When your 7 year-old wants “to test a hypothesis”

Posted on September 7, 2009 by 40andover

Disclaimer: My son is adopted so I have nothing to do with his intelligence. He is crazy smart.

The good news is that his big words are juxtaposed with imaginary and cartoon worlds, so he isn’t our own Little Man Tate. Tonight, he wanted to test his hypothesis — HIS words — if a mobile post office car (like the ones in his train documentary videos) were added to the train on the new show, “Dinosaur Train,” would the mail be distributed faster to the dinosaurs in their dinosaur towns? Hmmm. He does know this is make-believe, but a show with his two favorite things, trains and dinosaurs, well, it just doesn’t get better than that.

Visiting Mom

Posted on September 7, 2009 by 40andover

So I let my son wake me earlier than usual on a weekend [dulcet tones of “wake up, WAKE UP, Mom, there are CARTOOOOONS on!!”] because I need to pick up my sister and father to go to visit Mom at the cemetery. My son didn’t want to come because he says cemeteries are creepy and make him think of ghosts and skeletons. I get that. Cemeteries are creepy, I tell him, but I have to visit Grandma’s grave. He says he will visit us but he is not ready yet. We are not ready to be visited there for a really long time, I tell him. He nods and then asks to turn on cartoons. Good, I think, death and destruction before the pilgrimage to the cemetery.

Lots of people are buried in Queens and on Long Island. Very convenient if you need to pop in on two funerals on different sides of the family on the same day. We had to do that once. Very convenient, indeed.

I pick up my sister who is limping badly, even with a cane. Her husband who is NOT coming with us (he hasn’t met Mom yet) is feeling sheepish but he needs to focus on a painting. He is trying not to look like a heel by carrying my sister’s stuff to the car. He even offers to carry her cane. Ok, he IS funny.

We drive to Dad’s and set off to Long Island. Once, when I mentioned that Grandma is in Heaven, my son asked, “Heaven is on Long Island?” [ To some, yes, I guess, Heaven is on Long Island.] I stammered that her body is there but her spirit is somewhere else. Then I called for my partner because I was WAY out of my element. Kids are smarter than adults. But I digress.

Dad gives me helpful driving hints like, “is there a reason you are driving behind the slow car?” and “go straight. no, make a left. I said make a left!” and “well, I guess I told you to get off at the wrong exit.” It is really ok. My dad is going to be 89 in October, and he is in terrific shape (spit in the evil eye, a Jewish superstition).

We arrive and get a little lost in the cemetery. So many dead people. But we find Mom and our other relatives. Luckily, they haven’t moved. We three say a few prayers for all of the family members, leave stones on the graves and reminisce about Mom. My sister brings pictures of Mom through the years. It is good to have the gravestone as a focus of our thoughts. About 45 minutes into our visit, a couple stops and visits another grave nearby. After they finish their drive-by visit, the woman comes over to us to say, “we come all the time and never see anyone else here.” Gee, thanks. Very thoughtful of you to say and I don’t really notice all your ugly plastic surgery.

My sister needs to take pictures to document the occasion. No joke, these go into our family photo albums. I wish she had taken a picture of the woman with the bad face lift.

Anything goes in an epic day where nothing happens

Posted on September 6, 2009 by 40andover

After meeting my sister at the gym (see prior entry), I raced home and showered and changed in time to go with my family to my sister’s house where some out of town, and newly-minted New Yorker, cousins were coming for brunch. Before meeting me at the gym, my sister had schlepped on her bad foot to Zabars to purchase a Jewish soul food brunch extravaganza. (We both got the food purchasing gene from Mom; too much is still never enough.) Where is my brother-in-law, you ask? He was working on a painting assignment in his studio, but I cross-examined him and I was satisfied that he was hard at work and stressed about the painting and, more importantly, he felt guilty and undeserving of my sister’s love. So, he was excused for the day of family activities.

