We used to have a really cool alternative music station. It went away. Now we have a “we play anything” station that really plays nothing. I can’t stand it. But I was so tired while running errands this morning, that I found myself on the station and I didn’t even realize it until I discovered that, yes, I do remember every word to Foreigner’s “Urgent.” And then I wanted to gauge my ears out with the windshield wipers.
Why was I so tired that I inadvertently listened to adult whatever-it-is radio? Because my daughter isn’t sleeping through the night. Which is funny, because I’m pretty sure I wrote the same thing seven years ago. She’s in second grade, for freak’s sake! But last night she was up at 2:40 a.m. Yep, that’s right. And she read. And she tossed. And she turned. And she complained. Until 5:20 a.m.. She went down–or rather was up–like a flaming arrow and she brought me along for the ride. Shoot. Me. Now.
It’s the monsters. The monsters are getting to her. They are under her bed and in the closet and nothing she does is making them go away. She refuses to sleep with her light off or her shades down. So of course she wakes up. And then she sits, completely upright, on the edge of her bed, reading, complaining that it’s not helping her fall asleep. Well, duh.
Today was a very sleepy day. I ran errands in a haze. I yelled at my children when they got home because a Crumbs has come to our local mall and no one warned me. I was not sufficiently prepped to see that cupcake sign beckoning to me. My children were just at the mall on Saturday. They could have told me! Useless children!
As the boy was doing homework and the girl was complaining about doing hers, I made hot chocolate and we chatted. The boy started getting mouthy.
Me: Just do your homework.
The boy: Give me more marshmallows.
Me: Be nice! You’re the child I’m keeping!
The girl: Hey!
The boy: Ha ha! [to the girl] When you and Daddy move out, I’m going to take all your stuff.
Me: No, we’re going to move out.
The boy: What?? To where?
Me: Dunno. New York. Miami. Paris. Somewhere good.
The boy: No, not New York. The city is too big.
Me: What?? Who are you? Fine, I’m not keeping you, either!
The boy: I get dibs on all your stuff!
Me: I’m taking all my stuff with me!
The boy: The stuff you don’t take, I get dibs on!
The girl: I want dibs, too! I’ll take the cooking stuff.
The boy: Do you not understand how dibs works? I called dibs on everything!
The girl: No way! I want her stuff too!
The boy: Fine, you can have her stuff. I’ll take her money.
The girl: Hmmmm….
This is one of those times I wished we celebrated Christmas. Because instead of buying them gifts, I could just get them mammoth lumps of coal. Hey, maybe I’ll start a new Hanukkah tradition here….
October 31st, 2012 § Comments Off on Signs of Election Over Exposure § permalink
I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. I freakin’ hate Halloween. That said, I’ve been suckered in. Candy has been purchased. Mummy dogs, monster fingers, and witches brew with bloody wormy ice cubes are being made for dinner. And I helped Pie carve her pumpkin. Correction: she designed her pumpkin, I carved it.
The drawing was a little elaborate with strands of hair. Most of the hair came out well, but some had a big chunk that fell out, so I changed it to ears.
Me: Pie, I’m sorry this didn’t quite work.
Pie: Do you think it still looks spooky?
Me: Uh… well, as spooky as this pumpkin was going to look.
Pie evaluates it for a moment. Then she declares, “I like it better this way!” As she turns to go up the stairs, she turns and looks at me and says, “I’m Sweetie Pie Medros and I approve this message!”
Our part of our part of the world (meaning our corner of town) faired quite well in the mess that Hurricane Sandy left on the East Coast. Unlike parts of our town, we lost power for a mere hour. No damage to the trees at our house. The surrounding streets are a bit ugly. But we’re good. I had some gum surgery in the morning, but once I got past that we spent the day watching movies (I introduced my kids to Fiddler on the Roof), eating junk food (cider apple donuts, anyone?), and for those over 21, drinking whiskey sours to numb the mouth pain. Not a bad day! There’s no school today as the town cleans up the various streets, although the boy does have Hebrew school later.
