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.

Wait, I can’t hear you. Let me put my glasses on.

Posted on September 6, 2011 by 40andover

When you were a kid, didn’t you think, “Wait, I can’t hear you. Let me put my glasses on” was one of the most bizarre comments your parents and grandparents ever said?

Glasses are for seeing. Not for hearing. But now I get it. I really do hear better with my glasses on. And not only that — I hear only certain tones of voice. Disappointment, nope. Irritation, nope. Boredom, nope. Frothy exuberance, yes!! You may deduce then that I do not hear sounds that often. Brilliant, isn’t it?

Not that I need glasses. In fact, with the help of ginormous magnification, I am typing without my bifocals, which I can’t seem to find anywhere.

Yes, sir. I am the female version (ok, uglier female version) of Brad Pitt in that media debacle about the reverse-aging man. Except my chestnut brown hair with auburn highlights is gray.

But I learned today from a questionable site featured on Yahoo that some scientist (and possibly of questionable moral rectitude) determined that as we “mature” we no longer break down the hydrogen peroxide that forms in our hair follicles. So, the hydrogen peroxide bleaches our hair white. And, to think, from Marilyn Monroe to Lady Gaga, they tried for the so-blond-it-is-almost-white look and I, for one, now get it naturally.

I bet you wondered why I am rambling on like this. Answer: I am losing my mind, of course. It is still probably in my head, near where my glasses are perched, which is why I couldn’t find them until now.

Tomorrow I am going to wear a hard hat and ear plugs to keep my brains in place. And I will try not to sneeze.

Like a Hurricane

Posted on August 29, 2011 by 40andover

Our newly re-acronymed child, SOS (source of sanity) needs to go back to TLP (the little prince), at least for a little while.

On Saturday night, we hunkered down after checking in on all local relatives who might need help. TLP wondered why we couldn’t camp out at the beach like his cousin, his aunt and his other grandfather (not my dad). (In fact, to add insult to injury, we made him come home from visiting them at the beach in anticipation of the hurricane.)

They aren’t camping actually.

In fact, they didn’t intend to “camp”, since they live in a perfectly lovely house in East Hampton. We tried to explain that Hurricane Irene could cause downed power lines and flooding, which would then lead to “indoor camping” by necessity and not by choice.

TLP thought it would an important manly experience, except he forgot that he is a (little) man who likes his amenities, let alone “essentials” like TV, computer access, running water, flushing toilets, etc.

You get the picture. He knows what he wants until he realizes that it is not at all what he wants. Until that eureka moment, he has the determination of . . . of . . . well, POB (partner of blogger). Genes are a boomerang.

It is ok that he is not so self-aware of his lack of earthiness. He is only 9 years old.

Sunday dragged on and on. TLP couldn’t really focus on the usual mind-numbing TV because he wanted to go back out to the beach. The hurricane washed out our week at the beach, at least initially. When the owners of our rental called to say that the power was out and there was flooding on the property, TLP became inconsolable. Ok, ok, ok, ok, his entire life up to this point has been a vacation. It is I, I, I, I, I, I, who needs a vacation. Me, me, me, me, me. (It may be important to note that I am ranting here and not TLP. I can see how you might be confused.)

POB needs some time away, too, but she has had the summer off so, this year at least, a week at the beach is more tradition and less a sanity-saving device.

I had already started looking at other options. Of course, anything west required a plane and airports were backlogged. Going south was clearly a non-starter since that was the trajectory of the storm.

Northwest, maybe. Lake George. Aaah, the Sagamore. I loved the Sagamore years ago, even though tennis whites were required on the courts and I had to buy clothes in the gift shop. What does a New York Jew know about tennis whites? Oh, yeah, Wimbledon. But that is in England. Oh, wait! These people descend from those who came from England. Ahhhh.

I called the hotel and they had available condos, etc. So, maybe they allow lavender on the tennis courts? After all, these are trying economic times.

