Sometimes a lollipop is just a lollipop

Posted on November 13, 2011 by 40andover

Our son, our source of sanity (SOS) is not a candy freak. He prefers ice cream (vanilla, only) and french fries.

He still has Halloween candy left over. Every few days he asks to have a piece of that candy as a treat. Everything in moderation is our mantra.

DOB (father of blogger) is a retired dentist. Growing up, we were not allowed to have candy at all. Imagine what it is like to have to hand over your Halloween candy in exchange for raisins. No wonder I hate Halloween.

Tonight was family dinner. DOB came over at his usual 4:30pm and he and SOS watched Life of Birds, while SOS explained some of the finer points of the species they were viewing. DOB was amazed at his grandson’s knowledge. POB (partner of blogger) made a fabulous meal. SOS was engaged and engaging at dinner and DOB was again amazed at his grandchild. DOB was surrounded by family. A great night for all of us, especially DOB.

That is, UNTIL . . .

SOS asked for a piece of Halloween candy and picked a Tootsie Pop. Then he came back to the dinner table with it. I glimpse DOB:

HORROR

followed by

DISAPPOINTMENT (in me)

followed by the deep breath that means impending

LECTURE

“This is very bad. You are introducing a corrosive agent into [SOS’s] mouth. If a child has one of these every day, there will be damage to the gums, enamel, the placement of the teeth in the mouth . . .”

I stopped listening but I imagine that soon the fact that my son is sucking on a lollipop will inevitably lead — through perfectly reasoned logic — to nuclear confrontation with Iran. So, I wanted to ratchet back the hysteria a little.

“It’s only a lollipop, Dad.”

SOS (sister of blogger) gave me a look that said, “whaaaat were you thinking saying that? How long have you been alive? Will you never be able to converse with Dad without me as referee?”

“Only a lollipop? [said in a slightly outraged toned] Well, as you remember, you did not have any candy when you were young and aren’t you glad?”

SOS is right; I need her always as referee. I could have ended the conversation right there by agreeing. But no, no, no, I had to dig in deeper . . .

“Well, actually, no. For years, I couldn’t stuff enough Snickers Bars in my mouth because, because, because —- ” “the Forbidden Fruit?” (Cousin Birder offered helpfully) — “yes, EXACTLY.”

I saw my father’s face and I immediately promised him that SOS would always have very little amounts candy, drink copious amounts of fluoridated water, and hold hands crossing the street, and . . . ., all the while knowing that DOB will be re-hashing this episode with SOB over the coming days fearful for SOS’s future and our parenting skills.

I start chanting in my head: “Sometimes a lollipop is just a lollipop, Dad.” “Sometimes a lollipop is just a lollipop, Dad.” “Sometimes a lollipop is just a lollipop, Dad.”

Sigmund Freud said something similar about a cigar; that sometimes, a cigar is just cigar. Sigmund added a caveat: “, but rarely.“

A Winter White Wedding . . . in October

Posted on October 30, 2011 by 40andover

Our G-d-daughters had their wedding this weekend. At a retreat in the Catskills. POB (partner of blogger) and I were leading the ceremony. SOS (our son, source of sanity) was the usher.

The weekend was fabulous. The brides were beautiful. It was such a happy occasion.

Ok, enough of that. Now, my take on some key events in the weekend:

The rehearsal was called for 4 pm on Friday, so we set out on Friday morning. The place was about 3 hours north of New York City. Not quite above the tree line, but north of most measures of civilization. It is in area hard hit by the economy and by the summer’s hurricane.

And no cell coverage. Imagine being without access for 48 hours. Nearly irreconcilable co-existence of serenity and extreme agitation.

We were told that the turn-off to the dirt road that would take us to the inn/camp site, would have a “road closed” sign and we were just supposed to ignore it. Pause. WHAAAAAT?

“Oh, yeah, and it would be good if your car had all wheel drive.” (This is a picture of the road AFTER we arrived and the work men had graded the road.) The pot holes in some places could swallow up a Mini Cooper.

We drove along the road in our sissy four door sedan, while the work men were trying to guide us toward to more “packed” dirt. How NICE FOR US.

And, it was so sad to see the damage sustained by this community from the hurricane (let alone what the nor-easter was about to bring this weekend).

