“I am a ‘raising children in New York City’ evangelist,” I’d say to him. And I meant it. This way of life isn’t for everyone. I have sincerely counseled friends to move out of the city and cheered them on all the way to Connecticut or California. But it is absolutely for me. And as long as people have questions, I have answers. Who better to explain this existence than a woman who, true story, arrived at college, met a classmate who was from Manhattan, and asked that woman if she lived in a hotel? I’ve come so far and learned so much.
And now I’m sharing answers to the most common questions I get about living in a New York City apartment with kids. This is for anyone currently living here—with or without children—and fielding a bunch of nosy queries from her parents, in-laws, or friends back home. Feel free to tear out these pages and make copies. It’s also for my mother, who couldn’t tell a friend over lunch at Panera that I was pregnant without getting eighty-two follow-up questions in return. She did a great job defending my life choices, but she deserves a cheat sheet.
Here it is:
Q: YOU SEEM KIND OF NEGATIVE ABOUT MONTCLAIR. WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM WITH THE SUBURBS?
A: Yeah, I know. I promise I’m not anti-suburb. I grew up—very happily—in a suburban environment, and I have family and friends in some beautiful suburbs of New York that I love to visit. I just prefer city life, and I also feel spiritually, tangibly called (yes, by God) to raise my family in New York City. Does that sound crazy? To some. Does it also sound suspicious that I’m justifying living in a place that I love by saying I’m spiritually called to? Perhaps. On a more practical note, Michael’s family lives in Manhattan. If we move to the suburbs, we are moving farther away from family, not closer to them, as many people would be.
Q: SO, 1,200 SQUARE FEET, HUH? HONESTLY, THAT’S NOT EVEN THAT SMALL.
A: Thank you, reasonable person! Who let you in? You’re right, though. It’s not that small. Around our country and certainly the world, many people live in houses much smaller. In fact, we have friends in the city who are raising four (yes, four) kids in apartments smaller than ours. Every city is different, and New York real estate is quite expensive. A studio can feel like an embarrassment of riches. It’s all relative.
Q: BUT SERIOUSLY, WHERE DID YOU PUT THE BABY?
A: In a closet. Here’s how our bedroom situation shook out over the years: When Michael and I bought our apartment in 2008, on the downward slope to the financial crisis, we had no children. An extra bedroom was, frankly, ridiculous. But Julia came along in 2010, and by then, we had a handle on the mortgage and felt like geniuses for taking money out of the stock market and putting it in Manhattan real estate, which eventually bounced back. (In reality, it was dumb luck.) Julia slept in the smaller second bedroom. When James was born, he slept in a crib in our walk-in master closet, something you don’t always see in Manhattan apartments, which was the result of the funky layout of our very old building. When James was two and a half, he started sleeping with Julia, something we instituted as a solution to her waking up and getting into our bed, and when it stuck, we decided to flip the rooms. The kids took the master (we eventually bought bunk beds), Michael and I took the smaller room, and the closet became a closet again. Many years later, when I got pregnant with Sam, we did some minor construction on the master closet, adding wallpaper and more streamlined shelving. It’s pitch-black at night, and Sam sleeps incredibly well. So far, so good. Fun fact: I slept in a closet in my parents’ condo until I was two years old. My father liked to remind me, though, that it had a window.
Q: IF THE BABY IS IN THE CLOSET, WHERE ARE ALL OF YOUR CLOTHES?
A: There is a second, medium-sized closet off the hallway outside the master bedroom; my clothes are in there. The big kids’ clothes are in an antique armoire in their room. The baby’s and Michael’s clothes are in an Elfa system along one wall of the nursery/closet. Michael has a little bit of hanging space in the closet in our bedroom, but not much, because the washing machine is in there.
Q: I’M SORRY, THE WASHING MACHINE IS IN YOUR CLOSET?
A: Yes. When we bought the apartment, there was no washer/dryer in it. Some apartments have a reasonable place to put them, where there’s open space and a water hookup. Ours did not. Which was fine by me, as our building had a lovely, clean, communal laundry room in the basement. My mother-in-law, however, declared that I’d regret not finding a way to install our own, especially once I had kids, and became determined to figure it out, which she eventually did. (I’m very grateful, in hindsight.) The trick was buying a European-brand washing machine that was extra narrow and putting it in a closet that backed up to a bathroom. The contractor simply cut a hole through the wall to give us a water hookup. And it left the top half of the closet open, so that Michael can hang up his pants.