So we are unscathed. Or so I thought. Until I walked into the girl’s room. Apparently the hurricane struck. Just her room.
Sigh. I won’t bother FEMA for this, but it’s time to start my clean-up.
My husband’s all-time favorite restaurant is Yardbird in Miami. It’s got bacon. It’s got fried chicken. It’s got bourbon. We were waiting for our three-month window so we could make our holiday reservation. Done!
When we were last there, Adam bemoaned the fact that they didn’t have T-shirts for sale. He’s been hounding the site looking for them and was thrilled when he found them.
The box came today. Adam was at work. Pie saw it. “What’s in there?”
“It’s Daddy’s T-shirt, I’m guessing, from Yardbird,” I told her.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Pretty sure. What else would he be getting from Yardbird?”
Pie shrugged and said matter-of-factly, “Bourbon.”
September 21st, 2012 § Comments Off on All I Want for Halloween… § permalink
Hey, guys, how do you like my new iPhone 5? What? You can’t see it? That’s because my freak of a husband left for a business trip last week and FORGOT TO ORDER MY PHONE! Of course, I’m probably one of those morons who would have fallen for this:
But really I’m just cranky because my smoke alarm system HATES me (yes, it’s an all-caps kind of day). Adam was–again–on a business trip (who knew someone working for a travel company would have to travel so much?) and the smoke alarms decided to f*ck with me right at bedtime. One of them would beep. Which one? I couldn’t tell. Because when I ran to look, nothing would happen. So I’d leave. And it would beep again. Sometimes it beeped at 15 minute intervals. Sometimes at 3. Once it was about 25 minutes, luring me into believing it had stopped. So I frantically chased beeps. I finally figured it was the hall smoke alarm, so I took it down. I went to replace the batteries, only to discover we are out of batteries. So I took the old batteries out and left it on the table, and finally went back to sleep. Ah, sweet sleep. BEEP! @@%$##@! It was the wrong detector. It was the one not one foot away from the hall detector in the guest room. Back out, put one on table back up, take out new one. Back to bed. Ah, sweet sleep. “Mommy, my throat hurts!” And in crawls the little one.
This morning was the eternal debate: Is my child healthy enough to go to school? Do we factor in that her class picture is being taken at 8:30 a.m.? But… But… Ah, but what if it’s strep? My guilt gets the better of me, and I make Adam swear he won’t let Doodles out of the house on picture day with crazy hair and I run Pie to the doctor for the 8 a.m. walk-in hours, making sure we’re 5 minutes early so we’re first, and I get her a strep test, and we find out she’s fine, and I haul her butt to school, arriving 3 minutes before it’s class picture time and before I’m on duty volunteering for picture day. Yes, that was a run-on sentence. Because it is a run-on sentence kind of day. I guess I’ve moved on from all caps.
But now Pie is chipper and fine and running around the playground last I saw her. Doodles’s hair was almost laying flat. I got to work with a photographer who really didn’t seem to like kids very much. And now I’ve got one hour to figure out our back-to-school picnic dinner, what we’ll be bringing to tomorrow’s block party, finish up the work I’m supposed to get done for a committee meeting on Sunday, and, oh, write a novel.
People wonder why I eat so much sugar. Thank goodness it’s Halloween time! I wonder if the Switch Witch will bring me an iPhone 5 this year. Damn, I want an iPhone 5!
I am truly incapable of getting offline. I just shut down mail so I could get out a blog post and then return to novel writing. Yet, while waiting for WordPress to load, I compulsively yet unconsciously hit my mail button, thus relaunching the mail I had just closed. Damn you Internet and your siren call! This is why I need programs like Freedom. Because I have no self-control.