A house had slid off its foundation, almost into the road, as a result of the August hurricane. It was a tragic sight. But, at least, the owners found some morbid humor in it all (the sign reads, “For Sale. Flexible Price”).

We arrived at the Inn and extended grounds. Note to brides: When Jews say we don’t camp, we mean it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WJLFcRdjW4o&feature=channel_video_title. Still, because we love you, we camped (ok, it was a cabin with a working kitchen):

Good thing, it was so picturesque.

The inn doesn’t really serve food on the fly, so when we were hungry for lunch, the concierge directed us to the Norman Bates (as in “Psycho”) deli, all the way back down the dirt road.

There was very little food there and there was a for sale sign on the building. We decided that we would rather find a diner than eat anything in this place, so we asked the slightly crazed looking woman who was chopping meat behind the counter in the dark about a restaurant. “We don’t have much in the way of food around here. But if you go up the road a ways, there’ll be something.” Well, all right-y then.

At 4 pm, the wedding party and the officiants (us) proceeded to the lower fields. When I asked for directions, someone pointed in a direction and said, “down yonder, a ways.” (It may have been one of the brides.) It was beautiful place and there was a babbling brook. If it were, say, 20 degrees warmer, it would have been chilly and lovely. At that moment, however, it was bone-chilling cold.

The brides also had us practice in a tent in case there was snow.

No decision on the venue until the morning. We had a barbeque rehearsal dinner (in a slightly heated tent, no fire) and a campfire (outdoors, with fire).

At the barbeque, the bartender had the gauged-out ears (the rings that make a hole you can drive a truck through and that make middle-age women a little sick) and was heavily tattooed. I saw the FEAR spelled out on the four fingers of one hand. I had to ask, “what does the other hand say?” It said HOPE, which I thought was a good sign. As it turned out, this guy was the sweetest, most helpful guy the whole weekend. So, yes, I did learn something.

SOS wanted to get back to the cabin because he was afraid that the Yeti would do a home invasion. One of the brides assured me that one of her aunts probably had the “technology” necessary to protect us if necessary. I kept that information confidential (until now) because I thought that would freak out our sissy family.

I went over the ceremony I had planned and X-ed out anything superfluous. When everyone is freezing, an extra few words can mean pneumonia.

The compromise was that we would have the ceremony in the tent but the back flap (the one behind the bridal parties and me) would be open so we could see nature’s beauty. And it was indeed a winter wonderland. It was magnificent. The tent was not heated. There was already 5 inches on the ground and it was 30 degrees in the tent. One bride and her attendants were wearing strapless gowns. I had six layers, and heavy storm boots and thermal socks. I was still dancing around to stay warm. People were shivering. POB read her part and I truncated a fair amount of my prepared remarks. It was the LEAST I could do.

When the brides were “recessing”, the attendants looked to me for the proper order of recessional. My answer, “RUN!”

The wedding reception and dinner were fabulous. First, it was warm. The food looked really great, especially the local grass-fed beef. That is, until one of the waitstaff said, “I raised that cow myself”. Showing immense restraint (because I have that way of picking at a scab), I did not ask the cow’s name. It was hard eating some animal you kind of/sort of know in a post-mortem, creepy way.

So, there were some crazy moments, AND it was fabulous. POB and I are still over the moon about the weekend. The people who trekked to this remote place are a hardy bunch. Everyone there wanted to be part of this event. A little cold wasn’t going to scare them. That love and joy carried through from Friday to Sunday and warmed an otherwise frigid weekend.

Love and family made us warm. The weather be damned.

Typical Sunday

Posted on October 23, 2011 by 40andover

Another typical day on the road to Utopia . . . .

SOS (our son, source of sanity) has grown into a teenager (notwithstanding that he is only 9 years old) and his idea of Sunday cuddling is watching TV on the same bed as me, seemingly miles apart. As a Jewish mother in the true sense of the tradition, I am not happy unless I am holding a finger, a toe or a hair of my child. In truth, I am only happy when I have an iron grip about his mid-section to keep him close and away from the dangers in . . . um . . . er. . . our safe home. WhatEVER. There are wilds out there SOMEwhere.