Q: YOU HAVEN’T EXPLAINED WHERE THE DRYER IS.
A: You’re right. The dryer situation is even weirder. There was nowhere to put it where it could vent to the outside, so we had to buy a ventless dryer, which captures condensation in a container that you empty after every load. It only needs a high-voltage electrical outlet to run. Not wanting to lose the entire second bedroom closet by stacking the washer/dryer, we (my mother-in-law) elected to put the dryer in the walk-in master closet instead. Which means, yes, the dryer is in the baby’s room. We don’t run it when he’s asleep. Overall, we were lucky that our co-op allowed washers and dryers in individual apartments. Some do not!
Q: A CO-OP? WHAT THE HECK IS A CO-OP?
A: I’m not entirely sure. But I think it means that we don’t actually own our particular apartment. We own a certain number of shares—depending on how many square feet we have—of a cooperative, which is our entire building. We are shareholders with our neighbors, which is kind of lovely and collegial, when you think about it. I believe my mother calls it socialism.
Q: BUT ISN’T IT STRESSFUL BEING IN SUCH A LOUD, CROWDED CITY EVERY TIME YOU STEP OUT OF YOUR FRONT DOOR?
A: It certainly would be if we lived in Times Square. I completely understand that people who visit New York think every inch of it is crawling with people and flashing lights, because most of the neighborhoods you see when you are a tourist are extremely crowded. And lots of people do live in Midtown or SoHo, which must suit them just fine. To each his own. We live on the far Upper West Side, where it is more residential, less commercial. You may pass through our neighborhood on a bus tour on your way to Harlem, but overall it’s pretty quiet and boring.
Q: STILL, YOU DON’T HAVE A BACKYARD, DO YOU? WHERE DO YOUR CHILDREN PLAY?
A: No, we do not have a backyard. I should note that some of our friends live in brownstones, rather than taller elevator buildings, and many of them do have small backyards with grills and patio chairs and tomato plants. We don’t, but we live across the street from Central Park, where, as soon as you enter, you find a lake with turtles and ducks and quaint wooden bridges that cross over running streams. There are five excellent playgrounds within ten blocks of our house, soccer fields where my kids play on the weekends, and acres and acres of grass that I do not have to mow. The downside, of course, is that I can’t open my back door and shoo my children out. I have to go with them to the lake, the playgrounds, and the soccer fields. I balance this inconvenience with the knowledge that once my children are in middle school, they will be able to go most places on their own. When my suburban friends are driving their children to ballet and lacrosse and debate and ballet again, I’ll be catching up on television and eating Häagen-Dazs on my couch. Or something like that.
Q: YOU’LL LET YOUR KIDS RUN ALL OVER THE CITY BY THEMSELVES?
A: Well, within reason. I don’t anticipate they’ll be taking the subway to Coney Island at age eleven. But yes, kids here are pretty independent. And New York is incredibly safe as far as cities go.
Q: BUT DOESN’T IT MAKE YOU SAD THAT YOUR KIDS CAN’T RIDE THEIR BIKES AROUND THE CUL-DE-SACS LIKE YOU DID BACK IN THE DAY?
A: I don’t know, are kids still riding
their bikes around the cul-de-sacs in suburbia from morning to night like we did back in the day? My sister’s sons do, but they live in an almost creepily utopian neighborhood with lots of sidewalks. The majority of my suburban sources say those days are gone. I think kids are too busy at debate practice or ballet or watching YouTube. We do ride bikes—through Central Park, which is arguably more picturesque than the stomping ground of my youth—but it requires an adult to ride along. Fortunately, Michael enjoys riding bikes. I used to go for runs and let Julia ride her bike alongside me, but I’m terribly out of shape due to writing this book.
Q: AND WHERE DO YOU STORE YOUR BIKES? YOU DON’T HAVE A GARAGE. OR A DRIVEWAY.
A: True, we have neither. But we have bike storage rooms in our building’s basement with industrial hooks on the wall designated to each resident. You have to pay a monthly fee for bike storage. I know, I know.