Did you know that apparently there are people out there who don’t like candy corn? And people who aren’t out running madly from store to store searching for the new Candy Corn Oreos (no, I did NOT go to a different grocery store one town over to see if they had it because my local Stop N’ Shop didn’t! I went to the other store because… um… well… And no, they didn’t have it, either). The only thing I can POSSIBLY think of that would be better would be Peeps Oreos. Oooh, deep fried! Deep fried Peeps Oreos! Hey, a girl needs to have her dreams.
I’ve had a bunch of volunteer activities at the kids’ school this past week. Every time I see the girl, she insists that everything be dropped and I give her a hug. “Mommy, the rule is every time I see you, you need to give me a hug.” Yes, I’m sure the teachers love that. Yet, we get home and I say, “Hug time!” she said, “Not now!” When I remind her of the rule, she looks at me exasperated, “Mom! That’s only a rule for school!”
Okay, time in enact Freedom and to get some novelin’ done! Till next time!
September 10th, 2012 § Comments Off on The Star Wars Dilemma § permalink
My memories of childhood are hazy, which is why that I remember this one fairly clearly is rather odd: I’m nine years old. There’s a movie out that my father is crazy to see. It’s been out for a bit, and apparently everyone is talking about so we make arrangements to go to the movies with our neighbors, who have a son my age and a daughter Tweedle Twirp’s age.
Because Tweeds has just turned six, she is deemed too young for the movie, and she is offered the opportunity to see, with some random grown-up and the other little sister, in another theater of the multiplex the movie Pete’s Dragon. They decide upon that without hesitation. The brother and I are also given a choice: Pete’s Dragon or this definitely grown-up movie called Star Wars.
The brother and I consult for a few moments, before deciding upon the obvious: Star Wars.
The movie was entrancing. I was hooked.
We didn’t wait as long to see Empire Strikes Back when it was released. Return of the Jedi I saw on the opening weekend, with friends. For these movies, I saw them early enough that the movies were fresh, exciting. No Internet could spoil the endings. The movie reviews were subtle enough not to give anything away. I remember my shock and excitement at the “big reveal” in Empire. It was brillant! Genius! Oh. My. God! (Or, rather, as I would have said back then, “It was totally bitchin’!”)
Flash forward a dozen years or so, and yes, I was the geek outside at the midnight showing of Phantom Menace. To my credit, I wasn’t the one who left the office at 11 a.m., paying good money for the movie Meet Jack Black, just to see the trailer for Phantom Menace and then leaving without seeing the movie. This should not be a surprise to anyone. I worked at Amazon.com in 1999 at a time when it was populated with hipsters and geeks (as opposed to now when it’s filled with blue shirts and khaki pants). One of my geek friends waited in line for opening day tickets, and kindly purchased one for me.
It was disappointing. I was upset. That didn’t stop me from seeing the movie again with my folks, but I was left saddened.
Attack of the Clone Wars came out a month after Adam and I were married. Despite both of us not liking Phantom, we dutifully filed in at the Cinerama for it. Eh.
Here’s a confession. Revenge of the Sith came out in 2005. Something else was happening in 2005. What was it? What was it? Hmmmm. Well, whatever it was, we never got around to seeing the final Star Wars movie. Adam actually DVR’d it a few months ago, and it sits mockingly on our TV, laughing at me every time I go to watch Dance Moms (yes, Dance Moms! See how the mighty have fallen. Get over yourself, people!).
But here we are. Dance Moms not withstanding, Adam and I responsible grown-ups with an obligation to do what’s right for our children. And the big questions these days, the weight upon every parent Gen Xer today, the albatross we must carry is: In what order do you allow your children to view “Star Wars”? Do you see them chronological order, starting with Phantom Menace and ending with Return of the Jedi? Or do you watch them in release order, starting with New Hope and ending with Revenge of the Sith?
This became of grave importance recently when in a discussion of “Star Wars,” Pie asked, “So, Darth Vader is Luke’s father?”
I responded: “You’re not supposed to know that.”
She continued: “And Queen Amidalah is Princess Leia’s mother, so Luke and Leia are brother and sister, right?”