I took down the information and said I would call back, because I needed to confirm with POB that she was ok with all goyim all the time at a WASPy retreat. POB has some of that blood line in her so I figured her first question would be ask what would there be for us to eat, because clearly she understands the differences in the traditions. We don’t drink martinis and we don’t eat honey-roasted bar nuts (we eat healthy, raw nuts). Clearly, we would starve. In fact, she did ask, and I looked at her with the “after all these years, you think I can’t read your mind” look. In a calm, but slightly hurt voice (intending to get some martyr points), I told her about the condos with full kitchens that we could stock up in case we couldn’t recognize any of the food.

I guarantee you the first thing anyone at the Sagamore would think upon seeing our family is not, “oh, Jews”. Especially when they see my accidentally too-severe Janet Napolitano (US secretary of something) style of haircut (thank you, IFOB (Italian friend of blogger) for drawing that parallel). In fact, I was betting on an upgrade to the furthest and possibly nicest available condo on the property. We would get the privacy we want and, if they were particularly freaked out, I planned to ask about Shabbat services. Hell, they would offer in-condo dining, absolutely free. Grand slam homer for a patched-together vacation, if you ask me.

My delusions of vacation were interrupted when I called back to book the reservation. In the 6 hours between my calls, Hurricane Irene had hit them hard. That area was not supposed to be really affected. I felt bad for my gloating over the dyke-Jew plague I was going to bring on them. So, we’ll go there sometime soon, when my hair grows out and we will pay full price. It is the least we can do.

Ok, no vacation plans. And the boy who earns the acronym TLP is inconsolable. So, today, Day 3 of When Havoc Struck The Blogger Family, we set out to the train museum in Danbury, Connecticut. POB and I decided we needed a road trip and we needed to ease TLP into the staycation reality. He was happy and POB and I were relieved to have him immersed in something. And the trains were pretty cool, I have to say.

Tonight, we got word that our rented house will be in reasonable shape on Wednesday. TLP is over the moon. We are all relieved as well because it is good to get away. Still, we have tomorrow.

Using some of my martyr points, I have cleared a Blogger mental health and physical wellness morning tomorrow, which means I get to run and look at the river for a while before we all have lunch. Then, on to preparations for the delayed vacation.

I am thinking of showing TLP pictures of the damage caused by the hurricane and some pictures from Tripoli so he understands that life is not always a vacation. I just don’t know when is the right time to introduce reality into a happy (and privileged) childhood. I don’t want to scar him, but I want him to be grateful that we and none of our family was irreparably harmed in a natural disaster that claimed lives and livelihoods of so many. I want him to have empathy, but I don’t want him to be afraid of what life throws in our path. I want him to learn to “roll with it”. I want him to understand his good fortune. Maybe these are not 9 year-old thoughts and ideas. Maybe that is too much to put on someone so young.

Parents out there: HELP!!!

Thank G-d for that Haven, No-Where-istan

Posted on August 15, 2011 by 40andover

For those who don’t remember, I established the sovereign nation of No-Where-istan (http://40andoverblog.com/?p=1404;http://40andoverblog.com/?p=1425; http://40andoverblog.com/?p=1432; http://40andoverblog.com/?p=1541; http://40andoverblog.com/?p=1586; http://40andoverblog.com/?p=1599; http://40andoverblog.com/?p=1756; http://40andoverblog.com/?p=1870; and http://40andoverblog.com/?p=2001).

This evening, it is a much needed refuge. POB (partner of blogger), TLP (our son, the little prince) and I were playing a trivia game about ancient civilizations. He was beating us handily. (Tragic that I lack the factual knowledge to keep up with my 9 year-old.) If you answer correctly the question posed, you keep the card. The one with the most cards wins. There is a wild card where you can take a card of a person of your choice. TLP got the wild card twice and the first time took one from my winnings. The second time, he also took a card from me. I said all in good fun, “That’s not fair!! Take it from [POB]!! Look at all the cards she has!!” TLP responded, “I have to favor my biological mother.”

The crash you just heard is my world in pieces. And I had to keep going with the game. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and POB must have said something to TLP. TLP was very sad and felt horrible.

