A NEW SEASON

The days creep by. The holidays approach. This year, the overall feeling in the city streets doesn't seem to match the season. The air outside is far too warm, crawling into the 60's most days, and it nudges us to spend our afternoons with ice cream in the playground rather than ice-skating in the park. Our heavy winter coats sit in the back of the closet, waiting patiently for their day in the sun. We continue to frolic lightheartdedly about the city as if the golden days of early autumn had never ended. It feels eerily similar to my childhood winters in California.

When Biet and I walk home from school, we like to play a game of counting how many vintage cars we can find. One day, after walking the long way home, across Tenth street and up First avenue, where a few of the old cars are regularly parked, she asks me what I want for Christmas. We walk two more blocks. She points out a seafoam green Ford Falcon parked across the street and I smile. I finally answer.

This year, I tell her, I want no wrapped gifts, no clothes nor books nor records nor jewelry. This year, I say, I want an adventure for Christmas, or at least to plant the seeds of adventure and hope to make one happen in the new year. I want to make a promise to one another to go experience someplace foreign, to dream big and to think in new ways about seeing the world. My heart has been bursting with wanderlust over the past few month and I'm ready to invest in experience and to embark with my family of five on an adventure like no other.  It could be a vacation, or a road trip, or a wild camping jaunt through the forest or countryside, I don't know. But my soul is seeking adventure, and I can think of nothing I would love more for Christmas than to sit down and plan it out. Biet watches me and I can see the excitement rubbing off on her. Then she nods her head and tells me nonchalantly that she'll take me to Paris, where we'll eat chocolate together and watch ballet. I begin to laugh off the thought but then the image of she and I wandering the streets of Paris hits me and I have to catch my breath. She's older, early teens, and a radiant wild-haired woman with a fiery confidence and a quick wit. To imagine your children grown is at once terrifying and thrilling, and I let myself get lost for a minute in the idea of being a mother of three grown adults. Then I blink and we are walking up First Avenue, and she is four, and we're looking for old Cadillacs, and Christmas is only days away.

Early that evening we walk over to Union Square to the Holiday Market, where vendors from all over city set up booths to sell their wares. There are tables overflowing with spices and teas, handmade candles burning, carved wooden ornaments piled high, rows of hand-blown glass, and dainty charms swinging from golden chains. The tepid December air carries spicy clouds of hot apple cider through the outdoor market corridors. Eleven-week-old Levon rides in the bassinet and sleeps nearly the entire time. He is such a peaceful baby with a happy bright demeanor. He also exudes a distinct spiritual energy that you simply must experience to fully understand. I watch a sense of peace befall those who hold him, and everyone seems to say the same thing- there's something mesmerizing about his eyes. Deep blue and piercing, they catch you off guard and hold your gaze with a vengeance. Even Santa Claus couldn't look away (we skipped the long lines at the big department stores this year and took the kids instead to an intimate little event my friend Brianne put together with Little Me at Lord & Taylor) when we took Levon to sit on Santa's lap for the first time. The only child of mine to not cry upon being handed to Santa, Levon smiled and yawned and stared deep into the eyes of the bearded man... no fear, no anxiety, just a perfectly comfortable baby burrowing into the fabric of a fluffy red and white Santa suit. Quite simply, baby Levon is one of the most brilliant people I've ever met.

In the back of the market we find what we've been looking for- a miniature table surrounded by miniature chairs inside a miniature room fashioned of wood and plexiglass. Baskets of paint and glitter are strewn about the tabletop and colorful paper ornaments hang from a clothesline against the back wall. My children see the little art shack and run towards it. Lou, my little mover and shaker, has ALL of the art supplies in his corner of the table within seconds, and is happily gluing yellow feathers to a blue snowman. He has a way about him that makes you believe that he can make anything, a boundless energy and enthusiasm for building things that becomes infectious. In no time we are all sitting around the little CMA kids table making christmas ornaments, inside the holiday market, in the middle of the park, as the sun sets over Manhattan. It's all very picturesque.