He would really rather play that be smothered by his mother (hey, I put the “mother” in smother, I thank you to remember). Ok, that is healthy. To a point. Ok, it is healthy, but hard on a mother.

Still, I crave time with him. So, in preparation for family dinner where wine must be served, I say, “Dude, come with me to the wine store?” Because it is Sunday, the only open (and good) wine store is a half-mile away. “Can I take my scooter?” “Sure”. I put on my running shoes. He is going to scooter and even though he knows to stop at crosswalks, I must sprint after him. Yes, I am a prisoner of my tradition. Actually, I accept and revel in my tradition of over-protection. So, sue me. Or, rather, just know that I have provided for a therapy fund for SOS in our wills.

So, I am sprinting after my son as we go to the wine shop. THANK G-D for the crosswalks and red lights.

Thereafter, a lazy Sunday afternoon commences (not really: I am reading work-related documents and POB (partner of blogger) is cooking her guts out).

For dinner, the usual suspects come over plus POB’s father (FOPOB) who was enticed by the apple pie POB made (from the apples of the apple-picking extravaganza). You mean, FOPOB, you wouldn’t come otherwise? And you wonder why I wouldn’t let you have more than two helpings of the pie. No, no, no, no. Nothing is going home with you, bud, until you come here just for the sake of being with family.

DOB (Dad of blogger), SOB (sister of blogger), and HOSOB (husband of SOB) round out the dinner group. We talk about Occupy Wall Street, the GOP, Obama, Libya, Syria and whether Rick Perry “swings both ways”. As to the latter, if he weren’t so virulently right-wing (at least now) we would not even raise the issue of how he likes to have his fun. But, you do it, you live with it.

So, 3.5 wine drinkers, two bottles. Before dinner.

Thank G-d for food. And the apple pie. Food hath charms to soothe the socialist drunk. (No, HOSOB, I am not ONLY talking about you. I include DOB and me in that group.) Mostly because SOB kept lubricating the conversation with the Merlot.)

OH, Cousin Gentle!! OH, Cousin Birder?? We needed you.

And, there is a mess in the kitchen that I must clean. I love and hate POB’s cooking.

Apple Picking

Posted on October 16, 2011 by 40andover

POB is SOS’s school class parent. Which means I have to show up to events. Not so terrible if these events are in the city.

But today, oy, today, we had to schlep to Warwick, New York to pick apples. We could have just gone to the supermarket and got apples. No, we had to go where THEY live and then kill them ourselves by picking them off the trees that are their life blood. Just what I wanted to do on a Sunday — go apple-killing with my son.

More to the point, going apple-killing meant that we had to drive (read, get lost) through the great, yet incomprehensible, state of New Jersey. The Neverlost Lady didn’t even try. We crossed the George Washington Bridge and she just rebooted and said, “Destination?” Really, Never-Lost Lady, can’t you even feel bad about leaving us to figure out how to get to Route 4 while we are driving at 60 mph? No hesitation or guilt in your voice? Even a “recalculating route” would have been gentler.

So, almost immediately inside the border of New Jersey, we were not only abandoned by Never-Lost Lady, but we were left with POB’s directions-from-hell coupled with her fierce determination to be right. SOS kept asking, “are we lost?” or sighing, “we should have never rented a car; we should have asked someone from the class to take us.” SOS was becoming the source of my INsanity. I say to SOS, “we are a team, Buddy!! And a team member never abandons the team when things don’t go as planned!” The smart-aleck that he is, he says, “what if you didn’t get to choose your team?” OK, KILL ME NOW. IT IS NOT EVEN 10:30AM.

We actually arrive on time. And then I am SOS’s hero. Almost everyone is late because of traffic or getting lost in New Jersey. (Really, I didn’t know New Jersey driving was so tricky?)

After everyone gathers, we go to pick Fujis and Macouns (which I kept calling Acuna Matata, from the Lion King). SOS is in charge of yelling and screaming and running around. POB is in charge of chit chat. I am in charge of picking the apples. Oh, cruel life.

AND, I have to carry that sack of apples all over the orchard. Just sayin’.

