Benjamin Penguin

I’m feeling a little nostalgic, but not entirely sad. There were things that I always disliked about this place.  Some things improved over time (the lovely gentleman downstairs – a very sweet man – moved out with this wife and the cigarette smell that always permeated the air vanished instantly) and others became way more cumbersome (living on the third floor was just nightmarish with an active toddler that always wants to be out, out, out). Plus, we live a slight march from the closest park and it’s hard to find usable green space here in the summer that is not already occupied by ball players or dog owners congregating with their pooches. And we are at the intersection of two major streets, making my heart skip a beat every time Ben would try to walk on the sidewalks since he always tried to dart into traffic. This required us to carry him to and from the apartment and car, giving us all manner of back pains. In short, this place isn’t working anymore for a variety of reasons. Still, it’s a very cute place and I appreciate the funky interior and exterior architecture. The place we are moving to now can best be described as “bland suburban,” but there are amenities that help overcome that inherent dullness.  And I am never one to shy away from color and decorative touches, so I think we can make the place passable with the inventive use of a multitude of colorful IKEA items and some posters and rugs.

The other day, when I was sitting in the sun room with Ben, I had the realization that this would likely be the last time – or one of the last times – that I was going to be playing with him against that backdrop. I was really tempted to get up and get the camera and take some pictures of him in there. Of course,  I worried that he would get distracted from his play if I got up and got the camera and so I just sat there and continued playing with him. I think there is something about this realization that speaks to the reality of living with a child. You can stop and be reflective, stop and be wistfully nostalgic, but you can really only give yourself a moment because while you are thinking about the past, the present is rolling right along right in front of your eyes. So I’ll be sad about leaving this place and the memories left behind. But Ben won’t let me get too sad or too wrapped up in the nostalgia because he’s waiting for me in the here and now to pick up a little toy train and barrel it down the little toy tracks.

Since I have a quiet moment to myself, though, I am going to bid a proper farewell to this place. A video tour, if you will, of the spaces that helped define the earliest months of our parenting. The place already doesn’t look the same, what with the boxes everywhere and the noticable lack of our stuff, but perhaps when I view the video in upcoming months and years, it will help to trigger the memories and take me right back to that experience.