An excellent day

Posted on September 13, 2009 by 40andover

Every morning POB (partner of blogger) brings a mug of coffee for me and puts it on my bedside table, so I have coffee as I am waking up. I am a lucky person.

I am especially lucky this morning because the coffee is delicious and warm and my body is stiff and sore from my run yesterday and our son bounds into our bed and lunges over me to get the remote control lest we miss one moment of the senseless cartoons available to numb our children’s minds. Warm coffee (as opposed to piping hot) spills all over my jammies. Even if it were piping hot, I may not have been able to move. POB is already dressed and going out to get some groceries. No wonder I am tired. POB’s schedule is enough to exhaust TWO people.

I speak to my cousin who is recovering from major surgery and he says some chicken soup would do him good. What does POB do? Starts making chicken soup. I need a nap now and it isn’t even 10am.

By 10:45am, I am able to limp into the shower. Then we dash off to our son’s schoolmate’s birthday party. New school, new friends, new challenges. Our son is a little scared. We go to the amusement park and we meet up with the group and all is good. Except amusement parks remind me of horror flicks, sad clowns and freaky sideshows. There is an odd, clown-like man working at this place and I am as fascinated by him as I am ooked out.

Then pizza and cake and chaotic running around. The kids are so friendly and I can see that our son feels right at home. He has a crush on one girl whom he has known for many years — more than a crush really, because even though he is 7, he asked her to marry him and she said yes. But he is talking up another girl, too. Bad form, dude. It is your first week, so be circumspect with the girls. The other girl’s mom says that her daughter and my son may be competing for the affections of the same girl. I think, wow, this place is too groovy and hip for words. But I can tell already that there are back stories. I’ll ease into those. For now, I am happy because my son is happy.

POB and I are so happy that we do not want to ruin the moment by discussing wedding plans. As founding members of the Bridezombies, we have to set a standard for detail avoidance. We set a high standard. We are proud.

Family dinner tonight, but my sister and brother-in-law bag out. My sister cannot seem to follow doctor’s orders (even though she is a doctor) and her foot is not healing. She over-exerted and now can’t move. Let’s work through this problem together.

Let’s say you are a competent doctor (as in you didn’t get your medical degree from the internet) and another doctor whom you respect (as in it is ok for the doctor to examine you but not cut into you) tells you to use a cane and stay off your feet as much as possible. Then let’s say you have a conference where if you were really healthy you would stand all day and present an interesting case (work with me here; I know we are talking about diseases). So, even though you aren’t healthy, you stand all day and don’t use a cane.

Ok, so maybe my sister did get her medical degree from the internet.

Bottom line, Sis and the Man cannot come to Sunday night dinner. I call them afterward to tell them about the fun and the food they missed so they feel really bad. It is, in fact, the least I could do. My brother-in-law sends a grovelling email. A little more grovelling ought to do the trick.

A young cousin comes over. My son wants to know why he didn’t become a professional hockey player since he played in college. I want to know, too, because he is depriving the extended family of an element necessary to the true American family. We need a sports star. We already have doctors, lawyers, artists, entrepreneurs, felons (ok, only one), mixed marriages, gays and lesbians (ok, only one), etc. What a crowning achievement for a Jewish family to have a member who suits up in armor and carries a club to do battle on ice and someone keeps score. But, he is taking the easy way out and going to school, going into debt, to become a professional. So old school. Still, he is a lovely guy and it will be great to see more of him.

I am so happy to have (some of) my family together around my table. I think wistfully of a bigger gathering, one that includes my sick cousin, my dear cousin who is his niece, all together. I know my cousins who are uncle and niece need to work out their issues, but I love them both and family is so precious.

Family United

Posted on September 12, 2009 by 40andover

My partner (let’s call her POB, as in partner of blogger) arrived home from a business trip last night and today we are a family happily re-united. Our son was so happy that life was back to normal that he behaved as a typical 7 year-old, with all the toilet humor and “I never get to do anything I want” whines. Ah, life in all its facets.

We were at synagogue today for Saturday school, which is really an excuse for the kids to get together and play and the parents to catch up. POB and I saw the rabbi across the room and thought we need to re-start our wedding plans.

It is a great idea to get married but the details get in the way. We love each other. We will be happy to have a wedding once the day comes. Getting from Point A to Point B is the trick.

Ok, so we need to move forward on this. Stay tuned for painful details of the Bridezombies trying to plan a wedding for a year from now. I am stressed already. POB and I decided that we would discuss it during the period between Rosh Ha-Shanah and Yom Kippur in order to maximize the self-flagellation that goes the repentance and atonement required during these days.