“You’re NOT supposed to know that!” I say louder, feeling agitated.
“Mom!” said my oh-so-wise second grader. “I’ve known that since kindergarten!”
Oh my child. I am your mother. I am here to rescue you.
This past weekend, I declared that we would all be watching the “Star Wars” films. All of them. Doodles had seen Episode IV: The New Hope (for which I still get in trouble for referring to it as the first “Star Wars” film) a while ago, but I think it had been a couple of years.
Adam had previously done extensive research on the “what order to watch the films” dilemma, in anticipation for this day comes. We were in agreement that the films should be viewed in the Machete Order (IV, V, II, III, VI, and then much, much later I), although Adam thinks that we should view Episode I before Episode II, and I think we stick with the order and watch Episode I at the end.
Saturday was a rainy, stormy night. Adam brought our copy of Episode IV up from the basement. The kids curled up on the couch, and I used it as my opportunity to sew badges on Pie’s Brownie vest as I cheered on the Rebel forces.
The movie began. “You are going to love this!” I promised Pie. “Be brave like Princess Leia! Tomorrow night, we’ll watch Empire Strikes Back, and next weekend we’ll move on to the next movie!”
She buried her head in the couch for a few scenes. She watched most of it. She seemed to like it.
But then she didn’t want to go to sleep by herself. And finally, once she was down, she was up a couple of hours later. I was still awake, getting ready for bed, and she refused to leave my side, merely following me around like a little shadow.
Before I could even get her into bed, the bigger one was up. “Back into bed, Monkey,” Adam said quietly, gently leading him back to his bedroom.
“Uh uh!!” came the growl out of the half-asleep boy as he planted himself in our doorway, refusing to be carried back to his room.
I gave up. There were four in the bed and the little one said, “Star Wars is scary!”
Sunday morning, Adam bleary-eyed said to me, “I guess we’re not watching Empire Strikes Back tonight, huh?”
No, my padawan, I don’t think we shall. We’ll try again in a few more years. With luck, the Force in our children will be stronger then. May the Force be with you.
7 year old: You put on a birthday song to wake me up.
Q: Where are you?
7 year old: In Italy.
Me: Where?
7 year old: Venice.
Me: How many seven year olds spend their birthdays in Venice?
7 year old: I don’t know.
Me: Probably all the Venetian ones, huh? How will you be spending your birthday?
7 year old: I’m going to a glass-making place.
Me: What do you like to do these days?
7 year old: Singing and dance.
Me: What kind of dance?
7 year old: Ballet, tap, maybe hip hop
Me: What are your favorite books?
7 year old: American Girl Doll books. The Best Friends series.
Me: What are your favorite things to watch?
7 year old: Shake It Up. Craft Wars. Cupcake Wars. Oh yeah. Project Runway. It’s so hard to remember them when you haven’t watched them in a long time.
Me: What are your goals as a seven year old?
7 year old: To stop chewing my hair. And to grow my hair long without getting much haircuts.
June 17th, 2012 § Comments Off on The Trouble With Fairies § permalink
The boy is reading a new book a series about Nicholas Flamel. I bought him the first book (closing my eyes, covering my ears, and saying, “La la la” about it being for ages 12 and up), and he read it quickly. It mentions a–definitely grown-up book–called the The Book of Abramelin. The boy had to have it. It’s a pricey book.
“We’ll get it from the library,” I said. He was amenable. It’s nowhere, though, in our entire library system. “You have to pay for it,” I said. He was amenable. He counted out his money. He had $22. The book is $30.56. Finally I gave up. I said, “Why don’t you write a letter to the Book Fairy and ask for it?” He was amenable.