Q: WHERE DO YOUR KIDS PLAY IN THE WINTER, WHEN IT’S COLD?
A: We do what everyone else in the country does: we watch more TV, complain a lot, and get creative. When Julia had just learned to walk, I bought a membership to the American Museum of Natural History, not because she gave two stinks about all the taxidermy, but because it has—I’m not making up this statistic—two million square feet of hallways for her to run up and down. Pro tip: the Hall of Gems is composed entirely of carpeted, stepped seating areas and alcoves. It’s like a sultry cocktail lounge for toddlers.
Q: SO HOW DO YOU GET TO SCHOOL?
A: My kids’ school happens to be walking distance from our house, so, when the weather is nice, and we aren’t running late, we walk. Other times, we take a city bus, which is filled like a clown car at 8:00 a.m. with school-age kids, many of whom are our friends. We all spill out at our stop and walk the last couple of blocks together. That’s the thing about New York; your neighborhood can feel like a small village. Also, kids in New York City public schools are issued bus or subway cards, depending on how far they commute, to use on school days. Their teachers hand them out at the beginning of the year, they are a special color and it’s very cute, and then they lose them.
Q: OKAY, BACK TO YOUR APARTMENT. TWO KIDS OF THE OPPOSITE SEX CAN’T SHARE A ROOM PAST THE AGE OF TEN OR SO, CAN THEY?
A: Can’t they? I mean, they can if, say, the alternative is that one of them sleeps in the bathtub. It helps to keep in mind that most of their friends are in similar situations, sharing rooms with their siblings. This is all they know. Sure, eventually we might move to a bigger apartment, where the boys share and Julia has her own room. But it’ll be a maid’s room anyway. No great shakes.
Q: GOOD GOSH, WHAT THE HECK IS A MAID’S ROOM? YOU’RE LOSING ME.
A: Sorry. “Maid’s room” is a term for the servants’ quarters that were typically off of the kitchen in old, pre-war apartment buildings. It’s a tiny space, barely fitting a twin bed, that homeowners might turn into an office or make part of their kitchen by busting down the wall. It often has a small bathroom with a cave-like, square shower. Many families take out the shower and stack a washer/dryer in that space, because it’s a convenient water hookup. That is, if they decide not to put the dryer in their baby’s closet.
Q: YOU’VE COVERED BIKES, BUT WHAT ABOUT ALL THE OTHER BULKY STUFF? WHAT ABOUT YOUR CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS?
A: There isn’t much: two plastic bins of ornaments and lights, which live on the top shelf of our coat closet in the foyer. We always buy a live tree, so there’s no storing an artificial one. We have one door, so one wreath, and no mantel, so no need for bulky swag. I have a few nativity scenes to scatter around, but there’s not much shelf real estate for ceramic villages. My mom has been trying to foist some foot-high, papier-mâché Thanksgiving pilgrims on me for years. “Sorry! Nowhere to store them!” has spared me a lot of unwanted tchotchkes.
Q: WEDDING CHINA? HOCKEY EQUIPMENT? GOLF CLUBS? KIDS’ ARTWORK? INFLATABLE KAYAKS?
A:
In quilted storage boxes in another coat closet in the foyer (our apartment actually does have nice closet space).
No hockey players. We do have a basket of soccer balls on the floor of a closet.
In the trunk of the car all too often, unfortunately.
I throw almost everything away.
Ha.
Q: BUT WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU GO TO COSTCO AND BUY 124 ROLLS OF TOILET PAPER?
A: Oh! We don’t really do that. There is a Costco in Manhattan, and I do know people who manage to stash bulk items under beds or behind furniture. But my limit on toilet paper rolls is twelve at a time. I buy two-packs of paper towels. We restock a lot. Same goes for groceries; in our kitchen, there is one shallow shelf for snack foods. I prefer it this way. We buy what we’ll eat that week, and there’s rarely any waste. In the event of a zombie apocalypse, of course, we will have to eat each other when our one can of black beans is gone.
Q: SERIOUSLY, THOUGH, YOU DON’T HAVE BOTTLED WATER STORED SOMEWHERE?
A: Nope. All New Yorkers have an inherent and unshakable belief that our beloved corner bodegas will stay open, like retail cockroaches, no matter what the disaster, ready to sell us water, plantain chips, and Coors Lite tall boys.