I said, “Sweetie, I am very sad but you need to be able to be honest and open with your feelings, and you need to be open to the response as well.”

We all hugged and I whispered, “I love you more this minute than last, and I will love you more a minute from now. Why?”

TLP responded, “because love always grows, Emom.”

“That’s right, buddy.”

It is the thing we say when I kiss him good night. Sometimes those rituals are more soothing to the adult than the child.

He is now listening to an audiobook about Darwin and evolution and reading a book about trains (multi-tasking seems to work for him). I am sitting in our living room, with my guts kicked out and tears streaming. I can never be his biological mother. But it never occurred to me that I would love him any different.

Now, as this is the second time he has said this, it occurs to me that he loves me differently, and in a lesser way. I know he is processing our nouvelle famille nuclear and that time will tell all. I have to give him that time.

But right now, I am grateful to live in that comical creation in my head that allows me to set the rules of love and life (and health care) along with a national flag and stamp.

And, a mythical place where loving a little boy with all my heart doesn’t break my heart.

Even More to Talk About

Posted on August 7, 2011 by 40andover

COB (colleague of blogger), wants to write for the Alternate View (see prior blog entries). He thinks Blogger and SNOBFOB (my awesomely funny friend who isn’t so sure she wants to be associated with blogger on-line) should try a YouTube video first, one that is a “parody” of The View.

Here are his ideas for the guests:

Someone from the “Iced” Tea Party [blogger comment: or The Latte League, truly effete, New York liberal intellectuals]
A 10 year-old who has ideas for running government more efficiently [blogger comment: or Christine O’Donnell, who has the IQ of a ten year-old and is a witch to boot]
A gay/lesbian person who is against same sex marriage [blogger comment: or Mr. Michele Bachmann, who thinks he cured himself]
A person who is now an actor/actress since they can’t get a different job in this economy [blogger comment: because everyone assumes actors and actresses, especially the most talented ones, are unemployed]
A crazy person (COB thinks I could fill that role.) [blogger comment: I think COB could audition for this role.]

Not a bad start.

Just Give Us Something To Talk About

Posted on August 4, 2011 by 40andover

A friend who is slightly paranoid about being known as a friend of blogger (and ergo, SPOBFOB) and I were discussing (and, might I add, solving) the world’s ills over lunch. It is so frustrating when two people make major breakthroughs in world peace, economic policy, and moderate reformist politics and no one will let us see the President. We wouldn’t have made him take notes (he is the President); we know enough about protocol (we could write the book) to bring a short-form and long-form memoranda setting out the action points for achieving these huge global steps forward.

Not only did SPOBFOB and I have important problem solving breakthroughs, but we also took stock of the freak show that comprises the leaders of our nation. Let’s face it: Men like the game — thrust and parry, if you must — of negotiations. Women want to get the damn thing accomplished in the least amount of time with the most impact. Sure there are women who are impossible to deal with in these situations (Michelle Bachmann, par exemple) but by and large, you don’t hear women say, “let’s say this and see what they come back with” when you know full well that “saying this” will only lead to vengeful behavior and reverse any constructive negotiations up to that point. We rarely make grand pronouncements that make compromise impossible because our egos are in the way. Just sayin’.

Maybe President Obama would not like to think that he is pretty much in the same camp as John Boehner and Mitch McConnell when it comes to purposeful and constructive negotiations. Ok, so the answer is that the White House would slam the door on our advance team.

I was despondent because here we had answers and no one who would listen. I mentioned having a cable talk show and SPOBFOB came up with the brilliant idea of naming it the “Alternate View” because we look at the world quizzically and with our heads tilted, as if we were trying to understand really edgy art.

[So, this is where I go off on one of my tangents and SPOBFOB has no responsibility for anything that follows:]

We can invite our friends and family to come on the show. They represent a varied and seasoned cross-section of America. Ok, the liberal, urban/suburban, well-heeled and over-educated America. So, there would be wide national appeal. (Ok, that would be in the sovereign nation of No-Where-istan, a state of my mind (see prior blogs). But, I digress.)

