greenburg. These are very common at your age, he said. I'm not worried about this at all, but I still want to follow you very closely. Because of my OCD I'm always extra careful he said smiling.

I couldn't tell if he was revealing that he has OCD or was joking and exaggerating like people do. Whether he has OCD or not doesn't matter. Let's just say that he's detail oriented. Even on a good day, he takes multiple views. If you are going to have OCD or be detail oriented, radiology is a good field for you. I also hear that the hours are good.

He gave me some paperwork to take home and wrote the words not cancer and underlined them.

I made my appointment for four months later and went to Shake Shack, where I ordered a delectable combination of food and drinks in giddy disregard for sugar and fat content.

After Shake Shack, I decided that this mammogram experience while not horrible was deserving of a little extra in terms of rewards. And that little extra was a trip to Sephora. I gave myself some pleasant browsing time. Then I settled on a tinted lip balm from Fresh. The color is called Rosè and it's become a favorite of mine. I also used my VIP points to get some samples. 

So now, I have a multi-tiered incentive plan for when I go to the mammogram place. Any procedure other than a basic mammogram calls for a trip to Sephora for one makeup item plus samples. That is in addition to the basic incentive package of reading whatever I want, and lunch at Shake Shack.

So because I needed ultrasounds the next two times I went to monitor the cysts, I now have a lovely new blue eye shadow and some anti aging skin care samples.

If anything truly ambiguous happens at the mammogram place, then there's going to have to be more compensation. Like I've said before, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

A Lady Asked Me For Some Advice

It was Saturday. Noah and I were at the pizza place. We were there having lunch. We do this a lot on weekends.

I had ordered some regular slices to stay. Noah was already seated at a table. I was standing around waiting for the pizza guys to heat the slices in the brick oven. There were other people gathered there, waiting for their orders.

The pizza guys were watching the World Cup on an enormous TV that they hung close to the ceiling for this express purpose. A lady who I presumed to be waiting for pizza talked to them a little bit about the World Cup.

The woman was what I would describe as late middle aged. I'm making this distinction because it would be a stretch to call her a senior citizen. I am middle aged, but would describe myself as mid-middle aged. This woman is someone I perceive as older than me, but still in the middle aged category.

After chatting about the World Cup she then turned her attention toward me. I need to ask your advice about a board game I'm inventing, she said.

I've never seen this woman before in my life. I mentally noted that this was a surprising conversation opener. However, one of my greatest talents is something I call being conversationally flexible.

I asked her if the board game was all finished or if she is still working on it. She said that she's still working on it. I've gotten pretty far with it, she said. I need your advice about what to do next.

At this point, I'm wondering if the woman is a psychic and has what a friend of mine calls the gift.  I am very interested in entrepreneurship. I also like to think that I give people good career advice. In any case, whether you like my advice or not, no one could argue that I'm quite fascinated with people's ambitions.

The first thing you need to do is extensive research into the board games that already exist. I told her. This should go way beyond perfunctory, I said. Before spending any more time on the creation of this board game, it's important that you make sure you're not working on something that effectively already exists.

She nodded. I've already done that she said.

There was something about the lady that made me doubt this. I doubted that she had really done an exhaustive amount of research. I imagined that she did less research than I would do if I were in her position. But in spite of these feelings, I decided to take her at face value and proceed with the rest of my advice.

I asked her a little more about the board game. Is it for kids or adults or both? She told me that as long as you can read, you are old enough to play this game. The game can be played by children and adults alike.

If you are sure that you have an original idea, I said, then the next step is for you to create some focus groups. She looked mystified. Then she asked me to elaborate.

You need to get some people together to play your game. I said. You invite people over. You could serve some coffee, drinks, dessert. You will ask people to play your game and observe them. Are they having fun? Do they seem confused by the rules? Would they play the game again?

You need to prepare some questions beforehand. When they are finished playing the game, ask them for their honest and unvarnished feedback. You need to be open and prepared to listen to everything they say. Some of what people say could be used to fine tune and improve your game.

It's very important that you listen carefully in the spirit of non-attachment, I said. Getting defensive and digging in your heels would negate the purpose of the focus groups.

Once you get feedback, you hone your game until its better and better. Keep having people over to play it. Focus group. Improve. Focus group. Improve.

At this point, I noticed that the lady looked very excited. She had never thought of a focus group before. She looked like she'd just hit the jackpot. It was as though Seth Godin himself had walked into the pizza place and was offering free advice.