New Game Show Idea

Posted on September 7, 2009 by 40andover

My brother-in-law is scared of me. Mostly because I have no filter. What I think, I say. It hasn’t always been an asset but it is part of my DNA. You should see the rest of the family.

In an effort to make up for his recent absences from family gatherings, my brother-in-law suggested that he sit in a newly-created Shondah Chair (shonda being Yiddish for embarrassment) and I would just torture him through shame and guilt. He thought it would be a short session. Hah.

Then he suggested that I have a talk show, where I put a malfeasor in the Shonda Chair and grill that person as I sit behind the Self-Righteous Desk. What a great idea. He knows how to charm me and get back in my good graces. But not before he squirms in the Shonda Chair.

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.

A Day in the Life

Posted on September 5, 2009 by 40andover

Yesterday was a blog-free day. Besides, I was feeling like a self-pitying character in a Lifetime made-for-TV movie starring Lindsay Wagner after she was the Bionic Woman and before she was a spokesperson for mattresses. Even I wanted to change the channel.

Today, we started with the usual Saturday morning violent cartoons. Too bad my son has outgrown “Arthur” on PBS. Now, we have to watch mean aliens and anthropomorphized animals (as opposed to friendly talking aardvarks, rabbits, chipmunks and other animals on “Arthur” who learn to live and play and get along with each o-o-other-r-r). Now we have totally demonic creepsters (even the humans). Even the commercials are so bizarre I can’t tell it from the cartoon until the Skechers or Geox logo appears. There must be subliminal messages in all of this.

Cartoons, a run (me), a haircut (boy, does he look handsome), lunch, errands and gymnastics took us to 3pm. A little note about the haircut. He had $5 in tooth fairy money and wanted to buy a matchbox car at the hair salon. He sees a silver one and it is $2.95. We think, “hooray, no issue over spending more than his $5!” We open it and it turns out to be a matchbox car replica of a HEARSE. Yes, a HEARSE. Why did it ever occur to the makers of matchbox cars to make a HEARSE. We had to tell our son what it was because he was showing his new car to everyone who looked surprised and ooked out when they realized it was a HEARSE. Our son understands what goes in a hearse but he decided it was a subterfuge for a mobile command station in the war of the planets. He is such a good sport. I still don’t want him to bring it to show-and-tell. EEEeeeewwww.

We dashed to Tribeca to meet another family for a play date. We live on the Upper West Side. They live in Brooklyn. Tribeca is mutually inconvenient, so it works. There is a pretty nice park there (if you are careful not to sit in bird poop and are willing to stare down some pretty daring pigeons). Until the family arrived and for sometime afterward, our son played pied piper to young Jasper, who had a Tribeca groovy name, Tribeca groovy long hair and a Tribeca groovy shaved-head, tattoed, goatee’d dad. When our friends arrived — a couple with a boy our son’s age and two younger identical twin girls — the two boys went off to play and met up with a handsome-like-a-model young boy about their age with flowing blond hair and a Che Guevara t-shirt. His name? Herman. Herman? HERMAN? With a name like that, it is a good thing he is model-handsome, with groovy t-shirts. All in all, this park was CRAWLING with way too many groovy kids and parents. And with my gray hair and my uncool running clothes, I looked like the ungroovy grandma. So, this was an even un-groovier realization.

At some point my partner needed to leave the park for ten minutes. She doesn’t smoke or drink, so you ask what stealth thing required her to excuse herself without explanation? Was she testing societal norms? I know my partner, so it could only be one thing: she needed a “retail therapy” fix (was there some middle-aged angst afoot?) She likes to buy clothes for our son. I remembered a kids’ boutique across the street from the park and I knew that she was having her therapy session there.

As it turns out, it was a good time to have some therapy because our son proceeded to get drenched in the sprinklers. Not just wet like most kids, but sopping as if submerged in water for days. We are (who am I kidding, my partner is) usually prepared for these contingencies but not today. As if on cue, my partner returned to the park with a shirt and pants she got on a fabulous sale. Seeing our child, she sent me back to get underwear. Of course, the store only carries Le Petit Bateau underwear for $15 a pair and you can only get in packages of 2. So I spent $30 on a pair of stretchy boxers — he is going to wear these until he’s 13. Bargains always happens to someone else. They see me coming and they double the price. And they say Jews don’t pay retail. I pay uber-retail. Have I assimilated that much? But, I digress.

