A reader just sent me this note with a link to her blog , which is called Blah Blah Babycakes, where she posted my DUMBO piece from The Brooklyn Papers.  I told her I was thrilled.  She also thinks it was her nanny I was talking to in the Pirate Playground.

I wanted to write to tell you how much I enjoyed your piece on Dumbo moms.  It was funny and my husband and I had a good laugh.  I’ve posted a link and because it was a pdf actually pasted the text on my blog and I just wanted to let you know in case it was illegal, rude or breaking a blog rule. 

LIVE THERE? YOU’D HAVE TO BE  A DUMBO   by Louise Crawford

A BROKEN CLOCK is right twice a day, so when Dumb Editor asked Smartmom to look into the sudden influx of new moms in industrial DUMBO, Smartmom blew him off. But Dumb Editor persisted. “I can’t think of anyone better to investigate the phenomenon than you,” he said, buttering her up like a scone at Connecticut Muffin. “After all, these new moms are are you 15 years ago.” How old does he think Smartmom is? But Dumb Editor had a point. Smartmom was pushing Teen Spirit in a Combi stroller when Park Slope, like DUMBO now, was experiencing its first baby boom.

So Smartmom changed out of her schleppy Park Slope uniform (PS 321 Tshirt, black stretch pants), donned her snazziest jeans and leather jacket (so as to blend in with the DUMBO crowd) and took a car service to the Pirate Playground,located on the banks of the East River. With its views of the Brooklyn Bridge and lower Manhattan, it is, arguably, the most spectacular set of monkey bars in the world.

Ever the urban anthropologist,Smartmom was eager to eavesdrop on DUMBO moms. Were their conversations like those in Park Slope, where the playground chatter seems to revolve around Food Coop suspensions, missed real-estate opportunities, or early intervention programs? Or did they whine about their art dealers? Smartmom discreetly sidled up to a couple of moms who were talking intensely while watching their sons play. But it turns out that DUMBO is the worst possible neighborhood for eavesdropping.

The traffic and subway on the Manhattan Bridge overwhelms the entire area, making the playground way too noisy for subtle surveillance. “How do you like living here?” Smartmom asked one of the moms, who was chicly dressed in a suede jacket, tight suede pants and Ugg Boots. Smartmom really wanted to ask how the heck they get their babies to nap, given the constant ruckus. Ugg Mom looked suspicious, but soon warmed to the idea of her 15-minutes of fame. “Oh I love it. Just love
it,” she said. “It’s so urban, so much more like Manhattan than Park Slope or Brooklyn Heights. There’s a great sense of community here.” Smartmom ran after Ugg Mom and asked her if there’s much to do with kids around here. “Tons.  There’s tons to do. It’s a fantastic, family-oriented neighborhood.” Then she shooed Smartmom away. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to talk to my friend.” Manhattan, indeed.

Nearby were two Caribbean nannies, so Smartmom chatted them up.  “I hate this neighborhood,” said one, as she rocked a bright orange Bugaboo.  “It’s so boring,” the other one added. They seemed eager to share the winter of their discontent.  “There’s nothing to do, especially in the cold,” said the first. “No bookstore, no indoor play space, no Barnes & Noble. There’s nowhere to take the children.” SMARTMOM found another mom who was watching her son in the row-boat sandbox. A Q-train crossed the bridge overhead.  “DO YOU FIND IT NOISY HERE?” Smartmom screamed. “It’s not too bad,” the woman said, clearly too deaf to notice anymore.

After the playground, Smartmom was eager to check out Pomme, a wildly pretentious French children’s store. Children’s store? It looked more like the Whitney Biennial! Smartmom watched as a hip-looking local mom charged more than $200 on a credit card for extravagant birthday party gifts, while speaking French with the owner. IGNORING HER (who has time to speak French these days?), Smartmom occupied herself with the store’s publicity postcard: “Pomme is smitten with childhood; imaginary friends and security blankets. Sidewalk chalk, smocks, kneehigh socks.” Pretentious? Mais bien sur. But then again, the prices for cashmere sweaters, black under-wear sets, and French toys matched the shop’s inflated view of itself. Next, Smartmom walked past 70 Washington St., David Walentas’s condo, where lofts are selling for millions.

Around the corner at Foragers, a new Dean and DeLuca-style grocery, young mothers stocked up on expensive porcini mushrooms and hydroponic pommelos. It looked like a Manhattan version of the Park Slope Coop — without the low prices, neighborly co-workers and social consciousness. On Front Street, Smartmom peered into the window of a gigantic showroom for Thermador, Bosch and Gaggenau appliances: all the designer gadgets you need to perfectly equip the kind of huge loft kitchen that you never plan to use.

Nearby, a young mom struggled with a tantrum throwing toddler and a double-stroller on the bumpy cobblestone streets. “Do you need some help?” Smartmom asked, perhaps  with a note of condescension.  “No thanks,” Supermom said. But Smartmom persisted, asking how she puts up with the inconveniences of living in a still-industrial area. “What inconveniences?” Supermom said, completely mystified. Um, the cobblestones, the noise, the trucks. “Oh that,” Supermom said. “But we don’t hear anything once we’re upstairs.”

Finally, it was time for that expense account lunch at Bubby’s, the place to see and be seen among the Dumbo babyrati.  Like its sister restaurant in Tribeca, Bubby’s is an oasis of comfort food and thriftshop style. The large, two level space with Manhattan views was busy with tables of moms and kids. This is no place for Mr. Stroller Manifesto of Park Slope, but a perfect spot for a Bloody Mary and a midday repast.

Smartmom thought about what Dumb Editor had said:  Are all these moms the 2006 version of Smartmom, circa 1990? Well, just like the DUMBO moms, Smartmom and Hepcat left Manhattan when Teen Spirit was born, in search of a big apartment, a nearby playground, and a fairly quick commute to jobs in Manhattan.  But unlike these moms, Smartmom wasn’t nearly as well dressed. And she and Hepcat couldn’t afford to buy a luxury loft (then or now), furnish their kitchen with fancy European appliances, or dress Teen Spirit in French cashmere onesies. Back then, they lived in a fourth-floor walk-up on Fifth Street, which had a teeny tiny view of the harbor. From their living room, the Statue of Liberty looked like one of those plastic souvenirs you get at the South Ferry subway station. BUT SMARTMOM and Hepcat were happy.  There was a laundromat across the street, the Third Street Playground was close by, one of the best public schools in the city was just blocks away and Two Boots Restaurant had (and still has) the best pizza, and the most good-natured waiters in town.

Park Slope of old may not have been as “fabulous” as DUMBO — but it was definitely quieter and cheaper.  And it was home. You know what Dorothy said: there’s no place like it.