Whenever our family gets together, gastro-intestinal fortitude makes its way into the conversation. This time, a fourth generation cousin (third generation born in this country) talked about her IBS (irritable bowel syndrome). I thought, wow, I thought irritable bowel was just a family personality trait (think about that for a second). I had no idea that it was a medical condition. She is a runner and cannot complete a run without — er, um — finding a bathroom (or remote area of the woods if she runs in the countryside). We discuss Metamusil, Immodium and other products while stuffing smoked fish down our throats. We discussed the relative cleanliness standards of most major chain stores in NYC and the value of her strengthened thigh muscles in being able not to sit down. Still we are eating. In fact, we have to talk with our mouths full just to get in a word amidst the chatter.

My son was very engaging until he stopped abruptly, got a bird encyclopedia (my brother-in-law is a bird nerd) and sat down to read. My father wanted to continue talking to my son, but my son would have none of it. He said, “Puh-leeze, Grandpa, I need some alone time to recharge my batteries.” Kids hear everything you say and some time, some place, it comes out — ZING!!!

My cousin brought homemade zucchini bread with zucchini from her garden. I thought that I could re-gift it for our barbeque in Scarsdale later in the day, but no one would believe that I made anything like that. Besides, it would be too much like life imitating art — or Seinfeld, whichever. Of course, after someone tried it and thought it was delicious, I mentioned that I had really wanted to re-gift it and was disappointed that any of it was eaten and my family (jokingly, I promise you) tried to make it look whole again so I could take it. I didn’t even watch Seinfeld (but I did hear the retelling of the episodes) and even this was too much. But reality is crazier than any fiction.

We had to leave this gathering to go to Scarsdale for a barbeque but by this time the migraine had overpowered the pills and I was achy and in need of a dark, quiet room. That is not possible in my house because when my son gets into playing with his toys, it is loud like an arena. And, he was so unhappy not to go to our friends in Scarsdale. So were we. I just couldn’t make it.

I slept for awhile and then we did some errands with the car I rented so we could go to Scarsdale. These are the kinds of errands that need a car — dropping off heavy stuff at donation places, etc. After a few of these type of errands, my partner gave my son a choice of whether or not to go to Fairway food store (the one that is like a warehouse) to shop. He opted not to, of course. My partner tried to change his mind but if you give a child a choice you have to live with the answer or start negotiating. So, I started negotiating. He got french fries and an ice pop at dinner if he and I stayed in the car while my partner went shopping for exactly 20 minutes. Then she remembered she had her iPod with the bird sounds game. But no one would let me renegotiate, so I was left in the car listening to high pitched bird calls. My migraine started to spread beyond the borders of my brain and threatened to create an epidemic of brain pain throughout upper Manhattan.

So as not to let the rental go to waste, we are going to the cemetery to visit my mom’s grave tomorrow. My sister will bring the left-overs from brunch so we can have a tailgate. Our family can eat anywhere.

Lucy and Ethel go to the Gym

Posted on September 6, 2009 by 40andover

Some days you wake up feeling like a Mack truck has run over you. Today was that day for me.

But my sister wanted to go to the gym today and do weight exercises because, she conveniently slipped into the conversation, she had been in the ER yesterday and has a stress fracture in her foot, is using a cane and wears one of those ugly, sling-like shoes (I guess the word, “ugly” was redundant). I told her even if the shoe was comfortable and resembled an Easy Spirit style for one’s tenth decade, it was not a fashion statement she wanted to make. My sister need diversion and so I dragged my sorry self out of bed and away from my son who was watching less violent cartoons (must be something about Sundays). I had a sense of an on-coming migraine, but it is my sister and she was in the ER alone the day before. Anyway, migraine pills are always at the ready.

We both belong to a wheelchair accessible gym but you have to go outside and up a ramp to get to the elevator which doesn’t go to every floor. Ok, so like most things in life the advertising is better than the product. My sister hobbled up and skied down the stairs (the latter was scary because my sister is no Picabo Street). Here is a picture of the latest sporty ambulatory footwear (some day I will master the reformatting of a picture but for now, please turn your head sideways, thanks):

My sister plans on a whopping twenty minutes at the gym. I channel my old trainer and yell “thrust the bust!!”, “breasts out!!” and other crazy things that only a perky 20-something can say to a 40-something person. My sister laughed too much and ruined her posture while using the weight machines. And I sounded like a moron. But I got into it and kept yelling, “breathe IN, breathe OUT”. Another episode of “Ethel and Lucy Go to the Gym” but without the laugh track.