But where do I find people for the focus groups? She asked. She indicated that she couldn't afford to pay anyone.

You should invite different groups of friends over, I said. You make it like a little party, and tell them beforehand that you want to serve food and drinks and also have them test out your new game.

I suggested different focus groups. Have groups of adults over from different age groups and demographics. Have friends bring their friends.

Make sure you have young adults over - the grown up kids of some friends. These people spend the most money. They’re the sweet spot for marketers. You can also have families of four over to get a sense of a family game night. If you know people with young kids you can have a group of the children or grandchildren over.

The kids will tell it like it is. I said. If your game sucks, they'll let you know.

At this point, I decided to start making eye contact with the employees of the pizza place. I find that the people who work at this particular establishment are very distractible. They lose focus quickly, forget about slices in the pizza oven and never remember if your pizza is to stay or to go even though I tell them this information when I order.

The enormous television with the World Cup broadcast was not helping with their focus or work ethic. In spite of this, some regular slices were served and I grabbed some napkins to take to our table.

I consciously adopted a body language of quickened activity and purpose. This was to indicate that my time of being a creative guru was coming to a close.

The lady seemed to get the idea, but shouted over one more question as I was sitting down with Noah and turning my attention to him.

What if some of the people in my focus group try to steal my idea? She asked.

If your idea is truly that original I said, you might want to look into a patent or consult with a lawyer. This is not my area of expertise, I added. I know when I'm out of my depth.

As I sat across from my 13 year old gamer Noah, I pondered the matter a little more. Even the best new board games will have an uphill battle. It would take a lot of convincing to pull Noah away from Minecraft or Mario to play a board game at this point.

It was at this juncture that I noticed that the lady wasn't eating or ordering pizza. She'd gone back to talking with the pizza guys. Maybe she'd had a slice earlier. Or maybe she was just there to network.

The Urgent Care Center

It used to be if you had an urgent medical problem after hours or on weekends you would need to go to the Emergency Room. Even these days, you’ll still need to go to the ER sometimes, for some things.

Here in NYC, Urgent Care Centers are really taking off. This was excellent news for Jeremy on two occasions. Both occasions involved a kitchen type accident that required stitches.

The first time happened to take place on what we call a Jacob anniversary. People who’ve lost a child like we have will know what I’m talking about. When a child dies, you are left with all of these difficult dates to either acknowledge in some way or try to ignore. It’s a little different for everyone. For us, Jacob’s birthday, his diagnosis date and the day he died are all these kind of dates. There’s more, but that should give you an idea of what I’m talking about.

So we’re experiencing a Jacob Anniversary together and Jeremy cuts his hand in the kitchen while washing a Star Trek glass with Captain Kirk’s picture on it. Oh shit, I’m going to have to go to the ER, Jeremy said. I felt like the idea of Jeremy going to an ER on this particular Jacob date was bad idea.

I had just read an article about two former ER doctors who opened an Urgent Care Center not far from where we live. I made a quick phone call to make sure that they could handle a few stiches. They could. Jeremy wrapped his hand up and I helped him into a cab. The Urgent Care doctor was really nice and Jeremy was in and out quickly.

The next time Jeremy needed stitches, it was because he cut his hand on a tin can. We didn’t even consider the ER. We worked together like a well-oiled machine. While Jeremy was wrapping his hand, I called the car service and then the Urgent Care Center to let them know to expect him.

In the meantime, the Urgent Care Centers are popping up all over the place in many different neighborhoods. It’s such a great idea that it’s a wonder that someone didn’t think of it sooner.

When I navigate NYC, I usually use the subway to get where I am going.  But once I’m in the general vicinity of my destination, I do a lot of walking. I am fortunate to be able bodied. I don’t take that for granted. This asset allows me to do more walking around than many people.

As I walk around in all different neighborhoods, for different purposes, but never aimlessly, I began to notice a predictable thought pattern with myself.

As I pass different businesses, there is a dialogue going on in my own brain.  I walk by Trader Joe’s I wonder if we need anything that is a specialty of Trader Joe’s. I pass a library and ask myself if I need to book shop. Lately, I’ve noticed that the answer to that question is always yes, yet I have a big pile of books next to my bed that I still want to read. So I have started to distinguish between needing to book shop and wanting to book shop.

I’ll do similar things as I pass drug stores, independent gourmet food shops, Sephora, The Salvation Army and supermarkets.