Everything would be fair game, from:

did anyone really think Justin and Selena were anything but a media creation?
to: should you home school your children in places where the gay liberal communist agenda has not fully infiltrated main stream public school education?
to: should fertility treatments and surrogacy be tax deductible for same-sex couples in states where gay marriage is legal?
to: who is the sanest person in the Tea Party asylum? and is that like debating how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?
to: whether quinoa is subversive grain that could reduce America’s dependence on hamburgers?
to: how to keep skin from sagging without surgery?

And everything else anyone wants to cover.

Where do we go from here?

Posted on July 28, 2011 by 40andover

I have this terrible feeling that I, along with everyone else in this country, am being sacrificed at the altar of hubris and zealotry.

“Take no prisoners” is a way of waging war. It is not a way of governing. True believers and purists on both sides of the aisles are important counterbalances, but they cannot dictate the future of our nation. Even Grover Norquist said letting the Bush tax cuts (which affect me) expire and closing tax loopholes are not “new” taxes (phew, because if repealing subsidies for corporate jets is so problematic in these times of George W. Bush deficits, then let’s all join hands and drown ourselves). Shouldn’t the true believers be swayed? I guess it is a new, virulent strain of true believer. One that speaks to God directly. It must be a local call because the long distance charges alone could bankrupt a person.

For those who invoke G-d and destiny in the argument surrounding the raising of the debt ceiling, I send this quote:

“Do Justice, Love Mercy and Walk Humbly with your God.”

This is the answer to two questions posed in Micah, Chap. 6:8: “What does the Lord require of you? What are you supposed to do to live faithfully with your God?”

Why am quoting scripture? Because I am that desperate for the extremists to take pity on us and our nation and make some hard and dare I say, PRACTICAL, decisions.

I understand taking a hard line in the abortion debate, in the capital punishment debate and in the war debates. These are about potential life, actual life and the taking of life. But, in the money debate? I think you can tell what God thinks about money by who has the most. So, let’s not bring God into this. Let’s be honest. It is about political gain and power. And that is about as un-God-like as you can get.

You know the world is tilted in the wrong direction when I am trying to “protect” God’s good name from God’s self-proclaimed followers. As far as I can tell, they are frauds.

Mad Vow Descends on New York — And How Wonderful It Was!!!

Posted on July 25, 2011 by 40andover

It was overcast. It was pedestrian. It was a long line on Worth Street. I bet a few wondered if they could get their driver’s licenses renewed while they waited. It was spectacular. It was thrilling.

It was a jumble of emotions.

It was, except for the lines (and that it was a Sunday), so unremarkable in its normality, that I wanted to cry for joy. Yet a whole community celebrated standing in line for a marriage license — something that everyone else, until now, took for granted and, frankly, groused about. Young and old, of every nationality and race, same sex couples stood on that line. Four couples with whom we are especially close took their vows yesterday. We couldn’t find them. G-d bless texting and emails because we all knew we were there somewhere standing as witnesses.

Even Samantha Bee and Jason Jones from the Daily Show were on hand to mock the events. That is how you know you have arrived.

Some sang and danced around and under the rainbow chupah (wedding canopy) [see above shot, looking up].

There was a lone protester. He said terrible things that TLP (our son, the little prince) asked about. TLP also asked why I said, “Shame on you!!” to the protester. I told him that the protester used bad words and is spewing hate in the name of Jesus who was a man of love. “Well, E-Mom, maybe it is because you and Mommy won’t be married until June.”

G-d bless TLP. He thinks the problem is that we are living in sin. But all will be ok once we get married in June. In fact, he told some people on the subway who got married, “don’t worry, WE are getting married in June!!!” Yep, the whole family.

Take-Out Take-Away

Posted on July 18, 2011 by 40andover

From age 21 to 44, I lived on take-out food.

