Mother to a boy

Posted on September 5, 2010 by 40andover

Our 8 year-old boy is still very cuddly, but we know it won’t last for long. Sometimes, when we are watching cartoons on a weekend morning, he says, “E-Mom!! Stop smothering me!!”

I believe it is my divine right of motherhood to be the quintessential overbearing Jewish mother. I realize now that my mother, and her mother before her, were just trying to stuff a lifetime worth of love and concern into the few years they actually had control over their children’s lives. And because, when I look at my child, all I want to do (when I don’t want to throttle him) is hug him and tell him how adorable he is and how much I love him.

So, today, when he said those awful words (“stop smothering me!!”) during our cartoon marathon, I reminded him of my divine right to smother and added, “you can’t spell smother without M-O-T-H-E-R!!”

With my new-found appreciation for the cartoon, “Phineas and Ferb” (today they went on a boat for a three-hour tour, a three-hour tour . . . .), I started imitating the show’s evil doctor, Heinz Doofenschmirtz, who invents “-inators” to do evil things to the entire tri-state area (no joke), and proclaimed myself, the “SMOTHER-inator”.

Yes, yes, yes, I know. Any sane person would not admit to this.

Pre-High Holy Days Mayhem

Posted on September 3, 2010 by 40andover

So, because POB (partner of blogger) reminds me that in “good homes” the carpets and the furniture are cleaned annually, and the windows are cleaned twice, before Passover and before Rosh Ha-Shanah, we have been in a cleaning frenzy. Also the mice episodes gave the cleaning rituals a bit more fevered pitch this year. Also the bed bug scare in New York had us getting new mattresses, etc. In short, we are doing what we can to raise the retail sales numbers nationally. Now, that is patriotism.

Our housekeeper comes on Fridays. Our housekeeper is a wonderful and robust woman in her 60s who comes from Poland and, as she says, “knows hard vork”. But since she is in her 60s we try to get others to the hard vork. In this case, POB and I wanted to lay the cleaned rug down in the dining room (we had already done the heavy lifting in the living room). This endeavor also involved cutting the mat underneath so that the rug laid properly.

Here are the many dramas that came into play: Our housekeeper said, “[Blogger], you are educated; I know hard vork. Step avay from the mat and I vill cut!” Ok, POB and I were raised to respect our elders and never to let someone older do work we could do ourselves. We are also the “employers”, adding another level. Also, POB is strong like you-can’t-imagine strong.

So we are all on the floor playing out our social, economic and cultural dynamics. The window cleaner walks in (we had left the door open for him after the doorman announced him) and sees three woman on the floor with scissors and box cutters arguing over who is cutting the mat that goes under the rug. He asks, “where do I start?” Really? Really? Is this a usual scene for the window cleaner?

We all stop. I agree to cede the fight to POB and our housekeeper in order to get the window cleaner guy started as long as I get to move the dining room table. Pause. I seeing nodding and I retreat. A little victory of sorts.

Of course, I should have known that even though I was allowed to move the dining room table, everyone would have an opinion on its precise location. POB was the most forceful in her opinions. “A little to the right.” “Closer to the windows.” “No, too much.”

“Are you listening??”

NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, I scream in my head, but all that comes out is “Yes, dear.”

Back in my head, I am thinking you thought we should get our windows cleaned before a hurricane. This is not like wearing good underwear in case you are taken to an emergency room. The hurricane won’t treat us any better. But then the hurricane passes us and POB is right — again.

Child is teacher to the parent

Posted on September 2, 2010 by 40andover

All of the talk of Hurricane Earl has my son asking about other types of natural disasters. His questions are very specific: why are there earthquakes in California and not in New York City (where we live)?? I didn’t want to tell him that earthquakes are possible in New York and we have had tremors before. He is only 8 years-old after all and that could freak him out.

Where to begin? So, I start with, “Not all the land under the oceans are connected. And deep down, the earth is actually so hot and pressurized that it is liquid. That is even true under dry land. Sometimes, the pieces of land bump into each other and move apart and —- ” My eight year-old son interrupts me, and says, “Oh, you mean plate tectonics? It also causes mountain ranges.”

Well, all right then. I actually thought I was doing a good job answering the question, way better than my answering of the Tampax question. Apparently, I failed to give him new information even though I was essentially making up the connection between earthquakes and plate tectonics.

I knew there would come a time when my son knew more about stuff than I did. I didn’t realize that it would happen when he is EIGHT YEARS OLD!!!!! But don’t tell him that earthquakes can happen in New York City; he is still a little boy and might really get scared.

My new morning routine

Posted on September 2, 2010 by 40andover

I used to watch Bloomberg TV in the mornings so I would know what was happening in the markets, etc., and because the morning shows are too chatty for me.

