If You Can't Take the Heat, Get Out of the... City

I woke up Sunday morning before 8 a.m. and the temperature was already in the mid-80s. The National Weather Service had issued a heat advisory and predicted a high of 94 in the city with a heat index of 105 degrees. The perfect day for a four-mile, three-hour hike!
Victor and I set out for the portion of the Appalachian Trail that runs through Clarence Fahnestock park north of the city just after 9 a.m. with our fearless friends Jen (a reporter who's worked in Israel, Bosnia, Kenya and Colombia) and her husband, Steven (a lawyer who spent seven months working in the war-torn former Yugoslavia) in their rented SUV. We arrived at the trailhead about a quarter after 10. By the time we'd finished spraying ourselves with herbal "Bug Away" and spray-on sun block and assembled our bandana (Jen) and backpacks (the rest of us), we were already dripping with sweat. And we had yet to set foot on the trail. Over the next hour and a half we would encounter exactly four people: a hiker with a straggly beard, bad B.O., and large, steel-framed backpack who was apparently doing the entire Appalachian Trail; a friendly, and fit, Latino couple in their mid-40s; and a red-faced man in jeans and a sweat-drenched T-shirt who seemed anxious to get back to his air-conditioned car.
We went as far as the viewpoint overlooking the furthest edge of the lake we planned to jump into after our hike, where we sat down (in the shade) and broke out the PB&J sandwiches, cherries, popcorn, trail mix, water and iced coffee. Delicious. The walk back was a little easier, since it was mostly downhill. But by the time we made it back to the car around 1:30, we were beat and filthy and anxious for a dip in the lake.
But just as we pulled the SUV around to the entrance of the beach, we heard thunder and started to worry. Sure enough, the parks department had just cleared the beach ahead of the anticipated rain storm (though the sky was still blue above us). So we had to settle for an air-conditioned car ride instead and a cold drink and ice cream (mint chocolate chip) in nearby Cold Spring.
Not a bad compromise. And we were still home by 5--exhausted and dirty, but feeling pretty good about our accomplishment. And happy that we didn't bring any ticks home with us.
Once Victor and I had turned on the A/C, showered and changed and thrown our dirty clothes in the hamper, we toasted our hike with a cool bottle of Hennepin, a delicious Belgian-style ale made by the Ommegang Brewery in Cooperstown, and almost forgot we were in the midst of a heat wave.

Somewhere between Married & Motherhood

There's nothing like spending an afternoon with three generations of your family--one of them younger than you--to stir up nostalgia for your own childhood and remind you that you are all grown up. (Or, at least, you should be).
It's been seven months since my niece was born, and I still can't get used to hearing my mother referred to as "grandma" (I'd suspect she's having an even tougher time adjusting to the title, though she's embraced the role). And every time I look at my niece, Evie, I am overcome with this mix of awe (she came out of my sister!), pride and love--and absolute fear. I watch my sister with her and I try to imagine myself changing her diaper, wiping the formula off her face, lifting her up with seeming effortlessness (though she weighs more than 20 pounds). And it is overwhelming. Could I handle it?
Of course, I know I can. And it's not as if we have to give up our lives when we start a family. But I realize now that it will be the end of life as we know it. And there's this part of me that wants so badly to cling to that time when I answered to no one (well, except my boss and my growing list of creditors), when I could sleep in--or all day--on the weekends if I wanted. When my decisions revolved around what outfit to wear and what new restaurant or bar to check out that week. I am happily married, mind you. It's not singlehood I crave, but time.
I want to be a mother; at least, I think I do. But when I'm faced with the reality of what it entails (at least, when you are not wealthy enough to hire an entourage to help you raise your child or take care of household duties so you can--or even wealthy enough to take a year off to stay home with the baby), I am overwhelmed. So many tough decisions ahead. Would I go back to work immediately and leave my newborn in the care of a stranger? Would I take time off and pray that we could continue to pay the bills? Should I try to work part-time, knowing that it will likely derail my career plans--or, at the very least, delay them.
And, money aside, there's the reality that we will no longer have control of our schedules or even our sleep patterns. Everything will revolve around this little tiny human being, who can't even stand up yet, much less hold up a conversation. And yet, there's a sense of relief too--in knowing that you have someone to care for besides yourselves, and someone who needs you. That it's not about you anymore. And that this child is probably the most important contribution you will ever make to this world.
I look at my sister with my niece and I know that, even with the sleepless nights and the financial strain of having another mouth to feed (and daycare that costs almost as much as their mortgage), she has never been happier. She is already talking about trying to get pregnant again next summer. Maybe we will both be pregnant by then.