The sun has set and the children's bedtime is approaching. With our freshly-glittered ornaments layed to dry under the stroller and a couple slices of pizza in our bellies, we detour down 5th avenue to catch a glimpse of the Washington Square Park Christmas Tree before heading back home to our apartment. The wind blows hard up fifth avenue, swirling my hair above my head and turning my coat into a cape flapping behind me. Lou delightedly informs me that I look like Batman, and for a couple of blocks we run wildly against the wind gusts playing Batman and Robin. As I'm running with him I think about how this is something my Dad would have done with me, and the thought warms my heart and makes me miss my family terribly.

Finally we are standing under the majestic tree, strung with lights in all her glory and swaying precariously in the wind. Surprisingly, the park is quiet and nearly empty save for a few stragglers and people rushing home from work. I've never seen Washington Square so empty, and the rareness of the situation is not lost on me. Here I stand with the tree before me, the Empire State beaming in the distance, and my three healthy children by my side, and I am so grateful.  And I know Christmas is coming, but, once again, the city feels calm, warm, tranquil, and lacking the usual frantic energy which descends upon everything like a blanket this time of year.

In that moment I feel so at home, and I suddenly notice the unexpected beauty in having a quiet Christmas.  I decide to stop waiting for this year to feel like every other year and accept that ease and calm can replace the excitement of the NYC streets once in awhile, and that's ok. Here we are celebrating Levon's first Christmas, and the weather is warm, and life is simple, and that's ok. Standing under the tree I get this overwhelming feeling that our family is done waiting. We've finally arrived at some unnamed destination and are ready to begin something. What that thing is I cannot say, but I do know that we five have each other, and we have the city, and we are exactly where we need to be. As the winter solstice approaches, a new season is turning over in our lives. I am so eager to see what it holds.

I stay up at night after the kids are asleep and try to read. I've been trying to re-read a few of my favorite novels, Proust, Tom Robbins, Kerouac, Fran Lebowitz. The whole apartment is still and dark except for the dim yellow glow from the 1950's bedside lamp. I rescued the funny little lamp from the trash room of our building not long after moving in to our apartment- it's gaudy curved marble base and intricate floral velum shade had resonated with me when I spotted it, and so I gave it a respectable permanent home on my side of the bed.  Gaby can't stand the lamp, but it reminds me of all of the generations who lived in the building before me, and of all of the adventures that must have been had before my time. It reinforces the connection I've always felt to the past, and, like a handful of antiques I've collected over the years, sparks my imagination.

I usually get through about three pages at the end of the night before switching off the lamp and falling asleep. And then, for only a few hours out of the entire day, the whole apartment is quiet as we lose ourselves to our dreams.  I dream of Paris, and Christmas is another day closer.

AND SO THIS IS CHRISTMAS

We didn't expect it to be the best one yet.

We always try to celebrate the holidays simply, and to focus on tradition and experience over tangible things, but this year we had intended to have very simple Christmas.  Baby Lou's (it looks funny typing that but we really do all call him 'Baby Lou' at home! I'm beginning to fear that the name will really stick and that Biet will still call him that when he's twenty..) never-ending curiosity and reckless attempts at standing up on everything nixed the option of a big tree, so we brought home the prettiest little potted miniature tree we could find.  We kept the decorations simple this year, the Christmas outings to a minimum, and the gifts on a teeny tiny budget.  Focusing instead on music, food, and family time together around our little tree, we knew our simple Christmas would be warm and happy.  But we never expected it to be this amazing.

The deliveries started showing up a couple of weeks out.  First a tiny box, then a medium, and finally a HUGE one, all from my sisters.  My two sisters are a couple of crafting geniuses, baking enthusiasts, and holiday aficionados. One mention of a "simple Christmas" to them over the phone, and they began spinning their magical holiday web from which no one, and I mean no one, escapes.  Suddenly our "one gift per person" idea flew out of the window, and our kids once again had the luxury of being spoiled by their Aunties.  I miss my sisters terribly pretty much all of the time, but especially at the holidays.