This strikes me as pretty funny as I think about it. I’m not a particularly spontaneous person. I’m a planner and a maker of lists. Stopping at one of these places is something I would have already put on my schedule if we needed anything. But the questions do seem to serve some sort of purpose.

And so it is with the Urgent Care Center.

As Urgent Care Centers started to proliferate and I found myself walking by one or another of them on a semi regular basis, I developed this little habit. The habit was quite established before I started to really notice it.

I ask myself if I happen to have any urgent medical needs that can’t wait for an appointment with my regular doctor. Then I spend a minute or two mentally reviewing my health status.  I note that my head feels fine and I seem neurologically intact. My arms, legs and back are pain free. I’m not bleeding. I do not have a fever. I am not vomiting. I am not covered in unexplained bruises or petechiae.

I’ll acknowledge that there are some small things going on. A tiny patch of probable eczema near my knee.  A heavy feeling in my sinuses, indicating a possible cold coming on. Acne. Stuff like that. Barely noticeable issues that don’t even need the care of a doctor.

As far as I can tell, I am perfectly fine. Upon realizing this, I’ll feel myself smiling a little. There will be an extra spring in my step. Because I do not take my health for granted, it feels like I’m given a little gift every time I pass the Urgent Care Center.

I’ve gotten better in recent years at not worrying about things that could take me to the Urgent Care Center, or worse, the ER, in the future. I’m also not thinking about the idea that I might have something small and imperceptible now that will later develop into something large and life threatening and necessitate a visit to the Urgent Care Center. I seem to not be focusing on those things. I’m just grateful that I don’t need to be at the Urgent Care Center now.

It’s a similar feeling that I have when I’m sitting in the pediatrician’s waiting room for a well-child check up or minor health problem with Hannah or Noah. There will be a flurry of activity discernable from the waiting room. The doctor is running late. The over-scheduled moms are pacing and looking at their smartphones. Some nannies will be worried because they’re concerned about what’s scheduled after the appointment. It’s part of their job to get the kid to taekwondo or violin.

I’m calm and patient. We’re not the emergency today, as I look over at my child, reading a book or watching BuzzFeed. Then I go back to whatever I was doing before.

No Childcare

Hannah and Noah were both preschoolers. It was Sunday. Our wonderful, regular babysitter phoned me to say that she would not be able to work on Monday because of a family emergency.

I knew that I was about to get slammed with work on Monday. It would be time sensitive and non-negotiable. I could do a little of it today. But the bulk of it would have to be done on Monday, when new information surfaced and decisions were made about the choices I had already provided for clients.

I worked from home. Almost all of the work I did was aided by some sort of childcare - babysitter or pre-school. I needed to be professional on the phone. I needed to focus. I needed to pretend I was working from an office instead of an apartment that resembled a cheerful daycare center. The kind of work I did didn’t mix well with caring for small children. When I am working I like to really concentrate on that. Same with taking care of the kids.

These were the days before smartphones. The Internet and email was well established and I depended on those. Texting was just starting but not in widespread use. I had a great computer, but was rather tethered to it. It would be two more years before we could afford a laptop.

In those days, neighborhood resources were scarce for people who found themselves in my position. If this happened now, I could probably sign my kids up for a cool little class at a hip, family friendly spot close by. I'd work in the waiting area on my iPad while they were in there, painting with their feet, or making sculptures with food. But with no hip neighborhood, family friendly spot nearby and no iPad invented yet, I did not have this option.

There was some reason the kids were not in school. I can't remember why. It was either a school vacation or summer. So I did what was available to me. I called the sitters who I knew were experienced and trustworthy and worked on a freelance basis. All of them were busy.

I even considered one sitter who was responsible and great with kids, but a wee bit eccentric. She had once rearranged all of the furniture in the kids’ room while Jeremy and I were out. It's a very small room and the furniture looked very bizarre, at odd, jaunty angles. The arrangement left almost no floor space. Thankfully the children were happily asleep in their weirdly configured room. But Jeremy and I had quite the job to do the next morning putting everything back. Anyway, that sitter was busy too.

Next, I tried the mother's helper route. This was a good, but not perfect solution. Our regular sitter could do everything. She'd take the kids outside to the park. She could administer medicine, cook, and function beautifully with little input from me. Truth be told, she was much better at getting the kids to eat a nutritious meal than I was.

The mother’s helper route could still work. Whenever a 13 or 14-year-old girl would come over, that girl was like a celebrity to Hannah and Noah. They seemed stunned and delighted that a real live teenager came to play with them. As a result of the shock and awe, they were usually on their best behavior. One of them taught Noah some Spanish then called her mother so she could hear what she taught him. I'd still have to prepare meals, but having the mother’s helper there would free me up for part of the time.

