60-ish hours in the city

It's an interesting and wonderful thing visiting your now-grown daughter and witnessing her beautiful, full, completely-her-own life.

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Early in the summer of 2001, Joe and I moved out of the first house we ever bought together, a pale yellow, black-shuttered tri-level we loved in the quiet St. Paul suburb of Cottage Grove. We filled a small moving truck and our used Ford Aerostar minivan with all the belongings a young couple with an 11-month-old might have—mismatched furniture, a hodge-podge of dishes given to us, toddler toys and books, our shared desktop computer.

We liked Minnesota fine enough and had made wonderful friends, but it wasn’t home. We had the chance to return to northern Michigan and felt both excited to be closer to family and nervous for the change. Joe would be starting a job in a new industry and we weren’t yet sure where we’d be living long-term. For the foreseeable future we’d rent my brother-in-law’s vacant two-bedroom, second-floor condo.

When I think back on this time, I recall days that blended together and stretched out endlessly, with Joe leaving for work at dawn to drive an hour north to his job in Charlevoix and returning well after dinner. I had quit my reporting job at the daily paper in St. Paul, and in recent months started to explore freelance writing. Mostly, I was focused on caring for Emma, who turned one not long after we returned to Traverse City. I was sleep-deprived but happy to be back home, continuing to figure out how to be a mom. 

I was 25 and the first of my close friends to have a baby. Just like in Minnesota, as Joe worked one, then two jobs during and after my maternity leave, Emma and I spent most of our days alone, together. She couldn’t get enough of being outside at the condo complex, pointing at the birds and grass, her one arm always clutching a soft stuffed animal she called Yellow Bear. We celebrated her first birthday with a Pooh-themed party in the condo with family.

We’d taught her to sign and in this picture she’s pointing at her palm to say, “More, please.”

We became frequent visitors to the library, checking out puppets and picture books Emma would memorize after just a few readings. Sometimes we’d meet up with a friend I’d known growing up, who also returned to our hometown that summer with her young son, for walks at a nearby park. Stopping at the beach not far from the condo kept me centered, even as Emma attempted to scoop handfuls of pebbles and sand into her mouth despite my best efforts to have her sit with me and her toys on a blanket. I encouraged her shoreline exploring, though; I wanted her to love the Great Lakes as much as me.

Emma at our slice of Lake Michigan beach, summer 2001

We were back in our small hometown, and we did have family nearby, but it was a different place now, with my high school friends no longer around and places not nearly as familiar. Restaurants and stores had closed or changed hands, and an influx of new people and businesses were moving into what was becoming even more of a tourist destination, with an emerging high-end drink and foodie scene that was nothing like the small up north town I’d grown up in.

I remember hot summer afternoons laying with Emma on a lumpy green futon couch in our living room. This was how she napped best, her small body pressed against my torso, her head tucked beneath my chin. We’d wake up sticky-sweaty, her baby hair damp against her forehead, her scent sweet with sleep. She’d ask for her “juicy cup” I filled with her favorite orange juice and we’d sit together snacking on Teddy Grahams and thumbing through her chunky board books. She took her first steps around a square coffee table in the condo.

I’ve been thinking about this summer when we moved back home, when we were figuring out our next move as a family of three before Emma’s brothers joined us in the following years. The memories surfaced when I visited Emma in her new place, her first post-college apartment. This is her home now. She’ll turn 23 this summer, an unbelievable number when I can still remember what it felt like to hold her small, soft body against mine as she slept. She’s now so close to the age I was when she was born.

It’s late afternoon, the air chilly but the sky still bright blue and cloudless, as I approach the busy street in front of Emma’s apartment. Patches of partly melted ice cover the crosswalk, so I walk tentatively, holding the two leashes tightly in my right hand. I look both ways on this unfamiliar city thoroughfare as I make my way to the sidewalk on the other side. Winnie and Junie dart ahead, just as eager as me to go for this walk.

“You should go get coffee,” Emma had told me earlier in the day as she readied to head downtown for her several hour-long med school exam. “There’s this great spot where you can take the dogs, sit outside by a fire.”

Then, before she opens the door to leave, she adds, “It’s that place where I’ve taken Winnie, where they have lattes for dogs.”

A coffee in the sun—a February sun in Michigan, always a treat to be celebrated—sounded just right, especially after a long morning of writing and hitting send on a piece that had been on my mind for a long while (i.e. interrupted my sleep more than once). The project deadline kept moving, as other, more important things popped up and took priority for my team at work. Finally finishing this one felt like taking off a heavy backpack I’d been carrying far too long. 

That I could also get a walk in with Winne, Emma’s year-old Dachshund, and Junie, our own doxie who is Winnie’s younger sister and came along for this weekend away, made it all the more appealing. They love being outside and they’re easy to walk, not pulling and just happy to be next to me. They like stopping every so often to sniff and simply look around. I like this slower pace, more than ever, and the perspective that comes when I’m not rushing.

