"Where are we going?" Bug asked from the back seat.
When he asked on Friday, the answer was, "Boston."
When he asked yesterday, the answer was, "Home... I mean Brooklyn."
Why the clarification? Because we are moving away from Brooklyn in a couple of weeks -- up to the Boston area.I would be more specific about our future hometown, but as of today, which is exactly two weeks before I start my new day job, I do not know where we are going to be living. We do not have an apartment yet (let alone a second car, a childcare solution, or any of the other things that our near future will require).
For the last two weekends in a row, we have packed up on Friday, driven to a hotel outside of Boston, relied on the kindness of grandparent babysitters, driven around and looked at apartments all day on Saturday (and maybe Sunday), packed up on Sunday, and driven "home" to Brooklyn.
Yesterday, it was a beautiful day in Boston. My husband suggested that we go to the Public Garden for some fun as a family before we get back on 95 for the gazillionth time in ten days. So we did.
As we walked up to a corner entrance, Bug pointed to an ice cream truck that had a drawing of a certain police officer helping a few famous ducklings cross the street to head into the Public Garden. I tried to prime Bug for our entrance into the garden. "[Bug], do you see who is in that picture? Is that Michael the police officer? Are those the ducklings going into the Public Garden? Should we go in and try to find them?"
Bug looked at me as if to say, "Mom, I do see that picture. Of course it is a picture of Michael the police officer and the ducklings going into the garden. We can go in, if you want to, but we are not going to find the ducklings. They are pictures from a book. Stop treating me like I don't know fiction from reality. Did you see that subway entrance back there? I bet they have a monorail here."
So in we went. Two minutes later, we stopped to listen to a man with about thirty-nine instruments attached to himself and to various hula hoops around his body. Yes, hula hoops. One of the signs around his station announced his moniker -- something along the lines of "Dr. Feelgood Loves the World." We listened to a few songs, and something about the experience brought me peace. (It should be noted that he did have something labeled the Peace Wave Machine.)
After we went on our way toward the pond to see some ducks and ducklings, I noticed that Bug's mood had changed. I asked if he was okay. "No." After several multiple choice questions (and maybe one leading question), I learned that Bug and I had very different reactions to Dr. Feelgood Loves the World.
As my brother-in-law's girlfriend said later, "that guy is straight creepy."
Lesson learned. This move is going to be hard, and some weirdo and his peace machine are not a deus ex machina. Instead, we will just have to muddle our way through the next few weeks (and maybe months). And on the other side of the hard times, I truly believe there is going to be some sweet relief and an exciting new chapter in our lives.
Wish us luck finding an apartment though. We have our names in for a couple of really nice apartments, but the current fallback choice is a place that prompted the following conversation between me and my husband:
Husband: "Well... it would be fine. Just temporary."
Me: "Jane Jacobs would s#*! her pants if she had to live here."