Yesterday, as I was pushing my daughter to preschool, I suddenly brought my stroller to a halt. A clothing rack, packed with dressing gowns and aging frocks, was blocking the entire sidewalk. Someone was moving into the Village Nursing Home on
As I picked up the hangers and house dresses, I had a thought. I may need to be more present in my life. Perhaps, it is not always necessary to do three things at the same time. My father was visiting this past weekend and I watched him focus on my children. He has this amazing ability to really be present for them, playing endlessly. That’s not my natural strength. I’m so much better at preparing snacks, cleaning out the stroller, organizing their clothes or whisking them off to school, to the park or to an activity.
Each night at bed time, Dylan and I talk about our favorite part of the day. For me, my best moments are usually dancing with Dylan and her sister, hugging them in our big arm chair, reading Dylan books or giving the girls extra goodnight kisses. Ironically, these are often the moments I’ve rushed through so I can get something done. But I’ve noticed something about these “to do” lists. They never end. There is always more laundry, more dishes and more errands. So I’m really going to try to be a little more present in my life. For today, I’ll let a few of the calls go to voicemail, play a little longer with my kids and I definitely won’t move any more clothing racks.
One of my favorite pastimes (and this is pathetic by the way) is sitting down on the couch after a long day with the kids, eating Tasti D-lite (touted as All Natural but can’t possibly be true at less than 20 calories an ounce but I choose to believe it’s all natural anyway) and watching bad TV. Yes, I have other more respectable hobbies like yoga and skiing. But my love for bad TV is probably only equal to my passion for reading the New York Post.
The problem with loving crappy TV is that inevitably, bad TV shows gets canceled. And that makes me sad. My DVR series manager (and if you don’t have DVR or Tivo or some equivalent you are nuts) is a graveyard of canceled shows. My list of shows to record is like TV’s death row. I think I was one of the last six people watching “The O.C.” I still miss my friends Ryan, Seth, Summer and Marissa. I loved “Hidden Palms” (a recently canceled teen drama that was a cross between “
So my latest obsession is the reality show “Hey Paula.” This show is terrible. Every episode, Paula Abdul cries, yells at her staff and complains non-stop about her fatigue. Hey Paula, here it is straight up. Take a nap, knock off the diva/loony behavior and quiet down because your life rocks.
My husband Rick does not make me feel better about all this. The guy actually comes home from work and will watch one of his DVR saved shows like “Meet the Press” or “60 Minutes.” But I don’t care. I learned so much from Ryan, Seth, Summer and Marissa in our four seasons together. I also enjoy Morley, Mike, Lesley and the rest of the 60 minutes gang but let’s be honest, they could never hack it in the O.C.
During the summer, I sometimes begin to feel like the last mom in
Packing has never been my thing. It’s my husband’s thing. He can pack for a trip in 10 minutes. For me, it can take hours. It can take days. I agonize over what to bring. Whatever I want to bring is lying in a crumbled ball at the bottom of the laundry basket. Within moments of beginning the process, I’m paralyzed. At that moment, I can’t remember what I’ve ever worn a day in my life. Invariably, I forget something big (like underwear or my glasses) or I pack 15 pairs of shoes for a four day holiday or I bring a top that I haven’t worn in a year. That top shouldn’t be in my closet, never mind in my suitcase.
These days I have to pack for myself, my toddler and my baby. How much pressure can a girl take? Not just the clothes but the baby food, the diapers, the monitors, the sippy cups, the bibs, the wipes, the books and toys for the car …. I’m really starting to sweat. Plus, my toddler Dylan likes to peruse the suitcase and pull out items as I’m putting them in. You know, she likes to “help out.” Thanks Dylan but I got it.
Once we finally zip up the suitcases, I feel such relief. But it only lasts until we strap the kids into their car seats. That’s when the crying usually begins.
My 3 1/2-year-old daughter Dylan is bilingual – well, sort of.
Despite hiring a part-time Spanish speaking nanny, my daughter doesn’t speak a word of Spanish. Since Patricia only helps me out once a week, it just isn’t enough.
But Dylan is picking up another language: Yiddish. Unlike myself, my husband, Rick, is Jewish and my mekhutonim(in-laws) are of course Jewish and that means a whole lot of Yiddish is going on. My daughter now talks about bumping her keppe (head) and washing her hentes (hands). She can’t wait to visit her Bubbie (grandmother) and Zaydie (grandfather).
My little girl talks about making a pish (pee) in the potty and needing diaper creme on her tuches (bum). And, like every toddler, she certainly knows how to kvetch (complain) or be a noodge (a pain in the tuches).
O.K., so maybe this wasn’t the language I envisioned but so far I still understand what she’s talking about and I’ve never heard her Bubbie or Zaydie yell at her for eating cornflakes.
Although I do hear her bat mitvah will cost us a fortune. Oy vey.
So today I walked into my local coffee shop to order my much needed large, non-fat, no foam, extra hot mocha and the guy behind the counter says, “What can I get for you ma’am?” Other than that coffee, I would love, absolutely love, if people would stop calling me “ma’am.” I know it’s a sign of respect. I know no one is trying to offend me. Even so, each time I hear it, it makes me feel 40,000 years old. And for the record, I’m only 37. So you see the discrepancy there.
I really believe that here is no one (other than maybe some 85-year-old woman living in the deep south, drinking peach ice tea on her wrap around porch) who wants to be called ma’am and it probably pisses her off too. What happened to a nice “miss?” “Miss” sounds young. “Miss” sounds bouncy. “Miss” sounds like you still wear strawberry lip balm. I love strawberry lip balm. So please, call me “miss,” hand me my coffee, I’ll smile, hand you my 4 dollars and 34 cents and we’ll do it again tomorrow.