Then a box arrived from Portland with my name on it.  I opened it to find a collection of old hand-sewn ornaments that my mother had made decades ago, when she was alive.  She used to hand-make everything, from paintings to food to art, and would singlehandedly turn every holiday into a whimsical dream for the kids.  I remember bits and pieces, glimpses and faded memories, from when I was small.  She was magic. That's most likely where my sisters get it from.  She used to sew beautiful stockings for everyone in the family too, usually shaped like a boot or whatever kind of shoe they fancied.  One year, when I was about three I think, she sewed my Dad an amazing intricate quilted stocking, and filled it, as a joke, with coal.  I remember us three girls thinking that was just the funniest thing in the world.  When I found in the box, underneath the ornaments in the very bottom, a faded red velvet stocking of hers, I began to tear up.  She had likely hand-sewed it about 40 years ago and holding it in my hands felt like she was with us again.  That stocking became Biet and Lou's this year to share.  It felt like a perfect way to give my own children a little piece of the magic that I remembered of my mom.

On Christmas morning Lucien awoke first, smiling and bouncing across the bed and climbing upon his Papa's head, as usual.  Then Biet yelled out from her room to announce to the world that she too was awake.  We swept them up and headed to the kitchen for orange juice and coffee, purposely avoiding the living room so that they wouldn't see the gifts before we had time to grab a camera to capture their reactions.  We told them that today was Christmas, and how excited we were to have presents to open under the  tree.  We let Biet lead the way, through our room, through her room, through the old wooden door, and into the living room.  The stocking, stuffed full, rested on Biet's little rocking chair, and the presents lay softly piled under the tree.  Hidden under a sheet on the floor was the wooden blue kitchenette which Gaby and I had spent hours putting together the night before.  While the kids were dreaming of sugarplums, we had carefully unpacked the boxes from my sisters, tightened bolts, aligned cupboards, and attached handles.  We were beyond excited to see Biet's face when she opened it.

In front of the tree, Gaby and I beamed at one another.  In that moment, as our kids experienced their first Christmas together, it really hit me: I was a mother of children, whipping up holiday magic and joy for my brood, just as my mother had.  And I was doing a good job at it.  These were the moments they would remember forever.  Baby Lou happily crawled around, pulled himself up on the rocking chair, and began to tug at the stocking.  Biet just stared, a bit confused.  Then her confusion turned to understanding, shock, and finally elation.  She pulled the sheet back and saw the tiny kitchen, and froze.  She started whispering, "what. what. what? what?!" and began slowly opening all of the cupboards and looking inside the shelves.  "Mama, its blue. Its BLUE! It's a kitchen! A kitchen for Biet!" she squealed.  My heart was bursting.  She had wanted a kitchen for so long.  When we revealed Lou's gift from his Aunties, a tiny red piano, I don't think you could find happier kids in the whole city.  Then a trumpet, the one thing Biet had asked Santa for when she sat on his lap for the first time earlier this month, and a jar of marmalade (like Paddington Bear's, which she had been requesting for weeks) joined the party, and things really got crazy.  A morning of cooking, singing, and music-playing commenced. And our first Christmas as a family of four became the best Christmas we've ever had.

The day drifted on happily in our little apartment with pots simmering, cookies baking, children playing, babies and dogs napping, parents relaxing, and everyone thinking about how fortunate we all are to have so much love, family, and generosity in our lives.  Throughout the day I kept thinking about how blessed we are, how truly blessed.

