Disclaimer: This is not meant as a city mom vs. country mom rant. I’ve heard one too many iterations of the mommy wars these days. This is my ode to the city and a reminder to my husband (a tree lover) why we’re staying put. (Got it, hubby?)
Every month, it seems, I hear of another friend decamping to suburbia. Certainly, the simple math of square footage divided by children makes moving out of the city a good solution. As it happens, we are fortunate to have room to spread out, but undoubtedly, for all families, there is more space to be had elsewhere—to run around outside, to scatter the clutter amongst various rooms, and to put some grass between us and our neighbors. I understand all the inducements, but for me, it’s a conscious choice to stay in the city.
I could list all the classic New York City experiences that I cherish: seeing my kids splashing in the fountains behind the American Museum of Natural History, watching the fireworks in Central Park, or sledding down the snowy hills in Riverside Park. But those moments are just moments, and I recognize that every town has its own magic.
Ironically, it’s the lack of space that appeals to me. The vertical living, the packed sidewalks, the noisy neighborhood playground, the knowledge that without walking more than five feet, I’m likely to meet someone with a life completely different from my own. These are some of the reasons why I stay in the city. My children believe that floors everywhere house a mysterious species called “neighbors” who don’t like noise; they have learned the run ahead/stay close navigation of city blocks; and they have enacted elaborate games with kids of all ages in the park. In short, they have learned to accommodate living with others. And so have I.
Apartment buildings are the sandbox writ large. In my building, I am close with a woman who has become an invaluable friend. She was the one to come running up to our apartment when we were about to leave for the hospital to give birth to our third child and our planned child care hadn’t yet arrived. Her kids are just a few stages beyond mine and I take solace in both her coffee and her advice. I also have a famously cantankerous next-door neighbor who summoned child protective services at 2am on the morning that we were finally sleep training our then one-year-old son. (For the record, the baby had only cried for 45 minutes, and the officers were quite apologetic—but I digress.) That neighbor, I could live without. But in the name of growth and self-development and other Oprah-esque goals, I’ll choose to appreciate the lessons learned from all of my neighborly experiences.
With the world seeming ever more polarized, I am grateful that even when we bump up against those we disagree with, in this city, we can only go so far to retreat into our own corners. Despite the overwhelming wealth of Manhattan, my apartment on the Upper West Side is two blocks from public housing and my daughter’s preschool also houses a men’s homeless shelter, with the children frequently packing sandwiches for the residents. If my goal is to teach my children what it means to be a contributing member of society, what more powerful means do I have than providing them with opportunities to do their part?
In the big city, it’s easy to feel anonymous. I love people-watching on a subway packed with strangers. And yet, I’m amazed at the way I can greet my pharmacist, grocery deliverymen and local doormen by name. I appreciate that I can be part of a dozen little villages—a preschool, an elementary school, a synagogue, an apartment building, a playground—a neighborhood, in effect, with intersecting but not quite overlapping circles of friends. Amidst the enormity of the city, it is our attachment to these various communities that comprises our distinct family identity.
These days, New York City neighborhoods can seem a lot more homogenous than in the past. Even so, walking down a city street, you are likely to encounter every possible representation of humanity—for the most part, giving each other space. And that is the space I hope to provide for my kids.
Tali Rosenblatt-Cohen is a mother of three (all of whom will be in school come September. Hooray!). An indoorsy type, books are her only hobby. As such, she is a former literary agent who currently writes, edits, teaches writing, and reviews books. She and her family live on the Upper West Side.