Who would have ever thought I’d be the woman with two small dogs, going for a caffeine fix at a spot that sells specialty drinks for pets? And on a Monday afternoon, in Grand Rapids. Winnie and Junie have matching pink coats. <Don’t laugh> We get stopped a lot, when the two of them are together. Look at the two wieners! This is where things are at. And I’m all in and here for all of it. 

I don’t know this city all that well, but I’m learning a little bit more each time I’m here to see Emma. This latest visit, our first mom-daughter hang-out at her place since October, introduced me to the neighborhoods on the east side of the city. We spent Saturday stopping by the independent bookstore Books and Mortar, and checked out a few cute shops nearby, including one filled with thick coffee table books and candles, pottery pieces, pillows and rugs, artwork, and lots of other lovely home furnishings. I picked out a small cutting board with a circular handle because it was different and made me happy as soon as I eyed it. Since remodeling our kitchen, I have purchased a few boards because the one I had and used forever was a gift we’d received for our wedding in 1999. Another thing to file under things I didn’t expect of myself: various sized cutting boards, and having them as both functional and decorative pieces in my kitchen, bring me a ridiculous amount of joy. 

“Does it delight you?” Emma asked me, laughing at what has become an inside joke between us, as I turned the chocolate-colored rectangle cutting board over in my hands. 

“It does,” I said, laughing back and giving her arm a squeeze. She knows I’m all about finding more delight—this is a fun, under-used word!—every day. It feels good to recognize the little things that bring me happiness (I’ve written about this before). We need to grab hold of these things when we can. Even as we laugh about this, I’ve noticed Emma is doing more of this for herself, which makes me happy, too.

Later in the weekend, on a mission to create a book corner in her apartment, we made our usual swing by Target to see what new home items they had. One of the best things about Emma’s apartment in a historic building is that it has expansive windows, two of which face west. By mid-afternoon and throughout the golden hour, sunshine streams into her living room, a section of which we imagined could serve as a perfect reading nook. All it needed, to make the most of the tall window and old-school heat radiator tucked in a corner, was a cozy chair, side table, and a plant or two. (I was voting for a tall plant for the corner by the radiator; she wasn’t so sure. We ultimately decided a medium-sized one on a short table would look the best.)

The Before Picture

The After Picture

On Sunday, the cold snap officially over, we went for a run—our first together in a long time. Emma has always been my favorite running partner, not only for the obvious reason of getting to spend time with her, but because we run at a similar pace. Having trained for numerous races together over the years, including a half marathon in this new city of hers several years ago, we can fall into a comfortable rhythm pretty quickly. Even if we’re not talking the entire time, which we weren’t this time since we both decided to listen to our own playlist, having her alongside me is motivating and helps the miles go by.

We bought new shoes over the weekend, too. They match, because we both love purple and Hokas.

This was the first time I’d run these particular neighborhood streets, which made Emma’s presence all the sweeter. She decided the route, signaling the turns onto side streets and tree-lined sidewalks. At stoplights, we paused and I took in the new-to-me scenery: a corner auto shop, a sprawling park just ahead in the next city block, a restaurant with outdoor igloos, the savory smell of lunch reaching us.

I’ve been struggling lately to stay motivated to run—specifically, to run without walk breaks. I dig a good walk, but having recently signed up for my first half marathon in a number of years(!), I’ve known I need to get into a groove. I’ve wanted to be able to run without feeling like I want to stop. On this run with Emma, I kept running. We paused only to let traffic go by, and miraculously I never wanted to slow to a walk. It didn’t feel easy—running never feels easy—but I felt strong. I breathed in the cold air, I eased up at times to avoid icy patches, and I kept going. Together, we finished strong.

“That was the first run in a while that I didn’t stop and walk,” I told her as we came to a stop in the parking lot behind her apartment building. I tried not to get too emotional about this. It was just four miles. But as I know but don’t always believe for myself, there is no “just” about it. We ran four miles.

By the time Sunday early evening rolled around, my plans to head back north began to dissolve. “Can’t you stay another night?” Emma asked, before three of her girlfriends and classmates stopped over to work on a project.

Home and my routine and responsibilities tugged at me. I should get back to it. I had a full day of writing and at least one Zoom work meeting the next day. And yet … I could work from her place and not have to drive home in the dark. I could meet her friends and we could spend more time together. I decided to stay, and as it happened, go for an afternoon walk and sit outside drinking coffee next to a fire.

On this Monday afternoon, I wandered back to Emma’s apartment after sitting for a bit (and getting two dog lattes for Winnie and Junie, of course). Emma would be back soon and I while the thought of staying yet another night crossed my mind, I knew I needed to get back home.

I’m already looking forward to my next visit.

And hearing what else Emma has discovered and experienced in her city, her new home.