Dylan’s grandfather (her Zaydie) agreed to come into Manhattan this week to be one of the chaperones on her class trip to the aquarium.

So he drove 3 hours into the city and then spent an hour and half on a bus with 20 kids getting to Coney Island in Brooklyn. I knew this trip would be all glamour.

The aquarium is only 16 miles from the West Village. I can’t really fathom how it took an hour and a half.

Before Zaydie got on the bus, I said to him, “Now you’ll be in charge of Dylan and one of her classmates. If you have to lose a kid, just make sure it’s not Dylan. Lose the other one.”

And then I learned that Dylan was partnered with one of her best friends, Ella, whose mom is a very good friend of mine. So I had to revise my earlier directions.

“Ok, so it turns out,  you can’t lose Ella either. You’ll have to come back with both of them.”

Which he did. You should totally hire him to be your next chaperone.

I figured they’d bring me and Summer back something really fancy from the Aquarium gift shop like a pencil in the shape of a tilapia or edible candy turtles or some fresh sushi. But all we got were these cute photos…

I kind of wish Zaydie had worn a pink silk scarf like my dad did recently but you know, a collared shirt is nice too.

Summer kept looking at the photos and asking, “Where am I?”

And I tried to explain that she didn’t get to go on the trip because it was just for Dylan’s school.

And she pointed to the picture of Zaydie and Dylan and said, “But I want to be there.”

I can’t even believe Dylan is old enough to go on a field trip alone and now her little sister wants in?

But honey, the trip is over. Next time, I promise you’ll get to spend an hour and a half on a bus to Coney Island too. By the way, it only took an hour for them to get back. Either a different route or maybe there was a stronger tailwind on the return trip.

PS Can you believe I wrote an entire post about a trip I didn’t even go on? Remember that the next time you are doubting my talent.

mama bird notes:

Holly from the The Work at Home Woman, a website dedicated to helping women and moms fulfill their dreams of working at home or becoming self-employed,  was kind enough to feature me on her blog! Thanks Holly! I’m so very honored. Click here to check out our Q & A.

Since we are moving to Westchester in a few weeks, I thought I’d finally show Rick his new house.

You see, the rental market is really competitive right now (because many people are still hesitant to buy) so I had to act fast on this house, and well, had to skim over little details like, “Make sure your husband sees and actually likes the house.”

But luckily, Rick is a pretty easy going guy (except on the way to the airport or when the girls get really whiny or when he’s tired or when we’re late or….). Ok maybe he’s not always completely mellow.  But thankfully, the house has a garbage disposal so Rick was more than satisfied with his new home.

I’m still a little concerned about intruders breaking into the house. I mean, the windows are like 3 feet off the ground. How hard is it to break a window and climb right in? Right now, I sleep well at night because I have a doorman, I’m 5 floors up and there’s a double bolt on the front door.

Meanwhile, we met a couple of our new neighbors and I can already tell that everyone seems to want to one up each other with how long they lived in New York City before they fled to the suburbs. Like it’s some kind of endurance test or something.

I’ve personally been living in the city for 15 years but I’m going to tell everyone it’s actually been 30 years. Which makes me like 53 years old but whatever. As if they’re going to question the new girl.

I sort of had a mini meltdown at the new house this weekend because I started to realize I am actually moving there.

And apparently I wasn’t hiding it so well because my my broker kept asking, “Are you ok?”

At which point I gave her a longwinded response about my hesitations about leaving the city but knowing it’s best for our family. And then I sort of realized she’s not my therapist so I stopped talking.

The girls seemed pretty happy in the new house. What with their new garbage disposal and all.

Although I don’t think they’re terribly picky. Because when we were looking at different towns I had the following conversation with Dylan…

“So do you like this town?”

“Yes.”

“Can you imagine living here?”

“Yes.”

“What do you like most about it?”

“The brownie I had for lunch.”

So remind me to pack brownies when we move.

mama bird notes:

Contributing mama Daphne Biener wasn’t really expecting to raise a star athlete. But somehow the family is off to the junior olympics this summer. Click on contributing mamas to read more.

For New York City mamas… proposed budget cuts could have a devastating effect on our local libraries – resulting in the the elimination of at least 2,000 children’s programs, including storytimes and after school programs like arts and crafts.

To help, just click here and you will be directed to a page called “Keep Your Library Open” and find out how you can help. It literally took me seconds to send a few emails to my elected officials.  Thanks mamas!

By Contributing Mama Daphne Biener

Back in kindergarten Kira wanted to join the jump rope club.  I, protector of family time and maternal convenience, said no.  Not because I am a heartless cretin.  I am not altogether unsupportive of my children’s interests.  It’s just that this particular interest met at 7am Monday mornings.  And at that time I had a sleeping baby’s needs to consider.

Her teacher sought me out and gently suggested that I let my kid join the jump rope club.  I smiled and nodded, and said no.

When Kira was in first grade I let her join the club. Her teacher came to me with a gentle suggestion that I put her on the team.  I smiled, I nodded, and I said no.  Practices, you see, would interfere with family dinners.  And family dinners came first.