My morning routine has been up-ended as of late because my son is still on vacation and barrels into our room in the mornings to watch cartoons. We settle into “Phineas and Ferb”. POB (partner of blogger) brings me coffee (how did I get so lucky?) and I cuddle with my little baby-soon-to-be-a-tweener (who will thereafter never let me hug him again, but for now, it is a little bit of heaven). And I am in a good mood for the rest of the day. (But I do run very late for work.)

Today, my son slept until after 9am, which is an unprecedented late hour. I, however, was watching “Phineas and Ferb” since 8:30am because the show just by itself puts me in a good mood. Cuddling with my son makes it a little bit of heaven, but the cartoon is really funny.

The references to the “Love Boat” and other things of the 1970s and 80s as well as the comments from the mother (“yes, dear, I have a few minutes before my bladder bursts like a water balloon”) are hilarious. And the kids are good natured and nothing bad ever happens and there is no real violence, etc. Ok, there is some suspension of reality needed — there is a platypus named Perry who is also a secret agent and his nemesis is Heinz Doofenschmirtz.

So, forget the Dow Industrial Average and Bloomberg News in the mornings. I am tuning into my pals Phineas and Ferb.

Where Have All the Flowers Gone?

Posted on September 1, 2010 by 40andover

Long time passing. Long time ago.

On our way to the beach last week, we listened to 70s music on Sirius radio. “Afternoon Delight”, “Handy Man”, “Monster Mash”, “Young Hearts, Run Free” and all those other long ago summer time songs had POB (partner of blogger) and me screaming the words as our son looked on in horror and embarrassment. (He also said, “E-mom, you should blog about this.” I love my son.)

At camp, we used to sing “Anticipation”, “Circle Game” “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?” and “Cruel War” at Saturday night campfires. These and other songs made us both melancholy and grateful for each other in ways I didn’t understand then.

Since those days, we have all lived with not knowing about the days to come, the (stupid, stinking) painted ponies going ’round and ’round the carousel of time, and war and its cruel endings. Life has, as it inevitably does, lifted us up, let us down and gave us a few battle scars along the way. And, sometimes, songs sung when I was so young resonate with me now as, with each passing year, I spend more and more on an ounce of (alleged) skin rejuvenation cream.

I firmly believe that, if I slathered olive oil all over my body (instead of throwing gobs of money away on creams and potions), it would give me a more youthful (and, ok, smarmy) glow. People might also like to brush up against me with chunks of bread. Maybe if I used extra, extra, virgin (as in the driven snow) olive oil, I would look even younger. I would do it, but for fear of the inevitable question from a colleague, “did you have salad for breakfast?” or, after a meeting, someone sitting next to me saying, “you know, I have a strange hankering for Greek food.”

Oops, there I go digressing again. About camp. Sometimes those memories make me laugh out loud or just give me a wonderful feeling and a lift to my step. And it has been a gift to reconnect with old friends on Facebook about batik, peach pit rings, the Leoj, Plaque Night, etc.

Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other’s gold. Ok, campers, repeat in rounds (with Lodges 1 and 2 starting, followed by Lodges 4 and 5) and Lodge 3 please add the harmony.

Better than gold. Really.

Square Peg; Oval Office

Posted on August 31, 2010 by 40andover

I listened to President’s Obama’s speech. I did not listen to the pundits. But let me make some educated guesses:

If you are a GOP candidate or in the GOP leadership, you thought (i) he was short on specifics for economic recovery, (ii) he should have come out in favor of tax cuts, and (iii) he failed to vindicate the success of the surge in Iraq for enabling him to fulfill a campaign promise of ending the combat mission in 18 months.

If you are Keith Olbermann (and sometimes Frank Rich), you wonder why he didn’t renounce war all together, and how he could possibly mention George W. Bush and patriotism in the same sentence.

If you are Maureen Dowd, you wonder what happened to his passion and why, even though we elected Mr. Spock, he didn’t somehow morph into Dr. Spock.

If you are Chris Matthews, you are joking about how his eyes fluttered from time to time because you really can’t cope with your rock star hero’s having to represent the establishment he ran against.

I will go out on a limb here and have an opinion: I liked his speech. I thought he spoke movingly of the sacrifices of our troops. He heard our fears about our economy and tried to be reassuring — as reassuring as one can be in the twenty minutes of prime time allotted. He danced around the backlash against Muslims and building of mosques and community centers. That was disappointing, but “politic”.

So, if you are the opposition, you hated it. If you are among the democrats who wanted public health care and war crimes tribunals for Bush, Cheney and Rumsfeld (I don’t disagree) you are frustrated to the point of distraction. If you just want the President to do his job and you appreciate even a little what an impossible job it is, you thought he did fine and just want him to keep trying.

So, how did I do? If I hit 75% accuracy, I will have saved two hours of my life by not watching talking heads or reading pout-y Op-Eds. How liberating.