//last Christmas//  + //Biet's first Christmas//

DOWNTOWN'S ROCKEFELLER

Merry Christmas!!  A couple of days ago, while Gaby was at work, I took the kids to see the BIG tree in the city.  No, not the Rockefeller tree, but the simply-lit, arch-framed beauty that goes up each year in the village.  While the tree at Rockefeller Center is undeniably majestic, going to see it usually entails intense crowds, police barricades, and an uncomfortable amount of pushing and shoving and picture-taking.  I've done it in the past, and will happily do it again in the years to come, but, this year,  I was simply not feeling it.  So instead, we wandered over to Biet's little home away from home, Washington Square Park.

We arrived a bit before dusk so that we could catch that day's tree lighting.  The park was buzzing with holiday energy, the weather was unseasonably tepid, and a light scent of hot cider lingered in the air.  Street musicians played with gusto, crooning upbeat big-band swing on the east side of the park, old-timey quartet Christmas carols on the north, and moody accordion tunes on the south.  Biet led the way as we made the rounds from show to show, dancing to all of the joyful music and, in the Christmas spirit, throwing a dollar into the hat of each performer.  Biet jumped and spun and swayed her arms over her head to the music.  Often times, she would be the only one dancing, and would proudly twirl into the center of the crowd to put on a show of her own, bowing for the audience as the song ended.  Her freedom around people blows me away sometimes.  Just as the sun was setting and we were arriving back at the tree after making our way through the entire park, we heard a collective gasp and looked up to see the tree lights all beam on!

We stood for a minute and gazed up in wonder.  Free of ornaments and decoration, the Washington Square tree is a simple beauty, standing tall against the city skyline with a million little white lights.  Its simplicity is what makes it so special, to me, anyway.  While many parts of the city are engulfed in shopping mayhem, shop windows are filled with wrapping paper, sparking lights, and fake snow, store aisles are overflowing with red and green and gold and silver everything, and the street corners are inhabited by hundreds of Santa's ringing bells and hustling, the tree at Washington Square stands as a beacon of the true simplicity and joy of the holiday season.  It's so easy to get caught up in the frenzy of Christmas, especially in a big city where a certain frenzy exists out on the streets year-round anyway.  I try to stay focused on the love, tradition, and simple pleasures of the holidays, and I hope to instill those values in my children as well.  So it was so wonderful to find this little corner of the city- this peaceful and creative park with a quietly majestic Christmas tree- that seemed to mirror my idea of what Christmas can be.

As the skies darkened and the tree shone brighter and brighter, my two babies, both tuckered out from their park shenanigans, fell asleep in their stroller (goodness, how I've needed a double stroller! We finally took the plunge and it is amazing!), so I continued to wander through the village.  When it began to rain, I ducked into a little pastry shop with my slumbering kiddos and enjoyed a chocolate mousse all alone.  Sitting there by myself, while my babies slept next to me, the city swarmed just outside the window, the rain pounded down, and the holidays crept closer, the whole world suddenly felt right.  I think that was the moment that I finally caught the holiday spirit, which for some reason had been eluding me this year, and started really getting excited for Christmas and for the approaching new year.
It was a truly beautiful day.

HOW WE ENDED UP AT A JEWISH DELI ON CHRISTMAS EVE

We began with the simplest of intentions: a new tradition, a very New York Christmas tradition, which we would initiate this year.  As the sun went down on Christmas Eve, we fancied ourselves up, wrapped on the layers, and made our way to the classic, the storied, the magical FAO Schwartz.  We would take Biet to romp around the majestic toy store with its huge glass windows overlooking Central Park, let her pick out a Christmas toy, and then head back home for late supper and bed.  It would be perfect.

The daylight hours flew by on the 24th and before we knew it, the sun was setting and it was time to go.  As I was zipping Biet's little winter coat, I found myself secretly wishing that we were spending this day with family too. How amazing it would be to have my Dad and my sisters here with us to adventure to the toy store! But, alas, all of our family was far, far away. So we started down the sidewalk towards the subway station, pushing Biet in her stroller.