Cramming summer into the week before Labor Day

Posted on September 2, 2009 by 40andover

Memorial Day Weekend was last weekend, right? When did July come to town? July didn’t even call and say hi. There aren’t 35 days in August? Rip off!!!

Wait, I have only have 5 days left to:

do my entire summer fitness regimen,
go kayaking on the Hudson River,
browse at farmer’s markets,
take a boat ride,
clean out my closets,
put all the family pictures on iPhoto,
go to the Aquarium at Coney Island,
walk along the beach at Coney Island,
go to the Bronx Zoo,
go the Botanical Gardens,
visit my mother’s grave,
lose weight before I see everyone again at synagogue for the High Holy Days,
get new blinds for the bedroom,
have a lazy weekend,
have cook-outs with friends,
see all the summer movies,
sit outside and enjoy the late summer’s breeze,
find quality time to spend with my partner?

Man, I am toast.

Random Thoughts

Posted on August 31, 2009 by 40andover

I realized that I was talking to someone on her cell while she was in the office bathroom. I heard people talking and flushing. I need to sterilize my ear.

I am for universal health care coverage, but I will not pay for hearing aids or ocular implants for people who blast music in their ears. Especially on my subway car.

I saw a man standing just outside the employees entrance at a funeral home looking at the traffic going by. Was he waiting for something to happen?

My partner promised to handle a matter but left my cell phone number. Lesbian merger or dumping it back into my court?

How nice do I really have to be?

Would I get away with driving a person off a bridge if I promise to devote my life to public service (even though that wasn’t the quid pro quo for Teddy)?

If a bald, portly nerdy guy doesn’t see that he is lucky to have the girlfriend he has, will a baseball bat knock sense into him?

How come men think they are way better looking and way more desirable than they really are?

If you are blasting Karla Bonoff or The Pousette Dart Band and dancing around thinking you are cool, should you be entitled to social security benefits out of pity?

Did Sarah Palin drop off the face of the earth or was that just a fantasy I had?

Does Dick Cheney sometimes crawl back into his secret bunker for old time’s sake?

Do I have to go to the gym or can I imagine just how gross it is?

Blogcation Day 7

Posted on August 29, 2009 by 40andover

We decided to leave the rented beach house a day early and beat the horrendous weather.

The owner of the house has been in a constant freaked out state that people would ruin his “expensive” stuff (not to be a snob, but it was IKEA and CB2 stuff; if it were Design Within Reach I would understand it), so I took pictures of every stain we saw on his self-assembled finery. I also took pictures of the garbage piled up.

I even emailed him the picture of the joint that gave way on the IKEA futon in the downstairs living area. I tried to explain to him that we didn’t cause it but we discovered it when I, 120 pounds sopping wet, felt it give way as I sat down so immediately got up. First he heard: I put my sopping wet dog on the couch. I told him we don’t have a dog. Then he asked if he could get this straight — that we dragged the couch out into the rain so that it was sopping wet, got warped and gave way. Ok, ok, ok, ok. I am going into an alternate universe.

So, I continued the conversation, mostly intrigued about how far down the rabbit hole we would go. I told him that I took down the outdoor umbrella so it wouldn’t do any damage in the strong winds. I told that the umbrella was also bent a little. Then HE got bent out of shape. We started down the road of the sopping wet dog and I told him that we never opened the umbrella because the outdoor table was rusted over and we, as a rule, don’t eat on rusted surfaces, especially without a doctor present to administer tetanus shots. He couldn’t imagine how this could happen. I have no idea what others did in his house, but we were clean and careful and frankly out doing stuff all the time. I had to climb out of the rabbit hole before I would do irreparable damage to my mental health. My partner listened to my side of the conversation and thought I was insane. Then I told her the other side of the conversation. She wondered if Verizon charges extras for receiving phone calls from Mars.