After the kids had screamed (I would like to think it was a joyful noise, but the ringing in my head thinks otherwise), we sat at picnic tables for lunch. One father, the uber-WASP who heretofore had shown no emotion, said in a relieved tone, “It is so good to see that other kids are just like mine!” Oh, dear man (with names that, but for the absence of “Cabot” or “Lodge”, are OLD LINE and formidable in that one can forget the order of the names, since no one name stands out as a first name), you can emote with us. We’re Jews. We emote over anything or at least tell you to stop complaining. But I digress.

I was soooooooo finished with the day that at 2:30pm. When POB said we could finally leave the picnic table where non-driving spouses were sucking down whatever fermented liquids were available, I ran to the car. “Hold it in!! We can find a restroom on the highway!!!!” I yelled helpfully. We were taking back one of SOS’s classmates and her mother. The only traffic? When we passed our house to drive to theirs. Of course. But it was sort of a captive play date. I learned about the appeal of Zac Efron to young girls. I learned that SOS is quite gallant; he told his friend to look away from the signs for the Hustler Club on 12th Avenue in the 40s.

When we got home, I remembered what one of the mothers whispered in my ear, knowing it was my first time at an apple picking outing, “make sure you have a full bottle of wine at home. At least.”

Al Chet

Posted on October 8, 2011 by 40andover

The “Al Chet” is a commual confessional said ten times during Yom Kippur. (There is also the silent, personal confessional said ad nauseum, so it isn’t as easy as it sounds.)

For the Al Chet (guttural “ch”), each line starts with: “For the sin we have committed before [G-d]” and then gets pretty detailed:

under duress or willingly; by hard-heartedness; inadvertently; with immorality; openly or secretly; with knowledge and with deceit; through speech: by deceiving a fellowman; by improper thoughts; by verbal [insincere] confession; by disrespect for parents and teachers; by using coercion; desecrating the Divine Name; with evil inclination; by false denial and lying; by a bribe-taking or a bribe-giving hand; in business dealings; by eating and drinking; with proud looks; with impudence; and on and on.

After every few, we Jews ask: V’al kulam Eloha s’lichot, s’lach lanu, m’chal lanu, kaper lanu (For all of these things, G-d of forgiveness, pardon us, forgive us, let us atone.)

Generally, I really dig in deep when it comes to the sins of pride, speaking ill of someone, improper thoughts and eating and drinking. Ok, impudence, too. And, ok ok ok ok, taking G-d’s name in vain. But as a general matter, I am comfortable that the other sins are not mine in particular although on Yom Kippur we stand as a community and “own” these sins as a group.

Still, while the confessional is detailed but it is easy not to connect with the words on the page. So, at our synagogue, during Selichot (the prep holiday for the Ten Days of Sorry), our synagogue congregants write down sins for which they seek atonement. [a side note: just the “Ten Days of Sorry” comment is going to be a BIG issue for 5773 if I last so long.]

Some of the “al chets” were: littering, not recycling, abusing substances, infidelity and unprotected sex. While this may be ground-breaking in an Orthodox shul or a church, in our synagogue serving the gay, bisexual, transgendered, intersex, queer-identified community, their families and their friends (the printing is getting soooo expensive) with a social justice mandate (as if being home to everyone and literally his or her Jewish mama isn’t social justice enough), these “al chets”, too, have become rather mundane over 20 years.

But there was one “al chet” that stuck with me: for the sin that I have sinned against G-d by maligning Orthodox Jews.

Whoa!!!! That stopped me in my tracks. I used to greet Jews with a kippah (skull cap) or a sheidl (wig) as fellow travelers seeking a good, meaningful life. I learned over the years that one doesn’t inherit religious or ethical principles. So, a child with a yarmulke can be as good or as evil or as somewhere-in-between as the rest of us. Yet, they wear a costume of piety. I have learned first hand about how some kosher, Sabbath observing, “pious” Jews are not ethical, moral or righteous.

I have been crushed, disillusioned and personally harmed by the nefarious, immoral and dishonest deeds of those parading as pious, even those who are called “rabbi”. And not because they object to my sexual orientation (there is no prohibition against lesbians in Torah).

As a result, I do deal with Orthodox Jews with greater suspicion than I do others. And that is wrong. The good and right thing is to assess each person according to that person’s merits.