So, we spent a long time at the park and went for dinner. Our son eats his entire meal and eyed his friends chicken fingers. His friend didn’t like the chicken fingers and our son was ready, willing and able to relieve him of his burden. My partner and I were quite impressed with negotiation skills of our friends’ son. People of lesser will power (like me) would have given in to his demands of dessert even though he didn’t eat any of the chicken. But they are strong. When the waiter came to the table and asked, “any dessert?” I yelled “NOOOOO!!!” so scared that my friends would be sabotaged in their strong resolve. Strong work, ladies.

So, the check came and our friends will not hear of splitting the bill because they are five and we are three, so out comes the calculator, but one of the parents was faster with a napkin and crayons. Got to love the irony of adding “big numbers” with a crayon, so I took a picture.

So, tonight, we thought our son would fall asleep immediately after a bath, and teeth brushing. Nooooooo. Just getting hyped up for a game of tag (in the house) or play fighting (with me) or for spilling out his cars and his animals. Where is the “off” button?

Blogcation Day 8

Posted on August 30, 2009 by 40andover

Last night I noticed as I parked the rental car that the outer casing of the driver’s side rear view mirror was missing. Oh, great, I thought. Did some aggressive Escalade driver nicked me in an East Hampton parking lot? Or was it some Hummer dude (because one’s driveway is technically off-road driving) who couldn’t fit his tank into four parking spaces and tapped my ultra-safe, unpretentious and family-like Volvo sedan? I was still a little wrecked about it even though I realized that buying all of that rental insurance paid off big time. That, and the GPS and the EZ Pass are all worth it, because family vacation drives are epic enough without the added excitement of not knowing where to go or scrounging for cash and change at the toll booth. I am sure Suze Orman would say that these are unnecessary add-ons that cost me money which, if properly invested, would pay for my son’s education. Well, I will figure out another way.

We went back out to Long Island to visit with friends who are just wonderful people. Our son swam in the pool, while the adults just kept eating and talking (someone was always watching him and poised to save him). Seriously, there was food to feed an army, which worked out well because people actually dropped by. In New York City, if someone dropped by unannounced, the person would be labeled a stalker and a restraining order issued.

I had to stop eating because, well, I didn’t wear loose enough clothing. Our son didn’t want to leave — why would he, when he got to swim, explore the nooks and crannies of a big house, and he was lovingly plied with cupcakes and given huge goody bag (big like a serious Halloween trick or treating night score) from the “candy drawer”.

We didn’t stay long enough (I was concerned about the Sunday afternoon traffic back into the city) and we love seeing them. And it was nice that we had the rental car so we did not to have to ask them to schlep to us in the City. (One of these days, I will recount the crazy story about how we met this couple and what we have lived through together — but no names and not now.)

I was very apologetic and self-conscious about checking my blackberry for texts from potential sitters for our son and constant phone messages from the owner of our beach house rental. My partner said she would speak to the owner and I was scared for the guy. She will put an end to his hysteria — either with (i) a charming and gentle touch or (ii) a verbal dressing-down that would be grammatically correct with poly-syllabic words for which he would need the OED (Oxford English Dictionary — when we were dating, my partner had to tell me what the acronym meant and she didn’t break it off — see, she DOES suffer some fools). All depends on his approach. Be afraid.

We just finished a rousing game of FDF (Fresh Direct Football). I stand in the foyer and throw the unbreakables to my son in the pantry who then runs them to my partner in the kitchen. No spillage and no bruised fruit (although I am worried about the orange bell pepper).

Our son is now reading his encyclopedia of trains (a gift from our friends some months ago). Recently, he said to me, “I am not angry at you, [Mom], but I just get very frustrated that you don’t remember the names and types of trains.” Oh, sweetie, if only I could remember most things I once knew. If only I were young with a sponge-like brain. If we were really smart, we would take you to the gambling tables and you would win because you would remember all the card that were played. Then I would need a faster car than the Volvo family sedan because I would have to out-run child protective services agents.

It doesn’t get better than this

Posted on August 28, 2009 by 40andover

My son is watching me blog as he lies in my arms after another excellent vacation day. A little whining over eating dinner before his creamsicle dessert, but he is a great kid. Every day, I love him more. And I love that he still wants to cuddle. I hope he will always find security in my arms, even when he is a grown-up. He is the best thing that happened in my life (after meeting my partner, his other mom).

I yell sometimes and I make him mind his manners and I am not always popular or on his top ten list of favorite people, but I act out of love. Sometimes I am wrong, but my heart is in the right place. I hope that he will think of that when he has kids of his own. Teaching right from wrong, respect and manners are never easy. But I do it because I love him more than he will ever know.

And with my son in my arms, we end another excellent day.

the end.

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