Living in Cleveland, I missed New York all the time. I still do. But being there with Jack left an appreciation for the convenience of life in the suburbs. No carrying a stroller up and down subway steps. No walking thirty blocks because the downtown line of the A train is out of service. No negotiating jam-packed streets with a stroller and a pack'n'play or carrying suitcases up five story walkups. No paying half your income just for the privilege of living in a shoebox. No lines, no waits, no getting bumped on the sidewalk or cursed by passing cars for walking just that bit too slowly across the street when they're trying to make a right turn.
Still, there is such a trade-off. In Cleveland, there is no running downstairs to pick up a gallon of milk because we're out. No getting wasted with the boyfriend at a party because neither of us has to drive home. No endless supply of ethnic restaurants within walking distance. No good sushi. No piles and piles of cheap takeout menus, in fact no really easy food just a phone call away. No streets overflowing with multiple languages. No walking really at all. No teeming life right outside your window. No vibrant, exciting, anything-can-happen feeling greeting you with every new day.
Some days I would trade anything for that feeling. Others I thank God for my wonderful house (the mortgage on which is less than what I paid for my 8x10 room in a two-bedroom on the Upper West Side) and my wonderful yard and my wonderful, magical car that can get me all the way across town in less than fifteen minutes.
Oh, but that taste of the city.
David showing Jack where he used to work: the Empire State Building!
Jack loved diner menus.
And the subway.
And mugging for the camera.
But still, we left him home when we went to the wedding.
It was good to be around Scottish people again.
Overall, it was a great time. But "great time" has a new meaning when you have a child. Meaning: It was a "great time," but boy am I tired. And glad to be back home.