It all comes down to a derivative of the golden rule: Don’t judge a book by its cover.

For the sin that I have sinned by maligning all orthodox Jews on account of a few pretenders AND wanting to rip off their Yamulkes or sheidls, Eloha s’lichot (G-d of forgiveness), pardon me, forgive me, let me atone. But if the person deserves it, I want the Heavens to clap with thunder and the angels to blow those crazy little bugels, ok?
Wow, Yom Kippur is over by less than two hours and I am soooo cooked for next year. . . . . . .

Serenity and Renewal

Posted on October 4, 2011 by 40andover

My professional coach (not CAFOB) had sent me a New Year’s greeting card which I finally got around to opening at a computer (as opposed to a blackberry). It was warm and wonderful and direct. Wishing me the usual for the new year, but also renewal and serenity.

Eureka!!! (My coach is awesome, but not as awesome as CAFOB who is my friend for 30 years. If you need a coach, I can give you two people who are amazing.)

Renewal. Not a theme of the Jewish new year (which has more of a return to G-d and atone theme). More a Passover theme (spring time, rebirth and renewal of the covenant with G-d). Nevertheless, I have been feeling the weight of creating business generating opportunities in a terrible economy.

I was so exhausted in August that when it came time for our family week in Montauk, I told the COB (colleague of blogger) that I would not be checking my blackberry and that all calls had to go through POB (partner of blogger). Originally, POB told me there was no wifi where we were staying and only POB’s phone would work. As it turned out, there was wifi and my blackberry worked. If POB lied to me, well, then I love her more for realizing that I needed a blackberry-free zone. Only twice did work intrude on the week.

When the world is in chaos, it is still navigable but it takes so much more energy that I often feel — well — spent.

My family re-charges me. POB and SOS (our son, source of sanity) are my mainstays, but SOB (sister of blogger) and HOSOB (husband of SOB) and Cousin Gentle help hold me up. They are daily miracles in my life. Even DOB (father of blogger) with all his eccentricities grounds me. And CB (Cousin Birder) links me to my mother’s family and he is such a wonderful guy. (I wish that CB only realized how awesome he is. I lectured him about this on Rosh Ha-Shanah — of course I did.)

And there are my goddaughters. They don’t have to love me because of family connection. We created that connection together. These relationships are among the most important in my life.

By their presence in my life, all of these people feed my soul, lessen my burden and give meaning to life. They are my agents of emotional and psychological renewal. I hope that I provide for them even a fraction of what they provide for me.

Serenity. Acceptance. Roll-with-it. What will be, will be. Take it as it comes. Don’t worry forward. Be in the moment.

Discussion: compare and contrast blogger’s personality with the above themes. (Hint: no common ground, as in blogger is the antonym of each of these themes. Don’t believe me? Read Wikipedia (right after I send in my comments).)

Ok, clap your hands if you’ve heard this before: someone has business in this economy, someone is figuring it out, someone is benefiting from all the problems!

Ok, if you have heard this, clap if you heard: “An A minus? What’s wrong with an A? Did someone get an A?”

Whoa, I hear a round of applause throughout the blogo-sphere.

This serenity thing is a hard one. But I did laugh these last two days when I looked at the wild ride of the stock market and how our retirement is now effectively pushed out to age 113. I will be the dead, yet-propped up greeter at Walmart’s. The company will love me because it won’t have to pay overtime (how will I know? I’ll be dead), and I won’t mind being in the freezer section.

At least I laughed. Ok, gallows humor, but, hey, it IS a start. I am trying to focus on the things that renew me because they also provide the building blocks of serenity — love, constancy and laughter.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

But renewal and serenity are sooooooo much easier in a bull market and a roaring economy. Just sayin’.

My coach knows me well. This is the start of a journey for me — to allow time for renewal and to allow a sense of serenity in a chaotic world.

Really, email me if you want a lifeline (or two).

Rosh Ha-Shanah, 5772, Day One and Two

Posted on September 30, 2011 by 40andover

Too much contemplation Wednesday night left me with a pounding headache Thursday morning. Since I am an adult, no one can force me to go to synagogue services. And this, THIS, is the only advantage of adulthood. The rest of the time I am desperately trying to reverse time and go back to my days at Camp Wingate. But, being able to skip out on synagogue is a BIG advantage of adulthood and may even be worth having to earn a living. I think that says more about my feeling about going to synagogue than anything else.