As I’ve mentioned before here, the Book Fairy is a fairy who appears totally at random, leaving a book under the the kids’ pillows. There’s no rhyme or reason when she’ll show up. Or what she’ll bring. But the kids do know that I communicate with her to let her know what we’re up to, so she can bring books related to what we’re doing. Before we go on vacation, the Book Fairy, for example, always knows to bring books about the place we’re visiting. At one point, the boy felt fairly sure the Book Fairy originated in the house–and there were even rumors that the boy had located the Book Fairy’s stash of books–but when he learned that the Book Fairy (or any fairy for that matter) doesn’t visit those who don’t believe in her, he got with the program.
So, the boy wrote the Book Fairy a letter (I kept his spelling and punctuation):
Dear Ms. Book Fairy,
thank you so much for the books! I have a couple of questens for you. My first questen is are you married? if so what is husband’s name? And my second questen is where do you get your books from? The reason I am writeing this letter is that there is a book that I want but I can’t get with my allowance The book is called “the book of Abraham the mage” (commenly known as the codex). Thank you!
Scencerally,
The boy
Magically, two nights later (it is just a coincidence that Amazon Prime takes two days to ship), the book appeared under his pillow.
The next morning, I said to him, “I saw the Book Fairy last night. Did she stop by?”
The boy said, “Yeah,” although I didn’t have to ask, as his nose was buried in the book.
I said, “It was odd, she had a message for you.”
The boy said, “Oh?”
“She said to tell you she is married.”
“Really?” The boy perked up and looked up from his book. “Who is she married to?”
“The Tooth Fairy,” I said.
“How is that possible? The Book Fairy is a woman and so is the Tooth Fairy.”
“Yes,” I said. “So. What’s wrong with that?”
He looked at me, rolled his eyes in a “my mom is a moron” kind of way, and said, “Nothing,” and went right back to his book.
Then, this past Friday, the girl came home from school with a new hole in her mouth. “I lost my tooth!” she said happily at pickup. Around her neck was a tooth-shaped box that held her tooth. She wore it all day and proudly showed everyone the way it rattled with her tooth inside. That night, as we came home, all of a sudden I heard a squeal.
“Mommy! Mommy! My tooth box opened up and my tooth fell down the grate!” I peeked down the heating grate and couldn’t find the tooth, although, granted, it was dusty down there and I didn’t look very hard. We agreed she’d leave the Tooth Fairy a note instead. Yet, that night, the Tooth Fairy was able to dig down into the vent and retrieve the tooth. She put the tooth back in the tooth box and left a note telling the girl that she should try again the next night with the tooth. The girl was very excited her tooth was found and she placed it under her pillow.
This morning the girl came eagerly out of her room and she announced, “Guess what the tooth fairy left me!”
Uh… uh oh. The Tooth Fairy? The Tooth Fairy has been very busy and tired and it’s just possible…
“She left me my tooth! The Tooth Fairy didn’t come!”
“She didn’t?” I said. “Well, she’ll probably come tonight.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” the girl said pragmatically.
But the boy wasn’t letting go so easily. “Oh really?” he said, with a gleam. “The Tooth Fairy forgot to come?” He pins me with a hard stare. “How did that Tooth Fairy just forget to come? Hmmm? Anyone know? I wonder how the Tooth Fairy could just forget to come!” He looks at me, blinking his eyes innocently, with a sh*t-eating grin on his face.
Sometimes that boy is a little too clever for his own good. And we’ll see what the Tooth Fairy brings him next time. Is it just Santa or can the Tooth Fairy deliver a lump of coal as well?
On Monday morning of Memorial Day weekend I woke up feeling great. Which means that either I have the stamina of a twenty year old… or I was still drunk. I’m sticking with the former (although I fear it was the latter).
Yes, it was yet another weekend in New York. We hadn’t been in a while, so we took the train down for the weekend. As we walked off the train, Adam was walking with Pie, and I had Doodles. A guy cut between us, and practically ran the boy over. “You okay?” I asked the boy. He nodded and I said, “What an a**hole.” The boy’s eyes opened wide as I leaned down and whispered in his ear, “This is New York City. You’re allowed to curse.”
“I can curse?” he asked with wonder.
“Yep,” I said.