Unfortunately, the mother’s helpers were all busy with things that teenagers do when they are not being mother’s helpers.

I ran through my list of nearby family members. All were gainfully employed which meant that they would also be working. Jeremy was working at a demanding job and had something very important on his agenda for Monday.

Having exhausted all of my options, I was left with the unpleasant realization that I was stuck with no childcare and a very busy work schedule.

One of my children was so active that the main objective I had when caring for him was to take the children outside as early as possible and stay out until naptime. I remember being outdoors in a drizzle. I'd call anything that wasn't torrential rain “a light misting” and stay put in the playground after everyone but maybe one other intrepid soul had packed it in.

It would be impossible and inadvisable to conduct important business from the sprinkler. I had to stay indoors. I had to conduct business with two preschoolers inside of the house and no childcare. I had to make professional phone calls, compose emails, shape itineraries in a business-like fashion while one of my children would likely attempt to climb our furniture.

He was also fond of shimmying up the doorframes, getting to the top, then hanging and swinging from the top of the door. I would have to do conflict remediation with my children while dealing with nervous and equally demanding clients.

I calculated how much money I would normally pay the sitter. I took that cash, left the kids with Jeremy and walked myself over to a sweet little gift store on Broadway. The store has since been replaced by a hipster coffee shop or a groovy Thai restaurant. They are right next to each other and it's hard for me to remember exactly in which storefront the cute gift shop was. It was one of those.

The store sold a well-curated selection of toys, and we would often shop there before a birthday party. I picked out some toys that I thought that Hannah and Noah would play nicely with together. I also selected the kind of toys that they would both want. In that case, I got them each one, so they wouldn't fight.

I did not get anything messy. I did not get anything that would involve adult interface. I did not get anything that they could potentially hurt themselves or each other with. I confined myself to a budget not exceeding the sitter fee for Monday. It turns out that I spent a little bit less.

I took the bags of toys and hid them in my room.

The next day, I dressed the children and gave them their breakfast. I let them watch a little Noggin. I got myself set up at my computer with my files and notes close by. Then I brought one new toy to Hannah and Noah in the living room.

Hannah and Noah were accustomed to getting new toys at birthdays, Christmas, Chanukah and occasionally as incentives. They were not used to being presented with surprise new toys on any old random day. I was counting on the novelty of the situation to buy me some peaceful work time.

This worked really well. I still had to keep my ear out and check on them every few minutes. Fortunately, they were both past the developmental stage where they were exploring toys with their mouths. I didn't have to worry about choking.

They played happily with the first new toys for a bit. Then I could hear them getting antsy. That's when I brought out different new toys.

The two sets of new toys took them right through lunchtime. I still had to prepare them lunch, which was a little dicey with the phone ringing all the time. After lunch, I did a quick naptime routine and put them down. That gave me another hour and a half of almost normal work time.

After they woke up and I facilitated potty time with the phone ringing off the hook, I presented new toys. They played. They got antsy. I gave them more new toys. They played. They got antsy again. More new toys.

Then it was dinnertime. I had made most of the arrangements, itineraries, marching orders and catering orders. I had smoothed the ruffled feathers of my clients, vendors and my children. I prepared my kids their dinner with some mild phone interruptions and only a few loose ends.

A FedEx deliveryman came and went with the added plus that the FedEx man coming to the door was always an exciting time for Hannah and Noah. They would run to the door and do a little happy dance as I handed the FedEx man a package.

Jeremy didn't work really late that evening. So after he got home, he played with the kids, did the bedtime routine and prepared a late dinner for the two of us after the kids were in bed. I spent more time working and clearing the decks for the next day.

The strategic roll out of new toys along with some good luck, had bought me an imperfect, but impressively successful workday.

The next day, I had another really busy workday. I honestly don't remember what childcare I had, only that I did have childcare. It may have been our regular babysitter. It may have been a substitute babysitter. It may have been one babysitter in the morning and another in the afternoon. I can say that I had mostly uninterrupted work time, which meant that it wasn't a mother’s helper.

Not so long after that, my older one started kindergarten, then a year later, the younger one. That brought with it childcare in the form of the NYC public school system. Of course, it also brought other complications with it. But I can say that none of the complications involved the gradual roll out of large numbers of new toys. If only it were that easy.