I stayed back as POB (partner of blogger) and SOS (our son, source of sanity) went off for morning services and prepared the house for our traditional family luncheon. Attendees: FOPOB (father of POB), SOPOB (sister of POB), NOPOB (our nephew), DOB (Dad of Blogger), SOB (sister of blogger), HOSOB (husband of SOB), Cousin Gentle, CB (Cousin Birder), and Uncle Larry and Aunt Roz.

I knew that the world was different that day because Uncle Larry and Aunt Roz came early and DOB came late. Assuming that therefore DOB was dying in front of an ER somewhere in the city, I made SOB call DOB on his cell phone to make sure he was alive. SOB reminded me that if DOB didn’t answer, it could just be that he didn’t hear it. DOB has perfect hearing, he asserts, because his doctor hasn’t told him otherwise. I posit that DOB just doesn’t HEAR the doctor telling him he is deaf. You can see how this conversation continues in one of those endless loops that runs through every family gathering.

DOB arrived as SOB and I were having this crazy conversation, a sort of anxiety induced cocktail with a garnish of dark humor. So, we established that he was alive but we could not have a verdict on his deafness. Nevertheless, all were accounted for and we toasted each other and the world in all its wonder and goodness and hoped that these would triumph over the evil and despoliation. DOB liked the wine even though it was way more expensive than he would ever buy. He won’t admit it, but I know he does like our wine more than the $3.50 Trader Joe’s rot gut that he thinks is suchabargain (Jews say that phrase like it is one word).

We ate, we drank, we opined, we nodded off, we relaxed. NOPOB stayed over and I fell fast asleep in my clothes. POB had to deal with two rambunctious boys. The take-away is that the new year is one day old, I am already soooo in debt to POB.

Today we went to the Museum of Natural History because it was clear that our two young charges could not sit through a second day of services at synagogue. Ok, I couldn’t either. POB is strong, strong, and could do it. Really, she can. She could also crawl across a desert if necessary. But we have learned to decline certain invitations, including both Survivor: Sahara and Survivor: Synagogue.

I did feel guilty passing all the Yamikazes (pronounced like Kamikazes, the Japanese suicide pilots, except they are Jews who wear skull caps) — with their families on their way to synagogue, but I figured there were enough suffering Jews in the world and I didn’t need to be one of them, at least not today.

Still, the museum was no picnic. We needed to stay interested when all we wanted to do was nap during a movie at the Planetarium. But, nooooo, the boys wanted to see the permanent exhibits of the Planetarium, the Hall of Bio-Diversity, the Hall of the Ocean Life (with the ginormous whale), and the Gift Shop. At any point, I could have lied on the floor and created the “snoozing mammal” exhibit. They do need some modern soft sculpture there. Did you ever notice that there is never enough space given to the sloths and their species? Ok, sloths are boring, but they do nap in the craziest of places.

I nap in the craziest of places. I do the least I can do. And I move slowly (for a New Yorker). Aha!! I am the missing link between human and sloth. Rosh Ha-Shanah brings such break-throughs in personal growth and self-knowledge.

Wishing everyone a Yom Tov and — why not? — a Good Shabbas. . . .

~ Blogger

By the power vested in me . . .

Posted on September 10, 2011 by 40andover

In six weeks, I am “officiating” at our goddaughters’ wedding (by the power vested in me by me).

I have been thinking about what I would say since the day I was asked. I can’t settle on anything.

It can’t be too preachy or instructional — they have been together for years and have had ups and downs.

And, besides, I don’t have all the answers. POB (partner of blogger) and I love each other deeply and our relationship is always changing and, we hope, growing. And there are always tests. I can only tell them what life and love feels like further down the road they already travel.

The Hollywood version of love is Ali MacGraw’s famous line in “Love Story”: “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” That is just wrong.

Here’s what I think love means:

Love means listening to your partner’s hurt and saying “I’m sorry” if only because you didn’t mean to cause the hurt. Whether or not you are right or were misunderstood.