And then the phone rang.  My Uncle Bob & Aunt O'Lynn, who live upstate, and whom we love dearly, were in the city!  They had come on a whim to see the Rockefeller tree and were heading to Grand Central to catch the train back home. And if we came right away, we could all rendezvous in the station! So our plans changed.

We headed straight to the marble-walled Grand Concourse of Grand Central and waited by the big clock in the center.  The station was all done up for the holidays and the last minute travelers rushed about in all directions.  Biet glowed happily in the busy swirl of city energy.  We had some time to kill until my uncle arrived, so we locked her stroller outside the station and let her run freely through the magnificent space. With her little red rain boots on her feet, a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie in her hand, and countless new "friends" passing by to meet, she was in heaven.

We ended up roaming the beautiful station for quite awhile, but it was so much fun! Then we met and hugged and kissed my family, and everyone was once again on their way. We bundled up and headed out into the cold.  Since the weather was lovely and we'd be able to see all of the holiday windows, we had decided to walk up to FAO Schwarz, and we were excited.  Then, just as we left Grand Central, it began to snow. A white Christmas!

The snow was light at first, but soon began to pile on top of Biet's poor legs and sting our eyes and our fingertips. We hurried, and it began to snow harder. We finally made it past the life-size toy soldier's at the store's entrance and into the magical holiday wonderland. Then time sort of stopped. Biet ran and ran and ran in joy. She read the books and touched the giant stuffed animals and gazed at the barbies.  She handled all of the art supplies and the toy cars.  She sat on my hip and peered into the glass nursery with the life-size baby dolls.  I would point at each one and tell her "baby!", and she would look a bit confused, pat and kiss my belly, and repeat "baby."  She was over the moon when Gaby took her to play on The Big Piano.  We had so much fun, but before we knew it, it was past Biet's bedtime...

I had yet to pick up a ham and vegetables for our Christmas Day feast, and had decided that it made the most sense to simply swing into the Whole Foods at Columbus Circle on our way back from FAO Schwartz and carry the ham home on the train.  So we rushed out the door of the toy store, purchases in hand, and hurried across the park.  It was really snowing now, and we were all starving.  We finally made it into the Columbus Circle store, only to be met by a security guard.  The store had closed hours ago! I had checked (multiple times!) online, and there was no mention of early closing hours. Yes of course its Christmas Eve, but this is the city that never sleeps! How could it be?!

Well, it turned out that it wasn't only Whole Foods that had shut down early.  Not a grocery store within walking distance could be found. I was devastated. Everything would be closed on Christmas Day for sure, and we had nothing at home but cupboards full of baking supplies! We couldn't live off of cookies, could we??

Then my Jewish husband saved the day. He knew a place where we might not be able to get ham, but where we could get excellent pastrami and corned beef: the legendary Carnegie Deli.  It's the kind of place where, on any given night, you might sit next to the cast of a Broadway show, or the Clintons, or a woman taking her grandmother out for a bowl of soup.  It's the kind of place where a sandwich is really a code word for a couple pounds of slow-roasted meat in between two pieces of rye bread.  It's the kind of place always looks and smells the same, no matter how many weeks or decades its been since you were last there. And, late at night on Christmas Eve, it's the kind of place that feels like home the minute you walk in the door.

After we'd shared a mountain of corned beef and pickles and a bowl of matzo ball soup, and ordered a few more pounds to go.  And after Biet had successfully melted the heart of the old woman at the table next to us, we all hopped on the subway back downtown, across the bridge, and home to Brooklyn.  Gaby and Biet both passed out as soon as we walked in the door.  They were both surprised the next morning to see that Santa had still come, despite the fact that they had fallen asleep before leaving out cookies and milk.  We feasted all day on perfectly-cooked pastrami, whipped up a couple of side dishes, and baked cookies to our hearts' content.  It was lovely.

And that is the story of how our little Christmas dilemma turned out to be a blessing in disguise.  We're even considering making dinner at Carnegie Deli a yearly Christmas Eve tradition.