Q: EVEN DURING THE PANDEMIC?
A: Early in the coronavirus days, when New York City was in lockdown, I did buy more food than usual, so that we could limit our grocery runs. But, due to space constraints, we still couldn’t hoard toilet paper. (Could anyone?) At one point, our apartment boasted two cans of black beans, four cans of chickpeas, and three bags of fancy beans from Rancho Gordo, which my brother-in-law ordered and then tossed to me on a street corner while standing six feet away. We managed to cook three meals a day for five people and feed a few elderly neighbors without a chest freezer, if you can believe it. We didn’t have to eat the toddler. The corner bodega never closed.
Q: SPEAKING OF WASTE, WHERE DOES YOUR GARBAGE GO? IT LOOKS LIKE IT’S JUST PILED UP ON THE SIDEWALKS EVERYWHERE.
A: Every floor in our building has a garbage area. Ours happens to be outside a back door off of our kitchen. The garbage and recycling go there, and our building staff empties it every day. It lives in the basement until garbage pickup day. Our compost scraps go in specific city composting bins.
Q: COMPOST? YOU REALLY ARE SOCIALISTS, AREN’T YOU?
A: Well, garbage disposals are not allowed in New York City, so you are scraping your food into a waste container either way. Might as well put those food scraps in a separate bag and compost them. It’s not mandatory, but our building is part of a pilot program in the city, and I love it. It cuts down on my garbage immensely.
Q: DON’T YOUR KIDS DRIVE YOU CRAZY, BEING IN CLOSE PROXIMITY ALL THE TIME?
A: Yes.
Q: AND . . . ?
A: Listen. I’ve spent time in big houses with my kids. I’ve watched my friends in their big houses with their kids. What I’ve observed is that, regardless of how many square feet you have, your kids want to be wherever you are, preferably touching one of your limbs or pulling lightly on your earlobes if possible. I don’t think a playroom or second floor would buy me more peace and quiet at this stage of life. Admittedly, my children are still young, which makes them more clingy; I hear teenagers treat you like a stranger who wandered in from the bus stop. However, when we get to that phase, as much as I hate to say this and will likely regret it, living in a small space might make even more sense. If things progress as I predict—my oldest children going through puberty as I go through menopause; ergo all of us walking around as hormonal dynamite sticks—having to bump up against each other, literally and figuratively, when we are in foul moods and would rather not, could be enormously sanctifying. At least this is what I tell myself when I see the price tags on three-bedroom apartments. As it is, we have to negotiate throw blankets and counter space more regularly than we would if we lived in a bigger house. It’s hard. It’s painful. I hide in the bathroom a lot. But if the beauty of family is that you are intimately known (and loved anyway), if the goal is to treat others with
kindness—even at their ugliest—then our small apartment can only help the cause.
Q: BUT WHAT ABOUT ALL OF THEIR STUFF?
A: All of our kids have too much stuff. Mine have considerably less, because we have limited space, and I throw things away while they sleep, and they still have too much.
Q: YOU SOUND MEAN.
A: You sound like my kids.
Q: WHILE THEY SLEEP?
A: Okay, maybe I was exaggerating, but I do purge a lot. Toys, clothes, any birthday gift that involves putty, slime, or glitter. My kids have limited shoe choices. The baby mostly plays with his siblings’ toys and the inside of the toilet bowl. You know what? No one has died of want.
Q: WHAT IF YOU AND YOUR HUSBAND HAVE AN ARGUMENT? CAN’T THE KIDS HEAR?
A: Yes! Yes, they can. Which is why we frequently scream at each other outdoors, on public sidewalks. Occasionally, though, we do fight within earshot of our kids. If anything, it prompts us to apologize and ask for forgiveness from each other in front of them. Time will tell if this mitigates their therapy costs.
Q: WILL YOU EVER MOVE?
A: I don’t know, Mom. To another apartment? I think so. Once Sam is out of a crib, we either put all three kids in one room—there is such a thing as a triple bunk bed, amazingly—or we move to a bigger place. We love our building and our neighbors, though, and we’ve lived here for so long. All of our babies came home from the hospital to this apartment. And moving is expensive! Honestly, when I think about having to pack, sleeping in a bathtub starts to sound appealing.
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