Then came the note from her gym teacher. The fact that I was single-handily undermining my child’s dream was getting around.  So I moved dinnertime, and I put her on the team.  I dropped her off at practices.  And Kira and her jump rope ne’er did part.

It was all just fun and games and then Kira qualified for the Junior Olympics.

And suddenly we’re spending full Saturdays in high school gyms.  And rearranging our summer vacation to include a stint in sunny Des Moines, IA, home of the 2009 Junior Olympic games.

Isn’t irony fun?

Jump roping, it seems, has morphed from a thing that you do in the street with the neighborhood kids into an international, competitive sport.  Boy was I surprised.

And proud, for sure.  Proud and surprised and overwhelmed and more than just a little confused about what to make of it all.

I imagine there are parents out there who would know what to do with this.  Parents of little gymnasts who they’ve been driving to pre-dawn practices for years; soccer parents who transverse the country for weekend tournaments.  Parents who have had the time to gradually adjust to life with their little athlete.

All I know is that I don’t know how to do this right.   My kid has a dream.  Of course I want to support her.  But what exactly does that mean?

I always thought it’d be a cinch to support my children, and their dreams, without sacrificing family dinners every night or lazy afternoons in the backyard on weekends.   Now I’m trying to figure out how to give Kira what she needs (practice? rigorous training? pasta for carbo-loading?) to compete at an international level while we cruise around the country on a road trip we planned long ago.  Without losing site of the fact that it is family vacation time.   Summer-fun-in-the-sun time.  And our eight year old, athletic though she may be, is simply one of the four members of this family unit.  It has to work for everyone.

I’m sure I’ll figure it out, somewhere along the line.  I’m trying my best. I downloaded some 1980s tunes with good jumping beats for her routines.  I bought a timer to help her work on her speed events.  I nodded and said yes as she accumulated a wire rope (for speed,) a beaded rope (for strength) and a long-handled rope (for freestyle.)  I’ve learned how to count steps, which is no small feat for my aging eyes as her little sneakers pound out about 200 per minute.

Yeah, 200 steps a minute.  I can knock myself out juggling this and rearranging that.  But at that speed there’s not a chance in this world that I’ll ever be able to keep up.

You can see Kira jump, jump, jump around here…

You can read more of Daphne’s work on The Rocky Mountain Moms Blog, on her eco-fabulous site, A Greener Biener, or here on the mama bird diaries.

The other day I was making a follow up appointment at my dermatologist and it went like this…

“Does Friday, June 19th at 9 am work for you?” the receptionist asks.

“Yes, I can do that,” as I write it down in my appointment book.

But the receptionist doesn’t reciprocate. She writes down nothing. She types nothing into the computer.  She just smiles.

So I reconfirm.

“So we are all set for June 19th at 9 am?” I ask, my eyes pleading for her to make note of this somewhere, on a random scrap of paper, on her hand, ANYWHERE.

She just smiles and nods.

“Yes, we’ll see you then.”

I left unsettled.

The experience reminded me of one of those waitresses who writes nothing down. The whole time you’re ordering your egg white omelette with artichokes instead of peppers and hot sauce on the side, you know there is no way she is ever going to remember the order. Never mind that you also want water, with no ice. I mean, that’s just a crazy dream.

And if the omelette, by some miracle of God, comes exactly the way you ordered it, your stress over the situation has completely numbed your appetite anyway.

And there’s no way you’re getting the water.

The Disappointment: Prince Harry is coming to New York City later this month and his royal handlers aren’t letting him savor the New York City nightlife. After his polo match, he’s on a red eye right back to England.

Now what is the point of having red-headed bad boy Prince Harry come to the city that never sleeps without a fabulous, salacious, front page tabloid story about his late night shenanigans? Absolutely no point. Stay home Harry.

The Shock: A 66 year-old woman in England has been impregnated using a donor egg and donor sperm. As if motherhood isn’t tiring enough in your twenties, thirties or forties. And it just seems irresponsible. That child will be parent-less so early in life.

Now 44 year-old Sarah Jessica Parker having twins with a surrogate? That sounds fine. She’s in her forties, perfect and she’s married to schlubby Matthew Broderick, so give her twins, damn it.

And The Awe: My father seems to constantly be trying to worm his way onto this blog. Like a few months ago, we went to the movies and afterwards he said, “So will this be on the blog?”

“What exactly Dad? That we went to the movies? Umm… this is the thing, I need a hook. A funny hook. A bit more than I went to the movies with my dad and the floor was sticky and we got some popcorn and walked home. You know?”

Well, this visit the guy brought his A game.

Because my girls wanted to play dress up and convinced my dad to wear this…

And then let us take a picture.

My dad insists he’s still straight even though he clearly knows how to properly tie a pink silk scarf.

Well, there you go dad. You’re on the blog. I imagine you’re very happy. Cute top by the way.

mama bird notes:

Contributing mama Erin Butler has written a beautiful piece about motherhood and the loneliness that can come with it. Click on contributing mamas to read more.