Throughout the conversation, I had this image of the CSI: Miami team determining who did what damage so the cost could be properly apportioned to the appropriate security deposits. I don’t even like Horatio Caine on my TV set let alone in my head. eeeeeewwwww.

And, we were such considerate renters. Really. Not only did my partner SCRUB the slightly gross kitchen, but we left soap, toilet paper and paper towels for the next renters (no such amenities were afforded us) and I called to ask what I should do to batten down the hatches because of the crazy weather from Tropical Storm Danny. We wiped down the bathrooms, stripped the beds, etc., even though there is a cleaning service (well, um, precisely because we experienced the “quality” of the cleaning service).

It is good to be home with our stuff and our urban wildlife.

Postscript on “My very own urban jungle and I don’t mean the Bronx Zoo”

Posted on August 28, 2009 by 40andover

So, my friend sent me a picture of this costume because she thought, given my recent urban wildlife challenge40andoverblog.com/?p=1085, I might consider this for Halloween.

Blogcation Day 4

Posted on August 26, 2009 by 40andover

Today was a great day.

Mickey’s Cartage Company picked up the gross garbage from the prior renters and added a second dumpster. Throughout our travels today, we kept seeing a Mickey’s Cartage Company truck on the road. We wondered whether someone was just driving our garbage around because there was no room left at the landfill.

We had a lazy morning. My partner read on the porch and our son played games, read and watched a little TV. I zoned out. Then we set out for my partner’s dad’s beach house in East Hampton where her sister and nephew live for now. I snuck out to go to the gym and work on the sagging around my long-ago arm muscles. Here’s the fab thing about the Hamptons: the prices are unconscionable regardless of the quality of the services. $30 for an underground gym with old equipment and no amenities. You just have to pretend it is in pesos and pretend it is a good deal.

Ok so far.

Feeling guilty for leaving my partner and sister-in-law to contend with two 7 year-olds who, when together, feel like ten deranged alien beings, I drove back to the house. The noise level was deafening. The two moms were beleaguered and trying to create order around the pool. I jumped into service (literally) by jumping into the pool, which is freezing cold because it never occurred to my father-in-law to get a heating device. It is refreshing only in August when you are in the sun; otherwise, it is a little like falling into an ice-fishing hole.

The great day is being downgraded to a hurricane.

Having kids around a pool is one of the most nerve-wracking experiences I can imagine. Danger to life, limb and brain development is everywhere. Might as well toss a 7 year-old the keys to the car.

The boys were intent on having a sleepover, even though this was an afternoon playdate. The last sleepover was a misnomer. It was a shriek-a-thon and finally ended when my son came into the livingroom and asked to sleep with us because he was really tired. Of course, he doesn’t remember that insanity.

Hurricane now downgraded to a tropical depression.

My son needed to sulk over dashed hopes of a sleepover tonight. Then, he wanted to go back to the City. No more vacation. He NEVER gets to do anything HE wants (dude, we’ve had 3 hair-raising playdates with your cousin within 4 days).

How do all kids know how to sulk this way? It is part of the human genome in which I have the most interest. I don’t care what makes his eyes blue or gives him a slightly weird looking big toenail. I want to know why all kids whine exactly the same way and say the exact same things when they don’t get what they want. Then we could replace those chemicals in the genome with Stepford Wives-like chemicals (a boon to the pharma companies) and, presto-magico, we would never have to fantasize about separate vacations from our children.

Schlepping from Montauk to East Hampton and back again, with all of that traffic and all those lunatic drivers in their fast cars is exhausting. So, my understanding partner told me to take a nap (it was either sleep in bed or lie on the floor moaning, “woe is I”), so really I didn’t give her a choice.

We grilled, we ate, I am blogging. My beloved, our terrific son (even with the whining) and I are together, chilling out listening to Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong.

Tropical depression upgraded to a great day on the road to Utopia.

Blogcation — Day 4