Working it

Posted on August 30, 2010 by 40andover

My dad used to say in response to someone asking whether he was doing something special “over Labor Day” he would respond, “everyday is LABOR day“.

As I get older, I feel his pain ever more acutely. I did relax a little during my week away at the beach, but time with family is a “trip” and not a vacation, as those of you with kids understand. When my blackberry accidentally drowned (accidentally, I SWEAR), I really got to relax.

Unfortunately, my blackberry dried out by Saturday. I thought that the horror (and the happiness) of drowning (did I mention it was an accidental?) a blackberry is that it never comes back to life. But the new improved blackberry must be the computer equivalent of a cockroach. Humans will be eviscerated by nuclear holocaust, but our blackberries will live on, buzzing with pointless meeting and birthday reminders. Maybe the cockroaches will sprout thumbs and use them. Darwinism gone horribly wrong. Yet, there is something poetic about this. A little crazy and unhinged, but poetic nevertheless.

Just you wait, it will be on Syfy and a runaway hit. Soon, it will be cool to be kind to cockroaches. They will become a protected species. Now, THAT is crazy.

Wait. Labor Day. That’s where I was before my mind took a dangerous turn. Doing anything day in and day out for decades just has to burden one’s soul and dim one’s sense of wonder. But you all know that. So, why pick that scab again.

But my new Syfy thriller idea — now that could be entertaining. Thoughts?

What would you do?

Posted on August 29, 2010 by 40andover

A man with a battery operated, variable speed, hand drill (no bit in, though) is walking down the street holding it in his hand as one would hold a gun (ok, how else would one hold a hand drill?). Do you suppose that even though it is Sunday he is doing home improvements? Or do you think that he is so criminally insane that no one (even the bad guys) would sell him a gun, so he is relegated to using a drill for his nefarious ways? Remember, it is New York City.

I AM crazy.

Summer is for kids

Posted on August 29, 2010 by 40andover

Memorial Day Weekend makes me giddy with expectation of a long summer of fun. Labor Day Weekend fills me with a mournfulness about the summer-that-wasn’t, the kind of mournfulness that is rightly reserved for more weighty matters.

So this past week I was an interloper in my son’s summer. We spent days in the pool or at the beach or on play dates. Except he was the one who wanted to stay in the pool, dive into the waves, and had friends out at the beach. I wanted to nap. POB (partner of blogger) and I were relegated to the roles of adults and rule-enforcers.

We did have fun as a family and we giggled a lot. And POB sent me off to the gym and for runs so that she didn’t have TWO kids to keep in line. But those are not summer activities, as I remember summer. We didn’t hop on anyone’s bike and ride on untrafficked roads to an old musty bookstore and then eat ice cream on the lawn of the town church or library. We didn’t play tennis and then go to the lake for an instructional swim or make peach-pit rings in the art studio. Those were the days of my childhood summers.

Even if my son were amenable to recreating those days, I can’t quite imagine how one navigates the busy roads and fast cars that are everywhere in sea-side communities. Maybe I am looking for a time that is just lost. And maybe, like some things, those memories are sweeter in the rear view mirror.

My son had his own magical summer doing his activities. I am grateful and happy that he did. He looks and acts older. He is tanned (even though he was slathered in sun block many times a day) and looks rested and ready for school.

Me, I have a sunburn.

Blogcation Year 2 Epilogue

Posted on August 28, 2010 by 40andover

We spent the morning by the pool and planned to have a leisurely lunch and be on our way home via East Hampton to visit the family of POB (partner of blogger). So around noon, a van with bicycles on top drives up into the driveway. Oh, I guess, the next renters are here. (They are supposed to come after 4pm.) Anyway, tall, gangly man, who looks like Steve Buscemi in the movie, “Fargo” (see http://www.funpub.net/poze/mare/steve_buscemi_1235391217.jpg), got out of the car and introduced himself in the deep voice, capable of cackles of ghoulish laughter, “My name is Mr. [Scary Guy from Hell]” and this is “Gizmo” (pointing to a little dog). I am afraid she is high-strung and a little scary.”

Ok, a man who reminds me of a murderous movie character and Lurch (from the Addams Family) all in the same horrifying moment expects me to respond in a similarly mannered way. I can only muster, “Hi! We’ll be out of here shortly.” Two women are with him, one looks like Uncle Fester and the other is hefty version of Morticia. I am freaked out about these people and ask POB whether she hid the knives.

It was hot and the women dark, long sleeves clothes. Mr. Scary Guy from Hell was wearing tennis shoes, calf-high socks, a random long-sleeved shirt, with a bloody axe hanging from his neck (just teasing about the axe).

POB was upset that they came early. I was upset not to have left sooner. Perspective is everything.

40 — oh wait, yikes!! 50 — andoverblog

Aging and living in urban US

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