In the beginning, it was cool to order during a late-night at the office especially since I couldn’t afford to eat that way if I were actually paying for it. Then I had dreams of eating tuna fish out of a can over my kitchen sink if only I could be at home at dinner time. And then I realized that I never had time to be in my kitchen, much less clean my kitchen, so I really wouldn’t want to eat anything in there. The dream remained, even though interrupted from time to time by reality.

At some point, I was living with someone who cooked (pre-POB (partner of blogger)) and the food was good but hard on my digestive track. And before the days of blackberries and remote access, I had to go to the office with my intestines in a twist. So, as a matter of honor and sacrifice to my colleagues, I was forced to stay late and eat Shun Lee and other take-out so that I didn’t smelled of garlic or other spices anymore than anyone else. In typical blogger family fashion, it was, in fact, the least I could do.

When POB came along and beepers were available, we would work long hours, meet at the gym, have a little falafel and hummus with hot sauce that tested our abs of steel — in a slightly different way. We learned that some days were more — how do you say? — microbial than others. But these are the sacrifices we make to “have it all”.

Then came TLP (our son, the little prince) and there was no time for sleep, let alone cooking or even eating. Exhaustion won over hunger every time, except when we absolutely, positively needed energy. “Don’t talk with your mouth full” became “don’t-sleep-with-your-mouth-full-because-I-am-too-tired-to-do-the-Heimlich-and-I-can’t-stand-the-smell-of-whatever-you’re-eating.” As many of you will remember, love is an emotion that is felt but not expressed when you have a newborn.

Then, came the Great Recession. Time for family and friends. Time for hanging out. Time to have our families over for Sunday night dinners. POB decided after a while that she would rather cook than order another dinner from Saigon Grill (and we were supposed to be boycotting them anyway for labor violations). So, she started cooking. And she didn’t stop.

And the take-out stopped and the cook-in began. POB cooked, I cleaned. When she needed to prove a point, she dirtied every pot and utensil in the house. Point taken and respect paid. Harmony restored. Paradise, momentarily lost, was regained. A possible script for a Sunday night movie, although no one is dead or psychotic — yet. (I’ll get back to you on this.)

Tonight, these many years later, we are companionably cobbling together dinner from the fridge — cold carrot soup with cumin and lime, quinoa with tomatoes, onions and black beans, a salad and some wine. A perfect repast for a hot summer’s night. And our kitchen is cozy (yet cool thanks to air-conditioning) and inviting.

Take-out was my food source for over 20 years. I don’t miss it at all. And now we have a kitchen in which I would eat tuna out of a can just to be home with my family.

And to think, she still wants to marry me next year.

I was unfriended

Posted on July 7, 2011 by 40andover

The danger of Facebook is that someone can unfriend you. Or defriend you, I am not sure.

I was hurt. I was confused. No explanation. Just — one day — IFOB (Italian friend of blogger) was not among my friends. And this, after POB (partner of blogger) showed up to make sure that I was not swooning over his elegance and grace in a moment of heterosexual weakness. Indeed, IFOB is handsome, charming and so very intelligent and well-read. But I don’t have moments of heterosexual weakness; I am for my beloved POB and she is for me. IFOB is a good catch for those of you straight women out there who are single. (Just FYI.)

Being the straightforward person that I am, I emailed IFOB and asked, “Did you unfriend me?” He did. He was angry that I was ambivalent about the equality in marriage legislation. I should be happy. In truth, you have to stand in my shoes to understand. When you are discriminated against, it is hard to be thankful when people realize that they ought to stop discriminating.

Of course, I am happy. And, I am grateful to those who championed the cause. Mostly, I am happy because I have POB and, with TLP (the little prince), we are a family. And, love and family cannot be legislated.

POB and I were planning a ceremony before the legislation seemed possible. Now, it will be a marriage.

IFOB: next time, talk to me if you have an issue with something. After all, we seem to navigate being political opposites. Besides, if you are not my friend (forget FB, just generally), you can’t come to the wedding (in 2012).

40 — oh wait, yikes!! 50 — andoverblog

Aging and living in urban US

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