Love means that your partner’s happiness is a goal more important than making partner in a law firm or managing director at an investment bank.

Love means both of your being happy is more important than either of you being right.

Love means being gentler in your criticism than you actually feel sometimes.

Love means imagining life walking together hand-in-hand.

Love needs to be nurtured, renewed and romantic, even with kids. Pay for baby sitters even if, after that expense, all you can afford on your date is a happy meal.

In times of pain and loss, try to give your beloved the support she needs in the way she needs even if that is the exact opposite of what you would need in the same circumstance.

And, don’t worry, if you didn’t go to sleep mad sometimes, you wouldn’t get any rest.

And it takes a lifetime to get it right.

So, take notes and relaaaaax.

E-Mom, I have a question

Posted on September 9, 2011 by 40andover

Tonight, we went out to dinner at a local place to celebrate SOS’s (our son, source of sanity’s) first half-week at school. (Never mind that I pay something like $275 a day for him to go to this school . . . .)

I asked him about his day and what he liked about school so far. He dutifully answered. And then as I took a satisfying sip of wine, he asked, “E-Mom, what is the status of the euro crisis?”

Really? Really? Not, “can I watch TV when we get home?”? Nooooooooooooooooo. The euro crisis.

Yep, you heard me, the euro crisis.

(I remind everyone that he has not one of my genes. So, I stand in amazement with all of you.)

So I told him about today’s high profile resignation and how that shook the markets.

“Why, E-Mom?”

“Because this guy was against the kind of measures we took in the US to put more money in the economy. And people don’t know if that is a signal of a different policy.”

“What does that mean?” I proceeded to discuss the ramifications of those who worry more than others about inflation or deflation. He stayed with me, which is amazing. I ended with the reason that people have different views:

“Well, there are different countries that use the euro and they have different degrees of prosperity and recession. And the rich countries don’t want to carry the debts of the economically troubled countries. “

“Can’t the federal government do something about it?”

“Well, it isn’t like the US. These are different nations.”

“So they are like separate towers on the map of medieval Europe.” (We are reading about medieval times and the great explorers.)

“Well, ok, that is true to an extent.” (More true than he realizes.)

“How is Asia doing?” (Really, how is Asia doing?)

“They are trying to slow their growth. While we are in a terrible recession where it is hard to find a job, some countries in Asia (although not all of Asia) have the opposite problem. They are creating too much wealth. And prices aren’t connected to value anymore. So, we might pay $10 for something for which a person in China pays more than $100.”

“Are they all talking to each other?”

“Well, just like we talk to some of our neighbors and not others, countries do the same. Remember the guy in our building that Mommy [POB (partner of blogger)] accidentally said was an idiot? Well we don’t hold the elevator for him anymore, but we hold the elevator for other neighbors, like Sophie and her parents.”

SOS’s hamburger and french fries came. Thank G-d. I was committing the conversation to memory so I could blog about it. To that end, I didn’t have a second glass of wine.

We got home and the idiot’s wife was at the elevator. SOS pushed her floor button for her. She asked how SOS liked the first week of school. He said he had fun. He paused, and then asked after her (and the idiot’s) children, “How were Isaiah’s and Gertie’s first week?”

My son, the bridge across the divide.

So, tonight, he can watch TV until he drops. He has come in several times to ask if I will watch TV with POB and him. Coming, buddy, right after I blog about you, I say to myself.

Real time memories. I hope he smiles in 25 years when he reads this. He had the wisdom of the ages and the “can do” simplicity of children. Oh, how we need the latter right now to save our world.

Vacation with a 9 year old

Posted on September 4, 2011 by 40andover

Vacation with a 9 year-old is an oxymoron, because vacation implies relaxation. So, let’s call it a trip to the beach.

There are high points and low, low points. I would like to think that we are both having growth spurts — he is maturing and I am becoming a more patient parent.

Elements of salvation:

sunny days,
a house with a pool,
a steep driveway (awesome for scootering WITH HELMET and various other protective gear),
wi-fi (that was an unexpected bonus),
evening TV (Scooby-Doo mysteries), and
wine.

Did I mention wine? G-d’s elixir.

40 — oh wait, yikes!! 50 — andoverblog

Aging and living in urban US

Category Archives: Kids