“F*ck yes!” he said. That boy is a Brown through and through.
Adam was just as happy. Not about the cursing. He’s allowed to curse even in Boston. But the first night we met the Tweedle Twirp for dinner at Craftwork. I had mussels. Tweeds had ravioli. And Adam had the special, Pork for Two. For one. Two racks of pork. Pork belly. Pork head. Just for him. He started out happy, but ended up crying uncle and taking a bunch of it home. Adam clearly isn’t as tough as those of us with Brown blood.
The weekend was full of fun: The boy, my dad, Tweeds, and I hit Liberty Island and Ellis Island, while the girl, my mom, and Adam went to the Cindy Sherman show at MOMA (“One room was scary,” the girl told me, “so Nana covered my eyes so we could just walk through it.” I saw the show on Monday. “Scary” isn’t the word I’d use. More like “traumatizing.”)
We hit candy stores: Dylan’s Candy Bar for the girl; Economy Candy for the boy. I love Economy Candy. It’s totally old school, and any candy you remember from your childhood, they have.Â
I was looking for a big bag of gummy bears, but they only had them in single colors. In 5 pound bags. I came very close to buying 40 pounds of gummies. I did learn that even I have my limits on gummies and there are some gummies that I refuse to buy. This one in particular:
After the sugar high, we switched children, and Pie, Tweeds, and I went for our regular NYC mani/pedi.
On Sunday, I had brunch with a friend from college, and now I’m plotting how to get to the Galapagos Island with the family to hang out with her (she’ll be moving there soon). Then Adam, my mom, and I took the kids to their first Broadway show, Newsies, and even waited for autographs at the end.
After the show, we hit but Strand. But for the first time ever, I messed up at the Strand. Normally I go through the New York Times Book Review for my shopping list, but this time I did some web searches and looked through some magazines and I made a list I was quite excited about (in particular, I’m eager for The Receptionist: An Education at The New Yorker by Janet Groth)… only to discover that the books I had selected aren’t released until the summer. Time was limited, the kids were antsy, and I didn’t have time to aimlessly wander aisles picking books at leisure. So while the kids stocked up, I actually walked out empty handed. Hard to believe, I know, but it’s true. Proof that the impossible is possible in New York.
That night, Adam ended up hanging at my parents’ apartment with the boy, who had a bad headache, while the rest of us went out for a family dinner. We got home at about 8, and I decided I was just too exhausted to go out. But I felt bad that Adam didn’t get to go out, so I said I’d rally for just one drink with him and the Tweedle Twins. Five hours later, we were walking home, my feet were hurting, so I just went barefoot up Avenue A, and stumbled back home to bed. We hit a bar on Avenue C that advertised on its sign “no phone” (too cool to chat with you, I suppose), then we made our way to Death and Co., where the entire time, I wanted to tell the woman at the table next to us that she could do way better than the guy she was on a date with. Of course the drinks were so tasty (and it didn’t hurt that it was my fifth drink of the night) that it probably added to the urgency of the situation, but I managed to keep my thoughts to myself. Back outside, I mentioned to the door person that the woman at the next table was on a date with a guy who clearly was gay, and she said, “Yeah, we get that a lot.” I’m generally happy with my suburban life, but watching that poor girl on that awkward date makes me so incredibly happy I’m no longer in my twenties.
Despite the late hour and the drinks, I was still up bright and early for a walk on the High Line with my family, brunch at Pastis, and a trip to MOMA, where I saw the aforementioned Cindy Sherman show and the others went to the Materials Lab.
And then, sadly, it was time to go. I hate leaving NYC. But we made it home and we dove back in. To Colonial Day. To Daisies bridging to Brownies. To baseball, soccer, track, piano, and drums. It’s been a week. And I’m ready to go back to New York.
. I bought him the first book (closing my eyes, covering my ears, and saying, “La la la” about it being for ages 12 and up), and he read it quickly. It mentions a–definitely grown-up book–called the 
